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BERKELEY
LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF
CALIFORNIA
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BERKELEY
UBI^RY
UNIVEf^SITY OF
CALIFORNIA
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I
4ii
THE
POTTLETON LEGACY
OF
TOWN AND COUNTRY LIFE.
BY
ALBERT SMITH.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HABLOT K. BROWNE.
LONDON:
G. ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRESTGDON STREET,
1852.
&PAN STACK
TO
CAPTAIN H. PERCIVAL DE BATHE,
OF THE SCOTS FUSILIER GUARDS,
Ef)is Store is ©^"Dicatttf,
IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF MUCH KINDNESS,
BY ONE WHO HAS THE PLEASURE OF RANKING AMONQCrr
HIS MOST SINCERE FRIENDS.
London, — Ma^, 1849.
657
LIST OF PLATES.
All's well that ends well To face Title,
The Fiest Glimpse of the Legacy p. 19
Me. Wtndham Flittee makes himself at Home ... 44
The Dinnee at Long's 72
Miss Maetha Twinch's Adventuee in the Wild-beast-
Show 60
Philip's Eetuen 97
Mes. Weacketts receives hee Feiends 110
M. POLPETTE AT HoME 146
Aftee the Duel 171
The Eeyeeend Me. Page eeceives a Visit .... 211
The Beauchamp Towee 236
Tip's Degeadation 267
LOTTY AND TOTTY BeHAVE DeEADFULLY 285
The Boaeding House u^299
Lady Flokes, Me. Page, and Patience 319
The Eetuen feom the Eaces 358
Old Lady Flokes in Geeat Disteess 373
Me. Spoonee meets his Fathee 390
The Gangee's Fate 420
The Legacy unfolded 444
CONTENTS.
CHAPTEE I.
PAGI
Of the Village 1
CHAPTEE II.
Op the great Excitement that was caused in the
Village by the visit of a Steange Monster . . 4
CHAPTEE III.
In which the First Personage of the Tale appears 10
CHAPTEE IV.
The First Glimpse of the Legacy 14
CHAPTEE V.
Mr. Twinch's Household and Opinions 20
CHAPTEE VI. f^
The GrAME Commences 27
CHAPTEE VII.
Mr. Flitter arrives in London 34
CHAPTEE VIII.
Tb^b Miss Twinches come out in a gratifying manner 49
VI CONTENTS.
CHAPTEE IX.
PAGB
Me. Flittee's Dinnee at Long's 63
CHAPTEE X.
A Long Way feom Pottleton 77
CHAPTEE XL
Home again Qd
CHAPTEE XII.
Philip's Eetuen 97
CHAPTEE XIII.
Me. Wtndham Flittee intedduces Philip into good
Society . ... 105
CHAPTEE XIV.
Philip sees moee life 114
CHAPTEE XV.
Maegaebt Sheeeaed 11^
CHAPTEE XVI.
Miss Twinch's Beeeavement 130
CHAPTEE XVII.
M. Polpette at Home 145
CHAPTEE XVni.
The FtTNNY Weitee 162
CHAPTEE XIX.
Me. Spoonee's Affaie or Honoue 161
CONTENTS. "^
CHAPTER XX
PAGE
The Pottleton Ball , 172
CHAPTEE XXI.
Two jSTice Childeen •...,.. 190
CHAPTEE XXn. '
Feesh Excitements 204
CHAPTEE XXIII.
A Letter, a Dinner, and an Adventuee 227
CHAPTEE XXIV.
An Unexpected Introduction 241
CHAPTEE XXV.
A Change of Scene 256
CHAPTEE XXVI.
The Cooze Jewels might still behave bettee . . . 268
CHAPTEE XXVn.
A Boulogne Boaedinq-House . 289
CHAPTEE XXVIII.
The Twinch Family in Debate 302
CHAPTEE XXIX.
Lady Flokes at Home ; 313
CHAPTEE XXX.
Me. Flitter and the Manager 323
Urn CONTENTS.
CHAPTEE XXXI.
TAGK
Philip goes to Epsom, to sis Cost 337
CHAPTEE XXXII.
Annie go'es to Lady Elokes's 359
CHAPTEE XXXIII.
Me. Spooner's Unexpected Visitok 385
CHAPTEE XXXIV.
The Eobbeey at Monksceofts 398
CHAPTEE XXXV.
Some Family Mattees 411
CHAPTEE XXXVI.
Me. Flitteb's Dilemma 420
CHAPTEE XXXVII.
An Unfoeeseen Night's Joueney 433
CHAPTEE XXXVIII.
The Legacy 412
CHAPTEE XXXIX.
All's Well that Ends Well 4o4
CHAPTEE XL.
Which Disposes of Eveeybody » 4(55
THE POTTLETON LEGACY,
CHAPTER THE FIRST.
OF THE VILLAGE.
About fifty miles from town, taking a somewhat westerly
direction, there is a little village, which has generally been
considered so very unimportant a place, that it has not found
its way into any gazetteer; nor, indeed, can the most micro-
scopic eye discover its name in the county map. It has even
been accounted too out-of-the-way a spot to be published as
the abode of any patient marvellously cured by a patent medi-
cine. In fact, until very lately, nobody was known who had
ever been there, except the candidates for the shire, on their
canvassing expeditions preceding a contested election; the
carrier, who met the mail on the high road, at the finger-
post, some three miles away, and was also the postman; or
the literary missionary, who left works in numbers at the
farm-houses, whereof the gentle excitement was well sus-
tained, by sewing up the most startling illustrations with the
heavier reading, opposite remote parts of the story; which
was an admirable notion, and very promotive of continued
curiosity.
This little village, then, which was called Pottleton — or
Pot'ton, by popular rustic elision — was situated in a valley,
along the centre of which ran a small stream, whose only mis-
sion was to turn a couple of mills, and then babble pleasantly
through some rich meadows, spangled with water-lilies, and
edged with round-headed pollards, until it tumbled over the
lock of a canal near the high road. The valley ran from east to
west, and so the village had the sun all day. In the morn-
2 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
ing, its white cottages quite sparkled in the light; and to-
wards afternoon, when you had climbed one of the hills —
through the fern, and golden furze, and quivering harebells
that clothed them — and turned round to breathe, and look
back, upon gaining a platform of something that was neither
turf, nor moss, nor velvet, but a union of all — how pleasant
was the prospect of the village ! At such time it seemed to
be dozing in the warm glow, embosomed in trees. The gilt
weathercock on the square grey church-tower twinkled in the
sunlight, and one or two casements flashed back the rays,
revealing small dwellings which, but for this, you would not
have noticed, so embowered were they in thick-leaved clumps.
You heard no more noise than was sufficient to set off the
silence. The lulling murmur of the mill-water, a distant
sheep-bell or two, perhaps the occasional low of a cow, as she
turned round and looked behind her with an inquiring gaze,
whilst strolling up the village; or the hum of an aspiring bee,
who preferred having it all his own way upon the hills, to
joining the swarms about the sunny and secluded cottage
gardens — that w^as all. Everything, at such times, spoke of
rest and comfort, and tranquil existence. If you had found
yourself there, fresh from the fevered struggling life of a
large city, the intense feeling of repose would have affected
you almost to pain.
The houses of Pottleton were very humble. The inn was
the largest; and the inhabitants looked upon its sign — which
represented a red lion, as he might appear when anxiously
learning a hornpipe — as a fine piece of art. There were no
rows nor streets. The dwellings stood by themselves, pre-
senting warped gables and massive chimneys in all direc-
tions; and monthly roses and honeysuckles seemed ready to
pull them down by their very weight of petals. Huge trees
grew before them at the roadside, casting deep shadows a
noon over the highway ; and in one, at the inn, had been
made a perfect house upon the first branches, where, in
summer-tide, quite shut in by leaves, the thirsty passengers
rested and smoked their pipes, and tasted their clear beady
ale, as they listened to the birds, all about them, making such
fine minstrelsy, that hearts were scarcely large enough to
drink in so great an enjoyment. ^
At the end of the village, a short way down a bye lane,
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 3
along which was such small traffic that the road was covered
with grass, stood The Grange. A long time ago, out of the
memory of everybody, and now only known by a damp, half-
legible tablet in the church, a good old Cavalier family had
lived there, whose fortunes it betokened as it became dila-
pidated or restored; but hardly compensated, by the revelry
that reigned about it at the Restoration, for the sad, harrowing
days and nights of suspense and terror that had followed on
the fights of Naseby and Worcester. But the land around
it had been bought, and juggled away, and encroached on,
from some uncertainty in the title — bit by bit — until scarcely
any was left. Then the house stood for years untenanted,
and was, of course, haunted. Boys knocked at the door and
rang the rusty court-yard bell for amusement, paying ima-
ginary visits to the phantom owners whenever they passed —
only in the broad daylight, though — until the knocker and
bell were both carried away. Next, the same boys broke the
windows, which was a fine excitement at a small risk; and
then the birds and bats got in and lived all about. But at
length the parish put the old building somewhat in order,
and parcelled it into a number of small tenements — half of
which were made into almshouses, and the others let to the
poorer villagers; the man at " the shop" renting the hall as
a warehouse. "What had been the terrace was divided into
slips of garden; the chimneys that had tumbled down through
the roof into the lofts were all set up again; the owls were
driven out, and the tiles replaced; and soon creepers hung to
the walls, up to the very eaves. And far worse objects
might have been looked at than the scarlet runners which
swung their bright blossoms from the blackened timbers and
rusty bits of iron, wherever they could contrive to twist
themselves round.
The church was an old grey Norman building near the
Grange, with no two windows alike, albeit there were many;
and these appeared to have been studiously put in the most
useless places — behind beams, and under pews, and right up
to the ceiling; and glazed with panes as green and thick
as though they were made of flattened wine bottles. All
about the graves were daisies; and primroses and cowslips
even. None of them were shuffled down, nor were the
withies displaced that bound thera into form, although a foot
B 2
THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
thoroughfare ran between them, cutting ofF an angle of the
road; for the churchyard was the resting-place of one large
family, and the same names could be read on many of the
wooden monuments. Death lost much of its terror, and the
separation was less severe, when the survivors reflected that,
in a few years, they would again meet in that common home.
Little children played under the lych-gate, and made flower-
chains upon the tombstones. These grew up, and married
and died; and at their funerals, other little children still
clustered about the grave-yard and under the lych-gate, as
they watched the body carried to its rest, with curious awe.
And so, all tranquilly, the life of the village went on.
CHAPTER II.
OF THE GREAT EXCITEMENT THAT WAS CAUSED IN THE
VILLAGE BY THE VISIT OF A STRANGE MONSTER.
One fine July morning there was a great stir in Pottleton.
Had any one taken a stick and poked up an ant's nest, the
inhabitants would not have been in fuller activity.
For months before there had been indications of important
changes in the neighbourhood. Trees and hedges had been
cut down and levelled, and huge banks cast up in the middle
of the fields. Stalwart men worked with spade and pickaxe
from morn till eve; and when sunset came ate so much beef
and drank so much ale that the butcher opened another shed,
and two inoffensive cottages made an almost fairy change
into beer-shops, with real signs of the " Fox under the Hill,"
and the "Bold Navigator." The latter at first somewhat
confused the villagers by being represented upon land, with
a spade in one hand, and a pewter-pot in the other — ^thus far
differing from Captain Cook, the only navigator received at
Pottleton as an authority, by means of his " Voyages," left
in numbers as above described, although after a time they
got used to him.
The natives were told that a railway was coming that way;
but they looked at the hill towards which it took its direction,
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 5
and incredulously shook their heads. When, however, the
labourers arrived at its base, and, instead of going up its
slope, proceeded gravely to tunnel it, — when, also, they saw
that these strangers had a wonderful horse, which they made
to pull a dozen trucks of dirt after him as easily as though
he had only been drawing a tilted cart, they began to look
upon them with awe. And henceforth none of the village
swains had a chance, either in love or war, with the navi-
gators.
At last, they were told that all was ready, and the line was
to be opened on a certain day; and when that came, Pottleton
was like a fair. Hitherto, "Club-day" had been the great
festival. On that anniversary the men wore blue bows on
their hats, and marched all about the village, with a band,
and a banner inscribed, " Let brotherly love prevail," which
it always did until after dinner, when the fighting com-
menced for the evening, and the brothers laboured under
notions that they were all right, and not going to be put
upon by nobody. Their wives then haunted the " Red Lion"
in great distress; and the doctor was constantly called up, all
night long, to broken heads. But the outburst over, Pottle-
ton was always tranquil again for a twelvemonth.
Except on the fine July morning above spoken of, when,
at an early hour, the bells were ringing; for there was a
regular peal in the old Norman tower, belonging to some
abbey long since levelled, with mottoes cast around them in
quaint letters of monkish Saxon, which Mousel, the sexton,
said was " forrin." Then came all sorts of strangers into the
village, as the morning advanced. The " Red Lion" was
full — so were the beer-shops — so even were the temporary
hostels formed of fan-like ferns and hurdles, which covered
tubs of beer under the hedges at the cross-roads, that they
might look cool to the dusty visitors when the day got on :
and it promised to be a broiler.
Old Master Harris, the pieman, who also took messages
and small parcels to Dibblethorpe, — distant some two miles, —
was early about, with an artful engine that spun round, and
always frustrated the hopes that rode upon the point of its
dial, to his immediate advantage. His pies were wondrous
things, made entirely of air and pepper; and were distin-
guished by various names, as the taste of the consumer sug-
b THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
gested. In all of tliem, to be sure, were certain atomic sub-
stances, over which the dome of crust was raised; but they
bore no greater proportion to it than did the body of Cheops
to his pyramid. Nevertheless, they were very popular in
Pottleton.
Soon came in folks from the adjacent hamlets, mostly rosy
girls in the gayest patterns from " the shop" where they sold
everything ; and, in the hurry of Saturday nights, often
wrapped up the half pounds of butter in the printed cotton
handkerchiefs, mistook eggs for balls of cotton, and got con-
fused between button-moulds and peppermint drops. Anon,
carriage people drove into the village, all of whom were
liurrah'd by the boys as forming a part of the festival: the
boys being then, as now, and there as everywhere else, the
grand enthusiasts in all popular gratuitous festivity. Lastly,
the excitement was wrought up to its highest pitch by the
arrival of the band, with the sexton of the church vestry,
staff in hand, acting as a sort of ecclesiastic drum-major.
The band was powerful in wind, and exceedingly great in
brass; with a very able-bodied drum. It would have come
out greatly in those singular concerts popular with the Dutch,
wherein various airs are said to be sung by as many voices at
the same time. But what it wanted in harmony it made up
for in earnestness; and but for lack of length in arms and
instruments, there is no conceiving to what extent the trom-
bones would have been pushed out by the exertions of the
performers.
But the grand centre of all the attractions was the
triumphal arch over the line at the corner of the " Four-
acres." At first, when its naked poles were raised, the vil-
lagers thought it was a scaffolding for a church-tower or
brewery-chimney. Then wicked wags circulated the report
that it was a great gibbet to hang twelve of the navigators
upon, for robbing Farmer Grant's hen-house; which, by the
way, after all, had been traced to the gipsies. But at last,
when cartloads of evergreens went through the village, and
were tied about it, and flag pocket-handkerchiefs were hoisted
at its corners, and a large nest was left amongst the laurel,
in which the Sunday-school children were to sit and sing a
moral chorus, then its destiny became clear. And here the
greatest mob collected, bawling, jostling, and launching local
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 7
allusions at the constables, who had been selected for the day
from the better class of labourers. The very young children,
with sun-blanched hair and unlatcheted shoes, buried one
another in the dust until they resembled heaps of road-
scrapings themselves. The gathering of the people made
their festival; and if there had been nothing else to see but
the crowds, they would have been equally happy.
There were many old-fashioned inhabitants of the village
who did not enter into the excitement with all the gay
feelings of their neighbours. Not from any proper-to-be-
observed love of the " good old coaching times," nor from
misgivings as to the result of the railway station upon the
general prosperity or economy of Pottleton. But they were
old world folks, kind and honest withal — for the old-fashioned
hearts, like the furniture, were well and truly put together,
and stood a deal of wear — and to them the village had been
a universe; and so everything about it was almost a part of
their being. They had known the very individual trees
which now lay lopped and barked at the side of the line,
from childhood; they had ridden in the wagons that once
plodded along the level road on which they now had to climb
a hill to cross the rails, or had gone, when very little, into
the field on sunny summer evenings, to blow the " w^hat's-o'-
clocks" into many feathery films, or collect great handfuls of
fragrant clover and buttercups, where a deep cutting now '
divided the pasture. And therefore they felt that they were
losing their oldest friends, and breaking away from those
disinterested attachments which childhood only forms, with-
out hope of profit or dread of insincerity. The change was
to them a sad one. It was like a public sale of old sym-
pathies — the humblest things through which nature once
communed with them about their homes, put up to auction,
and knocked down to the highest, and strangest, bidder.
But the boys were less sensitive. They found fun in
everything — even in the sexton when he was not looking.
But at other times they respected him greatly, more especially
on hot restless afternoons in church. For then he had a cane,
the echoes from which now and then interrupted the service,
as it fell on the shoulders of ill-disciplined urchins in the
free seats who dared to go to sleep there — a breach of
manners which betokened marvellous somnolency, when the
8 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
upright and knotty construction of the free seats was taken
into consideration.
" Ooray, for Pickled Sam!" shouted a boy who was sitting
on the foot of a young oak.
The sexton had acquired the title from the habit of crying
" pickled salmon" through the village, which cry he had cor-
rupted into the nickname applied to him. He looked sharply
round, turning his attention from the band, and directly
another voice saluted him from the other side.
"Mind your toes with that big stick: look out, Sam!"
And a weed with a fibrous root, and a quantity of dry
earth about it, flew through the air and hit his hat.
" Please, Mr. Mousel, sir, that was Whacky Clark throwed
that, sir," cried a weak-minded boy of parasitical disposition,
who looked damp and acid, and hunted the tufts — so to
speak — of the sexton's Welch wig, which he wore at rainy
funerals.
" Give it him!" cried a dozen voices. The partizanship of
a mob, either of boys or men, is but a rotten affair to trust to.
Whacky Clark, as he appears to have been called, although
there is no record of the name in the Pottleton registry, and
who was the ne'er-do-well of the village, gave his accuser the
lie in good Saxon English, and then dived amongst the crowd
to put him, according to old law, to the ordeal by battle,
which turned very rapidly in Whacky 's favour; and the
diversion caused by this scuflle was only put a stop to by
the clock striking noon, at which time the train was to be
expected.
" Here she comes!" cried the urchin in the tree.
There was renewed jostling, and jumping up and down,
and then a laugh from the same quarter showed the mob had
been made fools of.
But that the time was at hand was shown by the arrival of
the privileged company, who stood beside the arch. There
were the two Miss Twinch's, sisters of the lawyer, who, con-
ceiving that they had been neglected through life, revenged
themselves upon a small portion of mankind, by visiting the
poor, but never giving them anything except advice: and
would stop small children in the road when taking their
father's dinner to the field, and ask them, with great severity,
the hardest parts of the Catechism, such as " I desire," and their
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 9
duty towards their neighbour, of which personage each one had
a different notion according to their residence. The eldest Miss
Twinch had lately taken some strange religious fancies into her
head — at least, so the villagers thought, who had great belief
in the creed their fathers had professed before them. They
attended their morning and evening service on the Sundays
with constant zeal, when the pleasant bells called them to
worship; but this was not enough for Miss Twinch. She
would watch the old woman who went in to beat the hassocks
and clean the church, and steal in too, for what she called
her private devotions. Indeed, once she was nearly cured by
being locked in by mistake, and passed a winter's night in the
old carved oak family pew, formerly belonging to the Grange,
where she was found the next morning, on the occasion of a
wedding, more dead than alive. She had also worked some-
thing with a hard Latin name, to put upon the altar, for lack
of employment in the slipper and brace embroidery line — the
young men of the locality having ceased to throw out even
any straws of hints that they -wanted such things, for Miss
Twinch's sinking hopes to clutch at. She had besides been
more than suspected of having once walked to the site of the
abbey with uncomfortable pebbles in her shoes, after she
thought that she had done wrong in going to a party at
Farmer Grant's; at which, by the way, no one asked her to
dance, even in Sir Roger de Coverley, which we take to
be always a great asylum for the neglected. But finding that
the pebbles all cut holes in her stockings she had given up
the pilgrimage for the future.
Mr. Wolly also was there, the retired grocer, who had built
a house like a large tea-caddy, with a conservatory that re-
minded one of an inverted sugar-basin, and garden-walks
that looked as if they were gravelled with powdered candy;
and who had lost the civility of the tradesman without
acquiring the manners of the gentleman; and his daughter,
who dressed according to the fashion books, and was looked
forward to at church, on the first Sunday in the month, as
though she had been a periodical, by all the farmers'
daughters. Several, to be sure, were rather jealous of her,
and these, with great bitterness, would speak of her father's
money as " fig-dust."
Mr. Page, the clergyman, was received with general
10 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
welcome; indeed, so eager were the children to make
obeisance, as they rubbed their small buttons of noses up-
wards with the palms of their hands, that they quite impeded
his progress by getting before him. The little girls per-
petually curtseyed, as though they had been pulled down by a
string; and the boys were, for once, silent, because, seeing
that the sexton himself was awed, their notion of the clergy-
man's position was tremendous. These, and other folks, took
up their places, and at last, by general clamour, the approach
of the long-expected train was announced.
From the entrance to the tunnel they first saw the coming
monster, as the steam shot up the hill-side, and its brass
glittered in the sunlight, making it look like some huge
beetle. It came on — its distant-measured puffing changing
to a racketing rattle, and that to a humming roar as it ap-
proached — crossing the bourne, and going under the Dibble-
thorpe-road as though neither existed — until, with a scream
and a clatter, amidst the buzz of the company, the terror of
the old ladies near the line, and the delighted shouts of the
boys, the first train into Pottleton came up under the
triumphal arch.
CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH THE FIRST PERSONAGE OF THE TALE APPEARS.
How the uproar attendant upon the arrival of the long
line of carriages created an excitement so great, that, to
those who arrived late over the hill, nothing was visible but
a sunny haze of dust and steam in the valley — how the
coaches that dashed up to take off the passengers to their
different destinations, the names of which were temporarily
pasted on the panels and boots, carried each a dozen boys in
addition, who swarmed like bees upon the back seat — how
the moral chorus of the Sunday-school children was drowned
in the universal noise, which was possibly an advantage,
from a difference of opinion respecting the key in which it
ought to have been sung, and an unintentional accompaniment
of the band in another tune altogether — may be thus briefly
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 11
noticed. Let us conceive that all this has been going on
until the sight is over, and the Red Lion is filled •with
thirsty spectators.
Thirsty indeed they were; and terrible was the struggle
to get anything, admitting that any one had passed the door
even, leaving the bar altogether out of the question; for in-
truders were as much kept back by the brittle nature of the
pipes that almost formed a palisade along the passage, as they
would have been by stout stockades. And the volumes of
smoke that rolled from the open windows caused the Red
Lion to look like one vast pastile-burning cottage; filling
the rooms, also, and making the long-snuffed, pale-flamed
candles that burnt all day, almost invisible in the cloud.
But the great struggle was at the bar; and very difiicult
it was for Mrs. Baker, the landlady, with her single sister,
and Whacky Clark — who, when not idling, earned what he
could anyhow about the establishment — to act right by the
many hands that were thrust through the window. Customers
that day never got what they ordered and so they caught
things flying as they passed; but more frequently knocked
them over.
Thronged as every division of the hostelry was, one espe-
cial part of it became above all others the centre of attrac-
tion. At the head of an insecure table erected in the tree
before spoken of — looking like a shutter upon four broom-
sticks — sat a gentleman, who, amidst the pipes and screws of
the villagers, smoked his own cigars. He might have been
thirty years old; or, with equal probability, half-a-dozen
over or under that age: for he had one of those faces which
give us no more idea of how time is going on behind thera
than do those of clockwork pictures, whose only visible
mission is to send a train over a bridge, or a boat under it,
or toss some ships, or turn a windmill and a waterwheel, or,
indeed, do anything that may keep the amused spectator
from searching too narrowly after the time of day. He had
on that peculiar kind of flashy dress which police reporters
denominate " a fashionable exterior," consisting usually, as
in the present case, of a smart scarf, a very new hat, a slang
coat, and a massive watch-chain.
He also carried much hair on his face; but in that fashion
which gives the wearer anything but the military appearance
12 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
at which he aims: not being confined to the carefully trained
and trimmed moustaches of a cavalry regiment, but forming
two wild and fuzzy penthouses above the lips, joining the
whiskers, which, in their turn, meet underneath the lower
jaw. And beyond this, a little tuft adorned the chin of the
stranger — for such he was to the natives of Pottleton.
Nevertheless he was looked upon by them with great
respect. For, when the train had first arrived, he had made
a speech, standing upon the village pump to be heard the
better, pointing out the proud position which Pottleton, and
everybody in it, held that day, and rather contradicting
himself by the hurry in which he jumped off, when some-
body of evil intent worked the pump-handle behind him.
But his appearance and language proved him to be a clever
person : and when he eventually walked up to the Red
Lion, several of the aspiring minds of "Young Pottleton"
followed him. And they said to one another, as they gathered
round the shutter-table, " he is evidently a knowing fellow."
Mr. Wyndham Flitter, for so was he called, or rather so
did he call himself, had been known for some short time in
great London, as a man about town : not upon tOAvn, let it
be understood, but about it — one of those sharpshooters who
hang around the outskirts of society to bring down all pigeons
that escape the privileged marksmen. His circle of acquaint-
ance in taverns, theatres, and " men's rooms," was immense
— in drawing-rooms and clubs exceedingly circumscribed.
No one knew exactly where he lived when at home, for his
address was always either at an hotel, with the waiters; at
the stage door of a theatre; or at a post-office. And yet no
scheme was afloat with whicli he had not something to do;
no science existed whose rudiments he was unacquainted
with; no topic occupied public attention that he did not un-
derstand, or at all events could not talk a great deal about.
And, above all, he was an inimitable liar.
Therefore, -when the Pottleton Railway had first been
projected, nobody was surprised upon hearing that he had
been chased out of private parks by family dogs — very
rapidly finding his own level instead of the one he was sent
to take. Nor did it appear singular that he spoke at different
meetings, being engaged specially as a " bewilderer" — that
is to say, to talk the shareholders into such a labyrinth of
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 13
statistics and figures, that it was perfectly impossible for
them to ask any questions. And when finally he spoke of
" my line," no one doubted his claim, nor the way in which
he had got others into it.
"May I beg the favour of a pinch, sir?" said Master
Grant, the farmer, as the stranger put down his box, after a
flourishing speech. "I should say that was uncommon
valuable."
" Oh — a trifle, as it is," replied Mr. Wyndham Flitter:
" but valuable indeed from association. The great Russian
minister, Count Onorofl', gave it to me for placing two of
his sons in the Austrian embassy. You have not been to
Vienna?"
" Can't say as I have, sir — no," answered Farmer Grant,
shaking his head after a minute's reflection. " My missus
has a brother, though, in forrin parts. Let me see — where
is it he's a sailing; it's something to do with needles."
" Isle of Wight," said Mr. Flitter, decisively, silencing a
rash miller who had suggested " Birmingham."
" No — stop a bit — the Darning Needles — that's it."
" Ho!" continued Mr. Flitter: " Dardanelles you mean."
Farmer Grant nodded, much relieved in his mind.
" That's not near Vienna," said Mr. Flitter; "but I know
it well. This ring was given to me there. It's odd you
should have mentioned it; and the anecdote of my getting it
is somewhat curious."
The company all turned towards him.
" It was during a bombardment by the French," he went
on; "I was in a Greek regiment, merely as an amateur, and
quartered with a native noble. One morning, whilst we
were shaving, a shell came through the looking-glass. The
fuze was alight — not a second was to be lost — I cut it off
with my razor, and threw it into the hot-water jug. "We
were saved; and he gave me this ring for doing it."
The stone was like half a blue bird's egg, set and
polished.
" It has a singular property," he continued, taking it ofl".
" Observe — I spin it on its stone. After a few revolutions,
the stone turns uppermost."
In effect the ring behaved as he stated, and the admiration
of the company was great.
14 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Centrifugal force," continued Mr. Wyndham Flitter :
" nothing else — ^the force that makes your taxed cart cut the
outside edge, and throw you out, when you go sharp round a
corner. Precisely the same thing."
The villagers looked, and thought, and contracted their
foreheads, but did not clearly understand the theory. Mr.
Flitter drew out his watch meanwhiles; indeed, throughout
the conversation he had been very intent upon the time.
" This watch," he said, fearing the villagers might ask
him more questions about centrifugal force than he cared to
answer, "once belonged to Napoleon. He was a distant
relation of my family — my mother, in fact, was a Corsican.
But difference of nation should never sever honest men.
Gentlemen, I beg you will join me, in drinking success to
the railway in a bowl of bishop."
They did not exactly understand what the beverage meant,
neither the guests nor Mrs. Baker herself; but Mr. Flitter
offered immediately to show them how to make it. And this
condescension and fresh proof of knowledge raised their
admiration higher than ever ; so that altogether it was
agreed that it was a proud day for Pottleton.
CHAPTER IV.
THE FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE LEGACY.
The excitement that marked the approach of the first
train was renewed as one or two more arrived in the after-
noon; and at last night came. One after another the
twinkling stars peeped out in the ruddy twilight, as the cool
evening, blushing and dewy, cleared the dusty atmosphere
that hung about the village, until it almost resumed its old
tranquillity, except that the Red Lion was yet besieged by
customers, and the navigators held high festival at the beer-
shops. Then the moon came up behind the hill, sailing just
as calmly through the deep still heaven as though railways
had never been thought about. By her cold silvery light,
the people from the neighbouring hamlets could be seen
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 15
going homewards along the fields; and by her light also, Mr.
Flitter might have been observed stealing from the Red
Lion and bending his steps towards the lane down which the
Grange was situated.
Ten o'clock sounded from the old grey church tower, and
ere the last stroke had ceased to throb in the air, he had
arrived at the building. He walked up and down in front
of it several times, keeping under the shadow of the trees
opposite, and watching the lights in the different windows.
At last, the door opened, and a figure quietly stepped out.
Flitter replied to a low cough in the same manner; and then
the two persons came into the moonlight, and met in the
centre of the road.
The new comer was a man of enormous stature, having
the appearance, at first sight, of a common railway labourer.
His features were stern and marked; and his eyes retired
far under a singularly projecting brow, which depth of orbit
appeared to have saved one of them from a gash that had
left a scar on the side of his face. His black hair was
twisted in seaman-like curls over his forehead — not in the short
crisp style of the working sailors, but rather following the
fashion of the distressed navigators, who make voyages through
the muddy streets in bad weather; or scud with bare poles —
as regards their false legs — after carriages on the roads to the
races. Nothing could be more opposite than the look of the
two individuals who now met; and yet their greeting showed
that there was evidently some strong tie between them.
"Is it all over, Sherrard ?" asked Flitter, as the other
came up.
" It ought to be," replied his companion, who was known
in the village as " The Ganger" — a name he had acquired
from his situation on the railway, where he was a sort of
sub-contractor for the works requiring labourers, collecting
his own men, and paying them; "when the doctor left to-
night, he said she was going out just like the snuff of a
candle, and he could do nothing more. That's the room," he
added, pointing to an old mullioned casement in the centre. of
one of the gables, at which a light was dimly burning.
" And there's the girl," said Flitter, as a shadow passed
across the thin curtain. "Has she been there all the
time?"
16 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" She has never once left the house — but come in; per-
haps the time is nigh at hand."
" I don't exactly see the necessity," said Flitter ; " be-
sides — if it should be so — I "
" Well?"
"Well, then; I hate a dead body. I have never seen one
that I have not dreamt of for a week afterwards; although I
have always made a point of touching it."
" Stuff!" exclaimed the other; " follow me — and as quietly
as you can."
The man took Flitter by the hand, and led him through an
old porch and doorway into a large room, with a floor of
irregular flags and tiles, which had apparently once been the
kitchen of The Grange. Despite the time of year, the place
was chill and damp. Huge cobwebs, looking as if they had
been spun in the middle ages, to collect all the flies and motes
that had since floated upon them, stretched across the angles
of the walls, or adhered to large rusty hooks which depended
from the ceiling. There was very little furniture. A truckle-
bed was in a corner of the room; and one or two boxes about
the floor served as chairs. The plaster had fallen from the
walls and ceiling, showing the laths and joists underneath;
old wooden racks were tumbling from their corroded nails, and
the stove of a copper, in the corner, had been converted into
a sort of cupboard for rubbish. The rust and dirt showed
that it was long since a fire had been lighted there. An old
long single-barrelled gun, a spade or two, and a pickaxe,
completed the catalogue of all that was moveable.
" Mind how you come," said the Ganger. " Stop ! keep
where you are an instant, until I can get a light."
He felt on the shelf over the fireplace for some matches;
and, after a flash and a lurid glare that threw a ghastly ex-
pression over his features, lighted a candle end stuck into a
lump of clay on the mantelpiece.
" I am glad of that," said the other, in a low tone. " If
there is a thing I hate, it is the moon shining into a dark
room. It keeps me awake like a dog."
" That's lucky, then, just at present," replied his com-
panion, with a single dreary chuckle; " for I want you to be
awake, and very wide, too. There," he added, shutting the
door; "now we are all right." ^
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. l7
" Can nobody hear us?"
" Not a soul. The house is walled into three divisions,
and this is one of them. The old woman's room overhead is
the only other. Now, look here."
He went to one of the boxes, and unlocking it with a key
which he kept tied up in a corner of his neck-handkerchief,
took out a paper and brought it to the fireplace, round the
few expiring embers of which they gathered — more from
habit, though, than cold."
'- You will see I have not thrown away my time," he went
on; ''the six months I have been here is worth a future
life."
" I hope it may be," said Flitter. '• Proceed."
And poking a cigar into the live ashes, he began to smoke,
whilst the other continued, speaking almost in a whisper —
" When I first found out that the old woman was really a
miser, and lived in this miserable way, still to keep saving, I
watched my time, as you know, and got this room to keep
my eye upon her."
'• And you have succeeded?"
" You shall hear. It was not difficult to make friends.
One of my gang wired a hare now and then, or knocked
down a bird in the gorse along the big cutting, and I used to
send it up to her. This saved her money; and that was
quite enough."
" And her nephew — young what was his name I"
"Hammond — Philip Hammond. Oh! I contrived that
very cleverly. He could turn his hand to anything, so I got
the contractor to give him something to map, or plan, or
draw, or whatever it was, on one of the French lines. He
scarcely knows that his aunt is ill. I have played our game,
though, capitally in his absence, as we intended to do."
" But have you quite succeeded?" asked Flitter, eagerly.
" Hush!" replied the other, speaking in a still lower tone.
" I got her to believe that he was making his fortune, and gave
her a few trumpery things that I brought over when I was
on the ' Havre and Rouen,' as though they came from him.
I need not tell you all I did. However, it ended in her
making a will, and leaving everything, I am assured, to the
girl, as likely to want it most, and with a recommendation to
her to marry Philip on his return."
c
18 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" A ' recommendation' !" exclaimed Flitter, with a short
cynical laugh; " very well — we shall see."
" I may depend upon you; — is it a bargain?"
" Safe," replied the other. " Hark! what's that?"
As he spoke, some light, hurried footsteps traversed the
floor of the room above them; they then heard them descend-
ing the creaking staircase quickly, and the next instant the
door opened, and a young girl entered.
She was, at a glance, very handsome; of a rare perfection
of features and general contour, that even her pale jaded
face and very ordinary apparel could not deteriorate. Her
hair, dishevelled, as though from watching or allowing her
head to lie about in uneasy slumber, was of that lovely colour
which, chesnut in subdued light, becomes as bright as gold
when the sun shines through out, and is always the accom-
paniment of a beautiful skin. As she stood in the doorway,
in her thin white dress, with the light she had left in the
passage thrown behind her, she appeared almost like a
spirit.
" Come up stairs, Mr. Sherrard; pray come directly. My
aunt is dying !"
She spoke this with a quick and terrified emphasis, scarcely
noticing Flitter, who had risen as she entered. The Ganger
took the light from the chimney-shelf, and, with his com-
panion, followed her.
They went up stairs into an apartment immediately under
the heavy roofing of the gable, more forlorn than the one they
had just quitted, one side being almost taken up by an ancient
bureau, of which we shall have to speak anon more particu-
larly. Beyond this was another and still smaller room — a
mere closet — the entrance to which was veiled by an old
curtain. Directly under the sloping roof was a bed, and on
it lay an old female, evidently in the last agony, the only
signs of life visible being an occasional convulsion of the
muscles of the lower jaw, and a clutching of the patchwork
coverlid in her skinny bird-like hand.
The girl went at once to the bed, and then looked at Sher-
rard with an anxious and inquiring gaze.
" She's going," he said, aside to Flitter. " Send for one
of the women next door, and get somebody else to run after
the doctor. It's of no use, but he had better be here."
^
i ' '^-^
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 19
The other departed, as the girl raised the head of the
patient against her bosom with one arm, and with the other
seized the hand lying on the bedclothes.
"Aunt!" she cried — "AuntMilly! do speak to me. It
is only Annie."
Whether it was that the well-known voice recalled for an
instant the sense of departing life, or that, just at the moment
the expiring light gave its last flicker, cannot be told. But
the dying female opened her eyes and turned them towards
the girl, and then slightly moved her other hand, which had
been hidden beneath the turn-down of the thin worn sheet.
Annie, as we may now call her, threw back the cover, and
saw that she clutched a folded paper tightly. As this was
done, the girl felt the weight heavier on her arm — more dead,
as it is expressively termed. The eyes were still wide open
and turned towards her, but an instant had served to cast a
dull glaze over them; then the mouth slightly opened, and
the hands moved no more.
'' She is gone!" said Sherrard, through his teeth, as he
watched this short closing scene.
With a look of mingled agony and terror, the girl allowed
the head to fall back upon the pillow, carefully though, as if
she still feared to disturb it. And then she again called out
the name, but this time in sharper and more intense accents.
The eyes were still wide open, but there was no reply.
" She is dead — she is dead!" cried Annie, bursting into
tears, as she fell on her knees at the side of the bed; and
seizing the hands, bent her fair head upon them. " Philip is
not here; and now I am quite alone!"
" Not alone," said Sherrard, as he advanced towards the
corpse and drew the paper from its relaxed hold — " not
alone, Annie; I will look after you."
The document that he now held in his hand was The
Legacy.
c2
20 THE POTTLETON LEGACY. -
CHAPTER V.
MR. TWINCh's household AND OPINIONS.
Mr. Twinch, the lawyer, was a hard-faced man, who never
allowed any of his features to play, except his eyebrows; and
that was only because he could not help it. He wore a light
brown curly wig, that looked as if it had been made out
of a door-mat, and large spectacles, such as the alien world
believed were used only by astrologers, wicked old fairies,
superannuated collecting clerks, and Mother Hubbard.
The furniture of Mr. Twinch's house was equally hard.
The chairs were harsh, durable things, that kept bolt up-
right, and were incapable of impression ; the stark sofa had
the deceptive stuffing of the wooden pin-cushion in a cheap
work-box, and could not be perforated beyond its hard serge
cover, except by a harder nail, rows of which, with round
polished heads, gave a coffin-like gaiety to the article. Some
hard, light-reddish mezzotints of female figures, with very
short w^aists, in allegorical positions, with hard Cupids, were
hung up in tough, tarnished frames; the locks turned hard
and scrooped, in the cellarets; the biscuits in the sideboard
w^ere all rock-cakes; and everything about the house had
been rubbed so hard, that it looked as resolutely gaunt with
the chafings it had experienced, as though it had been
human.
On the day on which the railway opened, Mr. Twinch had
been keeping w^hat he called open house — that is to say, he had
prepared his tw^o rooms for all such valuable clients as the event
might have brought into Pottleton. The right hand apart-
ment, or drawing-room, in which was a hard, gaunt piano,
whose hammers justified their name, was set aside for his
more distinguished connexions; and there, port and sherry
kept guard by the cold fow^ls. The left hand room, or par-
lour, received the yeomen guests, and cape and currant wines
stood in black bottles beside the spare-rib and boiled beef.
The eldest Miss Twinch presided over the quality, and the
younger one paid attention to the farmers; whilst Mr. Twinch
himself oscillated between the two rooms, and shook every-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 21
body hardly — not warmly — by the hand, imploring that they
would call for what they wanted, which is always a likely
thing for people to do at a strange house, when they do not
see it on the table; and especially one like Mr. T winch's.
'• Well, thank goodness, that's over!" said Mr. Twinch, as
the last guest went away in a chaise-cart. " Now, I'll try
and get something for myself; I have not had a crumb to-
day."
Miss Letitia, or, more properly, Miss Twinch, obeyed the
call. She was thin and straight in figure, devoid of pro-
minences, and guiltless of crinoline; and her complexion re-
minded one of Castile soap.
" Come, Tishy — sit down," said Mr. Twinch; "and where's
Martha?"
" She will be here directly, Septimus," replied his sister;
" she is only seeing that the plate is all right. I said the
good people in the parlour would never know what to do with
the silver forks."
" They hadn't a bad idea, though, to judge from the round
of beef," answered Mr. Twinch.
" I do not allude to their appetites, but to their habits,
Septimus," continued Miss Twinch. '• We have found the
forks in such odd places — so absurd to be sure — tumbled into
the brandy cherry-bottles and the pickled onions, and stuck
in the mustard-glass, and even lying in the butter-boat of
cold mint sauce."
" They took them for spoons," observed Mr. Twinch ;
" slit spoons, I shouldn't wonder."
<' But that made them very difficult to find," said Miss
Twinch. "And they bent some of them so, trying to carve
Farmer Grant's chickens "
" Chickens!" cried Mr. Twinch : " cast-iron cocks and hens,
you mean. They were perfectly petrified."
"I know they were, Septimus; and that is how the prongs
of the forks all got bent, like I don't know what."
" Don't you ?'' said Mr. Twinch. " Never mind, Tishy, as
long as they are all safe. There ; do sit down and take some-
thing. Here's a sidesbone."
" No, not to-day, Septimus ; thank you, but not to-day,"
replied his sister, looking somewhat grave.
" Oh ! I forgot," said the other. " To be sure ! it's one
22 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
of your fish days, as I call them : scaly feeding, ho ! ho !"
and Mr. Tvvinch rubbed his hands as he chuckled at the joke.
" Well, I don't know what we shall do, then ; there's nothing
in the shape of it in the house, except the bottle of anchovy
sauce ; and you can't dine from that alone, you know."
" Don't, Septimus," replied Miss Twinch, in a tone of mild
reproof, — " don't."
Mr. Twinch didn't accordingly; but began to make a keen
inspection among the remnants of the cocks and hens, to see
if there was anything left besides backs and drumsticks. And
whilst he was thus occupied. Miss Martha Twinch, having
filled the plate-basket to her satisfaction, entered the room,
and put down a little square mahogany box upon the table,
with a bang that almost alarmed the others.
"There !" she said, somewhat angrily ; "that does not speak
much for the charity of your friends, Septimus. Not a shil-
ling — not a penny even, from the whole lot."
On close inspection, there might have been seen, inscribed
upon the side of the box, " Penny Contributions for the
Pongo Enlightenment Mission."
" And Avhen I presented it to young Grant," said Miss
Martha, " he said, ' Thank you,but I don't smoke.' The filthy
wretch thought I offered him cigars."
"I can't blame him for that," observed Mr. Twinch, "con-
sidering it's an old box for holding them. Besides, the whole
affair's against my system."
" Septimus," said Miss Martha, reproachfully, " there are
two million savages in the Pongo islands, who have eaten
every missionary upon his arrival, and can't write their
names."
" Ah !" said Mr. Twinch ; " well, they can't be very par-
ticular if they ate the last you sent. He didn't look very
digestible. Here, give me the box."
He took the box, and, driving one end in with the handle
of his knife, tumbled the halfpence it contained into his hand,
and put them into his pocket, as he added :
" Charity begins at home, and ought to end there, too.
Now, not a word; I won't have it, girls."
" The Girls," as Mr. Twinch had termed them for thirty
years, looked at one another, each desiring that the other
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 28
should speak. But finding no apparent intention, they were
both about to begin, when their brother stopped them.
"Pooh! stuff! nonsense!" he exclaimed. "Why, it's
making yourselves accessory to murder ; you might as well
call it a mission for the propagation of cannibalism. Pshaw!"
Here Mr. Twinch darted his fork into some collared head,
and proceeded to carve it as savagely as though he had been
scalping a native. And The Girls, knowing he was not to
be spoken to after he had once expressed a determination,
with anything like effect, silently retired — Miss Martha to
take account of the fragments, and put the things away in the
china-closet, where they would have a long repose, and Miss
Twinch to make a light meal from a poached egg in the
kitchen. She chose this retreat, because she feared her
brother's improper raillery, who would insist that eggs were
poultry, and that she might just as well eat a boiled fowl
whilst she was about it. In the matter of fish also he had
been equally severe, having learned from the answers to cor-
respondents of a Sunday paper, that "a whale was an animal,"
so that he would say, "it's just as likely salt-fish maybe
boiled beef in another shape." And this point he would
never give up, reading it aloud every other week, with the
age of a popular actress, the question about the county of
Southampton, how many fifteens B held in his hand at crib-
bage, and all the other weekly points of dispute that certain
obtuse individuals will persist in not feeling comfortable about.
Having finished his repast, Mr. Twinch retired to his ofiice,
which, from being fitted up with a cooking-range and copper,
was suspected of having once been a wash-house. But there
was the regular regulation-table, covered, as were the shelves,
with bundles of those grubby smoked papers you always see
lying about in an office, and looking as if they had never been
moved from one year's end to the other. Amongst these
Mr. Twinch sat, and performed feats of sleight of head and
conveyancing, as well as making Pottleton and its neigh-
bourhood into one great chess-board, on which living men
changed about. And some of the moves by which he won
his game, or checked his adversary, were very remarkable.
Yet he was an honest man with all his hardness ; but as rigid
as if he had been a mere legal machine of perfect construc-
tion, with all its decisions the results of rack and pinion work.
24 THE POTTLETON LEGACY,
He liacl lighted a huge flaring candle under a shade, and
was reading over a document, written in a strange tough,
bolt upright hand, which might have been Chinese upside
down, for what any ordinary person could have told to the
contrary. The crackling sheet of parchment was inlaid with
blue bits of paper, of the same kind as that twisted at the tops
of fireworks, and, at times, of the same inflammable nature,
and these were, in their turn, variegated by snips of the
metal used in packing tea. Whilst thus occupied, he heard
a mild double knock at the oflTice door. It was not a usual
hour for a client to come, so Mr. Twinch was somewhat
startled; but he took his candle, and letting in the visitor,
found it to be the clergyman of the parish — a young curate,
in high shirt collar and cloth boots.
" Ah ! Mr. Page ! come in, sir, — pray come in," said Mr.
Twinch, as he led the other into his office. " Let me oiFer
you something — perhaps you have not dined ?"
He kept his fingers on the bell-rope: but he didn't pull it.
*' Thank you — not for me," returned the other. " I must
apologize for intruding upon you at this time, but my
business is somewhat important."
*' Well — pray sit down," said Mr. Twinch, pushing an
uncomfortably high stool, with its seat on a slope, towards
him; "we don't charge any more for that, you know. That's
it — stop, let me move those papers. Ah! that's the Dumpy
Hollow turnip-field that Grant means to oppose, in the
extension bill. I wish we could move it as easily. Now,
then — what is it Mr. Page? The railway again, I suppose."
" No, indeed," replied the other. " I have been this even-
ing with old Mrs. Maitland at the Grange. She is dying —
at least so Mr. Lane says, who has been attending her — and
she has sent this up to my house, with a request that I would
see you."
He took a small parcel from his pocket, and, unfolding it,
produced a steel key of curious and elaborate form, with
some initials worked in a monograph in the handle. It was
spotted here and there with rust, but had evidently been
carefully preserved.
"Ah! that's it then: quite right — quite right," cried
Mr. Twinch, taking up the pai'chment that he had been
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 25
reading; "singularly enougli, I was occupied with the subject
when you came in."
"The will," Mr. Page went on; "I have heard all about
it from the old lady herself. Do you know^ Mr. Twinch, I
am not quite satisfied about this matter: there appears to
have been some j uggling, or under-current of influence, going
on. You see, that everything has been left to her niece, and
young Hammond is almost disinherited."
"Just so," answered the other, running over the gaunt
writing of the parchment with the feather tip of his pen.
" Now, the girl is as good and virtuous a girl as any in
the world, and has some additional claim upon Mrs. Maitland
for having lived with her and waited upon her "
" Slaved for her, you may say."
" Well — slaved for her, then, so long. But it appears to
me to be very strange that she should have so overlooked the
young man; for she is known to be possessed of certain pro-
perty. Let us see — what relationship do they all stand in?''
"The two young people are cousins," said Mr. Twinch.
" Old Mrs. Maitland (or Miss Maitland, as the village people
still properly call her, for she is a spinster) had a brother and
a sister. When I first came to Pottleton, between twenty
and thirty years ago — ah! it's a long time to be looked so
shortly back upon — they were alive."
"You knew them, then?"
" Perfectly well. The brother was a good-looking fellow,
and one of the daughters of the Marsden family, who then
lived at the Court here, fell in love with him, and they were
married on the sly. He was only a young farmer, and her
father was a baronet, so you may judge how the affair ended.
Struggles, poverty, and their utter ruin, followed. The
poor young wife died before her baby was six months old,
and Maitland, leaving the child with his sister, went abroad,
and perished somewhere in Southern Africa. That is the
rough history of one of the parties."
" And the other?"
" The other married old Hammond, who lived where
Grant does now. There again was misery. Emma Mait-
land wanted a home, not a husband. The parties were ill-
matched, and one day she left him and her little boy for
some old sweetheart. That was another step you may see
26 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
the end of. She fell lower and lower, until at last misery
and disease did their worst, and she died in a London hospital.
This upset the poor man's reason. His affairs fell into diffi-
culties, and when he died he was not worth a farthing — on
the contrary, he was involved."
"It is a sad history of a family," said Mr. Page. "Then,
our Mrs. Maitland, I suppose, took charge of the children?"
"Just so. She was always thought to be decently off,
being a saving, economical woman; and she volunteered to
bring them up. This she certainly did, most creditably,
although her economy changed to absolute avarice in the
time. I certainly thought, though, when she died she would,
at all events, leave everything between them, if the boy did
not have the preference."
"You never heard anything against young Hammond?"
asked Mr. Page.
"Never," answered Mr. Twinch. "No, never," he re-
peated, after looking hard through his spectacles at the candle,
as though he expected to see some crimes chronicled in the
flame. "But don't you think she may have been influenced?"
" That's what I'm coming to," returned the curate. " You
know that strange fellow who has been lodging at the Grange
since the works began here. I don't see why or where-
fore, but I. cannot help thinking that he has had some hand
in it."
" To marry the girl, perhaps."
" No, that cannot be. He has a wife living — at least, I
have heard so — somewhere in town. Now, I wish you to
make all inquiries, and watch the business narrowly. I am
to keep this key a twelvemonth, and at the end of that
period it is to be given up; so that will give us time."
" Be comfortable, my good sir — be quite at ease. I will
look after them — and sharply too, very sharply."
If the inspection was to be made with the same eyes
which now peered so hardly through the spectacles that it
was a wonder the glasses did not shiver, there was little
doubt of its success.
The conversation then turned on general matters, and
Mr. Page stopped until it was late enough to have what
poultry scraps still remained served up at supper for a grill.
The girls did the honours with all the devotion that rising
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 27
two-score-olds feel for single parsons; and when they parted,
Mr. Page shook hands so warmly, that each thought to her-
self, " I will teach at the infant-school with redoubled
energy; and who knows what it may end in?"
But they did not tell this to one another.
CHAPTER VI.
THE GAME COMMENCES.
For a few minutes after the last breath of life had ebbed
away from the withered lips of the old woman, there was a
dead silence in the chamber. The girl still knelt at the bed-
side, showing only by the convulsive throbbing of her frame,
that she possessed more life than the corpse over whose thin
hands the tears were now trickling. The Ganger stood
looking at them, without uttering a syllable; but just betraying
a scarcely perceptible motion of his head — nodding, as it
were, in acquiescence to something that was passing in his
mind — as he kept his eyes fixed on the document he held.
Soon, however, they heard the neighbours coming round,
and up stairs; and then two or three old women entered the
room — too anxious to arrive, upon the summons, at that most
favourite of all excuses for crones to collect together — a
death-bed. One of these was the layer-out of the village, to
whom the management of the last dreary toilet for the grave
was, by long usage, always conceded. She was the wife of
the old sexton Mousel, and added a small store to the family
income by her dismal office. It was not, however, openly
proclaimed; but pertained to her position of " searcher" in
matters of suspicious deaths. Her husband had a board over
his doorway, on which one might read, " Lodging for travel-
lers, pickled salmon, and stout elm coffins at a pound each;"
but Mrs. Mousel retired from publicity, only appearing, like
a church-yard bat, in connexion with graves and nightfall.
It was impossible to conceive anything more like the
received notion of a witch than was this old woman. She
was shrivelled and dirty — every line of her worn and
28 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
wrinkled skin being filled up with black. Something dusky
between a bonnet and a cap was tied round her head, and this
she was never seen without; and a few grey hairs straggled
from beneath it into her bleared and filmy eyes.
*' Poor deary ! poor deary I" she exclaimed, as she went up
to the body, pushing her way past the others, and taking no
notice of Sherrard. " I was only talking to her yesterday, and
she was saying, 'Mrs. Mousel, I haven't heard from my nephew
that's abroad for one month come Monday;' and now she
won't, a poor thing !"
The women about expressed great concern, and remarked
how curious it was, calling each other "Mum;" and then
they all whimpered.
" Now, I didn't send for a crowd — one will be enough,"
said Sherrard, sharply. " You may all go back again as soon
as you like."
The visitors were quite astonished: to be driven away
from a corpse within The Grange was incomprehensible!
Mrs. Mousel alone was unmoved. She took no notice of the
Ganger's words, but, putting her thumb and finger on the
eyelids of the deceased, closed them ; thus constituting, as she
imagined, her right to remain.
The sound of her voice caused Annie to raise her head,
and look round the room.
"Pray go away," she said, " Mrs. Mousel will be sufficient
to remain with me to-night. We can do everything our-
selves."
"Of course we can," added the old woman; "and a
pleasant corpse the poor dear shall be, and as comfortable as
the Queen herself, with silver shillings on the eyes, that have
closed the best of carriage families."
"Don't you want a bit more candle, Mrs. Mousel?" said
one of the neighbours, going to a closet. " Perhaps there is
some here."
There was immediately a movement of the women in that
direction, anxious to pry into the shelves, and see " how the
old 'oman lived!" Annie hurriedly rose, and ran to t he door,
placing her hand against it.
"Not there— not there!" she cried. " Poor Aunt Milly
never liked any one but me to look after her things; and no
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 29
one else shall do it, now she is gone." Then with an implor-
ing look at the Ganger, she added, " Do tell them to go away,
Mr. Sherrard. They do not mind me."
"Now, troop!" the other exclaimed, as soon as she had
spoken. " Be off, the whole pack of you, you carrion-
hunters."
There was a rush towards the door as they fell back,
muttering, before the man's determined aspect, further
alarmed at the violence with which he banged a chair against
the ground. At the same minute their departure received a
check, as Mr. Twinch came upstairs into the room.
" I have only just heard from a neighbour, who was going
home, and rang my bell," he said, "of the poor old lady's
death. Hi! — listen," he added, to the women, "I have a
little to talk about here; you will oblige me by retiring."
Sherrard directly shut them out with the door, whilst
Mrs. Mousel occupied herself doubly about the body.
" Presently, thank you — presently," said Mr. Twinch, ad-
dressing her. " You can go with, the rest, now."
" I can't leave her, sir; I can't leave her," said the crone,
in a low tone of important confidence. " If the poor dear
once gets cold, the beauty will be ruined, and I never had a
corpse that wasn't handsome, except Whacky Clark's own
father, who walked into the lock one dark night at flood-
time, and stuck head foremost in the sluice. Ah! if some
people had told other people what other people had said they
did "
" Yes, we all know; but presently, Mrs. Mousel," said
Mr. Twinch, quietly putting her without. " Miss Maitland,
my dear, this is a sad bereavement — good evening, Mr. Sher-
rard — but one that we must all, sooner or later — I did not
know that you were here — experience. There — there — don't
fret, let me see; a little more light; a — little — more — light;
and then — ah — yes."
He spoke in this disjointed manner as he took a deed from
his pocket, and tried to untie the knot of the tape that was
around it.
" I don't think we have any more candle, sir," said Annie.
" I ought to have seen about it; but I had everything to do
^and "
30 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Her voice failed her, and she broke down in tears.
"I've got some," said the Ganger; "I'll bring it to you
in an instant."
He left the room, and directly afterwards an oath and an
altercation showed that he had nearly tumbled over Mrs.
Mousel, who, having driven the others away, had crouched
down outside the door to hear what she could.
" How long has that person lived here ?" asked Mr.
Twinch, as the sound of his footsteps receded.
"Six months; perhaps a little more, sir," replied the
weeping girl.
" Did your aunt know him before?"
" Oh no, sir; but he has been very kind to her. "When I
went to the shop, he would come and sit with her, and he got
Philip his situation abroad."
"Um — ah," answered Mr. Twinch; "very good. And
■what about the key you sent to Mr. Page?"
" It opens that large bureau, sir; but I do not know what
is in it. She never let the key go from her, until she thought
she was going to die; and then I took it myself to Mr. Page.
" The box has not been opened then for a long time."
" Oh, yes, sir; poor Aunt Milly, I know, often went to it.
Only two or three days ago I found she had left her bed to
get at it, whilst I was out, and had not strength to creep
back again. If it had been winter she would have died
with cold."
" And she never said anything about it."
" Never more than it was all for Philip and me.'*
" For both of you?" asked Mr. Twanch, emphatically.
" Yes, sir," hesitated the girl; " that is — if he married me.
But that is only what poor aunt said."
The Ganger's heavy tread was heard returning; and the
conversation dropped.
" Here are heaps of candle-ends," he said, lighting one,
"I was just in time, too. I only waited a minute to see a
friend, who was starting for London to-night."
" Mr. Sherrard," said Mr. Twinch.
" That's my name, sir," answered the other, in a sturdy
voice; " and I've never been ashamed of it."
" No — to be sure — no," observed the lawyer, still looking
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 31
over his papers, which he kept putting into a certain order,
as he would have done the cards of a hand at whist. Annie
had thrown a handkerchief over the features of the corpse,
and now came and sat down by the others on a little seat that
Philip Hammond had made for her when quite a child.
" You may think this a very premature visit," Mr. Twinch
went on, speaking to Annie and Sherrard; *'but I expect it
may concern you both too much to be put off."
The girl stared at her rough companion, and then at
Mr. Twinch — her eyes expanding in the gloomy light until
they appeared to be all pupil — in perfect unconsciousness of
his meaning. The Ganger never moved a fibre of his coun-
tenance, but preserved the same attitude, listlessly gazing at
the lawyer. Mr. Twinch went on —
*' I made out this will for the good woman there;" — in the
presence of the dead, he spoke in a lower tone, as though he
thought the senseless body would hear it, and rebuke him for
a breach of confidence, — "from a paper she brought to me*
Do you know what its contents were, my dear?"
Annie shook her head mournfully.
"Nor you, Mr. Sherrard?"
" How on earth can I answer, unless I know what it is
you are talking of," replied the Ganger.
"Very good," said Mr. Twinch, giving him one of hi&
peculiar looks through his monster spectacles. " I will tell
you."
He unfolded a single sheet of parchment, and holding it
up near his eyes with one hand, and the candle with the
other, was about to read, when Sherrard interrupted him —
" I beg your pardon, but I see it is a legal document. If
you will tell us the real meaning of it, instead of going
through the detail, I think it will be better.
There was a quiet assurance and singularity of expression
in the man's words that quite astonished Mr. Twinch, and
for a few seconds almost took his speech away. But when
he recovered, he replied —
"Well; as you like. I thought there were one or two
points in Mrs. Maitland's determination, with respect to what
little property she may have to leave, that were not altogether
judicious "
32 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
The Ganger scowled at him.
*'But which I have, I think, arranged properly. First
and foremost, however, my dear, everything is left to you."
" To me!" cried Annie, as her face assumed, if possible, a
paler and more painful expression than it had hitherto borne,
" to me! And Philip, sir, what has she left him?"
Mr. Twinch looked hard over his horn rims at the Ganger,
as he replied in a voice that seemed, from its very hardness,
to grate against his teeth as it came out —
" She has left him nothing at all."
"It cannot be possible!'' exclaimed the girl; "he was so
good, so kind to everybody, and everybody loved him so!"
" Except," Mr. Twinch continued, " a recommendation
to him to marry you. Perhaps this has been well done,
after all."
" No, it has not been -well done," returned Annie. " Mr.
Sherrard, why did you get him to go away — to be so far off,
too, when our aunt died?"
Mr. Twinch looked again over his horn rims, and harder
than ever at the Ganger; but he merely replied — "What-
ever I did was for the best. I am sorry it has not turned
out so."
"And oh! Aunt Milly," continued Annie, as she approached
the bed; " why did you make me so very, very wretched?"
But the next instant, as though she thought she had wronged
the senseless corpse, she drew back the handkerchief from
its face, and kissed the forehead passionately, exclaiming, " I
did not mean to scold you — no, no — I know it was all your
kindness to me."
" Is that all?" asked the Ganger, still unmoved.
" Not quite," answered Mr. Twinch; " but the rest is com-
paratively immaterial. I am the executor."
" You?" said the other, with some emphasis.
" Is there anything remarkable in it?" asked the lawyer.
" And the worldly wealth— my good girl, listen to me — of
Mrs. Maitland, is treasured in that chest, of which our clergy-
man, Mr. Page, has the key."
"By what right?" asked Sherrard.
"By the old lady's request, sent to our clergyman, with
the key, this morning."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 33
" Then I suppose lie will now send it back again."
" He will do so at the end of a twelvemonth; at which time,
and not before — it is to be opened."
*• Oh, there is some juggling — some plot or mischief going
on in this affair," said the Ganger.
'• I believe there is," replied Mr. Twinch, with the hardest
imperturbability; "and that is why I have taken these pre-
cautions." He evidently thought that the Ganger spoke the
truth. " And now," he went on, " having gone thus far,
we will leave the room for the women. Who are you going
to have with you to-night, my dear?"
" No one," Annie answered, sadly.
" But there must be somebody. You cannot be left alone
with a corpse. Will you come up to my house?"
" I will remain here, sir," replied the girl, " for I could
not bear to leave her alone. And besides, the people would
come and pry about our rooms, and might take some of the
things away. I am very much obliged to you, but I would
rather stay. I was never long away from poor Aunt Milly
when she was alive, and I will be with her now until she is
in the churchyard."
"Not alone, surely!" said Sherrard.
" Why not?" asked Annie, quickly. " What should I be
afraid of?"
" Well, well, my dear, as you like — as you like," said Mr.
Twinch. " One of The Girls, or both, shall come in the
morning, and see if they can do anything. Now, Mr. Sher-
rard, we will send one of the people up, and leave her."
The old woman, who had been dismissed when Mr. Twinch
arrived, was again sent for. She had been muttering and
crooning about the lower room, and soon obeyed the sum-
mons, as the lawyer and his companion left. The Ganger
sullenly lighted him to the door, and then returned to his
own room, lighted a pipe, and drawing near the chimney by
habit, surrounded himself with a cloud of smoke as he gave
way to his reflections.
" So," he thought, " the prize will not be quite so soon
captured — the game will not be so easily won as we expected.
She has got people to look after her more carefully than we
reckoned on; and she is engaged to young Hammond — loves
D
34 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
him, too. Very well, we shall have to beat them all. Long
odds, to be sure; but I've fought against more, and con-
quered them before this."
He pondered on until the last half inch of the candle,
which he had stuck in a bottle in place of the clay stand left
up stairs, tumbled through inside, lighting up the green glass
with a ghostly flash for an instant, and then disappearing
altogether. Without undressing, he threw himself upon his
bed, and despite his thoughts, was soon in a heavy sleep.
But a dull light burnt all night long in the window above,
the only one that could be seen in the village; and once or
twice when he awoke, he could hear by the creaking rafters
that they were moving in the death-room. At last this ceased.
Annie crept, worn out with watching, and broken-spirited,
to the small inner chamber; the old woman having finished
her dismal task, and examined the contents of every bottle
she found about, even to the phials, which she pocketed to
sell, seated herself in a corner, and gathering herself up in a
heap, with her chin on her knees, rocked herself backwards
and forwards until she went to sleep. And then the apart-
ment where the body lay was as still as the grave to which
it would shortly be consigned.
CHAPTER VII.
MR. FLITTER ARRIVES IN LONDON,
That same night, Mr. Wyndham Flitter left Pottleton, and
started for London by the first up-mail train that had gone
from the village.
He waited a long time at the station; and stations are not
the liveliest places in the world to pass an hour or so in —
most especially late at night. For that of Pottleton being
as far removed from the haunts of life as they generally are
• — on a bleak common, or down a steep cutting, or at the
junction of a newly-made, quaggy, painful cross-road — no
sound broke the stillness but the ticking of the clock, or the
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 35
cliirping of the clerk's tired pen, as he filled up unending
papers, ruled like problems on a ciphering-book.
A tired policeman opened the door every now and then,
and looked up and down the line, apparently from wanton
curiosity, and to let in the cold; for he knew it was not the
time for anything to come. A rough, friezy man brought
in some uncouth leathern bags, and plumped them down in a
corner, as though they had been empty coal-sacks, and yet
they contained the essence of the loves, and hopes, and hates
of hundreds in the shapes of as many letters; and then branch
coaches dragged over the new gravel with more sleepy people.
At last, a discordant bell sounded, and the train came up.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter was rudely inserted into a carriage,
amidst five drowsy passengers, dimly seen in the glimmer of
the light; the train went on again; and he was on his way
to town — stopping once at a refreshment station, where some
pretty girls, wrapped up in shawls, and pale and shivering
with keeping awake, poured out coffee with their eyes shut,
and handed about quarters of pork-pies at random, which,
partaken together, kept the travellers in a lively state of com-
bined watchfulness and indigestion all the rest of the journey.
It was barely light when they arrived in London. Mr.
Wyndham Flitter, whose luggage was comprised in his coat-
pocket, got at once into some of those remarkably loose boxes
which ply upon wheels as night-cabs, and drove to his lodg-
ings. Not having the latch-key, he rapped lustily at the
door, and then, finding no notice taken of the summons, again
and again — the number of knocks increasing as progressively
as did the sums of money due to the sharp-witted dealer, who
disposed of his horse by the number of nails in its shoes, to
the confiding, but less calculating, individual who desired it.
Mr. Flitter's rooms were small and unassuming — very
much at variance with the mustachios that had grown and
flourished in them. In the world, he called them his " pied-
a-terre,'^ — in reality, they consisted of a small suite of a top
back bedroom and a closet, in one of those streets running
out of the Strand, which look as like one another as the
houses Morgiana chalked, and require great knowledge of
their corner shops to make sure of the right one.
Mr. Flitter knocked until heads or lights appeared at all
the adjacent windows; and lastly, after a fierce single combat
d2
36 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
with the area bell, a ray stot through the chinks of the
kitchen shutters, and a voice called out —
" Who's there !"
*' Me," said Mr. Wyndham Flitter; "only me, Mr. Stanley."
" Well, this is a pretty time of night to be making such a
noise," returned the voice, which was either that of a mascu-
line woman or an effeminate man; and then, after some delay,
there was a flicker through the fanlight of the street door,
and it was cautiously opened as far as the chain would
allow.
" Unless the last month is settled, you can't come in," said
the voice, now seen to be feminine. " I can't afford to trust
you any longer."
" It's all right, Mrs. Docker," said Mr. Flitter; " I have
gained the lawsuit. You must congratulate me ; in the mean-
time, oblige me with half-a-crown? I have no change."
" No more have I," answered the landlady, making no ad-
vances towards removing the chain. The nearest public-
house is open all night — you can get change there."
*' Um — yes, to be sure," said Mr. Flitter; " but it's rather
awkward, you see; it's a check for a large sum."
"It won't do, Mr. Stanley; you've tried it too often," said
the voice. " And mind, if you continue making that noise,
I shall give you in charge."
" But stop ! one instant, Mrs. Dock "
The closing of the door with a bang cut short the speech.
The gleam left the fanlight, then reappeared in the chinks of
the kitchen shutters, and finally went out.
What was to be done ? The morning was breaking with a
cold drizzle, and the cabman looked anxious.
" Look here, my good fellow," said Mr. Flitter, "you know
the house. If you will call in the morning for your fare,
you shall have a shilling extra. The Avoman is cracked."
The cabman did not see it exactly in the same light. He
merely grumbled forth that he could not lose sight of Mr.
Flitter till he had got his money.
" So absurd !" observed Mr. Flitter, " and with hundreds
of pounds in my pocket, tool Well; I'll hire your cab on,
then; by the hour, mind."
" Where do you want to go to, sir?" asked the cabman, still
somewhat gruff.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 37
" Go to? Oh — ah — to sleep, to sleep,'' replied Mr. Flitter.
" Go on to Panton-square, by the Haymarket, and pull up in
one of the near corners. And mind you call me at nine."
Satisfied that his money was pretty safe, as long as he had
his fare in his possession, and quite as ready to eke it out
by remaining in the same place instead of driving about upon
chance, the cabman followed Mr. Flitter's directions. And
by the time he arrived, that gentleman had wrapped himself
up in his cloak, pulled down the blinds, tied his pocket hand-
kerchief over his head, and was fast asleep.
Innovation, which now-a-days has no time to turn either
to the right or to the left, but must drive straight on through
everything, has passed by Panton Square and forgotten its
existence. The thousands who scuffle their way to and fro
on the pavement of Coventr^'^-street during the day never
give it a thought — perhaps know not that there is such a
place. There is, therefore, reason to suppose that a century
hence Panton-square will be exactly as it is at present.
For years it has not changed. The same wonderful num-
bers of foreigners are, season after season, incomprehensibly
stowed aw^ay — how, the landlady only knows — in the same
lodging-houses. At early morning the same packs of little
dogs are let out to air themselves, and then dragged back
again. The same watchman haunts the pavement, and car-
ries on the same communications with the apple-woman at
the corner — both being looked upon, by the aforesaid foreign
colonists, as spies paid by the French and Italian govern-
ments to watch them. Behind the houses also are the same
gardens — gardens at the top of the Haymarket! They are
not productive: they grow nothing, to all appearance, but
small birch rods ready for use; but yet the inhabitants ap-
pear slow to be convinced on this point. For they have
everything necessary for gardening, even on a daring scale.
There are nests of flower-pots, rakes, water-pots, and rollers
even — everything but leaves. And some have, in their fond-
ness, built arbours — melancholy little structures of old tub-
hoops and drying-posts, about w'hich the skeleton of some
former creeper is held up by shreds and rusty nails. But
nothing now grows near them — not even a weed; for the
cats and smoke have done their worst, and neither the for-
tunes nor dispositions -of the inhabitants are promotive of
38 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
further enterprise. The lamp in the centre of Pan^on-square
is possibly the dimmest in London. The ordinary experi-
ments of science appear to have been reversed in construct-
ing it, and the property of producing the smallest possible
amount of light from the largest practicable burner most
satisfactorily discovered.
Despite his strange bed-room, Mr. Wyndham Flitter slept
until nine o'clock, and without interruption. On waking,
his first thoughts reverted to his lodgings, and the some-
what inhospitable reception he had experienced. But it
would not do to quarrel with Mrs. Docker, and the cabman
had to be paid; so, after Mr. Flitter had made his toilet,
accomplished by a metal pocket comb, which played tunes in
the hair as it was used, he rapidly decided upon a reply to
the driver's question of where he was to go next.
" The Albany," said Mr. Flitter, with imposing coolness,
as though he had been invited to take the chair at a public
breakfast of all the inmates.
The locality sounded well, and the cabman, by a series of
hazardous experiments in placing huge wooden shoes upon
most uncertain projections, climbed up to his box and drove
round to the Piccadilly entrance.
" You'll wait here an instant," said Mr. Flitter, as he
opened the door himself.
A thought of the egress at the north end flashed through
the driver's mind.
" I must have my fare first, sir," said the man, tumbling
oiF his perch with frightful recklessness.
*' Stop, I forgot," said Mr. Flitter, pulling out his watch.
" Oh yes. I am too early now — ah well — never mind!" and
finding that whatever intentions he had were foiled, he re-
turned to his cab, which he now regarded as a locomotive
prison for debt, that he could not leave even upon parole.
Seeing Mr. Flitter's watch — the relic of Napoleon before
spoken of — the man felt easier in his mind as to his fare, and
started again at a livelier pace.
They called at two or three houses in the back streets
about St. James's; but the men asked after were never at
home; or rather — as the servants usually said, they did not
know, but would go and see, and returned with a negative —
it is possible they did not wish to be so to Mr. Flitter.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 39
The morning was getting on, and with it came the wish
for breakfast. Mr. Flitter looked at pawnbrokers' shops with
hungry gaze, as he passed; and then thought about his per-
sonal property. But this brought little hope. The snuff-
box of the minister, Count Onoroff, owed its platinum in-
laying to the British metal, of which it was composed, having
become deadened. The monster turquoise in the ring was
as valuable as the same amount of blue sealing-wax would
have been; and the watch, which was really good, was pe-
cuniarily unavailable, for Mr. Flitter had bought it, in an
hour of wealth, and without questions, of a cabman, who had
forgotten to take it to Somerset-house; and he had misgivings
whether certain advices, addressed to pawnbrokers and
others, might not be still extant, which would render its
temporary change of place not unattended with incon-
venience.
At length a thought struck him. " Go on to Long's," he
said to the driver. " Long's, Bond-street."
In two minutes they were at the hotel, and Mr. Flitter
again opened the cab door.
" Wait," he exclaimed; adding, as there appeared a second
doubtful movement on the part of the driver, "Pshaw!
there's my coat left on the seat, is there not? How d'ye do,
Markwell?"
There was no distinct recollection in the proprietor's mind
of the face of the visitor; but the greeting was so familiar,
that he imagined it must come from an old customer. So he
replied that he was quite well, and hoped the other had
been so.
" Markwell," he said, " I want dinner here to-day — a
first rate dinner for four, in a private room: half-past seven —
sharp, — and take care of whatever letters or luggage may
arrive for me."
Then, not caring that Mr. Markwell should ask any ques-
tions, Mr. Flitter rushed back to the cab — tolerably confident
that nothing of great importance would arrive in his absence
if his name was not precisely understood — and gave the
driver a fresh address, " and then," said Mr. Flitter, " I will
pay you, and you can go."
They stopped at a house in Mount-street, Grosvenor
40 THE rOTTLETON LEGACY.
square — a shop with a private door; and Mr. Flitter was ad-
mitted by a man-servant, who led the way upstairs.
" Is your master up, West?" he inquired.
" As much as he is, sir," replied the man; " but you can go
into his room."
And Mr. Flitter was accordingly shown into the chamber
of the friend he had come to see.
It was a small room, but fitted up in a very expensive and
elegant manner; far beyond what might have been expected
from the dingy exterior of the house. The curtains to the
French bed were of rich damask, and the wash-hand stand
of polished marble. The toilet-table glittered with the con-
tents of a costly dressing-case, of cut-glass and silver richly
gilt, chased, and emblazoned; and amongst these, money,
keys, studs, notes, rings, and a watch about the size and
thickness of a shilling, with a Trichinopoly chain and a
bundle of Neapolitan coral charms attached, were carelessly
scattered, w4th two large ivory-backed brushes, almost as big as
battledores. The looking-glass over the fire-place was nearly
obscured by cards and notes stuck in the frame. Tickets for
benefits, private boxes, and programmes of dances at semi-
questionable public balls — chances in racing sweeps, invita-
tions to parties, and visiting cards, with all sorts of random
messages and appointments scribbled on them, were all hud-
dled together; whilst a quantity of bills, principally for
gloves, Joinvilles, and white-bait dinners, paid and unpaid,
were crammed into a glass cornucopia on the mantel-piece.
A young man, scarcely of age, was wandering about the
room in a pair of Turkish slippers worked with gold, and a
rich black velvet dressing-robe, lined with wadded crimson
silk, and tied round his waist with a twisted golden cord,
apparently trying to make the operation of dressing last as
long as he could, that part of the day might be got over. His
smooth cheeks and chin were utterly devoid of hair, or even
down, but he had evidently been shaving elaborately, and
cut himself. One or two prints of popular actresses and
dancers were hung about the room; and, at the end, an entire
battalion of boots was drawn up in review, suggesting that
absurd feeling of the presence of invisible phantom wearers,
which boots always cause. 1
"Ah, Wyndham, how d'ye do, old fellow?" observed the
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 41
young gentleman. "Sit down; will you have some milk
and soda-water, or some eau sitcree and claret? It's all
here."
He pointed to a table at the bedside, on which stood various
bottles and tumblers, with a large silver cup.
"Thank you," replied Mr. Flitter; "when do you have
breakfast?"
" As soon as you like. I'm not very hungry myself; but
I'm devilish glad to see you. West, get breakfast ready:
cutlets and grill; and some — some — what else shall we have,
Wyndham? You know all about these things. West can
take a cab down to Morel's in a minute."
"Any pate they can recommend," replied Mr. Flitter.
" By the way, talking of eatables, I came to ask you to dine
at Long's to-day. A picked party — half-past seven — you'll
come?"
" Why, I was going "
" Oh! never mind; throw him over. We can't do without
you, you know; the party would be knocked on the head at
once."
The young man promised to be there, just as the servant
came into the room to say that the cabman had sent in for his
fare, and that he wanted twelve shillings.
" God bless me ! yes — to be sure. I quite forgot. My dear
Tidd, I have no change; lend me half-a-sovereign."
The money was immediately produced from a small glitter-
ing purse.
" What does the man want. West?" asked Mr. Flitter.
" Twelve shillings, sir."
"Ah — there's half-a-sovereign: give him that; and tell
him if he's not content, I'll fight him for the other two
shillings. It's quite enough."
West took the money and retired.
" An awkward business," continued Mr. Flitter; "you may
judge what time I was up this morning. Young Feversham,
in the Blues, had a row last night with Lord Edward Hamp-
ton, about a certain little party that — never mind — they
fought this morning at Finchley. I went out with Hampton:
but it's all over, and we got an apology."
" I never went out," said the other; "and I don't seem to
care much about doing so."
42 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
\.^ "Wouldn't you go out, then, if you were challenged?" asked
ivtr. ,Flitter, keenly.
" I don't know, I'm sure. If I did, I should either not aim
at my man, or fire in the air."
<' Don't say fire in the air," said Mr. Flitter. " ^ Delope' is
the proper word. And you would do that?"
*' I think so," said his friend.
"Oh!" replied the other.
"What do you say 'Oh!' so curiously for? Don't you
believe me?"
" My dear fellow, I applaud your feeling. But a man must
go out when called. Pshaw! what is it: only one in fourtee i
falls. However, let me know when you're in trouble. I'd
face an infernal machine as far as my own feelings go, and
will fight for you if ever I get the chance."
The conversation was again interrupted by West, who
entered and said: — "If you please, sir, the man won't have
less than twelve shillings; because he says it was half-a-crown
from the railway to the Strand, and then five hours in Panton-
square, at two shillings an hour."
Anybody but Mr. Flitter would have been thrown off his
guard at this contradiction to his story. But his expedients
were always ready.
" Come, that's not so bad," he said. " The cabby's a close
fellow after all. I told him not to say a word about it. Ha !
ha! very good. He deserves the two shillings. I must trouble
you again, Tiddy."
This time he helped himself from the purse, and sent the
money down. Then vapouring about the room; humming
snatches of operas; reading various notes in female hands,
as the other requested him, and having discussions thereon;
admiring the dressing-case, and getting a ring on his finger
which he could not get off again all he could do, he carried
on the time of his friend's dressing until they went in to
breakfast.
Mr. Tidd Spooner — he had Mr. H. Tidd Spooner on his
cards, but nobody ever knew what his first name was — was
a young " Oxford Man," whose uncle had lately been so good
as to die and leave him an enormous deal of money. In
consequence of this he started rooms in London ; and on his
visit knocked all the gaieties and dissipations of the season
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 4S
into a few weeks, and had extraordinory notions of what he
considered to be " life." Thus, he would account it a triumph
of fast connexion-making to know a funny actor; and if he
prevailed upon a coryphee to accompany him to a private box,
he thought he had arrived at a pitch of daring gallantry that
Kochester or Lauzun would have shrunk from. He deemed
nothing good, or even worth any attention, that did not cost
a great deal of money; and was convinced that none but
certain tailors could supply particular articles of dress, by the
taste of whom, rather than by his own, he was governed in
his wardrobe. It was the same with boots, and cravats, and
even things to eat. He affected particular billiard-rooms,
where he drank beer from the pewter, more especially when
he did not want any, and smoked a pipe: not because he
really liked either, but because he thought it was the proper
thing to be done, and gave him an antithetical superiority of
position. He had, as we have said, plenty of money and
great lack of experience; therefore he paid to be put up
to everything; consequently he was just the man to suit
Mr. Wyndham Flitter.
" What do you think of my being married?" said the latter,
in one of the intervals of breakfast.
"You must not marry, Wyndham," said Mr. Spooner^
" We can't spare you."
" Oh! it's not to come off yet," answered Mr. Flitter; ^*but
I think it's the proper thing to do?"
" And who is the lady?"
" Something very nice that I met down at an old country
house where I have been staying."
"Pretty?"
" You should see her."
"Money?"
" It is said a good sum."
"Very well; ask me to your house when it's all over."
"I'm not quite sure about that, Master Tiddy," said
Mr. Flitter. " You are not the sort of fellow a man would
like about his young wife; you gay, dangerous dog, you!"
Mr. Spooner was so pleased !
*« I don't think we should turn you from the door, though,
if you came. However, nothing is settled just yet; but you
shall be the first to know when there is."
44 THE rOTTLETON LEGACY.
The meal went on. Mr. Flitter, certainly, did full justice
to it; what with coffee, cutlets, marmalade, eggs, toast, grill,
and pale ale, he contrived to make ample amends to his stomach
for the deprivations it had endured. Then Mr. Spooner
introduced some cigars, whereof Mr. Wyndham took one to
smoke, and half a dozen to fill his case with; and, after that,
they got into a long conversation, in which Mr. Flitter
promised his friend all sorts of introductions, and Mr. Spooner
thought what a brilliant career was before him, which in-
creased in splendour as the pale ale diminished.
" Mighty wine," however, by which term the poets signify
fermented drinks generally, is a great failure, after all, viewed
as a source of happiness — a miserable will-o'-the-wisp, that
leads you into all sorts of quagmires; and trusting to it for
good spirits or bright thoughts is only living upon your
capital, with the certainty that one day you will be bankrupt.
Everybody, under its power, can imagine himself to be a
tremendous fellow^; but if he has not fixed his position in his
own sober reflections, he will but elevate himself for a harder
tumble, in trusting to whatever notions of self-superiority the
poor glamour of hard drinking gives him. It will brighten
the brain for the instant, as the blot of tallow does the wick
of the candle, or the nozzle of the bellows the billet of fire-
wood, but only to burn it away, and leave everything more
gloomy and dead afterwards.
They sat for some time talking, until Mr. Flitter, having
begged his friend to make up the borrowed twelve shillings
to five pounds, that he might recollect it the better, took his
departure, telling the other that he calculated on him at
ongs, and to be sure and come. And then he went boldly
ack to his landlady with four pounds eight shillings in his
pocket.
He knocked at the door with great confidence, and this
time it was opened to its full extent, and he entered. A new
servant received him, who was apparently fresh from working
in that mine of pure black lead, which the downstairs depart-
ment of all lodging-houses appears to form.
" Oh," said Mr. Flitter, " who are you— the maid?"
" Third floor back, sir," was the answer. It was not alto-
gether satisfactory, so he tried again.
" Where's your mistress?"
/^-?^^?:2,i^:y^fi2:^*^^j7^/;
THE rOTTLETON LEGACY. 45
" Ten shillings a week, sir, furnished," replied the maid ;
and then, seeing some expression of bewilderment upon Mr.
Flitter's face, she added, " I beg your pardon, sir, but I am
rather hard of hearing."
" I — want — to— see — Mrs, — Docker !" bawled Mr. Flitter,
So loudly that a boy heard him in the street, and exclaimed
forthwith, " Why don't you speak up?"
*' Yes, sir," answered the girl, nodding her head, but still
keeping hold of the door-latch, not pretending to move.
This was quite beyond Mr. Flitter's perception. There is
no telling what he would have done if the landlady herself
had not appeared, rather in a flurry from tumbling over the
dust shovel, which, after the ancient usage of her race, the
servant had left upon the stairs.
" Now, I won't listen, Mr. Stanley, to any more promises — "
she was beginning, when the other interrupted her.
" Mrs. Docker, I have come to pay you ; I only regret
this little account has been so long unsettled."
" Never mind, so long as it's going to be," said the land-
lady. " Come in here, Mr. Stanley; the parlour's just sum-
moned to an inquest that was found in the mud by the pier
yesterday morning whilst he was waiting for the Moonlight."
This, to many ears, might have been a somewhat confused
statement of occurrences, but Mr. Flitter appeared to under-
stand it, and entered the room.
" I think I owe you for four weeks, Mrs. Docker," he
said. "You need not have been so sharp. There's your
money — one — two," and he banged the sovereigns upon the
table until they jumped inches high, to give an idea of pro-
fusion and carelessness. ",.0h, they are quite good, Mrs.
Docker. I suppose you'll think me smasher next, as well as
a swindler. I shall be able to tell you a different story,
though, in a short time. Now we are quits, I believe."
*' There is a small account, Mr. Stanley," continued the
hostess, taking a strip of paper from her pocket, at which
Mr. Flitter winced, it looked so like a writ at first glance :
" it's for washing, and expenses, and things."
" What's all that about ?"
" Yes, sir. May twelve. Seven shirts, two and four — "
" Seven shirts !" exclaimed Mr. Flitter : " I never sent
seven shirts at once to the wash ; it's impossible. In the
46 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
first place, I must have worn one a day ; in the second, I
haven't got them."
It was necessary to correct Mr. Flitter's notions on this
point, so Mrs. Docker's tongue went off immediately like a
clockwork toy. She pointed out to him that there was the
scarlet shirt with the white collar, and the wafer pattern, and
the one with the nankeen-coloured stripes between the rows
of bulldogs. That made three: and then the cricket bat
pattern shirt ; and the one with the new back ; and the one
from which the collars had been cut away (because he was
afraid their serrated edges would some day saw his ears off
when over starched), and two that he was obliged to wear
long stocks with — when these others were reckoned up Mr.
Flitter was convinced.
" Well — I have not got seven now," he said ; " but I shall
have — soon — seven dozen, if I choose. What else is there?"
*' Letters — fifteen pence," read Mrs. Docker.
" Oh, send them back to the post-ofiice."
" But you opened them, Mr. Stanley."
"Never mind — they were insulting and vexatious com-
munications."
"And fourteen skuttles of coals."
" Fourteen! — how much, Mrs. Docker! Why, I must have
kept a blast furnace in that fire pail. It couldn't do it."
" Well, sir, there it is," said the landlady ; " I always en-
deavour to act right by gentlemen's coals, and wouldn't rob
them of a knobble."
" What's the sum altogether?" asked Mr. Flitter, taking
the bill. "Um — eighteen shillings. Very well; I'll see to it.
And now, I suppose, I may go to my room."
"In course you can, sir," replied Mrs. Docker.
' Mr. Flitter went up stairs by threes and threes to the
room, and having deposited his coat, containing his luggage,
on the bed, rang the bell for some water. But as the bell
was hung in the kitchen, and the deaf servant was at that
moment cleaning boots in the dust-hole, it was not answered.
Mr. Flitter was therefore driven to call upon Mrs. Docker,
in a loud voice, from the landing, and presently the lady
came up stairs.
" I want a needle and thread, Mrs. Docker, if you can
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 47
oblige me with one — black thread, and rather strong, if you
please," said Mr. Flitter.
" Can I do anything for you, sir?" asked his landlady.
"No, Mrs. Docker; I am a traveller, and am used, as
you know, to shift for myself. I am a cosmopolite, Mrs.
Docker."
" Are you now, sir?" said Mrs. Docker. " I dare say you
know Mr. Terkin, then, in the parlour. He's a Bold
Outlaw."
" I think I know the name," said Mr. Flitter, not caring
to correct Mrs. Docker, whose ideas evidently connected a
cosmopolite with some order of convivial brotherhood. " Oh!
so he's a Bold Outlaw, is he?"
" Yes, sir; holds lodgings, as he calls them, in the parlour,
once a month."
" And what does he do there?"
*' Oh, bless you, sir, it's a secret! Several gents come,
and while they're at their conjurations, one stands in the
passage, and always borrows Mr. Docker's old sword that he
had in the Lumber-troop, and wont let a soul approach — no,
not if you was to beg it on your bare bones, until the singing
begins."
" Oh! they sing, do they?"
" Sing, sir! you should hear them; and smoke until its
enough to lift their hats off the pegs. I should have lost the
drawing-rooms, only they made the husband an Outlaw too,
in this very house."
" What did they do to him?"
" Never knew, sir," said Mrs. Docker, gravely. '' But it
was no cruelty, for it was summer time, and all the fire-irons
as bright as could be. All we could find out was that he
sent for his boothooks. I took them myself, because Sarah
couldn't make out what they meant."
" It's a pity she's so deaf," said Mr. Flitter, untying his
scarf, and refolding it the reverse way, to bring out the
clean part.
" Oh, it's a great comfort, sir," answered Mrs. Docker, as
she hung a towel on the back of the chair, and took away
the water-jug, in which a black-beetle had committed suicide
from the mantel-piece at a remote period. " It stops all
48 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
magging. The baker and policeman used to worry my life
out. Now the maid can't hear their stuff and nonsense, and
so they needn't throw their words away."
" But what do the lodgers say to it, Mrs. Docker?"
"Well, sir, then I don't mind telling you," replied the
landlady, in a low, confidential voice, fearing a crowd of
imaginary listeners all bent upon immediately reporting her
words to the world generally, "because you never give
trouble; but it does them good. When a servant can hear
well, the bells are always a going; but when she's deaf, they
know it's no use ringing, and so they do the things them-
selves or go without."
" Oh, I see!" said Mr. Flitter.
" Yes, sir," continued Mrs. Docker, " and that's the only
bad thing about Mr. Terkin. If he had a hundred black
slaves, and all in this house, they wouldn't have a moment's
peace amongst them. For he either wants two letters posted,
or a bottle of soda water, or his things home on Wednesday,
or to know what the man's crying at the top of the street, or
the time-bill of the Birmingen railway, or yesterday's news-
paper — there, that's him again, sir. Now, I'd bet any
money he's come in and can't find his shiny boots."
It is probable that Mrs. Docker was right; for Mr. Terkin,
being convivial, would at times, upon taking them off at
night, fling his dress boots recklessly about — on to shelves,
and behind drawers, and under tables. As the servants had
orders never to touch them, since a few ignorant hand-
maidens had, in his time, tried to black them in the ordinary
fashion, and so ruined them altogether, Mr. Terkin now
and then found their recovery a matter of time and research;
and when^ as on the present occasion, he had thrown them
out of window after the cats, and they had, missing their
aim, gone into the water-butt, their repossession became ad-
ditionally uncertain.
So Mrs. Docker hurried down to the rescue; and Mr.
Flitter, finishing his toilet, despatched an invitation to the
particular friends whom he intended should make up his
dinner-party.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY, 49
CHAPTER VII*
THE MISS TWINCh's COME OUT IN A GRATIFYING MANNER.
A FEW days passed — sad and heavy ones for Annie Maitland,
who never once left the gaunt old Grange — and then her
aunt was buried.
Next to a wedding, a funeral caused the greatest excite-
ment in Pottleton ; and all the village would turn out to see
the ceremony, as they did in great London for Lord-maycr's
show. The idlers might be observed assembling about the
lych-gate of the churchyard even in the morning; ragged
boys, slatternly women carrying uncared-for infants, or drag-
ing dirty children after them; and ancient men — parish pen-
sioners, who sat on the tombstones, in the sun, that its
warmth might drive on their wearied and lagging blood.
These would go over the history of the deceased, and talk to
Mousel as he finished the grave, whilst the boys were de-
lighted at being permitted to drag the boards, which were to
form its platform, from the dark place beneath the belfry,
into which, however, they only ventured in parties of two or
three. This done, the crowd would peep into the pithole, as
they termed it, with fear and awe, and point to the blackened
wood and corroded handles of former coffins that appeared in
its sides, or speculate on the morsels of decayed bones that
had been thrown up with the rank earth; and then, at what-
ever time the funeral was to take place, there the crowd re-
mained for the day.
The old woman had left but little in the way of money
available for the expenses of her burial; but Mr. Page repre-
sented the case to several of his congregation, and they sub-
scribed amongst themselves for a plain and decent funeral.
Sherrard made Annie accept some mourning, on the promise
of receiving what it had cost from Philip when he returned.
She followed behind the coffin; and all the poor people who
inhabited the G-range swelled the procession, and displayed
such small articles of faded black as their scanty wardrobes
furnished. And when it was over, she returned, sad and
tearful, to her lonely home, whilst the crowd dispersed about
so THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
the village, and the boys scrambled over one another to fight
for the shovels, and fill in the grave.
The afternoon sunlight came warm and bright through the
old window, and fell in a long ray of yellow light over the
bed on which the body had lain, as though the spirit still
lingered about the site of its former tenement. It gleamed
through Annie's hair, and steeped it in gold, as she sat weep-
ing, with her fair head bent down upon the window-sill; for
although she had begged to be left to herself, yet, now she
was alone, the solitude w^as so terrible that she had moved
towards the casement, whence she could see that living things
still had existence about her. And here she remained nearly
all day, until Mrs. Mousel came towards evening, bringing a
basket of provisions with her, sent down by Mr. Twinch, and
a private bottle of her own, which had once held fish-sauce,
but was now filled with a clear pellucid liquor, and would be,
in its turn, sold to the doctor to be cleaned out for the next
cough- mixture he prepared. She had been Annie's only com-
panion during the week, and she now came to stay that night for
the last time ; and after entertaining her with all the dismal
stories relating to deaths and burials that she could call up,
she took possession of the poor old lady's late bed without
any qualms, and Annie retired to sob herself to sleep in her
own little room.
Mr. Twinch was the first visitor next morning; and he
came, accompanied by Mr. Page, to see about the removal of
the cabinet. It was a huge bureau of carved oak, with a
door secured by three cumbersome hasps, shot by one lock,
and was obliged to be got out of the window upon scaifold-
poles, for Mrs. Maitland had lived in that wing of the Grange
before its last subdivision; and so the old staircase — which a
coach might have been driven down, provided any one could
have found a driver daring, or a skid strong, enough — was
shut in. As the rustics assisted to lower it down, when within
a few inches of the ground, the inclined plane gave way, and
then everybody heard a clinking sound, similar to what plate
might have made, shaken together. A strong truck was
borrowed from the stone-mason, and on this it M^as pulled up
to Mr. Page's house, followed by the boys, who jostled to
get near it, expecting to see it drop money as it went along.
For, as is the case in country villages, everybody knew all
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 51
about it and it* destination as soon as the parties most inter-
ested. And many averred that they knew it before, but
were bound to secresy.
It had scarcely reached the house ere the two Miss
Twinch's might have been seen walking down the village to-
wards the Grange, and accompanied by their small dog Tip.
Tip was one of those little wiggling dogs, who are such a
constant source of distress to their owners, that one is almost
tempted to believe in the existence of mischievous imps,
assuming other shapes to perplex* mankind. When taken
out to add to the pleasure of a walk, if allowed to^ go loose,
he loitered behind, and showed fight to gigantic and unmuz-
zled mastiffs, who could have bolted him at a snap, at which
halfpenny boys were compelled to be sent after him, whilst
the Miss Twinch's remained in great agony, uttering piercing
cries, in the middle of the road. Or he hid in nutritious
shops and familiar cottages, and then was supposed to be
lost upon which the Miss Twinch's would return home —
calling him by name all the way, and informing him that he
was naughty — only to see him a great way off, when they
arrived, talving calm observations. If they secured hira with
a string, he was much more troublesome — pulling Miss
Tvvinch on, when he saw Toby, who lived at the Red Lion;
or hanging back to inspect any old rubbish, until he was all
but choked. And if he once caught sight of a cat sunning
herself on a door- step, he would put up the game, and go
away altogether over distant hunting grounds. Then the
Miss Twinch's would sit up and lament all night, sending
messengers about in all directions, until Whacky Clark,
whom the more thinking suspected of frequently detaining
him, would bring him back in the morning, and receive six-
pence. In fact, to Whacky and certain trustworthy accom-
plices. Tip was as good as an annuity.
Preceded by this evil genius — who scrambled hurriedly
up stairs before them, only to be pulled back and hung, for a
short period, at every step — the Miss Twinch's entered the
room in which Mrs. Maitland had lived. Annie was there,
and alone, looking over her aunt's things, and putting by-
some to give to the poor neighbours who had been as civil to
her as their means permitted.
The Miss Twinch's advanced towards her with solemn
e2
S>Z THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
looks, seized her hands, pressing them earnestly, and then
moved their lips in silent greeting, as though their feelings
overcame them.
" It is what we must all expect," said Miss Letitia, speak-
ing first.
"And time alone will relieve the blow," added Miss
Martha.
" I am very sorry to receive you in this rude fashion,"
said Annie, as, her hands being liberated, she put forward
the only chair the apartment possessed. " But I have an-
other in my room "
" Now pray don't put yourself out, my dear Miss Mait-
land," said Miss Twinch, " on our account. We have come
to make a proposition "
" At our brother's request " added Miss Martha.
" Which you must agree to ^"
**In fact, we can take no refusal."
And here the seesaw address was interrupted by Tip, who
had dragged an old slipper from its hiding-place, and was
now fighting and struggling with it in the middle of the
room; getting more angry as he failed to frighten it away,
or rouse it to a combat, by barking.
" How dare you, sir?" cried Miss Twinch, as she made
believe to hit him with her parasol six feet off.
"Naughty!" exclaimed Miss Martha; "where's the rod?
Ah, here it is!"
But Tip was no longer affected by threats, nor did he
believe that the crumpled tract which Miss Martha shook
at him was an instrument of severe punishment. So Miss
Twinch was obliged to take the slipper away by manual
force, lifting Tip up by his teeth twice his length in doing it.
" He behaves so very badly !" said the elder of the girls.
" That we really get quite ashamed of taking him out — "
added Miss Martha.
" Only he is always so admired," resumed Miss Twinch.
"And it's a naughty little man — it is!" went on the other,
speaking very decidedly to Tip, who now turned his atten-
tion to her dress. " Oh! don't toax me, zu fooliss boy. What
is it, then? Puss! Is it puss? Hi away, then — ^hi away.
Tip!"
If Miss Martha had ever been fortunate enough to have
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 63
had an offer, and clenched it, she might, in course of time,
have addressed these remarks to something more worthy in
the scale of creation than Tip. But as such had never been
the case, and as the confiding heart of woman must have
something to cling to, she had twined its tendrils round
her dog.
" We are sure, just at present, you must be very lonely
here, Miss Maitland," said Miss Twinch, when Tip had been
taken into lap-custody by her sister; " and we have come to
hope you will stay a few days with us, until you get over this
bereavement."
" You are very kind," Annie replied; " I have been most
wretched here since — since poor Aunt Milly died. But I
do not want to go away. Besides, Philip will be back soon;
I am expecting him every day."
" You have sent to him, then?" asked Miss Martha.
" Mr. Sherrard knew somebody going to France," replied
Annie, " and was good enough to write to him. He may
be back to-day."
" But if only for to-day, you must come up with us," said
Miss Twinch. " It will injure your health to stay here. I
should forget I was a girl if I were shut up in this old place
for any time."
Miss Twinch did not specify for how long; but she must
have meant a protracted imprisonment to induce such a re-
markable lapse of recollection.
" Our little circle will do you good. Miss Maitland," added
the sister. " We are cheerful without boisterous gaiety, and
calm without despondency j whilst some pleasing feminine
employment or instructive work beguiles the hours which
hang so heavily on those — Does it want to tiss its ittle mis-
tress? then it sail! — moving in what folly calls the world."
It must have been from one of the instructive works in
question, with the exception of the little episode in which Tip
was concerned, that Miss Martha had quoted the above
speech. She had many of them, bought in great numbers
at a corresponding reduction. They were cheaper than
loaves to give away; and, in the long run, got up a bettei*
reputation than administering to the mere gratification of
hunger.
Annie did not want to go. Poor and, to others, comfort-
$4: THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
less as the room in the Grange was, yet it had been her
home, and the different things about it were all old friends.
But slie thought it might be of advantage to her to keep in
with Mr. Twinch; and the girls appeared so anxious to
xeeeive her, that at last she consented to come.
" Oh, that is so kind of you, ' said both the young ladies at
pnce.
*' And now," continued Miss Twinch, speaking alone,
*' we will tell you of our little conspiracy. A collection of
wild beasts has come into Pottleton this morning, and we are
going to take the infant-school to see them, after we have
regaled the children at our house. You will be delighted."
Looking at the word " regale" defined in our dictionaries
to signify to " feast," it is odd that at the present day it is
never used, except to designate that sort of mild banquet,
where tea and buns are distributed, and notions of gratitude
impressed, by heads of charities and virtuous publishers,
upon their dependents.
But this by the way. Finding Annie would come, the
ladies took their leave; and after having been separately
nearly thrown down stairs by Tip, who wound his string
round their ankles, and got in their way on every step,
"looking up," as Miss Twinch observed, "like a fellow-
creature" — after these perils, they arrived at home.
When they were gone, Annie began to collect her things
for the visit. Neat and exquisitely clean they all were; but
her wardrobe was a poor one, and she thought that the
servants might sneer at the small display her apparel made
when it came to be placed in the drawers, although it had
done so well for her at home. And this nearly shook her
resolution, and more than once made her think of sending an
excuse, and stopping in her own little room. But then she
had promised; so she contrived to secure the services of
Whacky Clark to carry her box, and, locking the door after
her, went up to Mr. Twinch's.
There was great excitement before the house when she
arrived. . Crowds of small children clustered about it, and
twisted their legs in the scraper, or got their shoes between
the palings, and couldn't get them back again; others swung
on the chains, perpetually tumbling over, hurting themselves,
and crying; whilst others kept jumping up to look in at the
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 55
window of the second parlour, in which the. chief interest
appeared to be centred. And they all so swarmed about the
house, that Whacky was obliged to put them away with his
feet before he got to the door.
"When Annie was admitted, she found the Miss Twinch's
sitting at a table, on which was so large a tea-pot, that it
looked like a soup-tureen with a spout and handle, and bore
a huge disproportion to the tea-caddy at its side. There was
also a great pile of what appeared to be bread, with currants
in it at most uncertain distances, but which Miss Twinch
denominated plum-cake. Round the room sat twenty small
children — attired in those unrecognised varieties of fashions
which the full-dress of an uncostumed charity-school presents
— upon some forms, much too high for them, singing a moral
song to Miss Martha's piano accompaniment. As they were
going to the wild-beast show, Miss Martha had selected,
*' Let bears and lions growl and fight," to bring their minds
into a fit state to view the savage wonders of creation, as well
as to warn them not to let their " angry passions rise"' when
they struggled for a good place in front of the dens. The
pile of plum-cake, however, sadly interfered with their
throwing all their heart into the song; for none of them re-
moved their eyes once from it.
" Dear Miss Maitland — you have come in time for a
charming sight," said Miss Twinch; " and you can assist at
our little festival, Jane Collier — you are singing "Your
little hands' to the music of ' But children you.' You shall
be left behind, miss, if you don't attend."
Whereupon Jane Collier, over whose head five summers
and a hard brush had just passed, lost her reckoning alto-
gether, and got to " Each other s eyes" in a vague and reckless
manner, the effect of mingled fright and despair.
At last the song ceased, not so much from coming to a
natural end, as to meet an implied wish of IMr. Twinch, who,
being in his office, knocked with a Burn's Justice against the
wainscot, to quiet the war of notes going on in the parlour.
Upon this Miss Twinch rang a bell, which was the school
signal for silence, aud then the tea-making began, with the
assistance of the teachers.
There were no saucers, and it was given to the children
very hot, so that it might last a long time, and keep them
56 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
from coming too soon for more. They did not enjoy it much,
but took it in great fear and trembling, not beginning until
their teachers did, nor daring to blow it.
"Why don't you eat your cake, Harriet Stiles?" asked
Miss Twinch, severely, " you naughty girl, to keep crumbling
it in that way!"
Harriet Stiles was a child of nervous habits, and too
frightened to eat anything; so she had gradually moulded the
cake into indistinct forms, in her little puddy hands, until you
might have made bread seals with it, and Tip was nearly
choked with the fragments.
" We must have the other cake in," said Miss Martha.
" The Humphreys' children eat as much as able-bodied
labourers."
" What can you expect of children fed entirely upon fish,"
replied Miss Twinch. " Poor things! they all look like tad-
poles as it is, with their large heads and eyes."
" Fish all turns to water, miss," said a teacher as she tried
to excite the exhausted tea-leaves with some boiling water.
" Water, indeed," replied Miss Twinch: " and it all settles
on their brain."
In effect, the paternal Humphreys was skilled in ledgers,
night-lines, and Paternosters, and kept his family upon a
species of domestic water- souchee; which, although an agree-
able dish, accompanied by punch, and backed up by salmon-
cutlets, whitebait, and ducks, is not, in itself, calculated to
fatten.
" Is it not a charming sight. Miss Maitland?" said Miss
Twinch to Annie, who had been taking a tiny scholar under
her own protection, " See, with how little we may make
many happy."
Hereat, Jane Collier, having choked herself, coughed in
her mug, and for such a breach of manners was immediately
slapped, and sent into the kitchen.
" That is the worst child we have," continued Miss Twinch
to Annie; "and she always has a cold in her head. We
have told her parents of it several times, but it does no good.
They allow her to go on just the same."
" If you please, miss. Whacky wants to know if he may
have some beer for bringing your box," said the servant,
coming in and speaking to Annie.
THE POTTLETON LJiGACY. '5rf
" Oh, yes, certainly. I quite forgot him,". she replied, as
6he took a little purse from her pocket.
" A ]fiice warm cup of tea will do him more good," ob-
served Miss Twinch, as she went into the passage, where
Annie's attendant had been waiting, quite overlooked.
" There, Clark — that is better than anything intoxicating.
Drink it, and be thankful!"
Whacky took the cup and winked at the maid, which tele-
graphic signal was unfortunately seen by Miss Tw^inch.
Exceedingly enraged, but not choosing to demean herself
before the common people, she flounced back into the room,
saying that the children had had quite enough; that they
would eat all night if they were allowed; and that it was
time to go to the show.
And to further their progress. Whacky opened the door,
and threw the contents of the cup over the children, clearing
them away, only that they might insult the party as they
went to the menagerie, in the belief that Miss Twinch had
commanded the aggression.
The wild beast show was arranged upon a plot of turf
behind the Grange, used on summer afternoons as the
cricketing ground; and from the first arrival of the caravans,
all the children not interested in the Twinch festival had
collected about it.
It w^as not without awe that they occasionally heard deep
roars and yawns proceed from the interior; insomuch that
they dared not creep under the carriages, or disturb the
tarpaulins, to obtain surreptitious views. But beyond this
there was too much to gaze at without, as, one by one, the
large pictures were unfurled, and hoisted to the top of the
poles. They were so terrific, that they absolutely made
them shudder.
There was the Aurochus or Gnu, looking like the Uni-
corn, whom they had never seen, but who was reported, in
a metrical legend extant, to have been beaten through all
sorts of thoroughfares, by the identical Red Lion of the
public-house, after a contest for the government. Then
there was a happy family of Lions, forming a bed for a
Roman warrior, who reposed upon them with his head upon
his hand, as ladies and gentlemen are depicted asleep in
dream-books and Valentines; and the same intrepid spirit
68 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
was afterwards represented engaged in single combat with a
Bengal Tiger, with two leopards for bottle-holders; and these
were eclipsed by the dreadful representation of a Polar Bear
climbing up an iceberg after a British seaman, who, consi-
dering what a treacherous hold a steep hill of ice must oifer
the feet, was making very good way. His friends were
attacking another bear upon the frozen sea in front; but
this did not so much astonish the Pottletonians, who had
been made familiar with such perils by a picture in the
barber's shop, and attached less importance to the struggle
when they found that its results were retailed, at sixpence a
pot, to strengthen, beautify, and preserve their hair.
But to the enormous canvas of the Elephant most of the
attention was directed. Not only was a large army ascend-
ing to his shoulders by scaling ladders, as he knelt down,
but, by the wondrous power of the limner, Windsor Castle
had been transported on to his back; and the windows were
crowded with royal and distinguished personages, whilst high
up on the round tower a vast throng of visitors were inspect-
ing the country. This festival appeared to have drawn
together a remarkable company, comprising Blue Beard, Queen
Victoria, Julius Cajsar, some country gentlemen in top-boots,
many court ladies in short waists with coloured feathers,
Othello, a Highlander, and Ibraham Pach^, all enjoying
themselves, and expressing wonder — as well they might — at
their position.
Not much less exciting was the Boa Constrictor of many
miles in length, whose tail, after coiling round a tree,
stretched over an expanse of eastern country, and finally
disappeared beyond the blue hills of the horizon. He had
come rather suddenly upon a small pic-nic party of coloured
gentlemen, the indistinct outline of one of them being seen
struggling in his throat. Another, lower down, had cut his
way out with a hatchet; and the rest were, in fascinated
terror, running direct into the mouth, which was as large in
proportion as the awful fire-vomiting jaws, in which the career
of the dishonest baker terminates, in the magic-lantern. We
say little of the colony of Monkeys, all engaged in the in-
dustrial arts; the forest of painted Macaws; and the lioness
attacking the ofi'-leader of the Exeter mail — a daring beast
whose age must now amount to the fabulous — for the other
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY. 59
lectures were too exciting; especially when we wind up with
the terrific flight of the Condor-minor of Peru, carrying oiF a
buffalo in its claws, which at once confirmed the beHef of the
children in Sindbad's Roc, and made them nervous whenever
they saw a bird over their heads, at a great height, for a
month afterwards.
The infant-school came up to the show in orderly pro-
cession, with the teachers at certain intervals, and foliow^ed
by the Misses Twinch and Annie; upon seeing which pro-
mise of additional custom, the foreign musicians, in tiger-
skin caps and tunics of bed-furniture, blew and banged their
instruments louder than ever. So that a glow of enthusiasm
made their hearts throb quicker as they went up the steps,
and the gentleman in the feathers and Roman armour told
the boys below " to stand away thei-e," and himself descended
from the platform to assist them. And w^hen Miss Twinch
stood on that elevation, and saw the crowd below, the band
above, and the children stumbling up the steps, she thought
of the old days of chivalry, and a great deal more that had
nothing at all to do with the subject, until her woman's
heart swelled, and the tears almost came into her eyes with
the excitement of the moment, as she murmured — " Oh, if the
reverend Mr. Page could see me now!"
The teachers and children were compounded for at three-
pence each; and the money being paid to an elegant lady in
a blue bonnet lined wdth red, with green and yellow plumes,
who sat in a canvas alcove, made to represent an ancient
hall, guarded by two dissipated gentlemen in armour, they
entered the show. And here Harriet Stiles entirely lost her
courage at the first sight of the lion, who was standing on
his hind legs as he yawned through the bars, and commenced
screaming so dreadfully, that it was not until the Roman
warrior had been called in to counter-frighten her, she could
be induced to move an inch. And after that, tightly clutch-
ing the teacher's dress, she disappeared in its folds, and was
«een no more.
The keeper called the company to the end of the show,
and went round in front of the cages describing the animals.
He had got half through them, and was speaking of "the
striped untameable hyasna of the desert, or tiger-wolf," whom
he had irritated to a proper degree of ferocity by rattling his
60 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Stick against the bars, when a piercing shriek from Miss
Twinch threw all the children into convulsions, they imagin-
ing at first that nothing less had occurred than the simul-
taneous opening of all the doors of the dens. But Miss
Twinch pointed with her finger, and cried — " There! there!
save him! — oh, save him!" and following its direction, they
perceived the half-strangled Tip writhing in the clutch of a
great ape, who was trying to pull him through the gridiron-
like front to his cage. With another cry of despair. Miss
Martha ran towards the door to liberate him, and the same
moment came within reach of the elephant, who, being
always on the look out for everything, and attracted by the
trimming of hops, immediately seized her bonnet, with the
intention of either eating it or cramming it into a little box
at the top of his cage, into which he ordinarily put sixpences.
The bonnet, being of a light summer style, readily parted
with its strings, after a moment of horrible suspense as to
whether Miss Martha would not be taken up as well, and
carried with it two small bunches of ringlets attached to its
inner side, leaving the hapless lady in a scanty coiffure some-
what after the antique style.
The confusion was dreadful. The keeper flew to the
rescue, and, with some difficulty, dragged the wretched Tip
from the grasp of the monkey; and then, putting him in
Miss Twinch's arms, tried to save the bonnet. But here he
was less ^ fortunate. The elephant, having been taught to
open bags of things given to him, proceeded to inspect his
new acquisition. Putting his foot on it, he pulled the ring-
lets ofi* with his trunk as delicately as though fingers grew
from the end of it; and then, as the grapes, attached as
well, came off with them, he directly ate the whole spoil ;
whilst, failing to discover any gingerbread or apples in the
crown, he trampled it flat, and brushed it into a corner.
And, to add to the consternation of Miss Martha, the Rev.
Mr. Page arrived at this moment in the show. Could it be
possible that the heart of her sister was so strange a things
that, if anything, she was pleased at the dilemma, — that
a glow of joy suffused her face, when she recollected that her
own head-gear was as perfect as when it had left the glass ?
Alas ! there is no telling what subversion of the domestic
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 61
affections love will not work in the female heart — especially
as the chances of an offer diminish.
With Tip in her arms, Miss Twinch advanced to meet Mr.
Page, feeling sure, for once, of having all the talk to her-
self. Her sister was overwhelmed with confusion, when
Annie, hastily unfastening her own bonnet, took it off, and
placed it on the poor sufferer's head, considering her own
lovely hair quite sufficient for herself, or, more probably, not
giving a thought about the matter. Yet when she shook
her rippled tresses about her head, it could be soon seen which
was the most becoming gear.
Mr. Page even was attracted, and looked at her with some
admiration. Not so Miss Twinch, who thought that her
sister might just as well have remained as she was, and that
it was a piece of forward interference on the part of Miss
Maitland to act as she had done. How, for the minute, she
hated her ! — how, in the most fugitive passing thought, she
would have liked to have seen her in the lion's den ! But
it was the moment to follow up the advantage; so Miss
Twinch said —
" You are just in time. I was about -"
" The performing and sagacious elephant will now be
exhibited," interrupted the showman ; " before which, ladies
and gentlemen, I am allowed to pass my hat round, being all
I have to depend upon for hourly exposing my life and
family to the ferocious beasts of the desert."
There was a little delay, whilst a halfpenny was given,
with yery benevolent parade, to each child, except the
perpetually influenza'd Jane Collier, who had forgotten her
pocket handkerchief, having but one, which was at the wash,
and in its normal state consisted of a foot square of something
between calico and sand paper, imprinted with an illustrated
moral history, in neutral tint ink.
" I like them to be taught a proper spirit early," said Miss
Twinch to Mr. Page, " poor things ! The halfpenny they
give to the good man who runs such risks to instruct them,
elevates their character."
And then she slapped Harriet Stiles for looking after the
monkeys while she was talking; and took away her halfpenny
to give to the elephant, who directly offered it in exchange
62 THE POTTLETON LEGACY
for a cake to tlie travelling confectioner who sat by the side
of his den.
Stop, my good man," said Miss Twinch, as the keeper
had finished his eleemosynary round. "It is now the
time ;" and here she followed up her address to Mr. Page,
which the man had interrupted, " it is now the time to
add a little moral instruction to the entertaining knowledge
which you, dear children, have been imbibing. Stand round
me."
The children formed a semicircle about her, and the other
visitors stood behind them; whilst the fustianed keeper
winked at the gorgeous Roman warrior in a manner strangely
at variance with their respective costumes, and then began to
play with the paws of the lion.
'•Jane Collier," went on Miss Twinch, '* where is the
pelican of the v/iiderness?"
Jane Collier returned no answer, but commenced weeping.
*' She is aifected by the recollection of its maternal suffer-
ing to provide food for its offspring," said Miss Twinch, with
admirable tact. " I will not try her feelings further."
And not wishing to risk the instruction the class had
acquired any more, before Mr. Page, she went on another
tack.
" You observed when you came in, dear children, how the
animals growled and roared. Harriet Stiles — come forth,
miss, and listen. Now tell me; would it not have been
dreadful if these savage beasts had in reality escaped?"
The bare contemplation of such an accident was too over-
whelming for a mind of Harriet Stiles's fibre. She began to
cry again, and sought refuge under the teacher's shawl.
" The ferocity of the lion and tiger, the untameable fierce-
ness of the hyaena, the guile of the serpent, and the cunning
of the fox, are not so destructive as the — the "
And here Miss Twinch, who had evidently learned a bit
off by heart, from somewhere, and broken down, would have
come to a stand-still, had not her more amiable sister
whispered in her ear, from a small work (at fourpence a
dozen for distribution),
" As the envy, hatred "
" Envy and hatred," the other went on, having got the cue,
" of the human heart, which will break out as furiously as
THE POTTLETON LEGACY, 63
that savage hyaena would do, were his cage open. Now,
good man, go on."
The keeper then entered the den, and commenced his per-
formances. But Miss Twinch's address had so alarmed the
children, that they trembled all through the exhibition, and
scuffled out of the show, when it was over, as though the
last were to be the victim — like the ducks of a Chinese boat-
house, where the ultimate one is always beaten, to teach them
expedition.
Miss Twincb, however, was happy, for she believed that she
had made her effect before Mr. Page, until, in the most incom-
prehensibly rude manner, that gentleman, amidst the blushes
which appear inseparable from a whiskerless young curate in
high shirt collar, offered his arm to Annie Maitland — who
was without her bonnet, too!
Poor Miss Martha had not expected such attention, for
since her unpleasant accident, she had retired into remote
corners of the show, and looked, with glistening eyes, at
animals that did not interest her, to conceal her mortification.
But she loved Annie for her kindness, and was pleased to
see the attention that Mr. Page paid her, which Miss Twinch,
singularly enough, did not appear to observe, but lavished all
her attention upon the restored Tip, who had come from the
almost fatal grasp, safe and sound, with the exception of a
lell on his collar.
And this the ape had seized; and, by a retributive justice,
nearly choked himself with it, after having kept it in his
cheek for several minutes, and vainly attempted to crack it,
thinking it was a nut.
CHAPTER IX.
MR. FLITTEr's dinner AT LONG's.
"We will now return to Sherrard, whom we left asleep on
the night of Mrs. Maitland's death. The day was just
breaking when he was up again, and as soon as there was
sufficient light, he had opened one of his boxes, and taken
64 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
from it a suit of clothes different from those he had worn on
the preceding evening. They were pressed closely together
by many things — ^musty books, corroded tools and instru-
ments, and old pistols — and appeared to have been undis-
turbed for some time. When he put them on, they looked
more nautical than anything else; but they were either of a
fashion long gone by, or made at some foreign place. Still
they gave him the appearance of a seafaring man — one of
that rough tribe you see lounging about the purlieus of the
Docks and Tower-hill; and from his tall figure and deter-
mined air, he looked as awkward a customer to meet, either
on land or water, as the most adventurous maritime hero
would desire. "When he was dressed, he started off, shutting
the door quietly after him, and went straight along the
village.
Pottleton still slept, later, possibly, after the excitement
of the previous day. There was a golden blush in the sky
over the end of the valley; but the weathercock had not yet
caught the rays of the sun, and the diamonds that would
sparkle on every blade and leaflet when it came out, were
still drops of dew.
Nobody was moving; a few early birds and squirrels rushed
about among the trees; and now and then a lark set off upon
a high mission to see whether the sun was coming or not;
making his glorious song of joy and excitement ring through
the clear morning air for a mile about. The field mice, as
well, scufiled amongst the corn; and little shrews peered,
with perking snuffling noses, from the doorways of their
nests in dry warm banks, to look after their breakfast, toler-
ably sure that the owl had gone to bed at last without
searching for his own.
There was not even a straight column of smoke to mark
the presence of life as it rose above the summer foliage, nor
any country sound to be heard; for the very watch-dogs were
asleep, like tired policemen. Yet such goodly odours came
forth from the fresh earth and opening petals into the pure
air, that they who missed them knew not how great was the
dehght they lost.
This did not much affect Sherrard, though. He went on,
along the side of the lane, until he came to a bit of common,
on which several of the railway labourers had built their
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 65
huts of mud and turf. Approaching one, only closed by a
hurdle that turned on a withy hinge, he called out the
inmate, and told him that he was going to town for a day, or
possibly two — that he was to say nothing about it, but take
the lead upon the gang during his absence — cind that he
should return in time to be present at the pay-table. The
man promised compliance, and then crept back to his hut,
whilst Sherrard continued on his way along the line.
His object was not to start from the Pottleton station, as
he did not wish to attract attention; and to reach the next
nearer to town he had a three miles' walk, through the
tunnel also, which w^as not the most cheerful place to select
for a promenade; but this did not matter much in the present
case. He arrived there with some little time to spare, and
w^as at last on his way, in a parliamentary carriage, very
like a rabbit-hutch in a pantomime that ought to have
changed into an omnibus, but had stuck half-way.
Gathering himself into a corner, he tried to stop all his
meditations that sleep might overtake them again. But he
found that they would not be so easily arrested. A sort of
ground-swell after the excitement of the night still agitated
his mind, and in his impatience the cheap train journey
appeared as though it would never come to an end. At
last, however, he arrived in town, and went direct to
Mr. Wyndham Flitter's lodgings, missing that gentleman by
a few minutes only, to his annoyance. But he learnt some-
thing from Mrs. Docker about a dinner at a West End
hotel — -she could not say which, only it was a great one; and
upon this slender information he started forth upon a voyage
of discovery.
From former unpleasant circumstances, with respect to a
satisfactory settling for value received, Sherrard knew pretty
w^ell which establishments were not likely to be honoured by
his associates' patronage. And, therefore, Covent Garden
Piazza, Charing Cross, and the Haymarket were at once dis-
carded, as dangerous localities; Leicester Square he also felt
to be treacherous ground: and there were certain quarters in
which Mr. Flitter would be more agreeably welcomed than
in Oxford Street and certain of its appendages. So deter-
mining upon making the round of those he considered the
most probable, he chose Bond Street first.
F
66 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
He was slightly puzzled at the commencement to know by
which of his names he should inquire after his friend. For
Mr. Flitter had several, which he changed according to out-
ward influences, like his boots — sturdy common ones for
general serviceable wear and tear — light travelling ones for
especial excursions — glossy and fashionable ones for polished
or flashy society, and these, if he found himself suddenly
overtaken by storms, sometimes required an overall, or alias,
of less stylish exterior. Knowing, however, that Stanley
was his latest cognomination, he used that at the first hotel
he inquired at. His journey was not altogether without
trouble. He was first shown into a wrong room at the
Blenheim, where a harmless gentleman, named Stanley,
chanced to be dining. Next he was refused entrance at once,
at the Clarendon, by the porter, who thought he looked as if
he came to dispose of some fine contraband Havannahs, or
silk pocket handkerchiefs, to the guests. After that he was
stared at by several more young Oxford men, friends of
Mr. Spooner, who were in the coffee-room at Stevens's, and,
trying to chaff him, had failed therein. And lastly, he had,
by a lucky chance, hit upon the right spot at Long's to which
hotel we will now return.
In the meantime, Mr. Wyndham Flitter had found the two
friends to form his partie carree at Long's: and at the time
appointed he went to the hotel, meeting Mr. Spooner at the
door, as he arrived.
" What a famous fellow you are, Tidd, to be so punctual,"
said Mr. Flitter, squeezing his friend's shoulder affectionately;
*' and to come here at all, even, considering what request you
are in. Waiter, which is the room?"
They were shown into an apartment on the first floor,
which looked very comfortable, for the daylight had been
shut out, which it ought always to be, except at Greenwich
or Richmond. The bright lights and glittering plate — the
wine-cooler and ice-pails — the fancifully distorted napkins,
which seemed made up to turn, after the fashion of the folded
sheet of paper, into church-doors, sentry-boxes, salt cellars,
or currycombs, whenever wanted, and the pretty bouquets
in the vases, appeared to give promise that everything would
be in keeping with the first impression.
" You will meet two very nice persons," said Mr. Flitter;
" my friend Wracketts and his charming wife — the most de-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 67
lightful little woman — a Swiss by birth. She ran away with
him from that place with the margin — pshaw! — where the
fairest of fair What's-its-name's daughters dwelt, you know?"
" Zurich," suggested Mr. Spooner.
" Zurich! that's it — from Zurich," continued Mr. Flitter.
" She speaks English?" asked Mrs. Spooner, with slight
misgivings, feeling better up in his university languages
than in those useful in society.
"Oh! perfectly; but with a slight accent." Mr. Spooner
turned to the glass to see if he looked effective, and then,
inquired —
" And what's Wracketts?"
"Oh! nothing — a gentleman. He was in the Baden
Rifles; but the parading business bored him, so he sold out.
A man of great information. You'll be enchanted with him.
Hark! here they are."
" Mr. and Mrs. Wracketts !" said the waiter at this instant,
and in they came.
Mr. Wracketts was a gentleman very like a dissipated
eagle, with a hook nose, and wild hair, which constantly
stood upright, as though he was sitting on the prime con-
ductor of an electrifying machine. He had a very pale face,
and he constantly appeared to be trying to catch his ear with
his teeth, by an odd convulsive twitch of his head, after
saying anything; and at the same time he would wink, as if he
was deceiving even himself. He had not pretty hands. His
fingers looked all thumbs, and his nails were very short; but,
nevertheless, he wore an uncommon quantity of rings, of
such a size that to have drawn a shawl through any of them
would not have been so difficult a task as the old fairy
chroniclers made it to younger princes.
His wife was a very pretty woman, evidently his junior by
ten or twelve years, with dark floating eyes, always half
shut, and black hair in smooth bands, so glossy that a line of
radiance crossed whatever part was presented to the light.
She had on a high loose dress, which made her seem as if she
had been put into a muslin bag, tied round her neck and
waist, and had then cut her hands and feet out of it, like a
female Monte- Christo. It was the more attractive for bein^
high, as it was very transparent. Her complexion was of
the most perfect pink and white; but when admirers looked
f2
€8 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
athwart her skin instead of at it, a very sh'ght efflorescence
was just perceptible; and the colour on her cheek was more
circumscribed than flushing. A narrow gazer might also
have detected a fine black line pencilled along the edges of
her eyelids. But her eyes, her hair, and her long lashes
were undoubted facts; and certainly very beautiful they were.
" Ce cher Wracketts!" said Mr. Flitter, with much warmth;
** and Mrs. "Wracketts, too. Let me present my friend Mr.
Tidd Spooner; he is anxious to know you."
Mr. Spooner coloured and bowed, and said something
about being most happy.
"We were at school together, at Eton," continued Mr. Flitter.
" I was at Eton, too," said Mr. Spooner.
'' I don't mean the school," Mr. Flitter observed ; " we
were at a little academy."
*' Well caught," muttered Mr. Wracketts, in an almost
inaudible voice, as Mr. Flitter felt sorry he did not say,
*' Winchester." And the dinner being now all ready, they
sat down, Mr. Flitter and Mr. Wracketts at the top and
bottom, and the lady and Mr. Spooner at the side.
Mr. Flitter understood dining, and looked over the menu
with exceeding pleasure. We reproduce it to show how re-
lined a banquet he had invited his friends to.
Potaje a la Comte de Paris.
PoissMus.
Eoiiger a la Veiiitienne.
Deux Entrees.
* ^ Epigrauime d'Agneau aux o s?
^^r§ Comcombres. ►§ ja- 1
'o ^ a* Filets de Poussins <i la p- ^ ^
,2 I Marecbale. 2 U
«
Entremets.
Bombe Glacee Petits pois
au Cafe. a. I'Auglaise.
Mirouton de Homard.
Jambon Glace a I'auanas.
Dessert.
Eaisins Muscat.
Pecbes,
Abricots,
Quatre Meudiauts,
Wines.
Champagne. Port.
Claret. Sherry.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 69
" This fish reminds me of those we used to catch in the
lake, out of our chdlet window; don't it, Leonie?*' asked Mr.
Wracketts.
*' Oh, yes!" replied the lady, with the prettiest accent and
the least tinge of melancholy retrospect, floating her eyes
languidly towards Mr. Spooner. " N'est-ce pas c'est un beau
pays," she added, addressing him.
" I don't speak French," observed Mr. Spooner, blandly,
but blushing. " I have never been beyond Boulogne. I
went there to read."
" Oh, nonsense; you do, Tidd," said Mr. Flitter; " it's only
your modesty."
*' No; I don't, indeed. I can read it well enough, but
can't speak a single word."
" Tant mieux," murmured Mr. Flitter, eying Wracketts.
*' I could meet you, if you were a Greek," Mr. Spooner
went on.
" Ah ; we're not that," said Wracketts, returning Mr.
Flitter's glance.
Champagne went round, and the conversation soon became
animated. Mr. Wracketts was a most entertaining person;
knew everybody and everything. He had been a great tra-
veller, too, especially in the East, and talked at intervals as
follows : —
" The desert, sir; have crossed it seventy-five times, and
always on the same camel. I mean to have her over to go to
the Derby on next year; she keeps up so well without water,
and that will be invaluable on the Downs. Yes; I was
going to mention about the Pyramids. We crawled further
into the interior of the pyramid of Cheops than anybody had
ever been, and killed a Bedouin there, who was rude to Mrs.
Wracketts, in the dark. I knocked him down a deep dry
well, and left him. That was Jiis bakshish — the miscreant 1"
Mr. Spooner was going to look hard at the lady, and
express how he would have defended her had she been in-
sulted; but Mr. Wracketts' anger was so terrific, that he
rapidly turned his eyes away, and took salt when he didn't
want it, by mistake.
" Didn't you have a curious adventure in Switzerland? "
asked Mr. Flitter. " My friend Spooner would like to
hear it."
/O THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Mr. "Wracketts was not a Munchausen in his stories;
everything he told was just probable. But he evidently
belonged to that class of tourists who never go anywhere
without something wonderful happening to them. He could
not have crossed from Folkestone without the most dreadful
storm ever known in the Channel, and landing at Portel in
a life-boat; nor climbed the Rigi except an avalanche had
crossed his mule-path.
" Switzerland ! ah-h-h ! that was an escape," said Mr,
Wracketts. " I had nearly got to the top of the Jung-frau,
when a ledge of snow on which I was standing broke away,
and glided down right into the valley. I had been seven
hours getting up, and came down in half a minute unhurt.
Mrs. Wracketts was at the window of the hotel, and saw it
all. Didn't you, Leonie ?"
Mrs. Wracketts, who dined in her gloves, raised her hands
in an agony of retrospection, and her shoulders also, in such
a pretty terror, that the shudder, under a transparent muslin,
was quite delicious. Mr. Spooner thought that he would
have gone down Niagara in a wager-boat had she been
looking on.
" Nothing to whaling though, in the South Pacific," con-
tinued Mr. Wracketts, a propos of something of remote
allusion. '^ I was once out in a boat, backing up the after
oarsman with my left hand, and steering with my right, when
we came up to a whale, that I harpooned. But the line by
some chance tangled, and I hadn't got my hatchet, so that I
can assure you, sir, upon my sacred honour, we were pulled
down and through the water, I can't tell how many fathoms
deep, for three or four minutes. Every man kept his seat,
and when we came up, another harpoon had struck the fish,
who was in her ' flurry.' She hit our boat with her tail, and
sent me into the rigging of the schooner. The ropes broke
my fall, and I was the only one saved."
Mr. Spooner was deeply interested; nor was Mr. Flitter
inattentive; for he adopted all Mr. Wrackett's stories second-
hand; but he was not bold enough to start them. He shone
more in small social lies.
Meanwhile the Champagne kept going round; and the
broad shallow glasses were so deceptive, that Mr. Spooner
did not know how much he was drinking. But every moment
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 71
Leoniegot more lovely; her hair more glossy; and her shining
eyes floated in an additional quantity of liquid light. And
every moment he thought, " I should not be asked to a party
like this, if there was not something in me."
Both the men were watching him and one another. Leonie
was also on the alert.
" Parlez des cartes," she said to Mr. Wracketts.
"Pas encore: il n'est pas assez amoureux de vos beaux
yeux, Leonie," observed Mr. Flitter. " Chantez un peu."
" Bien," replied the lady.
"It is very rude to speak French, Tiddy," said Mr.
Flitter; " but it is so natural to Mrs. Wracketts, you will
excuse it."
"It's delightful to hear it," replied Mr. Spooner, in
ecstasy.
" We were only trying to persuade her to sing," said the
other.
"Oh! if you would!" exclaimed the young gentleman,
looking adoration at her.
" Corns!" cried Mr. Wracketts, drawing up his leg sud-
denly, and knocking the table with his knee, with a shock
that made the cruets and glasses jump again, " I wish you
would keep your boots to yourself, Wyndham."
" I never touched you," said Mr. Flitter. Mr. Spooner
quivered with terror. He had pressed a foot he did not in-
tend.
"Nonsense!" replied Mr. Wracketts; "do you think I
have no nerves? Never mind — we were going to have a
song."
And Mr. Wracketts twitched and winked, and then hur-
riedly begged Mr. Spooner to have some Champagne with
him, to his great relief.
The waiter was told to bring in the case that was outside
the door, and then retire. From it Mrs. Wracketts took a
guitar, and then commenced that struggle with the screw-
pegs and strings, which always precedes the humblest per-
formance on that instrument, during which the spectators sat
in great horror of seeing the catgut fly and cut off the tips
of her fingers. At last, it was supposed to be perfected, and
Mrs. Wracketts looked affectionately at her husband, and
said:
72 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" What shall I sing, dear?"
"Sing, love — oh! that little thing — what was it? — about
* Do, do,' — do something or another, but I can't recollect
what, just at present."
" Oh, the German air, * Du, du, reichst in mei^i herze?i*
No, not that, I think. Mr. Spooner would not follow it well;"
and her eyes looked at him large and black like those of a
dormouse. " Shall I try, * Singing from Palestine?' "
Mr. Wrackett, assented, and the lady began a touching
ballad, showing how a gentleman had fought in the Holy
Land with a guitar on his back — for to judge from the
rapscallions who followed the Crusades, he must have kept
it there all the time to have brought it safely home again —
and how he announced his return by singing under her bal-
cony, which in more modern times would have induced either
halfpence or the policeman; and which, as it was, to those
who studied the history of the middle ages from pantomimes,
would have provoked a savage attack from a large-headed
warder with a dreadful spiked ball, similar to that held by
Gog or Magog — one or the other, for we never were certain
as to their respective individuality.
Leonie, before singing, had complained of the chair being
too high for her, and had therefore quitted it for a low foot-
stool, which she took her place upon, first making a " cheese,"
which whirled the loose muslin dress about her, until she
sank in the middle of it, like a China French Marquise
penwiper, pressed down. And this she did with such a
childish relish, that Mr. Spooner was entranced; and he
followed the song until the candles, dessert-glasses, and com-
pany even vanished away, and he saw nothing but Leonie's
eyes shining through a glittering array of pennons, men-at-
arms, plumes, clarions, and champing steeds."
"Oh, beautiful!" he said, as she finished. "Sing an-
other."
" You don't like the claret," observed Mr. Flitter.
" Oh! never mind claret," returned his guest. " Pray sing
again, if it is not asking too much."
" But Mr. Wracketts wants some, if you don't," continued
Mr. Flitter; upon which Mr. Spooner recklessly filled his
glass, and then turned again to the lady, inquiring —
V
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY. 73
" Do you know —
' And the beating of our own hearts
Was tlie only sound we heard ?' "
No; Leonie did not, but she thought the notion very pretty,
and asked where it was to be got, because she would order
it. She knew another, though, if it was not too old, —
" 'Twere vain to tell thee all I feel," which, sung by a soft,
tremulous contralto voice, with the accompaniment of a
guitar and dark eyes, is as wickedly disposed a song as we
know of.
The last chords were dying away, when a waiter entered
the room — having properly stopped without for the applause,
according to custom — and looking first at one of the male
guests and then at the other, with great uncertainty said —
" Mr. Wyndham Flitter?"
" Not here," observed that gentleman; but immediately he
added, " Stop! who wants him?"
" I think I had better go and see," observed Mr. Wracketts,
rising.
Mr. Flitter thought it would be as well; he had a great
and natural horror of being inquired after; so his friend left
the room. Fortunately, Mr. Spooner was so taken up with
the fair songstress, not having jet recovered, that he did not
observe what was going on.
" There is some one asking for you down stairs," he said.
" A tall, seafaring sort of man."
" Tall — seafaring," repeated Mr. Flitter; " does he look
safe? Or— eh?"
He accompanied this question by patting his own shoulder
with his hand, as though he was arresting himself.
" No— I should say a sailor," answered the other. " He
has got a scar upon his face."
In an instant, it struck Mr. Flitter that it must be the
Ganger : but this did not in any way diminish his apprehen-
sion; for he perceived at once that something very important
must have occurred to bring the other so soon upon his heels.
However, he was tolerably comfortable about his own per-
sonal safety as regarded going down stairs, and so went down
at once to the coffee-room; and, to be sure, there, at the end
74 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
of the room, was Sherrard, seated on a table, to the great
surprise of the various groups of guests, his appearance not
being altogether in keeping with the West-end hotel, and
also to the apprehension of the waiters, who did not leave
the room, but quietly gathered away the desert-knives and
spoons from a table just vacated, without once taking their
eyes from the new comer.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter saw who it was in an instant; and,
with his quick glance, he also saw one or two men about the
coffee-room whom he was in the habit of meeting here and
there; so he assumed a superior tone as he said to Sherrard:
" Oh! is it you, my man? Come here, and I will speak
to you."
The other was not offended. He knew Flitter's reason for
speaking in this manner, and followed him up stairs to the
landing outside the dining-room.
" What's the matter?" asked Mr. Flitter, as they stopped.
" Nothing wrong, I hope? How the devil did you find I was
here?"
Sherrard briefly explained the difficulties he had over-
come.
" But what's the matter — ^is it good or bad?" asked Mr.
Flitter.
"Just as it may turn out," replied the Ganger; and he
related to his companion what had passed between him and
the lawyer at Pottleton, especially with reference to the
twelvemonth's delay. " You see it is not so smooth as we
fancied," he went on; " she will have whatever is left at the
end of a year ; and, take my word, she will have young
Hammond, too, — that is, if we allow it."
" Very good," said Mr. Flitter; " but I don't see how we
can help ourselves."
" You must be off at once to the continent, and find him
out; tell him of his mother's death, as a special friend, and
gain his confidence. You can do it, if you please. He is on
the Eouen line — that I know. There is a boat starts
from St. Katharine's Wharf, in two hours, for Havre; you
must go by it."
The cool, determined rapidity w^ith which the Ganger
gave these orders, quite took away Mr. Flitter's breath.
" I don't exactly see it in that light," he uttered.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 75
" Pshaw! look here," replied Sherrard. " Make a friend
of him at once; and whatever he may hear, let it be first
from you. Get him to keep where he is: we don't want him
here — understand that."
"But I can't go off in this hurry," said that gentleman;
" besides, I only paid my lodging -bill to-day; so it would be
all money thrown away. And another thing — I haven't got
any more."
" I'll see about that," said Sherrard. *' I can't leave the
line — it's impossible — and I don't want to leave Pottleton,
just now. You must go : here, look at this."
From the corner of his handkerchief he unrolled, after
some trouble with the knot, three or four bank-notes, tightly
crumpled up together. The sight reassured Mr. Flitter;
and the same instant he thought of another financial scheme.
" I'll go," he said; " but come in here for a minute. We've
caught a likely friend."
He opened the door, and introduced Sherrard to the others.
Mr. Spooner had quitted the table, and seated himself on the
sofa near the lady, tolerably far gone in claret and admira-
tion; whilst Wracketts had apparently found something far
more interesting to look at in the smoke of a cigar, which he
was watching, as, with his legs up on a chair, he assured the
visitor that " Mrs. Wracketts rather liked the smell of it
than otherwise — in fact, she smoked cigarettes herself." And
this little acquirement, in Mr. Spooner's opinion, threw a
greater halo of romance round her than ever.
"This good man has just come from Havre," said Mr.
Flitter, as they entered. " He has made the most marvellous
voyage, and come over in an open boat. I am required there
by the consul immediately, and must leave to-night."
He poured out a tumbler of claret, and gave it to Sherrard:
if he had not done so, the other would have helped himself.
Mr. Wracketts was not put out. He saw something was
"up," and that was sufficient for him, not to say gratifying;
for both Flitter and himself formed branches of that large
family of scamps who live such an incredible time upon
paper, building up scaffolds of accommodation bills, above
low-water mark, and climbing to perch thereon, until the
frail elevation gives way — which it always does sooner or
later — and swamps them irremediably, and for ever. And
76 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
therefore, seeing his friend did not look embarrassed, he
calculated that it might be something to their mutual ad-
vantage.
" Wracketts," said Mr. Flitter, as he darted his eyes back-
wards and forwards from the lady and young gentleman to
his associate, "J am miserable to leave you in this hurry, but
I hope I may ask you a small favour. Will you be so kind
as to settle the bill?"
" My dear fellow, certainly, certainly," replied Wracketts,
with a hearty shake of the hand, and in tones of most enthu-
siastic warmth. "But must you really go?"
"I must — I must: but I shall come back, if possible, by
the next boat. Tidd, use this room as if you had given the
dinner instead of me. It is very early, and I have no doubt
Mrs. Wracketts will treat you with another song, if you
speak prettily. You rascal, you!"
He put his hand so kindly on Mr. Spooner's head, though
he did call him names!
" Adieu, Madame," he added, to the lady; " et n'oubliez pas
de bien faire votre jeu."
And then saying " God bless you all," to the party gene-
rally, he left the room followed by Sherrard.
In three hours from that time the persons of this scene
were somewhat divided.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter was trying to go to sleep, seated on
a stool, which he knew would be of perilous steadiness when
the vessel got to sea, in the fore-cabin of the Havre boat
James Watt, as she throbbed her way down the dark river.
The Ganger had gone to some humble coffee-house, there
to doze, or otherwise make out the time, until the first train
went back again to Pottleton.
And Mr. Spooner, having been challenged by Mrs.
Wracketts, who declared she had exhausted her repertoire of
songs, was looking a great deal more into her eyes than over
the hand he held at ecarie ; whilst her husband, playing a
different game, gazed intently at the hand aforesaid, and
scarcely took notice of his wife at all, except by a rapid
glance now and then, given and acknowledged with electric
celerity. This went on until the first grey gleam of morning
showed through the window curtains, and found Mr. Spooner
tremulously writing a cheque on the sideboard. Leonie was
THE rOTTLETON LEGACY. 77
his only companion, as Mr. Wracketts had insisted upon
going out to fetch a cab, saying the fresh air would relieve
his head ; and, by the time he was absent, there appeared to
be a great dearth of cabs, even in the neighbourhood of
Long's Hotel.
CHAPTER X.
A LONG WAY FROM POTTLETON.
The glowing afternoon sun threw a cheering glorious flood
of light upon a rich and lovely country. Wooded hills and
deep green pastures — a sparkling river with small islet
patches breaking the course of its stream, and villages and
cottages dotting its banks; here and there, avenues of lofty
poplars, half obscuring the noble chateaux beyond them; an
ancient city, with its mediaeval spires and gables, and busy
quays of modern traffic; a clear blue sky, and an air so pure
and exhilarating, that all who breathed it felt its influence —
might be enjoyed by any one who sat outside a small way-
side inn, to which we shall now transport the reader.
The river is the Seine; the old city is Rouen; and the
entire tract of goodly land and water is Normandy. We
give it in its own old name, and do not recognise that of the
latter " department" which comprises it. The " Seine In-
ferieure" has no claim upon our emotions. We repudiate it,
in common with the other matter-of-fact appellations by which
the goodly regions of Burgundy, Touraine, Languedoc, Pro-
vence, or Artois are now known, and ever shall, to the
neglect of all other titles that new dynasties may think fit to
ordain.
At this small inn, a large party of labourers were drinking
and smoking. The difference of their appearance — the stal-
wart, almost gigantic forms of some, in their round felt hats,
short white smock-frocks, and corduroy trowsers, tucked up
round their ankles, with their stout heavy spades, on the
one hand; and the slim, although still muscular build of their
companions, in their cloth caps, blue blouses, and long light
78 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
shovels, on the other; the difficulty they had, on either side,
of making a few simple words of their own tongue compre-
hensible to their fellows, showed that they were divided into
nearly equal parties of French and English. The unfinished
embankment of a railway close to the public-house told their
occupation.
The inn was a long one-storied building, of yellowish clay
and plaster, daubed white, and roofed with coarse, irregular
tiles. It had evidently been only an estaminet; and the
original inscription, " A la Jeanne d'Arc,^^ was faintly
visible. But the vast importation of " navigators" had here,
even as at the remote Pottleton, rendered some little change
necessary; and so an attempt at a sign-board had been
mounted, on which was painted "To the Rendezvous of
Joyous Mariners," whilst above the letters, a bunch of tur-
nips was depicted, from some obscure connexion in the
foreign artist's mind between our term "navvy" and the
navet of his own country. On the shutters was labelled the
ordinary " Vin, Here, et eau-de-vie^^ ^^ Bon cidre de Nor-
mandie^'' and " On donne a boire et a manger" of the small
inns; and a further inducement to foreigners was held out by
the information of " Grog confectioned in every especies,*
and of " Soda-beer and portere" And there is no doubt
but that when all these inscriptions had been completed, the
owner retired happily to bed, in the idea that he had esta-
blished a thorough English public-house.
The new structures about the spot showed that coloniza-
tion on a large scale was going on. Close to the inn some
workmen were building a house — an eccentric process in
France, of which no one was ever old enough to see the
beginning and end. Casual and attentive observers have,
however, left accounts from which we glean the following
facts. The scaffolding being made of long slim clothes-props,
fastened together with string, wythes, and dabs of mortar
the chimneys are first built on its top. The workmen then
descend, and sitting on the blocks of stone about, smoke a
pipe and admire their work. Years roll by in this easy list-
less manner, during which the walls gradually descend, as
the cement and rubbish that compose them is pulled up in
a small pail to the platform hung from hooks in the roof, on
which the builder works; and other hooks are built into the
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 79
garret-window frames, which are never glazed, for shutters
which are never placed there. Between every morsel of
material added to the edifice, the workman has another pipe
and another lounge with his comrades; and then half a dozen
of them assemble to lay a brick, and talk or quarrel over it for
an hour. And thus engaged, several of them were saunter-
ing about the round tables placed before the inns, or pre-
tending to make the mortar, which appeared to be a simple
composition of wet sand and chalk.
The whole scene looked like the opening of an opera.
The French labourers had collected on one side, drinking
cider and washy beer, and playing some game of chance with
revolving numbers, as they chatted with the girls and women
who were waiting about, many of them wearing the tall lace
cap of the caiichoise. And all were more or less bawling
out the following song to an old air, " Vite en avant deux^
" Allons violons et clarinettes,
Dounez le signal du bacchanal,
Fripons, cotillons, jeuues fillettes,
Accourez au bal, au bal ;
Venez,
Joyeux ouvriers,
Deguster bouteilles et litres,
Chanter a rompre les vitres,
Eire a ventres deboutonnes." "
The navvies were not behind them in noise. Brandy and
water was their favourite drink, and a cloud of tobacco
smoke enveloped them, as they listened to a song, of which
the following is a verse, put to that peculiar tune with the
prolonged final note, which may be heard in the tap-room of
any country public house on a Saturday evening —
" O-h-h-b ! bis coat it is so red, and his trowsers is so blue !
0-h-h-h ! his coat it is so red, and his trowsers is so blue !
His trowsers is so blue,
And his weskit is so new,
He's a chick a-leary cove, and I loves him tew-w-w !"
And when the supposed country damsel had described, in
like fashion, the various superior attributes of her lover, with
a chorus of friends, the song began all over again.
A little way from the door, at another table, a young man
was sitting, paying the different people, assisted by a couple
80 THE rOTTLETON LEGACY.
of gens-d'armes, who kept order. For as none of the French
workmen could receive a franc, any more than they could lay
a brick or move a shovelful of earth, without half-a-dozen
offering their opinions upon the proceeding, which ultimately
ended in a combat of words, and stilted oaths, the presence
of these authorities was not out of place.
The young man managed them very well though. His
light curling hair, fresh good-humoured face, and steady re-
solute way of proceeding, apart from his language, showed
that he was an Englishman; but he spoke French excellently,
whenever a native presented himself.
" What, another accident?" he said, as a navvy advanced
with his arm in a sling. " Eeally, my men, you should be
more careful. If you have no regard for yourselves, think
of the company. How is this, Taylor?"
"I was having a bit of talk with Howard, sir; and I just
laid my elbow on a pile, and the monkey came down, and
smashed it."
The " monkey" was the large driving - block that falls
upon a pile-head.
" Well, you must appeal to the Police Correctionelle, I
suppose; and we must pay. I do really think if one of you,
w^ho knew he couldn't swim, went bathing and was drowned,
the tribunal would come upon the company."
" If you plase, Mr. Hammond, sirr, Paddy Blake's come
to a bad hurt," said another labourer, whose accent betrayed
his Hibernian origin.
" Another?" said the young man. "Well, what now?"
" It's the powther, sirr," was the answer. " He blasted
his eyes."
" Now, you can speak without using that language, Ryan,'*
said the other.
" No, I don't mane that, sirr," answered the man. " The
bore in the rock was full of powther, and wouldn't go off;
and Paddy jest went to give the priming a bit of a blow, sirr,
with his mouth; and then it did."
" And what has he done?"
*' His eyes and his arras is gone, sirr."
" And where's he gone himself?"
*• To Euen, sirr."
"Ruin, indeed," observed the other, half smiling, as he re-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 81
peated tlie man's pronunciation. " Well, take this money to
him; and there are five-and-twenty francs for his present
wants. I will come down and see him to-night."
The man touched his hat, and was departing to make room
for the others, when a stranger pushed in before them, and
eame up to the pay-table.
" Mr. Hammond, I believe," said the new-comer, with an
easy familiarity, poising himself about as if the soles of his
boots had been made of springs.
The young man rose, and acknowledged his name; for, as
the reader may have guessed, he was the nephew of old
Mrs. Maitland.
" I must introduce myself, Mr. Hammond," continued the
other, as he took a glazed card from his pocket-book, on
which, below the crest of a phoenix, was inscribed, in micro-
scopic capitals, - vvyndham ilittee." The " Mr." was consi-
dered an unnecessary addition. " I have come from Eng-
land," he went on, " and, I regret to say, on a painful errand.
Can I have a word with you — in the inn, perhaps?"
Young Hammond's countenance assumed an expression
of alarm. He told one of the gens-d'armes to take his place
at the pay-table, and accompanied Flitter into the cabaret.
" I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, Mr. Ham-
mond," observed the other; "but you may possibly have
been prepared for them. In a word — your good aunt "
"Well— what of her?"
'' She is dead."
The young man caught in his breath hastily; and then, as
he muttered the word "Dead!" appeared as though he
wished to comprehend some vague announcement by repeat-
ing it.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter, not knowing precisely what to say
beyond a few conventional platitudes relating to deaths in
general, ordered some Cognac, to occupy time until Philip's
first burst of surprise and grief had calmed down. And then,
whilst sipping his tiny glass of brandy, he entered with con-
summate tact into certain particulars connected with the
will and the disposition of the property — hinted at underhand
work, evidently carried on by somebody living with her — he
did not mean to say by whom ; on the contrary. Heaven
forbid, on so melancholy an occasion, that he should throw
G
82 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
suspicion upon anybody ; but so it was. And when he con-
sidered that he had made mischief enough, he recommended
Philip to think no more about it, but leave Mr. Sherrard,
whom he knew well, and who had been so kind to the old lady,
to look after everything, whilst he (Hammond) pursued the
career still abroad, in which he was becoming so honourably
known.
"On the contrary," said Philip, as he found an opportunity
of replying, " I shall return immediately."
" Indeed," exclaimed Mr. Flitter, somewhat alarmed.
Then, after a few seconds of reflection, he added : "Pray
do not think me impertinent in alluding to the attachment
between your cousin and yourself, which I have heard
existed."
" Existed ?"
"I speak in all humility — possibly still exists between
you."
" But what reason have you for supposing that it does
not?" asked Philip, earnestly. " Has anything happened?
Have you heard anything?"
" Nothing, nothing, I assure you ; only — " and here Mr.
Flitter hesitated, as though he wished not to allude to the
subject — " only — I really ought not to meddle at all in the
matter. Does not the will strike you as singular? And do
you think you would be received in such a way as to make
the visit to England agreeable? But, pshaw! as I said
before, what have I to do with this? I am taking a great
liberty — I feel I am — in venturing to give an opinion on it.'*
" I am sure I am gratified by the interest you take in it,"
said Philip, seizing the other by the hand with the warmth
which a person in trouble always feels towards any kindly
associate. " It is most kind of you. But I would rather be
at home, or, at least, be near where my home was."
" We will return together, then," said Mr. FHtter, " you
may perhaps like to stay in London with me for a little
while. And Sherrard, too, will be glad to see you."
" Do you know him well?" asked Philip.
"A good creature," replied Mr. Flitter; "rough, but
honest. His nature is not plated, like nut- crackers, wherein
a dig, in producing their roughness, discovers the coarse
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 83
metal below; no, it is all good. I first met him when the
railway was projected through some property of mine."
" I believe he has been very kind to my poor aunt."
" Always, always," said Mr. Flitter, " and will be so to
you, as you have seen already."
Mr. Flitter made a few more attempts to prove to Philip
Hammond the advantage to be gained by staying abroad, but
the other was inflexible. This point settled, it did not take
him long to make his arrangements for departure. Mr. Flitter,
at the same time, never lost sight of him, and the day after
this interview they were standing together in the court- yard
of the Hotel de la Messagerie, at Rouen, watching the arrival
of the diligence from the Paris railway, and awaiting the
dinner prepared for the passengers.
The table-d'hote was laid out with a great eye to effect —
that is to say, effect through the windows, upon the passers
by in the street. For from the imposing appearance of the
thirty napkins sticking out of the tumblers like peacocks'
tails, and the wonderful epergnes loaded with the choicest
exotics and the rarest fruits, idle gazers believed that crowds
of noble and distinguished persons were expected to dinner,
and thought much of the hotel accordingly. But when the
time of dining came, and the shutters were closed, and the
confiding stranger, who had been caught by the glare, found
that the flowers were artificial and the fruit wax, and that
the real five or six guests huddled all up to one end of the
table, as though spirits were sitting behind all the other
knives and forks, to restrain them and keep them in awe —
then the visitor mistrusted first impressions and outside
appearances, and remorse and self-reproach spoiled his meal.
At last, the diligence from the Paris railway, having been
hoisted up from its truck and let down upon fresh wheels,
came clattering through the narrow streets, making every
window jingle as it passed. Next to seeing talented persons
dance hornpipes amongst eggs without breaking the shells,
it is wonderful to reflect how diligences wind about the
narrow, contracted streets, without cracking all the shop
fronts. We cannot fancy anybody driving an omnibus
through the Low ther- arcade, or Hampton-court maze, or the
pens at Smithfield, or any other intricate passage; but a
G 2
84 ' THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
diligence would thread the thoroughfares without scattering
anything. Not less wonderful is their power of going
through small arches and apertures. The man who once
wagered that he would get into a pint bottle, did not do any-
thing so wonderful as Laffitte's elephantine vehicles, when
they were wont to creep through the low narrow gateways
of fortified towns. As well, to all probability, might the
late Mr. Daniel Lambert, of mountainous memory, have
determined upon occupying the last seat of a railway omnibus,
on the arrival of a Sunday evening train.
The people crowded into the eating- room, and took their
places at the table; Mr. Wyndham Flitter put himself at the
top, as he was stopping at the house for the night, which, he
assumed, gave him a position of honour; and began imme-
diately to talk to all the party, as though they were old
friends, ultimately offering to pay the bill in its total, and
then divide it afterwards, as they were pressed for time. By
this latter arrangement he not only contrived to come off free
himself, but to make'cight or ten francs into the bargain.
During the meal, however, having rubbed his snuff-box
against his trowsers until it became very bright for the time,
he flashed it before the eyes of the company.
But they did not notice it. In the hurry of dinner, and
occupation of changing vehicles and luggage, he could not
attract their attention, so he commanded it.
" That's an interesting memorial, sir, that box," he said to
gentleman on his left, who took a pinch from it — a youthful
tourist, who had let a light pluffy moustache grow, upon the
strength of having been in France a fortnight.
" Indeed, sir! I was admiring it," replied the other, called
upon to say something.
" Yes; it was found by a diver opposite Quillebocuf, under
the wreck of the Telemaque. Not a doubt of its authen-
ticity; it was part of the treasure, and belonged to the unfor-
tunate Louis."
" I thought it was proved that there was no treasure,"
observed a gentleman hard of conviction.
" There are more things in heaven and earth than ever
came out of it," replied Mr. Flitter, somewhat losing himself
in his quotation. " It was well known where the treasure
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 85
went. But of that — mum! Ah I here are some Normandy
soles; * Je vais re von* ma Normandie.' "
Glad of the diversion, Mr. Flitter hummed the air, and
directly began to help the fish; then, not choosing to retire
from the battle-field altogether beaten, he took out his watch.
Having looked at the time, with a large clock staring him
right in the face from the messagerie yard, and one going
on each of the two mantel-pieces, as nearly together as French
clocks can be expected to go" under common circumstances,
he went on: —
" In fact, here is a thing there could have been no mistake
about. This watch had on the back of it when I first came by
it, M. R. a M. A., — ' Maison-Rouge to Marie- Antoinette,' — a
gift from the unfortunate chevalier. I sent it once to be
repaired, and have my crest put on it," he added, as he passed
it round for inspection, " and the idiots punched out the
cypher by mistake."
" You had it new fitted too, I see," said the gentleman
■who was difiicult to be convinced. " The works bear date
1806."
*•' Oh, of course, of course; it had been so long under
water, you see," said Mr. Flitter.
He was always ready; and unless one of his race can be so,
he is the most contemptible of impostors.
In spite of his anxious troubles, Philip Hammond was
rather amused at his new acquaintance. There was such an
air of ho7ihommie, notwithstanding all his vapouring, and at
times, childish frankness about Mr. Wyndham Flitter, that
the others formed a great notion of him — so much so in-
deed, that a day had not passed before Philip thought how
fortunate he was to have made friends with a man of evi-
dently first-rate connexions, and possessing singularly varied
information.
Very early the next morning, before the first rays of sun
had got through the fog to fall on the tops of the hills along
the Seine, our travellers were ready to depart for Havre.
Few people were about, and the quays were quite deserted,
except at the spot alongside of which the Normandie was
getting up her steam for the journey; and here a little knot
of persons had collected at the gangway — waiters and porters
86 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
from the hotels, officials, and sellers of fruit and cakes for
those who had come off too early to get any breakfast. For
from something to do with the tide of the Seine, which at
certain periods is given to behave in a comically uproarious
manner, the boats from Rouen usually go off at hours uncom-
fortably betimes; or rather, they give out that such is their
intention, and then they do as they please, beguiling the
delay after the appointed hour by whisking the water back-
wards and forwards with their paddles, and by ringing most
diabolical bells from time to time, in mere wantonness,
for the bewilderment of the still blinking passengers, who,
called in the middle of the night from their beds, nod and
doze in the river mist, upon the damp deck, which is always
sluiced with water immediately before they arrive, from some
unaccountable notions of clammy cleanliness cultivated by
steam-boat sailors generally.
By degrees the travellers collected, and amongst them
Mr. Wyndham Flitter recognised several of his acquaint-
ances of the day before, including the young tourist, and the
stern gentleman who was so difficult of conviction. His first
object was to learn all their names from the cards on, their
luggage, and his next, to be very useful to those whose
French was feeble and badly constructed. For these he
squabbled with the commissionaires, and settled disputed bills
and gratuities, assuring them all, that he had saved them
from the atrocious imposition practised upon liberal travellers.
And by the time the boat really did start, going at first very
slowly through the fog, next to the captain, there was nobody
on board so entirely in command of everybody's attention as
Mr. Wyndham Flitter.
The young gentleman with the pluffy moustache, though,
was his greatest listener. He found out that he knew some-
thing about Oxford, and also knew Mr. Tidd Spooner; which
was quite enough to make him friends at once with Mr.
Flitter, And as he had, moreover, bought a guide-book,
and now and then stuck fast at a word or two, Mr. Flitter
thought it most charitable to take it out of his hands alto-
gether, and tell him what he was looking at.
" This is a fine boat," observed Mr. Flitter, in a loud tone,
as the Normandie got clear of the fog, and began to go
a-head.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 87
*' It conveyed Napoleon's cinders " the young gentle-
man began.
"Excuse me — 'ashes,'" interrupted Mr. Flitter, confi-
dentially. " Yes, you are right," he continued, aloud, " the
Normandie conveyed the ashes of Napoleon from Cherbourg
to Courbevoie. I have a curious relic. This watch '*
And ]Vli\ Flitter pulled up short, having almost forgotten
that the evening before he had told a different tale about it.
But he went off at a tangent immediately, looking towards
the engines, as he glanced at the guide-book by the way,
and caught a notion flying, " There is some doubt, after all,
whether we invented steam. Its origin appears to be French.'
" Indeed!" said the gentleman, who would not be con-
vinced.
" A man I know, high in a government office, has a letter
from Marion de I'Orme, who says that she went over a mad-
house with the Marquis of Worcester, where they saw a poor
devil confined for some lunatic plan for moving machines by
vapour. The Marquis stole the secret — there you have it.'*
Mr. Wyndham Flitter peeped into the guide-book once or
twice during this story, as a boy does in class, when he wants
a word.
" I don't doubt it," said the gentleman. " Of course the
French are right. They invented steam at the same time
they discovered America, vaccination, electricity, chess, and
the mariner's compass."
" Ha! ha! very good! very smart!" said Mr. Flitter; *' neatly
put, indeed. Something like the Irish," he went on, turning
the subject. "You never praised anything before an Irishman,
but he said, ' My boy, you should see the ones we've got in
Dublin!' I do believe he'd make pine apples grow in
Phoenix Park. Ha! ha! Monument Yard — twenty thousand
just landed."
Mr. Flitter's conversation was always carried on in angles,
never following one straight line. Its course might be well
described by the way in which artists depict a flash of light-
ning; or better, by the figure formed in a game of dominoes,
inasmuch as at times, coming to a fix, he drew upon a reserve
for something to go on with. But to those deep thinkers
who can picture the diagram of the journey performed by a
88 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
kniglit in covering all the squares of a cliess-board conse-
cutively, no further illustration of the dodging, jumping
Style of Mr. Flitter's usual talk is necessary.
The business of breakfast for a time distracted the atten-
tion of the travellers. The Seine boats have capital and
cheap restaurants attached to them — we mean those between
Havre and Rouen. They had once equal need of them, on
the journey from the latter city to Paris, which might have
been taken as an extended edition of our own river trip to
Hampton Court, occupying thirteen hours of progress, three
of retrogression, and nine of sticking upon sand-banks — in
all, twenty-five, popularly called twelve. But now the rail-
way has altered all that.
Whilst they were thus occupied, the Normandie glided
past the mountain, on the summit of which once rose the
castle of Robert le Diable. Here was a fine chance for
Mr. Flitter to go in and win the fresh attention of his com-
panions. He hummed the drinking and the gambling chorus
from the opera — alluded to the nuns coming out of their
graves and dancing in pink tights — told any legend that
came uppermost about the hero — and finally stated that those
who had not seen Staudigl as Bertram^ had missed a wonder
of the world.
At the name of the great singer, a German passenger,
who had been hitherto sitting behind an enormous pipe, laid
it down, as he cried —
" Shtaudigl — ah-h-h! vos goots as Pertram — ya — zol"
"What? Stoff ?" cried Mr. Flitter, as he recognised the
speaker. " Who would have thought of meeting you here?
A most remarkable man that," he continued, speaking in a
low tone to his immediate neighbours, thinking that the
appearance of his friend was not altogether of that dashing
description it was eligible for his acquaintances to assume.
" A most remarkable man — great mind — deep thinker ; but
]ias an almost childish veneration for Staudigl."
" Ha! ya! zo!" replied the other. " Yell, vot it is; zo!"
Having thus expressed himself, he put his pipe alight into
his pocket, and shook hands with Mr. Flitter, who asked —
"And where have you turned up from?"
"Turn up — ya! ha, ha! zo; very goot vits. 'Tis a
chokes."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 89
*'No — no joke," replied Flitter. " I'm glad to see you.
Where have you been? Nova Scotia?"
"No — fiddleshtickle — Noveskotes!" continued his friend.
« Wien."
« Oh, Vienna!" translated Mr. Flitter. "Ah! what have
you been doing there?"
" Mr. Shtaudigl zings Der Freyschutz: 'tis goot — ya — zo!"
Mr. Flitter winked collectively to his fellow-travellers;
and as the German rose to knock the still incandescent ashes
from his pipe into the river, observed —
"A wonderful man; no one ever knew where he lived.
You will see. And now," he went on, as the other returned,
" where are you staying, Stoff ?"
"Oh — der ish loadgings; ver goot loadgings in Lonedon,
zo; not exbensives. When Mr. Shtaudigl vos in Lonedon he
vos; vot he vos, ya, zo.
" Yes — I know," said Mr. Flitter, evidently appearing to
comprehend all about it; " and after that?"
" Der ish de loadgings for de difrent beebles."
" The how much ?" asked Mr. Flitter.
" De beebles — das volk : zo."
" Oh, the people ! ah, I see ; go on."
" And oather loadgings, zo, der ish Deutschers, der ish, and
Mr. Shtaudigl. vot he vos in petter loadgings ; ya, no, tish not
tear — ver nyshe : zo."
The last few words were pronounced as a confidential com-
mentary on his own speech, made to himself.
" Near Drury-lane, I think, it used to be?" said Mr. Flitter.
" Ah — va ! Trury Lanes !" cried the other ; " ver Mr.
Shtaudigl vos played Pertram, and Mr. Punn. Ya, Mr.
Punn vos, vot he vos, pewtiful, and zo."
On Avhich the foreigner nodded several assents to thoughts
passing in his mind ; and then reproduced his pipe, from
which, having relilled and lighted it, he had taken one or two
mighty puffs, when the steward came and told him it was not
allowed in that part of the boat.
" Fiddleshtickle !" replied the Herr.
Nor was it until Mr. Wyndham Flitter had assured him
such w^as the rule, that he went grumbling away to the fore-
part of the steamer, justifying his right by a disjointed state-
ment, in which the name of " Mr. Shtaudigl" was, end upper-
90 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
most, tossed amid a flood of broken words, like a cork in a
sluice.
The Normandie went on, and so did Mr. Flitter — now
pointing out the ruins of the Abbey of Jumicges, and talking
about Agnes Sorel, whose history he made up from remi-
niscences of La Valliere, Anne Boleyn, and favourites or
unlucky queens in general ; and, anon, talking of the fortune
he lost by starting a large manufactory at Candebec, through
the dishonesty of the partners, who bolted with the money.
All this impressed Philip Hammond with higher notions than
•ever of his friend's position. And when he got off Quilleboeuf,
where the Telemaque went down, he was as good as a book.
" By the way," he said, apropos of the Telemaque, " here
is the box belonging to Marie Antoinette, which I spoke of."
And he handed it round for the company to take a pinch.
" I thought it was a watch," said the gentleman who was
still difficult to be convinced.
" Very true — we are both right," said Mr. Flitter. " There
was a sad jumble of the things when the vessel went over on
her side — she lay on her side, you know — so that watches,
and boxes, and everything else, were all confused. A friend of
mine said a capital thing about it — a devilish clever fellow,
wrote those letters — what were they? — about something that
made such a noise. Dear me ! I quite forget. No matter. He
said more money had been sunk preparatory to raising the
Telemaque than ever had been raised preparatory to sinking
her. " ' Raised,' you see, and ' sunk:' the play upon the
words is not bad. Ha! ha!"
And having thus got away from the dilemma altogether,
Mr. Flitter pointed out the spot where the ship had foundered,
and spoke of having been a heavy loser by the affair.
At last, after much more talk, during which the Normandie
passed a town, when Mr. Flitter facetiously observed, that
they were in the same situation as Scene i. Act 3 of Shaks-
peare's " Henry the Fifth," " Before Harfleur," they at last
came alongside the quay of one of the Havre basins.
Havre may be called a French edition of Bristol — at least,
in appearance. In commerce there is a slight difference. For
its principal trade, upon a first glimpse, appears to be entirely
confined to cockatoos, monkeys, and Java sparrows; and the
traveller wonders by what extraordinary influx of visitors
THE POTTLETON LEGACf. 91
there can ever be a chance of its screaming, chirping chatter-
ing commodities being carried off. It is the dominion of
strange birds they bring in cages from the windows ; they
sit gravely side by side, in rows of twenty and thirty, or
perches in long grated boxes, like larks spitted, ready for
roasting. You look into back parlours, passages, and cellars
even, and still see nothing but birds. Parrots gnaw your
buttons as you look after the smaller game ; cockatoos claw
hold of you as you pass in front of the shops ; and hosts of
foreign tom-tits, driven into great fears by your proximity,
flutter and scuffle as you approach, covering you with wet
seeds and water, and making the air about them thick with
clouds of flue, which ultimately settle on your clothes, and
defy brushes.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter and Philip made up the time
between their dinner and departure by strolling about the
town, and making a few purchases — Mr. Flitter's being
principally confined to tobacco, with which he stuffed every
available portion of his attire so tightly, that he might have
passed for a walking pincushion.
" Smuggling is a great delusion," he said. " People only
do it when they first come to France. I get everything
cheaper in London."
There were reasons for this, besides the mere commercial
value of the articles; the shopkeepers abroad gave no credit.
At last midnight arrived, at which hour the boat was to
start. Mr. Flitter had despatched their luggage on board at
an earlier hour, '^ that they might have no bother," as he
said; and at five minutes to the time walked from the hotel
to the quay.
"Is everything settled?" asked Philip.
" Don't trouble yourself about it, my dear fellow," replied
Mr. Flitter, with the expression of a man wishing to pay for
another in a delicate manner.
" But really ," observed Philip.
" Now I must insist " interrupted Mr. Flitter, placing
his hand upon the other's arm ; and their arrival at the gang-
way precluded further altercation.
They went at once down to the cabin, and were selecting
their berths by the peculiarly feeble lamp that chiefly
flourishes in steamboats, when the waiter from the hotel
92 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
came down the stairs, and proceeding at once to Mr. Flitter,
with eyes that rivalled those of a cat in the gloom, ex-
claimed:
"Please, sir; you've forgotten the bill."
"Eh! what?" inquired Mr. Flitter, in vague surprise:
"What bill? You paid, I believe, Mr. Hammond : did you
not?"
"I?" asked Philip: " Certainly not. I imagined — really
excuse me — that you had settled it."
, "Well, this is capital!" added his friend. " Ha! ha! come
— we are not so bad as that either. A mistake, you see," he
continued to the waiter. " I am exceedingly glad you came.
What is it? Twelve francs — um. Mr. Hammond, if you
give me five shillings that will make it right. Short reckon-
ings make long friends. I always act on that principle."
As he paid the money the waiter intimated that he ex-
pected a slight gratuity.
" You must give me change for a sovereign," said Mr.
Flitter, kicking Philip, who proffered some, with his foot.
The man had not got any.
"Well — I am very sorry," returned our friend: "but
what am I to do? Look out — unless you wish to find
yourself at Southampton in the morning, I should recom-
mend you to go on shore."
There was a noise on deck, as the gangway was pulled up
to the quay. The waiter did not stay another moment,
but darted up stairs, and stepped ashore from the paddle-
box.
* Philip did not exactly understand the scene, but was
stopped in an inquiry by a dissertation from Mr. Flitter upon
the impositions of hotels generally.
And then, after a few vibratory motions, the lamps and
glasses in the packet began to jingle; and an uneasy motion
of the cabin floor pitched the gentleman with the pluffy mous-
tache, who was standing upon one leg to undo his straps, into
his berth sooner than he intended, showed that the steamer
had left the mouth of the harbour, and was fairly upon the
dark tumbling sea.
' THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 93
CHAPTER XL
HOME AGAIN.
Leaving Mr. Wyndham Flitter and Philip on their journey,
homeward bound, we will return to Pottleton, where renewed
excitement was commencing by the changes effected by the
railway. Of all the benefits arising therefrom, Mr. Twincli
was the receiver-general. If any property changed hands
amicably, he drew out the deeds; if the people squabbled, he
drew out the deeds just the same, only more of them. But,
as we have said, though a hard man, he was very honourable.
He got all out of his clients that he could, but no more; that
is to say, they, being the geese who laid the golden eggs,
were directly despoiled of all that he considered as due to
him; but he never destroyed them to get them all at once.
He was at work one evening in his office, whilst the Girls
and Annie had gone to drink tea at Farmer Grant's, when
Mr. Wyndham Flitter was announced, and came into his
office attired as if just from a journey. Almost before
Mr. Twinch could ask a question, that gentleman informed
him with some degree of volubility that he had arrived from
the Continent, bringing young Hammond with him, whom he
had left in London; and that not finding Sherrard at the
Grange, he had come to inquire whether Mr. Twinch had
learned any more with respect to the old lady's property
than he had known before.
"I am an old friend of the family," said Mr. Flitter; "but
knowing how the legacy was framed, I thought I would wait
and see whether it would be advisable or not to bring young
Hammond down here."
"I do not quite understand you, sir," said Mr. Twinch ;
^^pray take a seat. Bring young Hammond down! Cannot
he come by himself?"
Mr. Flitter felt for a minute confused; so he caught at
the fact of a decanter standing on the table to ask for a
glass of water — the refreshment that Mr. Twinch usually
kept for hysterical clients when their feelings became excited.
"I do not think you will like that," said Mr. Twinch ;
" our pump is a chalybeate.'*
94 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Oh, anything will do," replied Mr. Flitter. " I am thirsty
with my hurried journey."
He poured out some of the water and put it to his lips;
but he very soon took it away again ; for it tasted as much
like ink as anything not absolutely black could be expected
to do.
" My dear sir," he said, " is the spring of this water on
your property?"
" The pump is in the kitchen," answered the lawyer.
" Then our fortune is made," cried Mr. Flitter, jumping
up, suddenly.
"You don't say so!" observed Mr. T winch, completely
bewildered.
"Don't you see?" asked Mr. Flitter. "I have it all. A
chalybeate — ^ pump-room — sick people — water cure — Pottle-
ton a second Cheltenham. Let me rent the pump."
Mr. Flitter accompanied every one of these sentences by
giving Mr. Twinch a dig in the ribs with his finger, which
process, together with his astonishment, completely took his
breath away.
" Let me rent the pump," repeated Mr. Flitter.
"My good sir," said Mr. Twinch, " I can't let the pump;
it is in the middle of the kitchen."
" Well, let me the kitchen — the whole house," continued
Mr. Flitter, evidently excited, " and I'll build you a palace.
Or join me in the scheme. Turn your kitchen into a marble
temple, the pump into an antique fountain, and lay out your
grounds as an earthly paradise."
Mr. Twinch's grounds formed a wilderness of gooseberry
bushes and apple trees, which he never looked after. For^
as he was wont to say, when he had a gardener his potatoes
cost a shilling apiece, and he found he could always buy more
of every fruit for sixpence than his entire half acre produced.
But Mr. Flitter appeared really so enthusiastic about the
affair, that he resolved himself to turn the matter over in his
mind; at present he brought his strange visitor back to his
original subject, by saying —
"But excuse me, sir; what about young Hammond?"
The conversation thus entered upon, Mr. Wyndham Flitter
found that he did not make any great way with Mr. Twinch
about young Hammond. For the tough old lawyer was accus-
tomed to deal with social jugglers of all kinds : and thinking,
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 95
from the strange interest his visitor was taking in the affair,
that some plot was in contemplation, he gave such hard,
straightforward replies, that the other was completely foiled.
There is nothing beats the tacking of a " do" so completely
as a 'plain-sailing way of proceeding, because he cannot un-
derstand it at all. He feels as awkward as an Astley's fox-
hunter accustomed to go round the circus upon two bare-
backed steeds and over elastic five-barred gates, would do if
put upon a common active pony, and sent right ahead across
the country. If you try to meet a " do" on his own ground,
and out-do him, you are certain to be " done." Reversing
the above illustration, being a good field horseman, you might
as well attempt to cope with any of the active gentlemen in
Olympic costumes, who jump through hoops and over
streamers in the arena. In like manner, people who know
nothing in the world about certain games, will often win
at cards, dominos, and the like. Their adversaries think
they are laying deep schemes, and go out of their way to
counteract them, when all the time there is not the slightest
occasion for any stratagems of the kind; the others simply
playing the most palpable game that appears open to them.
So all Mr. Wyndham Flitter's plans were for the present
frustrated with respect to several artful schemes he had in
view about Philip Hammond, and he went back to London,
mentally calling Mr. Twinch a pig-headed old fool all the
way, because he had not afforded his visitor any opportunity
of displaying ingenuity and acumen.
A day passed, and then another visitor came to Mr.
Twinch's.
Railways are great subverters of romance, as connected
with a stranger's return to his native village. All the
descriptive bits connected with the arrival, that once told so
well, can no longer be made available. We no more picture
the solitary horseman riding slowly up the village, and
throwing his lengthened shadow before him in the afternoon
sun; nor the weary pedestrian pausing on the hill that over-
looks his home, and putting down the bundle — which all
pedestrians were once bound to carry in a story or painting,
and in which the whole of their worldly goods and chattels
were comprised, whatever their rank — the better to give vent
to emotions. Nor can we so well call up the way -side inn
on the bye-road, with the light gleaming on the snow through
96 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
its red-curtained windows, in the common-room of which,
according to story commencements from time immemorial,
some splashed and booted traveller arrived, and always at
night. And so we are driven to the necessity, being faithful
in our chronicle, of throwing aside such picturesque embel-
lishments, and bringing back our wanderers, now-a-days, in
the less romantic, but more convenient, railway carriage — the
loitering horseman, to whom time, and therefore money,
might not have been such an object, in the first class; the
booted rider of the way-side inn, in the second; and the
bundle-bearing pedestrian — to judge of his means by his
wardrobe — in the parliamentary.
In this fashion, too, we must bring Philip Hammond back
to Pottleton.
Anxiously as he looked forward to his arrival, yet this
being his first journey hither by the rail, he could not help
feeling some other little excitement along the newly-ex-
tended branch, it was so curious to make only a journey of
eight or ten minutes between Dibblethorpe and Pottleton.
He recollected the long walk it used to be through the muddy
lanes behind Farmer Grant's homestall, that the land-springs
and the hoofs of the cattle always kept in a quag; over the
meadow if the floods were not out, and if they were, round
by the towing-path; then toiling up the hill, and jolting down
it on the other side — it made a morning's journey alto-
gether. But now they left Dibblethorpe almost as the
domestic clocks of Pottleton, set by the dial in the old grey
Norman steeple, were giving warning that they were about to
strike twelve — went under the hill right away from day-light —
screamed over meadows hitherto only known as patches in
the panorama except by their owners; and high and dry on
the embankment along Farmer Grant's muddy lanes — looked
into the very back bed-room windows, which made pretty
Miss Grant very particular about the blinds; and came finally,
panting and humming right up into Pottleton, before the old
bell, with the monkish characters round it, has got through
the hour of noon. It was almost like enchantment, so that,
all circumstances considered, he was somewhat confused and
excited when he got out of the carriage, and at last found
some old landmarks still left to show him at what point of the
village he had been deposited.
^Q
^^4^^^^^ :^^
'^'Z/z.^oZc/z^^ ,.'Z--e'^^t'/--L---/-y^ .
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 57
CHAPTER Xn.
Philip's return.
Philip Hammond knew that his cousin was at Mr. Twinch's,
and directly went towards the lawyer's. He saw her, before
he got to the house, tying up a refractory cluster of hops
to an ingenious structure of fir-poles, which Whackey Clark,
under the ladies' direction, after the pictures of the triumphal
arches in the illustrated papers, had built for an arbour.
The proper way would have been, he knew, for him to have
gone to the door and knocked; but he was too impatient for
such an ordinary proceeding, so he vaulted lightly over the
low wall that parted the garden from the fair-field, and stood
before his cousin. Annie was startled at the sudden appear-
ance. She gave a slight shriek, as she nearly let the whole
of the clustering bine fall over her; but directly afterwards
was in his arms; and then, as suddenly reflecting, she ex-
claimed, starting back again —
"Oh! my goodness, Philip; I forgot they can see every
thing from the road!"
The first greeting over, and words of the hastiest kind
relative to his arrival exchanged, young Hammond spoke
with some emotion of his aunt's death, as he led Annie into
the side bower that had been erected, and took his place at
her side. The young girl, with glistening eyes, gave him an
account of what had transpired since he last heard from her;
and then came to speak of the circumstances under which the
property, whatever it might be, had been left.
" I cannot tell why this was," she said, speaking in a tone
as though she imagined she had been to blame for it. " I
think that Mr. Sherrard had great power over her, and so
influenced her. He was very kind to us, though, and I am
sure I should have done anything that he thought would be
for the best. But it will make no difference, Philip," she
added, with a faint smile, as she turned her eyes, full of
trust and love towards him.
" You might find some better match, Annie," he said, half
wilfully, " now you are an heiress, than poor me."
H
u
THE POTTLETON LEGACY
" You do not think so, I know," she replied. '' But Mr.
Sherrard says, Philip, that you have made ever so much
money abroad — more than you know what to do with."
" My own Annie, what can have induced him to say so?
On the contrary; it has only been by the greatest prudence
that I have been able to get on respectably."
The girl looked at him most incredulously, but she knew
that he had never deceived her, and she directly uttered,
with some warmth, as she seized his hand, " Well, never
mind then, Philip; so much the better for both of us. You
shall have every farthing I have got. It is all yours, pro-
perly and by right; for you know, you were always to have
everything, and I am sure you deserved it; I shall never
call it mine. And then," she added, once more smiling, " I
shall be sure of you, sir, for you will not be able to live
without me."
"But shall you keep in the same mind, Annie? You see,
you are only * recommended' to marry me."
"Recommended — Philip! Do you think I required it? or
that I am quite without a heart, to forget everything that
has passed? I am sure I cannot think what poor aunt Milly
meant by putting down anything so strange."
" I wonder what can have been left for you," said Philip.
*' I never even saw what was in that old box myself, except
when I was quite a child, and once, just so long ago as I can
remember, I recollect playing with some bright beads, and
poor aunt put a piece of white net-work over my head, like
a collar."
" It is very heavy, Philip; you cannot think what a job
the men had to move it."
" I wish the year was past," the other continued. " But
do not think, little woman, that I want to know what the
legacy is from any selfish motives. Only it might be nothing
after all; and then, I should not be, perhaps, so soon prepared
to marry you. I almost wish it might prove to be nothing,"
he added; "for then you would know I married you for
yourself, and not for what you had."
" Oh, don*t, Philip — don't," cried Annie, as she gave him
another kiss — a longer and sweeter one even than the other,
for they were quite hidden by the hops. And as soon
as she had the use of her lips again to speak, she said,
THE POTTLETON LEGACi'. 99
"What do you think of doing, first? Now, I mean — directly.
Do not go back to France. You are so clever. I am sure
you could earn — oh, a great deal of money here. Besides,
I should see you often; perhaps always. And you will be
better here, perhaps, altogether."
*• What do you mean, Annie?"
■'* Oh, a great deal. I have seen pictures of the Normandy
girls, in all their tall caps, and short — dreadfully short — red
petticoats — the impudent things! I have no doubt you are
able to tell a great deal about them if you chose."
" What nonsense, Annie," answered Philip, with a laugh.
" If you had been abroad, you would have known how dif-
ferent the pictures of the places and peasants are to the
realities. 1 am sure there is nothing half so nice as your
own dear face, all over the world."
Annie did not know well what to say to this, beyond " Oh,
stuff!" which was not a very satisfactory reply. So she
turned the conversation by asking, " But what are you going
to do, Philip ? Can't you come down here?"
'■No, my dear Annie; not yet, at least. Mr. Wyndham
Flitter, whom I think you know, has promised to put several
good things in my way, and he has great interest. He is
going to introduce me to some very leading people next
week."
"Well, Philip; whatever you think is for the best, will, I
am sure, be right."
Having said this, Annie suggested that it would, perhaps,
be just as well for them to go into the house, and see the
Twinches, who had been exceedingly kind to her, but who
appeared to be forgotten altogether. And, acting on her
suggestion, they went up to the Twinch residence.
The elder of the sisters was very busily occupied just
then. The infant school-room was being whitewashed — a
process it always underwent whenever the appearance of a
popular autumnal epidemic raised a cry of approaching
cholera; which was, however, usually to be attributed more
to plums than plague. During this sanitary measure. Miss
Twinch gave up the parlour for a school-room. All the fur-
niture was removed, and the walls were now decorated with
large pictorial placards and alphabets, before which the chil-
dren sat, upon benches too high for their legs, staring at
H 2
100 THE rOTTLETON LEGACY.
them in great awe, as if every one had been a basilisk, es-
pecially the nervous Harriet Stiles, who trembled and wept
whenever she looked at the representation of Daniel in the
lions' den, as it recalled the double terror that was struck to
her soul by the lion on his hind-legs, and the Roman warrior
with the red feathers, in the wild-beast show.
Miss Twinch had a yard-measure in her hand, with which
she pointed to the placards, and her face betokened resolu-
tion and stern perseverance.
"Jane Collier," said Miss Twinch, "what letter is that?
Heyday! miss. What — no pocket-handkerchief again ! where
does your mother expect to go?"
Jane Collier wriggled uneasily on the bench, and looked
vacant.
" Where does she expect to go?" repeated Miss Twinch,
with great asperity.
The child, in an almost inaudible voice, whimpered, " The
new work'us, please, if father don't come back."
" Come back!" observed Miss Twinch — "where is he gone?"
" Run away on Friday, please."
There had been reports in the village of the absconding of
the paternal Collier, in whose breast the attractions of the
" Fox under the Hill " had long superseded the domestic
affections.
" I wish your cold would run away, too," replied Miss
Twinch. " There — never mind — go and tell Mrs. Hunt to
look after you."
]Mrs. Hunt was the cook, and a good-hearted woman, who
often put by attractive scraps for the children, which were
not likely to be asked for again in the parlour. So
Jane Collier required no further directions — she was too
glad to avoid the probability of Miss Twinch looking after
her herself. For the agony endured, according to popular
illustrations, by the devil, when St Dunstan had him
by the nose, was but light compared to the tortures under-
gone by the children as they writhed under Miss Twinch's
handkerchief. The only parallel the village offered to their
sufferings was found at the farrier's, where the noses of restive
horses were put in a twitch, to be numbed for half-an-hour
jafterwards.
"Harriet Stiles," said Miss Twinch, when Jane Collier
THE POTTLETON LEGACY, 101
had been banished — " Harriet Stiles, what does A stand for?
How dare you look at the picture?"
Harriet Stiles' eyes darted away directly.
" Now, quick; what does A stand for?"
" Monkey," faltered the child, retaining the image of the
popular animal that accompanied the letter.
" Ape r exclaimed Miss Twinch, in loud and angry tones,
*'Now, again; what does F stand for? Come — quick!"
" Mr. Merriman," at last replied Harriet Stiles, in the same
imaginative manner.
*^ Fool!" cried Miss Twinch, correcting her again in the
loudest tones.
On this, Harriet Stiles, believing that the epithets were
applied to herself, went off into a screaming fit, for which
she was slapped on the back, until it stopped through her
being choked. In the middle of all this, Annie and Philip
entered the room.
*' Silence!" cried Miss Twinch, ringing a small bell, which
produced a temporary lull. "Ah! ^Ir. Hammond — I hope
you are quite well. So you have come to see us again, for a
little change?"
Before Miss Twinch concluded, she recollected the cir-
cumstances under which Philip had come over, and very pro-
perly assumed a melancholy expression. The young man
returned the greeting. Annie slightly blushed; and the chil-
dren, awed by strange visitors, sat round the room and stared,
in deep silence, holding tight on by the edge of the form.
*' Children," said Miss Twinch, " I have no doubt but
that this gentleman will be so kind as to beg a half holiday
for you, to celebrate his return to his native land from
France. Elder Humphreys, where is France?"
" France — a country of Europe; capital " Here the
child stopped short, and shuffled on the form.
" Well," said Miss Twinch, " come — ^you know. Think;
where does the plaster come from?"
" Please, from Dr. White's, with an order," was the tre-
mulous reply.
"Nonsense!" cried Miss Twinch, very angry. "What
did I tell you. P, eh? P — Par — come, what is it?"
" Paregoric!" answered the girl, still clinging to the doctor's
shop, in desperation.
102 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
"Go away!'* exclaimed the lady, with wrath. "I should
be ashamed of such ignorance, if I was a pupil."
" Paris is the capital of France, please 'm," said a thin,
eager child, with large eyes, and a mind as sharp as her
elbows.
" Good girl. Patience Pitt,'* said Miss Twinch, assuaged
greatly. " This gentleman," she continued, " has asked for
your holiday. He has just returned from the sea, of which
you have read. Here is a beautiful little story for all of you
about the sea; showing how that bold, impudent, and wicked
girl, Lucy Baldwin, ran away from her friends and home
with a bad soldier, and was drowned at last in a storm."
Miss Twinch here gave one of the small works (at four-
pence a dozen for distribution) to each child; and informing
them that they would be examined upon the texts it con-
tained the next day, dismissed them in a body, and opened
the windows.
" And so you have come back, Mr. Hammond," said Miss
Twinch, when the school had departed. "Ah! there have
been great changes — great changes every way, since you left."
"There have, indeed," replied Philip; "and nowhere
greater than in our own little circle."
" You must thank Miss Twinch for her exceeding kind-
ness to me, Philip," said Annie, " and at a time when I had
no friend, as I thought, near me."
" Not a word. Miss Maitland," replied the lady. " Now I
will not have one single word. We did all we could, although
it was but little; and we are delighted to see Mr. Hammond
back again."
This was true; for Miss Twinch thought at the same time
of Mr. Page, and how he could not well pay any more atten-
tion to Annie, for Philip had returned.
" But come," she continued, *' you must ne^d some refresh-
ment. My father and sister have gone over to Dibblethorp,
but will soon return, and you must see them. You must
take us quite in the rough. I really do not know if we
have a crumb in the house; but I dare say Mrs. Hunt can
find something."
Miss Twinch was pretty sharp, though, in the matter of
what went out — she had artful imperceptible methods of
marking the joints, and would put minute dots of tallow out-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 103
side the bottles, to see if their contents diminished. And
nothing was ever wanted anywhere, even for, cruets, without
much trouble in finding misplaced keys. Possibly, in this
latter case, the care was superfluous, since, although very well
in their way, mustard and vinegar are not tempting refresh-
ments by themselves, nor at all calculated to induce surrepti-
tious consumption. But her greatest care and caution was
expended on the four-and-a-half gallon tub of beer, which came
in, at certain periods, from the brewer. Whether it went
or not, she always had an idea that evaporation on a large
scale was constantly going on; and no complicated taps or
keys ever invented reassured her. For once, when she had
procured a tap — so very cleverly contrived that it w^as always
out of order, and being turned could, not be got back again,
or, when the key was lost, was never more of use — and had
gone calmly to sleep in the possession of such a treasure, she
was still doomed to be deceived. For the beer had sunk
faster than ever, making all allowances for waste; and it was
not until long after that it became apparent how wicked
Whackey Clark, being engaged to pile some coals, had
knocked out the vent-peg and introduced a tobacco-pipe,
whereby he had abstracted successive pints; and tliis breach
of tnist confirmed Miss Twinch in the opinion that every-
body about her stole everything, in which belief she continued
until her dying day.
The refreshments were laid in the outer parlour, as soon
as the children had cleared off. There was a cheese so
hollowed out that it might have made a Jack-o'-lantern, upon
emergency; and all that remained of a duck after its legs,
wings, and breast had been eaten; but what it wanted in
flesh was made up for with lots of parsley. There was also
a jug of beer, and a black bottle recorked.
" I am afraid you won't like our beer, Mr. Hammond,"
said Miss Twinch. " It is home-brewed, but what they call
hard; for my part. I prefer it hard, but tastes differ. Let me
prepare a little for you."
The preparation of hard table-beer did not sound pro-
mising. Philip was so much occupied, though, with Annie,
that he would have relished anything.
Miss Twinch proceeded to take a small portion of white
powder from a folded paper stuck into a card-rack on the
204 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
mantel-piece, and stir it into a tumbler of the domestic bever^
age in question. It foamed immediately, and looked very
potent and promising; but upon being tasted, reminded one
of equal parts of weak pale ale and soap-suds mixed together.
Philip was, however, very polite. He tasted a little, made a
slight grimace, and called it " pleasant." And then Miss
Twinch, trying to get a flake of cheese from the inside of
the lantern, pushed the knife through the rind, and so was
driven recklessly to destroy it.
" My brother is a connoisseur in cheese," she said, " and
you will find this excellent grated. It improves the flavour
amazingly to grate it. We are great graters of cheese,
Miss Maitland, — are we not?"
Miss Twinch looked quite festive at Annie, as she recalled
these epicurean propensities; and then produced a trifle from
Tunbridge, made like the Pavilion, at Brighton, in which a
grater was cunningly hidden. On this, she began to shred
the cheese.
Philip ate and drank everything very tractably, even to
the contents of the bottle, which had a round " O " inked
on the cork, and which, therefore, being first called " Cape
Madeira," turned out eventually to be Ginger, and this was
quite enough to please Miss Twinch; who, however, in all
attention to her guests, would not leave them to themselves,
but even, when they proposed a walk in the garden, would
come with them to show them her vegetable marrow, and
also her slipped geraniums, each of which had its appropriate
legend.
But the hour came for Philip to depart by the train ; and
the walk to the station was all that he could get with Annie
unaccompanied. What was then said was so much more
interesting to themselves than to anybody else, that it need
not be repeated. All that concerns us to know is, that
he spoke much of what Mr. Wyndham Flitter was about to
do for him — of the interest that gentleman took in his affairs,
and of the bright, although certainly indefinite prospects, that
were opening before him in London, by means of his friend's
promised influence and introductions.
THE POTTLETON LEGACr. 105
CHAPTER XIII.
MR, WTNDHAM FLITTER INTRODUCES PHILIP INTO GOOD
SOCIETY.
A DAY or two after the events of the last chapter, Mr.
Wyndham Flitter was at dinner in an eating-house, situated
in one of the mouldy streets that encircle Leicester Square.
A plate turned down on the table, at his side, and his con-
stant glance at the clock, showed that he expected another
person.
It was not a very elaborate meal upon this occasion, but
consisted of a few slices of animal fibre, which had the sin-
gular property of passing for any especial meat demanded, by
a small change in the sauce or gravy. Thus, with onion
stuffing, it was called pork; with a brown gravy and scraps
of horseradish, it turned to beef; obscured by capers and
melted butter, it passed for boiled mutton; and, by further
varying its "trimmings" to greens, carrots, peas-pudding,
bacon, or currant jelly, its combinations were marvellously
increased.
But whatever it was, Mr. "Wyndham Flitter had a high
opinion of its nutritive qualities, and ate it with great relish,
as he studied the newspaper, doubled up so as to stand upon
its two ends before him. His reading was at length inter-
rupted by the arrival of Philip Hammond, who came and sat
down in the box with him. The young man was in evening
dress, and Mr. Flitter also betrayed signs of having paid
greater attention to his toilet even than was his wont.
"Ah! Hammond!" he said, familiarly, as he recognised
his friend, " you are tolerably punctual. That's the way to
succeed; and most extensively got up. By Jove, sir, it's
tremendous! What will you take?"
"Oh, anything!" replied Philip, carelessly — "anything
that's not expensive."
"You can't ruin yourself here," replied Mr. Wyndham
Flitter. " You could have whitebait and venison for a shil-
ling. I like the place, though, independent of all economy
—one studies character so weU. The preponderance of garlic
}Q^ THE POTTLETON LEGACY*
in the pastry is the only thing objectionable. Harriett, what
is in best cut?"
This question was addressed to a clever woman, who was
■carrying a number of plates at once, balancing them as cun-
ning jugglers do the hand-basins, and always recollecting by
whom every individual one had been ordered.
Harriett suggested roast beef, which being agreed upon, a
portion of the same joint that Mr. Flitter was discussing as
haunch of mutton, soon made its appearance. And flanked
by a pint of stout, pulled sharp to make its head like a cauli-
flower, and two potatoes in their skins, Philip "saw his
dinner," as people are wont to observe.
And a very foolish observation it is — a mere bait thrown
out to catch a polite answer, such as, " And very nice, too,"
or, " I'm sure it can't be better," or some other fiddle-faddle
reply. And, besides, in such cases, you never do see your
dinner; for there is always something to come afterwards,
which you are to suppose to be beneath notice, as a matter
of usual occurrence.
" I have studied eating-houses for many years," said Mr.
Wyndham Flitter, as he finished his meat, and made an in-
spection of how he stood as regarded crust, in anticipation of
cheese, " but I cannot understand them yet."
«No?" asked Philip.
" No," responded Mr. Flitter. " First, I cannot make out
where all the kidneys come from. They are not like joints of
ox-tail, you know. Neither can you make them out of anything,
like sausages; and they won't keep forever, like coffee-house
eggs, or pickled walnuts; nor use over again, like fowl's bones
in a fricassee. It's veiy odd. All the sheep in London couldn't
supply the Cyder Cellars, alone, to say nothing of everywhere
else. It's as wonderful as where Champagne comes from.'*
Philip could not offer any solution to the puzzle. His
London life was not sufficiently matured. So he merely
bowed as Mr. Flitter went on: —
" And then, why do they bring potatoes in their jackets :
only to make you miserable, and break them all to pieces in
trying to peel them? And why, when meat is so underdone
as to be almost raw, do they tell you that it is only ' the
gravy' in it? How do they cook their joints so as to have
brown for every body? Where does all the fat come from?
THE POTTLETON Ll^GACY. 107
How do they halve fowls into three? All great questions,
sir — problems never to be solved."
Their meal being ended, Mr. Wyndham Flitter proposed
that they should go in a cab to their destination; and bring-
ing down one flying, as he termed it, they entered.
" They must make a great deal of money at these houses,'*
observed Philip.
" They do," replied ]VIr. Wyndham Flitter. " But I know
a place where there is a tavern, only kept open for the amuse-
ment of the landlord."
" Indeed ! "
" Yes; quite a romance. I will tell it to you. I was one
day coming westward from the Bank, where I had been to
receive my dividends, when I saw a tavern, with the name
of which 1 was not familiar, so I determined to dine there."
. " Only because you did not know it?" asked Philip.
" Just so," returned i\Ir. Flitter. " I often take that whim
in my head, to go where I do not know the place, or rather
where I am not known."
He spoke truth : he very often did.
"Well, I entered the passage, which led to it, as often
happens, through some house. I went on, and on, and on,
until I began to think of emerging in Thames-street, or
coming out, as the passage descended all the way, from some
secret Tunnel under the Thames, at Bankside. I left the
busy hum of men, and the ceaseless rumble of vehicles in the
Poultry far behind me, and at last reached a vast coffee-room
—-a black and ghastly place, lighted by a few meagre gas-
lamps, and adorned with immense sombre pictures, nearly as
big as the cartoons at Hampton Court."
" How strange!" observed Philip.
" Was it not? The echoing of my footsteps called forth a
spectral, grimy waiter, who was cleaning unused spoons in a
dark recess. He glared at me with surprise, and mechani-
cally pointed to a box, in which a table was set out; and
placed a bill of fare before me."
" Oh, they had got something to eat, then?"
'• Listen. The bill of fare had been written long, long
ago; the hand that penned it had probably passed away from
the earth many years. I asked for fish; there was none
ready, but the phantom waiter would get some. I demanded
108 THE POTTLETON LEG ACT.
harricoed mutton; the spectre could not recommend it. I
avowed ray liking for hashed calf's head; the last of it had
heen eaten. The last ! it must have been in the middle ages,
when the 'prentices satisfied their hunger after " evil May
day." At last, I ventured to inquire respecting the potatoes;
I was told I could have them if I pleased to wait whilst they
were boiled! I looked at the cruets; the mustard had long
formed itself into a tawney crust round the glass; the vinegar
had evaporated altogether; there were only a few huge
grains of pepper at the bottom of the castor; and the salt had
hardened into a block, like alabaster. That was enough."
" And what did you do?"
" I rose and fled precipitately. I heard a yell of despair
burst from the waiter's lips as I left, which rang in my ears
until I once more emerged into the Poultry, knocking several
people under an omnibus that was passing, in my rush. I
never went near that fearful place again."
By the time the narration was finished, they had arrived
at their destination.
" And now," said Mr. Wyndham Flitter, " I shall have
the pleasure of introducing you to my friends the Wracketts.
You will meet a tip-top circle, I can assure you. Have you
got a shilling for the cab? I have nO change."
Philip gave the coin, which appeared to dissatisfy the
cabman.
" Nonsense! what are you talking about," said Mr. Flitter
as he entered the house. "I question whether it is not
eightpence. Very well, summons me. There — shut the
door!"
They entered the house, or rather the lodgings of that eligible
pair, situated in one of those would-be genteel — a good word
for the purpose, though an odious one in general — genteel
streets that hang " Manchester Square" to their names for
pearances.
It was the particular evening on which Mrs. Wracketts
(for at such times her husband did not appear so prominently)
*' received" her friends ; and if the adjective verb " to
receive" be considered in its dictionary sense, " to take in,"
Mrs. Wracketts certainly did so to the fullest extent.
A queer party composed these receptions. There were
young men, old from depth; and old men, young from
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 109
frivolity. There were also many foreigners— dark, hawk
looking fellows, such as one sees hanging about the West-end
billiard-rooms and the stage-door of the opera — that class we
meet so very often about the Haymarket, and so very seldom
in private circles.
They had unshorn beards and prison heads of hair —
occasionally mustachioes — and rarely shirt collars. Their
stocks of satin were long, and their stocks of shirts pro-
portionately short. Their coat collars were as narrow as
they themselves were deep. The great aim of their toilet
appeared to be to hide every morsel of linen; their boots
were delicate, but capable of great repair, and occasionally
turned up at the toes, effecting a neat compromise between
the pointed shoe of the middle ages and the modern Welling-
ton, which terrible name the foreign gentlemen did not
object to use, because, as they said, it had reference to what
was trodden under foot.
There was not a darker enigma unsolved in London than
the question how these people lived, in common with their
compatriot professionals. They came over in shoals with
the spring, and never left until the autumn. They evidently
brought no money with them, usually leaving their country
from destitution, and they certainly took none away. But
still they existed, and still ordinary thinkers were puzzled to
tell from what possible source their means of subsistence were
derived.
Mrs. Wracketts at these reunions always scraped together, in
addition, all the wonderful people who would come, without the
slightest regard to character or position, so long as their names
were at all common property. There were authoresses, who
wrote poetry for nothing in fashion-books; and vocal artistes^
whose names sometimes crept by chance into the programmes
of the Hanover-square rooms, and who sang whenever they
were asked, and very often when they were not, in the frantic
hope of getting pupils, or disposing of tickets when their
concert came round in the spring. The authors who took
the lead in fashion-books and magazines that did not pay for
contributions talked wonderfully; at least, so the old ladies
used to think, who listened to them through their ear-cornets.
With them, all the popular writers had written themselves
out; and all the great men of the literary world were those
110
THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
-whh. whom the world in general was least acquninted.
Copies of their works used to lie about on the tables; and
the mistress of the house was dimly fictioned as being the
only person who had ever read them. And this she did,
because, according to custom, the authors would be sure to
ask her how she liked such and such a part.
But, many as there were at Mrs. Wracketts', you might
divide them into two parties — the pigeoners and the pigeoned,
with a medium set of auxiliaries to either class of guests.
Philip was presented by Mr. Wyndham Flitter to Mrs.
Wracketts, and the lady forthwith turned her whole atten-
tion to him.
" It is very kind of you to come," she said, in her most
captivating accent. " I have heard so much of you from Mr.
Flitter. And you speak French so beautifully, too, he says.
"We shall be very good friends — eh?"
She took Philip by the hand, with the slightest pressure
in the world, and smiled at him most bewitchingly. A thrill
pervaded him from the extremities of his fingers, and then
back again.
" Do you play cards?" she asked.
"No; I know nothing about them," said Philip, with a
good-tempered laugh. " I am very stupid. I don't think I
could tell a club from a spade for certain."
" Do just as you please," replied Leonie — " only make your-
self quite at home. That is the only condition on which I
shall receive you as a friend. I have acquaintances and
intimes, and friends. You must be a friend."
Speaking in a low soft voice, and with another gentle pres-
'sure of his hand, she turned away ; and Philip, for the first
time, looked around him.
All were employed — playing, flirting, and conversing.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter, who looked as though he had walked
right out of a tailor's show-picture, lounged about the rooms,
and talked to everybody whether he knew them or not ; and
brought in weak refreshment from the smallest apartment at
the end of the suite it was possible to conceive, which men
' would have made into a boot-room, but which Mrs. Wracketts
called her boudoir. This was cheaply arranged with an eye
to artistic effect. Some sixpenny images were stuck about,
•aetting off some Lowther Arcade <;hina; and the little side
THE POTTLETON LEGACr. lit
table was covered with " fasliionable litter" — taper candle-
sticks never lighted; useless penholders of cheap enamel;
square blocks of polished stone, said to be bits of the rock of
Gibraltar; a box to hold nothing made of seals and sealing-
wax; and a small long basket, in which were knitting needles,
shreds of coloured worsted, and a half-finished scrap of
canvas, intended eventually for a mat, but which had re-
mained as it then was to the extent of the memory of the
oldest resident housemaid. There was also a rickety old
carved chair put in a corner for an unstrung guitar to lie
upon, which it did always, for the look of the thing.
In a room, between the principal apartment and this bou-
doir, lighted by a new camphine lamp, which was gradually
covering everybody with small black tadpole-looking atoms
that rained down from the ceiling, Mr. Spooner and Mr.
Wracketts were at cards. The latter gentleman was giving
the other his " revenge," which on this occasion was for pay-
ing for the dinner at Long's, besides losing a large sum to
the lady. The vengeance, in the present instance, did not
appear likely to turn out very satisfactory to Mr. Spooner;
but he felt so delighted at the continual attentions of the
hostess, and the eminent persons he was every minute in-
troduced to, that the money was a mere nothing. He looked
upon what he lost as sums excellently laid out, in being
taught first-rate knowledge of the world, and fast London life.
Wracketts foresaw that, properly managed, Mr. Spooner
would be a pump to supply his coiFers with a constant stream
of small sums for some time to come. So at last he said —
" By Jove, the king in mj hand again ! What ill luck
you have. I will not play any more. It is downright rob-
bery I"
" Oh, no, returned Mr. Spooner, " only a little freak of
fortune. I'll turn my chair — there."
" Well, there is one comfort," Wracketts went on, " bad
luck at cards, you know, good luck in marriage; and vice versa,
I never knew the old saw wrong.**
" It don't apply in your own case," said Mr. Spooner*
" You always win, and your wife is — ^but I wont pay com-
pliments."
" The king again, as I'm a living man I" exclaimed
Wracketts. "No, no; this shall not go on; besides," he
112 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
added, throwing up his cards, " my hands are quite dirty. I
never will have another lamp from that shop again."
As the present one had not yet been paid for, nor was it
likely to be, there was some probability in what Mr. Wrack-
etts said.
" We will have our game out another time," he continued,
"when the fates are not so much against you. Ah! Mrs.
"Wracketts is going to sing. Now — really — don't let me
detain you. You are, I know, so fond of music."
Mr. Spooner rose and went into the larger room, where
the guitar was being tuned, and the lady was just going to
sing a duet with a foreign gentleman who had another guitar.
The foreign gentleman was called Monsieur Polpette. He
had mustachioes and whiskers; the former went on by means
of two little springs invisibly attached to his nose; the latter
were fixed by artist's glue, and were continued to his wig,
which was dark and curly, and of that peculiarly-to-be-detected
style worn by all gentlemen struggling to appear juvenile —
parted high up and covering the ears. He rouged also, and
carried things inside his cheeks to plump them. But he had
beautiful teeth — terro -metallic; and the legs of his trousers
and back of his coat were padded to perfection.
The duet that these two sang was something about the
sun of their Brittany, Mrs. Wracketts' eyes floating more
liquidly and languidly than ever, as she looked at Mr. Spooner
and the foreign gentleman's being turned up in the manner
popularly assigned to ducks on the point of dissolution when
the atmosphere is surcharged with electric fluid. But at
one point, catching sight of 'Mr. Spooner, he looked at him
like a demon.
" I say. Flitter," said Mr. Spooner, in a low tone, to his
friend. " What do you think? That's the foreigner we are
going to unearth to-night at my rooms, when we leave here.
You will come with us."
"I shall be delighted,'* said the other; "only don't let
Polpette recognise me till it's over — that's all. It would not
be pleasant, you know. And I'll tell you what! I can
bring a capital fellow with me — that young Hammond."
"Oh! is he anything? He don't look it," replied Mr
Spooner.
Mr. Spooner had noticed Leonie's warmth to the new
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 113
guest, and accordingly did not think much of him. When
one has a rival, it is extraordinary what a poor opinion is
entertained of his capacities.
" You'll be delighted with him," said Mr. Flitter.
The song continued, and whilst it was going on, Mr.
Flitter turned away with Mr. Wracketts into the boudoir.
" I calculate upon you to help me," said the former worthy.
*' I have introduced him to you as soon as I could, and you
must sew him up as quickly as you can. I am sure of the
property; and the instant I am married the money shall be
yours."
" But suppose you are not married," said Wracketts.
" Oh! there is not a doubt about it. I believe, at present,
that the girl may care for him; but we can soon upset that;
Leonie must take him in hand. If she manages him as
well as she does the muff in the next room, our fort-une is
made."
" And when will the fun begin?"
*'As soon as Sherrard and I have arranged what he is
to do. Hush! the song is over. Mum!"
Mr. Wyndham Flitter put his finger to his lips, and Mr.
Wracketts nodded with a knowing expression in return.
They evidently understood one another very well. They
had just finished speaking when IMr. Spooner came in towards
them.
" Well, I must wish you good night," he said; " I am very
sorry to go, but I have got another appointment."
"Nonsense! pooh!" replied Wracketts; " we can't let you
off yet."
" Yes, I really must," returned Mr. Spooner. " A most
curious thing has happened. Hush! you mustn't tell any-
body. But that foreign gentleman ^"
" Well; what of him?"
" Why, he lives under me, and don't pay his rent."
"Oh! impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Wracketts and Mr.
Wyndham Flitter, both at once, looking at each other.
"It is true," said Mr. Spooner, " and my landlord can't
get rid of him, so he has given me permission to try; and I
have asked one or two men who were with me at Oxford to
come and help me."
" To-night?"
11/4 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Yes. I ought not to have been here, only Mrs. Wracketts
was so pressing. I really must go. I have had a delightful
evening, I'm sure, and am much obliged to you for it. I will
send you that little matter to-morrow."
This last being an allusion to a cheque, Mr. Wracketts
said: —
" My dear fellow; don't think about that. I am really
ashamed to take it. Good night — good night."
He shook his hand so warmly — so very like a true friend's
grasp !
" Hammond," said Mr. Wyndham Flitter to Philip, " I
must tear you away,"
" So soon!" exclaimed Philip, already hit somewhat hard
by Leonle's attractions.
" There is some more fun up," said the other. " Stop —
Tiddy, this is my friend Hammond. Mr. Hammond, Mr.
Spooner. You will get tremendously intimate, I know."
Mr. Tidd Spooner bowed gravely to Philip; and then
Mr. Wyndham Flitter pushed them both out of the room,
and the next minute had one on each arm, progressing
towards Mr, Spooner's lodgings.
CHAPTER XIV.
PHILIP SEES MORE LIFE.
When they got to Mr. Spooner's rooms, they found four or
five young men assembled.
The absence of the host did not appear to have put them
out much. Under the care of West, they had made them-
selves tolerably comfortable, with a potted game-pie, a large
dish of oysters, pale ale, and grog, preferring the bed-room
to the sitting room, because they could lie on their backs on
the bed, with their feet cocked up at a most uncomfortable
angle above their heads, against the four-posts, and smoke
cigars. Three were thus disposed ; and the other two were
amusing themselves by blowing out the candles with a
double-barrelled gun and percussion caps.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. llo
" Here he is at last," said one of the men on the bed.
" Why, Tiddy, old fellow, we thought you had sold us."
" Not likely," replied Mr. Spooner, as he threw down his
coat,
" Won't you introduce me?" asked Philip of his friend,
in an undertone.
i No — it's not the thing — ^never done ^t the universities.
Talk to all the men just as if you knew them — that's all.
Make yourself at home."
The gentleman on the bed who had before spoken was
called Willy Sprott. He was a famous fellow, but had been
a little too lively for his college; and having painted one of
the nude statues about it like a jockey, in a striped jacket and
top-boots — on the eve of some grand solemnization, and before
there was time to remedy the evil — ^had been requested tc
leave the college of his own accord, that he might not ex-
perience a harsher mode of being got rid of.
" Are you sure of your game to-night?" asked Willy.
" Cock," replied Mr. Spooner; " such a curious thing. I
and my friend met him at a party, this very night."
"Poor devil!" said Sprott, " what a deal of fun we have
had out of him. Do you remember when he began to play
the guitar, what a twanging row he used to be always making
under us?"
" To be sure," said Spooner, " and you brought your post-
horn to accompany him "
"With an obligato of two notes," added Sprott; "not
very musical, but I rather flatter myself uncommonly well
sustained."
" And when he sent up to say you rather put him out,
don't you remember you returned your respects, and said it
was a most singular coincidence, but that was exactly the
message you were going to send to him by West."
" And when we filled his slippers with the heads of th©
prawns — — "
" And screwed his boots to the floor, through the heels,
with cofiin screws that wouldn't turn the other way "
" And filled his umbrella with black beetles "
" And locked up the cat and puppy in his wardrobe, and
ost the key."
"Oh! I recollect," said Willy
I 2
116 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
From this it appeared that the foreign gentleman had long
been the object of Mr. Spooner's fun, or rather Mr. Sprott's,
for the former gentleman had not much of that commodity,
but was very good at following. It was supposed to have
been Willy who sent the hapless alien the small frog in the
letter, not prepaid; the more so as there was proof positive
that he had given sixpence to a boy of imperfect wardrobe,
to collect a few of those amphibia in a blacking bottle from
a pond at Bays water, this being a joke perfectly allowable to
be played with foreign gentlemen generally. For the million,
and Sprott was one of them, look upon all Frenchmen as
eaters of frogs, upon which they subsist for cheapness, never
having any money — an idea which any one who may be
rash enough to order a dish for himself at Vefour's, or the
Eocher de Cancale, will easily prove to be a fiction.
Once, also, when the foreign gentleman stayed out late,
they hid his lucifers: and they invented still more cruel in-
flictions upon him; for at another time, when he was ex-
pected home, they put a lot of gunpowder on the step, car-
rying it under the door in a train, and then, having bolted
the latch so that it would not move, they actually blew up
poor M. Polpette, whilst he was fumbling at the keyhole,
having kept watch for him, with a bit of incandescent German
tinder. But this was not all: a policeman, seeing the flash,
of course imagined that it was the foreign gentleman's own
work, he having a design upon the house, after some French
infernal-machine fashion, and immediately took him off" vio-
lently to the station-house, from which Mr. Spooner nobly
got the landlord to bail him out; so that it was wonderful
how the foreign gentleman stayed in the house under such
a system of persecution. Mr. Spooner had, however, half
accounted for it: he owed too much to leave.
Conversation went on for a little time, until the return of
the victim was signalled by West, who had been on the look-
out. They gave him time to undress, as they supposed, and
then called upon Willy for a song, upon which he got off" the
bed, and went through the facetious experiment of pitching
the key with a silver fork, common to jocular melodists; after
which he sang a convivial song, with a chorus about —
" Vive I'amour, cigars and Cos:nac '"
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. llT
with several huzzas after it, which afforded great scope for
vocalization; and, in addition, an effective accompaniment
was formed by knocking the glasses on the table and the feet
on the floor, until there was a responsive knocking on the
ceiling underneath, which showed that the great end — that of
disturbing the foreign gentleman — had been achieved.
The chorus concluded amidst general applause, after which
Willy apologised for being hoarse, after the manner of singers
in general, he never having been in better voice. Whereat
Mr. Wyndham Flitter offered him a jujube, from a concrete
muss of transparent parallelopipeds, which he produced from
his coat pocket. This Willy declined, saying that all jujubes
were made of hair-oil and india-rubber, a statement which
excited much diversion.
Philip did not, at first, enter into their conversation; he
was a stranger, and was, besides, somewhat bewildered with
the scene altogether. But the coldness wore off under the
influence of the supper, and he got more and more intimate,
taking a lively part in the chat upon the topics started, and
when not talking making a capital audience; so that the men
soon agreed that he was a very nice fellow — amiable and in-
telligent, too, considering he had never been at a university.
The gentlemen continued to drink, until Sprott thought it
was time to proceed to the second stage of cruelty towards
the doomed inmate. From a division of Mr. Spooner's gun-
case he produced an enormous cracker, with a number of
bangs scarcely to be credited if enumerated, and to procure
which he had made an express pilgrimage to the wild regions
of Lambeth, where the entire houses of the pyrotechnists
sometimes go off of themselves, like rockets. This being
fastened to a piece of string, was delivered up to West, who
crept silently down and tied it to the foreign gentleman's
door. After this, he took the fire-irons in a similar stealthy
manner, piling them all up, so that the fall of one might bring
down all the rest — which is an attribute peculiar to fire-irons,
however they may be placed — and then, carefully strewing
the passage with the deep oyster-shells, sharp edges upper-
most, he lighted the cracker, and returned upstairs, where
the gentlemen had assembled to await the result, clustering
like bees upon the balusters.
They watched with nervous anxiety the tiny red spark, a»
118 THE POTTLETON LEGACY
it crept round tlie twisted end of the cracker, whispering,
" Now it's out," " No," " Yes," " All right," until suddenly
the powder caught, and a sharp bounce that threatened to
.blow the door in, made the very house tremble. Then came
another, almost before the echo of the first had arisen, and
another, and another, until the door suddenly opened. Down
went all the fire-irons immediately into the room, and on the
bare feet of the foreign gentleman, who rushed out, looking as
Don Quixote might have done, in a robe-de-chambre made
of old bed-curtains. But his first steps upon the oyster-shells
elicited an expression of amazing bodily torture, which gave
Mr. Spooner and his friends time enough to get back to their
room and assume an appearance of solemn conversation,
before the other rushed up stairs, and entered it.
'*^ Monsieur Spoonare!" he cried; "bah! vous etes un
poUsson! vous et vos amis; canaille — ^br-r-rigands — voleurs!"
•Mr. Wyndham Flitter turned his face to the wall, and
was not recognised. Mr. Sprott rose, and said, mildly, as he
passed a bottle towards him —
" Certainly, monsieur, I don't speak French, but anything
we have here is at your service. I can recommend the
Hollands."
"Mais, c'est infame!" continued the foreign gentleman.
" C'est le dernier soir que je reste dans cette maison. J'ap-
pelerai le polissman,"
" Oui, monsieur," replied Mr. Sprott, gently pushing the
sugar-basin towards the intruder; "as much as you like. We
have plenty more — indeed we have."
The foreign gentleman screamed with rage, and vanished
back to his apartment, swearing, "Cree mille tonnerres du
diableP^ all the way. And then Mr. Wyndham Flitter
thought that at a future occasion he might turn the affair to
his own advantage, and silently decided upon his own plans
accordingly.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 119
CHAPTER XV.
MARGARET SHERRARD
A GLOOMY and threatening twilight had followed a sultry
day; and at length a storm burst with violence over London
when night drew nigh.
People knew it was coming; for the lightning had played
about the horizon ever since dusk, and the sullen murmur of
the heavens had become louder and more continuous, until
the large spots of rain fell audibly on the pavement, and
drove them home. And then the storm came on in all its
might. The earth appeared to tremble at the thunder, as it
clattered with deafening reverberations through the wild
heavens. Each instant, the spires and chimneys were thrown
out, more clearly than the brightest sunlight could have
shown their outline, against the dazzling sky; and the
bursting clouds poured down almost in cataracts, whilst the
watercourses leaped and raged like torrents, as they rushed
down the declivities of the streets to whirl through the chok-
ing gratings. For the tide of the Thames was, at the same
time, still rising, and the angry currents met and battled
underground, until the churned and noisome flood was re-
gorged, and spread out into large pools, which poured
through every channel that lay open to them, in the lower
grounds bordering the river.
In one of the most squalid and narrow of the streets at the
waterside, below-bridge, in which the blackened wooden
houses appeared to have been built and fitted up entirely
from old boats, a candle was burning at a window. Feeble
as it was, its rays shone some little distance tlirough the
rain; for the only public light was a dull lamp at the end of
the lane, which looked as though it had lost all its power,
from its protracted fight with the wind-gusts that stormed its
broken glass. Hence the little beacon was of some use; for
the water had collected until it had covered the footway, and
would have been much deeper, but for the cellars into which
it was now tumbling.
120 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Within this room, as poorly furnished as might have been
guessed from the exterior, there was a woman occupied in
taking down some linen from lines that stretched across the
apartment. She was nearly forty years of age, and indeed
looked some years older, but her face was marked rather with
the lines of trouble than of time: and her hair, although
partially grey, was still abundant. Handsome she must have
been, for her eye was yet bright, and traces of beauty could
yet be discovered in her oval countenance. But she had
passed all care of personal appearance. Her scanty clothing
was huddled on, and pinned about her in any fashion; and
as her hair now and then came down, she pushed it back
under her cap and pursued her work. And at this she kept
steadily on, until the street-door was pushed open — it had no
fastening, for the general accommodation of the inmates of
the house — and Sherrard came into the room.
The woman looked up towards him. But if she expected a
greeting, none came. The Ganger was wet through; and a
long splash appeared on the floor as he took off his hat, and
flung the water from it.
" What, no fire!" he exclaimed, as he looked towards the
grate. " I suppose you thought I was to be brought here in
a bandbox, and kept dry. Why don't you light it?"
He spoke the last words so sharply, that the woman
started.
"I was going to," she said, "us soon as I had taken
your things down. You see the irons are standing there,
ready."
The reply to this was a single grunt, as the man twisted a
piece of paper, lighted it by the candle, and thrust it into
the fire-place.
" It was so hot to day," said the woman.
" I know that," returned Sherrard; "but that is no reason
that it should be hot always. Things change."
" They do, indeed," murmured the woman, apparently
addressing herself.
" What?" sharply asked the Ganger.
" Nothing," returned the woman, sadly.
" Oh ! I thought you said something," he rejoined.
And then, taking off his wet, heavy coat, and throwing it
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 121
carelessly into the corner, he lighted his pipe at the fire and
began to smoke.
The woman looked at him for a short time, and at last
said, "Luke!"
" Well, what is it?"
" Are you going to stay here for a little time?"
" I don't know. Perhaps I may want to be ofi" to-morrow,
so my things had better be ready."
" They will be quite ready," answered the woman, calmly.
"But when will you take me with you? I have been so ill
here. I am sure the country would do me good."
" Now, don't begin that old story again," resumed Sherrard,
" or I shall be off at once. Yes, even through all that," he
added, as a fresh flash glared through the window, and the
peal of thunder that followed it threatened to shake the house
about their ears.
" I will close the shutter," said the woman, as she went
towards it.
" No, don't do that; I expect somebody presently, and I'm
sure he won't find his way if we don't put out some sign."
" Is it a stranger?"
"No; Flitter. He will sleep here, somehow or another.
"Where's the hammock?"
The woman pointed to a corner, where the article in
question lay bundled up.
" Ah, that will do. He don't \vant to go near his house
for a night or two, and we've got something to settle — some-
thing that will benefit all of us. I may die a rich man
yet."
" And, then, Luke," said the woman, mistrusting as she
spoke, " shall we live together again? I do not wish to be
any tie upon you — God knows I never have been; but it is
so wretched to be always left alone. Sometimes I do not
speak to a soul for days."
" I don't know what you would have," answered Sherrard,
as he put away the hand which the woman ventured to place
upon his shoulder. " You never told me that you wanted
anything, but I allowed it. If you wish for any money now,
I can let you have some. Many would give their heads to
be in a like position, Margaret."
122 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Many would have left you — long, long ago," said the
woman, gravely.
"Left me I oh! that's it, is it?" exclaimed the Ganger,
with a dreary, single laugh. " Well, and suppose you did
leave me, what are you to do? Starve — die in a ditch, or be
found somewhere at low water. Take my advice, and when
you are well oiF — keep so."
A-t the last words he drew a flat bottle from his pocket,
and took a long draught from it.
" I do not want money," continued Margaret, as we may
now call her. " I have never asked you for any, except
when I have been perfectly destitute. And yet I think I
could have kept myself, had I been free to do as I pleased.
As it is, I have lived upon so very little at times, that you
would scarcely believe me if I told you, rather than ask you
for anything."
"It was your own fault, then," replied Sherrard; "for
you might always have had it. What is the use of this con-
stant nagging? You took me with your eyes open. You
knew that Emma Maitland had thrown me over, because I
was poor, and married old Hammond. Well, I had my
triumph there. She left her husband; and what came of it?
When she died, she wasn't worth a mourner or a tombstone.
Do you want to follow her?"
This time the woman made no answer. Her tears were
falling fast upon the things she was folding up at the table.
Sherrard continued —
" I married you out of pique. I was not to blame. How
did I know you were not in the same position? But then, I
felt bound to keep you. What else took me away for so long
to every part of the globe, until those who had known me
from a boy forgot me? What am I doing now? Why have
I watched the old woman, who died the other day, but to be
well off, at some time or other? And if you had always been,
like a dog, at my heels, nothing would have been done at
aU."
" I am not upbraiding you, Luke," said his companion.
" No," returned Sherrard, taking another draught from
his bottle; "you are doing worse — goading, and worrying,
and driving me into such corners, that I hardly know where
I am. What do you want me to do? Take you back to
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. i2H
Pottleton, I suppose : be recognised, both of us : have the grabs
point at us as swindlers : and, perhaps, at last be driven from
the village, and the game lost for ever. Bah ! Hark ! there's
some one blundering in the dark. Go, and see who it is."
The woman left the room, but immediately returned, usher-
ing in a mass of wet over-alls, which, being unfastened, proved
to be Mr. Wyndham Flitter.
" Wr-r-r-r-r!" he exclaimed, as he threw off his attire;
" perhaps you'll send a boat for your friends the next time
they come to see you in wet weather. They say the world
has been topsy-turvy for a long time: I expect it has just been
turned back again, and all the water's tumbling to where it
came from."
" You've got an umbrella, too," said SheiTard.
" Yes — took it by mistake from Spooner's rooms. It's a
very good one, though — isn't it?"
" Of course, you will return it. Meantime, lend it to the
missus here, to go and get our supper. Look here, Margery:
two pounds of steaks, some baked potatoes, and tell them to
send a couple of pots of porter; — and, stop, you may as well
get this pocket pistol filled with brandy; also get some
tobacco. Now, sharp's the word, for we're all hungry."
He gave her some money, and then, without a word of
reply, the woman threw a shawl over her head and shoulders,
took the umbrella, and departed.
" What damned things writs are!" observed Mr. Wynd-
ham Flitter, as he drew up to the fire, and allowed the soles
of his boots to steam in the heat.
" Just found that out?" asked the Ganger.
" No, it's an old and rooted prejudice. I've sold them^
though ! I heard they were looking out for me, night and
morning, — so what do you think I've done? I've underlet
my rooms to young Hammond, — don't you see? Clear profit,
you know. He pays me, and I don't pay Mrs. Docker, be-
cause I never mean to go near her again ! It's all fair. She
has made quite enough of me in her time."
" Well, nobody will find you out here," said Sherrard.
" It's only for anight or so. Where can you put me?'*
*•' We can sling a hammock for you in that corner."
" Ah! — yes!" said Mr. Wyndham Flitter; " a hammock-
true. But I don't know whether I exactly understand a
124 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
hammock. Aren't you obliged to learn to dance on the
tight rope and slack wire before you can sleep in one?"
" You'll sleep," returned the Ganger; " if you can't, you
must try Pottleton."
" Oh, I'm not so hard pushed as that," said the other;
** only it's best to be on the safe side. But I really want to
go to Pottleton. I'm boiling over with notions. I've a
scheme to get Spooner into a scrape, and then get him out
of it — for a small consideration, of course. I've a scheme to
make Pottleton a watering-place "
" Why, it's miles inland!" said Sherrard.
" All right; but I know of such a pump! with, beyond all
conception, the nastiest water any one ever tasted. Then,
I've a capital idea for a new periodical; — ah! and that brings
me to our own affairs. I've a great notion for young
Hammond: I shall give him a berth upon it."
" Can he write?"
** He will, with very little practice. I read two or three
things he did for amusement, whilst he was in France, and
they really were not so bad. Then, don't you see, we shall
be able to keep him in town; whilst, with the anomalous
position of a literary man, and the society he is likely to be
thrown amongst, he can soon be * all right.' "
]VIr. Wyndham Flitter winked, in a knowing manner, to
Sherrard, as he uttered the last words; and the return of the
woman with the articles sent for turned the conversation.
The absence of pride was a happy feature in Mr. Flitter's
disposition — no less so, though, than his universality of ac-
quirement. In a few minutes, he was kneeling at the fire,
superintending the cooking of the steak, whilst the Ganger
looked idly on, through the smoke of his pipe, and Margaret
was collecting a few dispersed articles of crockery on the
table.
" Where did you learn to cook?" asked Sherrard, as he
watched his companion turning the meat about upon the bars
of the gridiron.
" Off the Nore," said Mr. Flitter, " on board the Lights,
after I was so confoundedly let in by the Patent Artificial
Flour Company affair, and obliged to creep * up a tree' for a
while."
In common with the class of which he was a type, Mr,
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 125
Flitter invariably attributed his difficulties, not to his own
somewhat lax notions of credit and monetary transactions,
but to certain unjust, not to say wicked, deceptions practised
on him by his false friends. In the largeness of his heart,
he accepted bills for dishonest acquaintances, who betrayed
him; and in the same spirit of philanthropy, he became
security for men that he loved as if they were his
brothers, who proved utterly unworthy of his fraternal con-
fidence. He had been, more than once, cast into prison,
from which he could have walked out any day that he pleased
to make certain concessions; but he had always acted on
principle, and would do so to his dying day. And he could
safely swear that no other man living had been exposed to
such persecutions from designing villains; and yet he defied
the world to say that he had ever injured any one, in word
or deed, which, after all, was a great solace.
" What do you mean by off" the Nore?" asked Sherrard.
" A devilish fine situation!" said Mr. Wyndham Flitter.
" Talk about fresh air — by heavens ! a man feels, after
breathing it, as if he did not owe a farthing ! I lived in the
boat there for a month, out of everybody's way, and fished
for flounders, small haddock, and whiting. That was where
I learnt cooking. I'll toss a pancake, fry an omelette, poach
an egg, grill a bone, or make a sea-pie with anybody; —
damn it all! I'd curry the devil, if I got him!"
The steaks were soon done, and put almost red-hot upon
a dish; the potatoes were caught up from under the grjtte,
and thrown upon the table; and then Sherrard and Flitter
drew their chairs towards it.
" Mrs. S.," said Mr. Flitter, as he saw the woman standing
aloof, "you will join us?"
" Thank you, no; I had supper before you came in," she
replied.
" Then you had better go to bed," said Sherrard, shortly.
*' We have business to talk over."
" I shall not interfere with you," she rejoined.
" Go to bed!" cried the Ganger, savagely, as he rose from
his seat, and clutched one of the pewter pots. " Go to bed,
unless you want this sent after you!"
The woman quailed before him, and shrank towards the
door. And a peal of thunder from the dying storm startled
126 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
her afresh, as she quitted the apartment, pale and trembling,
leaving Mr. Wyndham Flitter and the Ganger alone. But
had any one followed her, he would have seen her, watchful
and intent, as, with her ear against the wainscot, she caught
every word of the others* conversation.
They talked long and vehemently. Sherrard was excited
hy drink, and spoke carelessly about the affairs at Pottleton;
whilst his companion schemed, contrived, and argued all
sorts of steps, proper to be taken, to get whatever they could
into their own hands. And in this way the greater part of
the night passed, until the storm gradually sank into distant
growls, as daylight came on, and Mr. Wyndham Flitter, after
a series of gymnastic attempts that would have covered him
with laurels in the ring at Astley's, contrived to get into his
hammock, and keep there, without being shot out on the
other side. This accomplished, with his happy power of
accommodating himself and his organization to any circum-
stances in which he might be placed, he was soon asleep.
He awoke late in the morning, and after contriving his
toilet, with the assistance of a neighbouring barber, he went
to one of the river steamboat piers, where he had appointed
to meet Philip Hammond, not caring to venture, just at
present, too near his old domicile. The young man was
tolerably punctual to the hour named. He gave Mr. Flitter
a few letters that had arrived for him, which that gentleman
having glanced at, threw into the river, whereby it may be
inferred that they were more of those insulting and vexatious
communications he had hitherto spoken of. And then,
taking Philip's arm, they started ofi" in the direction of one
of the small thoroughfares about Lincoln's-inn Fields.
It was a bright morning; and every body seemed in
bustling good spirits. The storm of the preceding even had
washed the streets quite clean; the air was light and fresh-
ened, and the sky was as blue as it could well expect to be,
in the face of the million chimneys that pointed towards it.
Even in the small back courts and passages through which
Mr. Wyndham Flitter preferred to go, the sun contrived
to throw down a few beams upon the children and oysters
that abounded therein. Philip felt the influence of the fine
weather; and he went cheerfully on with his friend.
** We are going-," said Mr. Flitter, " to the editor of our new
periodical, where you can make your bargain. Don't let
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 127
him see you are a novice. Put a good face on the matter,
and stick out for a good price — there is plenty of plunder to
back it up; and it may turn out a comfortable berth for
you."
" But what shall I be expected to do?" asked Philip.
" Light articles," replied Mr. Flitter — " the lighter the
better. And' don't mind who you go at. The editor will
get kicked for it, if anybody. He's paid on purpose — it's
his place."
" But what do you mean by * going at every body?' "
asked Philip.
" Oh, hitting them hard — any body that's known — that is
to say; but especially those you think are getting on. Be-
cause they are sure to have most enemies — don't you see —
eh?"
'^ Oh, I see," said Philip, " you mean the enemies will
read it."
" Buy the paper, sir," continued Mr. Flitter — " buy it, not
only for themselves, but to send to the object, Nobody is
ever attacked in print, but he receives a copy of the paper
from every body who does not agree with him. So you see
how it increases the circulation. Look here. A is a tole-
rably popular man; and as popularity is only attained by
walking over somebody else's shoulders, B, C, and D, who
have formed the steps upon the occasion, are in a rage."
" That I can perfectly understand," said Philip.
" Very well. Consequently, when anything against A
appears, B, C, and D, trumpet it all about the world, to sup-
port their own abuse. For the case of the man who attacks
another publicly, is usually the weak one; and so he thinks
the more highly of his allies."
They beguiled the journey with conversation of this kind,
until they came to the house of the editor.
It was not exactly the place in which any one not conver-
sant with the literary world would have imagined the person
could reside, whose mission was to move the masses, and
sway the universe generally. It was a murky house in a
dingy street; and a dingy street near Drury-lane. There
were one or two bell-pulls on either side of the door, one of
which only was dignified with a name-plate, so that the
wrong one was sure to be pulled when a call was made upon
anybody else. And for this reason, when persons went to
128 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
call upon Mr. Scute — that was the editor — they never could
find out, under a long time, whether he was at home or not;
the inhabitants of the various floors possessing as vague a
knowledge of the movements of their neighbours as though
they lived in different streets.
The usual fate awaited Mr. "Wyndham Flitter and his
companion. They rang the wrong bell, of course; and re-
ceived an impudent answer from the woman who .esp^nded
to its summons, and whom they had rung down frcm the
third floor, with a sufficient lapse of time, before she got
back again, to allow all her family to fall into the fire, or
irink from the boiling tea-kettle, or leave red-bot irons upon
the linen, or tumble out of window, or promote any more ot
those accidents which childhood, left to its own devices, so
spontaneously indulges in.
The next ring brought a slip -shod girl up the kitchen
stairs, who did not know whether Mr. Scute was at home or
not, but somewhat furthered their object, by pointing out the
real bell. And this being pulled, two small uncombed chil-
dren peeped over the banisters; and, eventually, a gentle-
man in a duffle dressing-gown descended.
" Ha! Mr. Wyndham Flitter — good day, sir — good day,"
he said. " Is this the gentleman you spoke of!"
Mr. Flitter presented Philp to their new acquaintance.
" Come up, sirs — pray, come up," said Mr. Scute. " I am
sorry to receive you in this way; but some miscreants of a
licensed villain have plundered my home and hearth."
Philip scarcely comprehended the sonorous language of
the other; but Mr. Wyndham Flitter whispered to him, as
they followed Mr. Scute up stairs:
" Rather an unpleasant occurrence — a seizure for rent. But
he has a mind — that man — to fall down before and worship."
" But I have a rod in pickle for the scoundrels," continued
Mr. Scute. I think — I rather think — " The Cracker" will
a few of them inside out."
By this time they had reached Mr. Scute's apartment on
the second floor.
" Enter, gentlemen," he said, somewhat theatrically ;
" enter, and see the desecration that has taken place around
my hearth."
The desecration had been simply caused by carrying away
everything capable of transportation, in consequence of
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 129
which the furniture was now reduced to a borrowed table,
and a chair of old cane-work, which, having been ruthlessly-
broken through, reduced the occupier to the task of sitting,
perch-like, upon the front bar of the seat.
The table was covered with letters, papers, play -bills,
scattered wafers, and proofs of placards, one or two of which
were stuck up against the walls — especially a wood-cut of an
enormous cracker, with the effigies of distinguished political
and literary individuals struggling in its bends, implying
that they would be put to great personal inconvenience when
its bangs went off — for Mr. Scute, when he got a little
beery, to lean back and admire, through the smoke of his
pipe, and think, "And I am the creator of all this!" An
empty pewter pot on the table, and a sticky tumbler with a
spoon in it, showed that this might possibly have been his
late occupation. In fine, the whole apartment had the look
of those we find described in bygone novels as the usual
residences of poor authors, -which by the uninitiated are
regarded as comical fictions, but which abound, at this very-
day, in the literary world of London.
" We shall make a great sensation," said Mr. Scute; " the
orders are coming in well from the country, and I have made
sure of a famous corps. Banger will write the virtuous-
indignation leaders, and Slime will handle the social abuses.
And we have a capital fellow for the short bits and para-
graphs. You know Wince?"
"Let me see; didn't he get Into some awkward mess about
an insurance company?"
"Yes, that's him; but it was not his fault: he was very
badly treated — a victim, sir — a victim to the scoundrelly laws
of this power-ridden country. He's very smart, though."
Folks of his species generally are — they are blades to
which the rough grindstone of the world gives, at last, a re-
markably keen edge.
' And you, sir," continued Mr. Scute, addressing himself
to Philip — "you, I understand, will favour us with light,
sketches. You have written in that style before, I believe?"
" I have thrown off a few short papers, from time to time,"
said Philip.
" And very clever ones," added Mr. Wyndham Flitter.
■" All our friend wants is constant employment — unceasing
K
130 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
work; and the louder the printing press is clattering about
his ears, and the devils clamouring at his door for copy, the
better. Eh, Hammond?"
Philip acquiesced enthusiastically, so warmly did ]\Ir,
Wyndham Flitter deliver these words.
" Three guineas a column — those are our terms," said IMr.
Scute; " but we shall improve them with our circulation.
You can begin at once."
Three guineas appeared to Philip such a large stim, for
simply putting down his ideas upon paper, that he almost
felt inclined to say it was too much. But recollecting what
Mr. Flitter had said to him, he bowed an acquiescence.
" One thing," said Mr. Flitter: "I think you said it would
be essential for Mr. Hammond to remain in town as much as
possible."
" Why, yes," replied Mr. Scute. *'Just at present, his aid
may be suddenly required. It will not put you to any in-
convenience."
"By no means," returned Philip; "on the contrary; I
wish to be settled."
Preliminaries being thus speedily arranged, Philip and his
friend, after some general conversation, withdrew — Mr.
"VVyndham Flitter to " see some capitalists upon another im-
portant affair, at the West End," and Philip to write to Annie,
and inform her of his first start in metropolitan life; telling
her, at the same time, not to expect him, just yet, at Mr,
Twinch's.
CHAPTER XVI.
MISS twinch's bereavement.
It was now the end of autumn. The fog was heavy in the
mornings, as it hung sluggishly about the hills over Pottleton;
chilling the sunbeams as they struggled through it, so that
the large drops of dew clung all day to the blades of grass.
The shrivelled brown leaves, as they fell from the trees,
allowed glimpses of distant country to be seen through the
skeleton branches; and then, pattering down, lay thick upon.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 131
the ground, covering the wet cloggy footpaths through the
slunvs and copses.
The tops of the noble chesnuts, that had been so glorious
in the spring, were now quite bare; except that, here and
there, a tawny, ragged leaf fluttered and whirled about in
dreary loneliness; and the creepers that reached even to the
chimney-tops of the old houses had turned fiery red, striving
to make as warm an appearance as they could in the sharp
mornings. Smoke curled up from the cottages, and people
began to collect wood for the long evenings, and stack it in
"cords" in the yard, as the cold nights announced the ap-
proach of winter. Otherwise, the season was still and fine —
the calm old age of the year, now that the turbulent passions
of its spring, and hey-day of its summer-tide had settled
down to rest, as it tranquilly awaited its final passing away.
In this lapse of time, however much the steady-going old
inhabitants objected to have things altered, it could not
happen that the railway would come into Pottleton without
some changes, before long, taking place: and so it fell out.
The Red Lion, which had hitherto enjoyed all the patronage,
began to tremble at the foundation of a new building adjoin-
ing the station, meant for an "hotel" — a word hitherto
imperfectly understood in Pottleton. Next, the village
dealers found out the difference. They had met together,
and dined, and made speeches, and drank prosperity to the
trade of Pottleton, and gone away beery and self-elevated,
thinking "What fellows we are to do things in this style!"
But it was their last banquet. Like the Girondins, they only
celebrated their fall by their feasting; for when the luggage-
shed was put up, and {i^oods were brought from London for
next to nothing, the Pottletonians looked more after their
own interests than those of the native dealers, and sent large
orders up to town accordingly.
The man at " the shop " felt the improvements most.
Hitherto he had supplied all the branch retails about the
neighbourhood, not merely with the ordinary articles they
Tvere licensed to deal in, but even the small dried-up cakes,
crockery, brooms, coals, and lollipops, of their general trade.
He also dealt in marvellous wines, the likes whereof had
never been tasted anywhere, but which did very well for the
Pottletonians, who had hitherto believed in his cher.p Cape,
k2
132 THE rOTTLETON LEGACY.
and occasionally imbibed bis celebrated tbirty-sbilling old
crusted Port, without thinking of any antidote, in the notion
that the glowing vineyards of Madeira had supplied the first,
and the sunny regions of the Upper Douro the second. And
so he reigned at Pottleton, and gave what faded teas, and
coffees long since roasted, and Cape — not of Good Hope that
any better would follow — he chose. But reverses came.
First of all, his favourite young man left his service, taking
all the little shops and Saturday old women with him, and
opening an establishment directly opposite; where he roasted
coffee every day, to the wonder of the Pottletonians, and
attracted more boys by his empty sugar-hogsheads than ever
the other had been able to accomplish. Then the railway
came. Chests of tea — good family Congou, strongly recom-
mended, too — could be had down from London, with the car-
riage saved over and again, in every pound, from establish-
ments where there were pyramids of every sort in the win-
dow% at prices that gave the most lamentable notions of the
remuneration of labour and value of land in China. Small
casks of sherry, direct from the docks, were also brought by
rail, and then bottled at less than the facetious Cape and Port
above mentioned. So that lastly, the dealer, finding he was
not going to make the fortune of his predecessor, Mr. Wolly,
became a confirmed radical — not from any honest political
enthusiasm, but because, finding his hopes blighted of attain
ing that position he had frequently aspired to, and not seeing
the slightest chance of ever doing so, he took to abusing it.
The change, in a measure, operated on all the Pottle-
tonians; but on the whole it did good. For the inhabitants
of country places, cooped up in a little world of their own,
which they seldom go beyond; intermarrying, and living
on traditional or conventional plans of social and domestic
economy, become, in time, as it were, mildewed and weak-
minded; and if new blood and fresh notions are not infused
amongst them, they go out from inanition, like an ill-supplied
coke fire.
Property, at the same time, improved in value; and, as
wealthy immigrants arrived, fresh features were soon visible
in the beautiful valley. Swiss cottages rose on the hill-side,
and Doric villas bordered the river. Mr. Wolly found his
own tea-caddy residence quite overpowered by the adjacent
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 133
buildings that ran up in a night like Aladdin's palace, to the
consternation of the native builders, who took a year to con-
struct a pig-sty, having previously occupied several months
in thinking about it.
Pottleton Court, which had been long in chancery and un-
occupied, was once more inhabited; and, being a very large
house, this was a great improvement to the village; so that
altogether things looked promising.
About this time. Miss Twinch received a letter one
morning from her friend Mrs. Cooze, of London, hoping
that now the railway had brought her within such a short
distance, so to speak, of town, she would pay a long-
promised visit — indeed, she could take no refusal. Mrs.
Cooze had been a schoolfellow of Miss Twinch's — a fact
which the latter lady constantly circulated, inasmuch as she
was a grown-up pupil when Mrs. Cooze came a little girl to
the school — and had married Mr. Cooze, of the Customs,
after a sojourn, for two different seasons, at a Ramsgate
boarding-house, upon the strength of which, Miss Twinch
went there for two years after.
There was much to be said for and against the journey.
London life, change, and the chance of an advantageous in-
troduction, were great attractions. On the other hand. Miss
Martha would have Mr. Page all to herself, with the infant
scholars as her powerful allies; and her dear Tip would run
the chance of being neglected during her sister's extra occu-
pation, in spite even of Annie's offer to take charge of him.
Nobody also could be trusted with the manufacture of the
grape wine; and "Whacky Clark would steal more than he
gathered, if Miss Twinch was not there to stand at the foot
of the ladder all the time, and look after him. On such oc-
casions, "Whacky usually got rid of his inspectress, by
climbing on to frightfully insecure parts of the verandah,
until Miss Twinch declared that she could not bear to look
at him — it made her blood run cold! It was certainly her
duty to stay at Pottleton; but the woman who deliberates is
lost — so Miss Twinch, having once made a question of the
matter, ended by deciding on going. And she did more: to
the anxiety of her sister, and the delight of Mr. Twinch, she
determined that Tip should go with her, because she was
sure he would be so pleased with London.
134 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Annie promised to take all her duties while she was away;
and at last the morning of departure came. It was a touch-
ing ceremony. The infant school was visited, and the pupils
were affectionately exhorted to diligence in her absence:
whilst the two head children were allowed to come to the
railway, and see their loved instructress depart, and, by this
means shame Harriet Stiles, who, on the day of the opening
of the line, when she first saw the locomotive approach, had
set up such a scream, that the whole solemnity of the moral
chorus was destroyed, and Miss Twinch was advised — loudly
and personally, and before all the great folks of the village —
by the low vulgar boys, " not to keep pinching of the girl
like that, or she'd have the beadle after her!"
Whacky Clark was retained to carry the luggage to the
station; and it took him and the maid so long to bring it
down from Miss Twinch's room, and stack it on the barrow,
that, at a less exciting time, domestic indignation would have
been aroused. Then the procession started: first, Whacky
and the boxes, with the infant scholars, one on each side^
who would keep a hold on the cord, to show that they had an
interest in the cortege; then Miss Twinch, looking benignant
adieus at the neighbours, and carrying a large muff, for a
reason. Next to her walked Annie and Martha — the latter
lady bearing the precious Tip, who was directed just like a
parcel, for fear of accidents. And lastly came the usual
escort of children, who are always ready to accompany any
excitement in the country, however small. The servants
watched them from the door- step, and Mr. Twinch nodded
over the blinds of his office, and then went on with his
business.
As they approached the station. Miss Twinch took Tip,
and with many kisses tried to force him into the muff she
carried. But Tip evidently did not see the process in the
same light, for he struggled violentlj'-, and scrambled over
the outside, and got over Miss Twinch's shoulders, and even
behind her bonnet on her neck, crying in a manner that
wrung her heart. But as affection, ill requited, sometimes
turns suddenly to spite. Miss Twinch seized Tip by his fore-
paws, and dragged him into the depths of the muff with a
determination that astonished her pet as much as it terri-
fied him.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 135
The reasons for this proceeding were two, arising from
the economical mercy that governed most of Miss Twinch's
actions. In the first place, dogs had to be paid for, which
was an expense that a little pardonable deception might
evade; and in the second, when booked, they were consigned
to dismal places in the train for the entire journey. So
that, by smuggling Tip into the muff, both these evils might
be avoided.
•'First-class to Dibblethorpe, if you please!" said Miss
Twinch, as the man thrust the ticket into the compound
coffee-pot and nut-crackers before him, and handed it over.
Miss Twinch took a first-class seat to Dibblethorpe, for
appearances; and then got into a second class carriage for
London. In the same manner, newly married people start in
a carriage-and-four from the breakfast, with two servants,
to give folks a notion such will be tiieir constant method of
travelling, and then take a post-chaise at the first town, and
send their domestics back again by the coach, if there is one.
This is not the only false impression of future life made on
a wedding day.
Miss Twinch had allowed Tip's nose to peep from the
mulF, for fear that he would be choked; and all had passed
off quietly, when some evil genius directed his attention to
the clerk's cat. Smut, who was purring in the window. Be-
tween Tip and Smut had long existed an implacable enmity.
When he caught lier in the cinder-hole of the lamp-house,
which was her favourite boudoir, he would keep her there at
his pleasure; and she was subject to similar detention if Tip
surprised her on the top of a stool; and the more she swore,
and arched her back, and dilated generally, the more Tip's
excitement burst forth. Sometimes she made a sudden feint,
and darted off, with her tail in the air just like a sw^ord, upon
which Tip would be after her like a cricket ball, until the
two were lost by getting through some small hole in the pal-
ings about half the diameter of each of them, and then the
result of the chase was never known.
Catching sight of his old enemy. Tip barked imme-
diately.
" You have a dog there, ma'am," said the Clerk.
"Bless me, so I have!" said Miss Twinch, not knowing
what to do in the agony of the moment. '' But he is a
136 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
very little one," she added, as if in exculpation, iinmediatelj
afterwards.
'- Two-and-twopence, if he is going with you, ma'am,"
said the Clerk. "Branker! here's one dog."
'* I can take him with me," half-inquired, half-affirmed
Miss T winch.
" No dogs are allowed in the Company's carriages,
ma'am," said the Clerk, adding Tip to the way-bill as the
bell rang.
" Where is he going to be put?" asked Miss Twinch,
wildly. "Oh, dear! see how piteously he looks at me!"
She then continued to the dog, '' It's a poor ittle darling
man, he says; and ties enough to bake its ittle heart, he says,-
and toudn't a-bear to leave his ittle mistress, he says."
The expressions attributed to Tip had no effect upon the
stern guard, Branker. All that could be done was to put
Tip in a locker, under Miss Twinch's seat, whilst Whacky
Clark was treated to a twopenny ride in the third class
carriage, to go as far as Dibblethorpe and bring back
word how he had behaved. Then the guard blew his
whistle, and Annie and Miss Martha walked by the side of
the train as far as the platform went, nodding all the way;
and the last words from all parties, as they finally separated,
were, " Write soon!"
The train made such a noise, that no sounds of Tip were
heard during the journey to Dibblethorpe, where the Pottle-
ton branch joined the main line; but when they arrived
there, the carriages had to be changed. The instant the
door of the locker was opened, Tip shot out like a Jack-in-
the-box, scared to death, and directly bolted up the embank-
ment, whence he was only recovered by Whacky just as the
train to London came up. And this time Miss Twinch's
lieart was crushed, indeed; for, having seen her pet in a
locker already nearly filled with hampers, the doors of which
were slammed to with ferocious disregard of her feelings, she
could not find a vacant place in the carriage; and was com-
pelled, on the '• Now, ma'am, if you please," of the guard, to
be thrust hastil}^ into a remote seat, with no more sympathy
exhibited towards her, as she afterwards said, than if she had
been " so much nothing." She had not nice companions, nor
any likely to console her. There was a woman with twa
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 137
children, one of which she was obliged to nurse, whilst the
other amused itself by walking up and down the length of
the carriage between the legs of the passengers; two farmers,
who compared the state of every field they passed with their
own; a livery servant and a lady's maid; a gentleman who
smelt of smoke; and a soldier; so that Miss Twinch's heart
sank within her; and every time the train stopped, when she
distinctly heard the dismal yelp of Tip, followed by angry
stamps, and ferocious orders to him to " lay down," from the
more irritable passengers, her misery increased.
At last, slxe could bear the trial no longer, and when the
train stopped at the station, where refreshments were to be
had. Miss Twinch bounded from her seat like a spinster
gazelle, and ran up towards the locker. It had a grating to
it, like the Venetian blind of a baby house, through which
Tip could be spied, yelping the more wildly, and trying to
tear down the bars, as he saw his mistress.
*' Did ze naughty dards lock him up, he says ! " exclaimed
Miss Twinch. '-A pitty boy he was! and he shall have some-
thing nice, he says!"
To carry out which. Miss Twinch went back to the re-
freshment room.
She had a little difficulty in getting to the marble counter,
for everybody was close up to it, literally engaged in that
" struggle for the crust," which we sometimes read about in
touching books. It required a strong mind to manage a
luncheon at this room, for it was necessary to drink your
bottled beer, enumerate what you had eaten, and count your
change, all at once. And when, with some gay spirits, the
desire, at the same time, to look dreadful things into the
eyes of the very pretty girls who served, was predominant,
how anything was got, eaten, drunk, or even paid for at all,
was marvellous.
IMiss Twinch tried m vain ton find an opening; at last,
amidst many cross orders, she was enabled to exclaim —
*' Milk — a little milk, if you please!"
There was a moment of confusion, and then a pint bottle of
stout was put before her.
" That's for me," said a burly man at her side. " Where's
a corkscrew?"
The young lady went to get one, as Miss Twinch repeated
138 THE rOTTLETON LEGACY.
her prayer for milk. In the idea that it was for coffee, the
cream-jug was handed to her by some civil bystander. At
the same instant the bell rang, and the passengers flocked
back to the carriages.
" A saucer!" cried Miss Twinch; " a saucer, if you please
- — quick ! and more milk than this. It is for a little
dog."
Beginning to understand what was required, one of the
pretty young ladies hastily brought a saucer and a little
tin can, which she put down before Miss Twinch. That
lady tremulously poured some out, losing an equal quantity
in her nervous hurry, and was going to the platform, when
the engine gave a shrill scream, and the carriages glided one
after another past tlie doorway.
"Stop! stop!" screamed Miss Twinch, as the last guard
slung himself up from the platform to his watch-box, and the
train went off.
But an unfeeling puff from the engine was the only reply.
The last carriage moved away, and from its grated locker a
flying glimpse was obtained ot Tip struggling to get through
bars placed half-an-mch apart, as he, in turn, saw his mis-
tress. The signal-post dropped its arms irom a T to a gibbet;
and Miss Twinch remained alone!
In the fii'st great shock she did not see the whole of her
misery; but as consciousness returned to her paralyzed fa-
culties, the entire truth burst upon her in all its frightful
complexity. The direction tied to Tip's collar only conveyed
the fact that he was the property of one Miss Twinch, a pas-
senger; but she remembered that it had been written on the
back of an address card of some bird and monkey shop in
Havre, left behind by Philip with some trifles he had
brought over for Annie. It was possible, she thought, that
he might be sent on there! Then her luggage was anything
but safe. Travelling but seldom, the old directions remained
on her boxes, which she thought would be under her eye the
whole way; and these all bore her Ramsgate destination of
preceding years, to which she expected they would be imme-
diately forwarded. Her cloak, muff, parasol, and umbrella
were in the carriage she had left, at the mercy of aiiybody;
there would be nobody to meet her when she got in — if ever
she did, for despair had almost crushed her; and the non-
THE rOTTLETON LEGACY. Io9
arrival of the letter she had promised to write by that niglit's
pest, to show that she had reached town in safety, would the
next morning throw her tranquil but distant home into the
iireatest anxiety. Overwhelmed by her misery, she hurried
back to the refreshment room, sank upon the only chair it
contained — for the passengers never had time to sit down as
they fed — and gave way to her feelings.
The pretty young ladies paid her every attention — enough,
had its object been a gentleman, to have driven him wild.
They suggested a little water; then a little brandy and water;
and, lastly, the least quantity of brandy alone. They said
that nothing was ever lost on the line; that Tip and her boxes
would both be kept till she arrived; and that there was ano-
ther train in half-an-hour. And tlieir gentle voices and nice
faces had some effect, even upon Miss Twinch, who was so
far recovered at the end of a few minutes, as to walk out on
the platform and look up and down the line, in some shadowy
expectation of seeing Tip left behind; after which she stated
her case to the porters, who condoled with her earnestly, and
would have liked to have drunk her health, but for a notice
against the wall that forbade gratuities.
The next train at length came up, and Miss Twinch was
on her way to London. On arriving, she hurried from the
carriage, — having told her sad story to the passengers all the
way up, and received their advice — asking the first person
she encountered if he had seen anything of a dog. The man
thought she had better ask the guard, who referred her to the
superintendent. He passed her on to the luggage office, the
chief of which directed her to the parcels department, but all
without success; until an intelligent stoker by chance said
there was an unclaimed dog in the engine-shed.
" Are you sure?" asked Miss Twinch, trembling with
anxiety
" Certinly, mum," replied the man. " There was two in
the train, and a feller wanted to take 'em both away; but he*d
only a ticket for one; so we kept the most wallable till in-
quiries was made."
" Some villain!" ejaculated Miss Twinch.
" Yes, mum," said the man; " that he was."
It was cheering to find sympathy in the cinder-crusted man.
140 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
who looked almost like a human clinker before her. Miss
Twinch at once begged him to conduct her to the shed.
A journey over any part of a railway terminus, not ex-
pressly devoted to passengers, is one of much toil: and so
Miss Twinch found it. She had to make long legs in stepping
up and down platforms, and got her feet wedged into the locks
of the turntables. She stumbled over the rails, and had to
cross frightful chasms, full of cinders and dirty water. She
was also obliged to creep between threatening buifers of car-
riages, and tremble before vague engines, who were running
about all sorts of rails, and starting off alone upon unknown
errands. But, at last, she arrived at the shed, and followed
the man to its extremity, with a beating heart. He led her
to a species of cinder-bin; and there she found, not as she
had expected, her darling Tip whining and yelping his joy at
her approach, but, beyond all exception, the ugliest bull-dog
that ever a fighting innkeeper was proud of.
" He's worth a trifle, mum," said the man.
" That my dog!" screamed Miss Twinch, as the plebeian
brute showed his teeth, " Oh I there is another — I'm sure there
must be; don't tell me there is no other."
" Well, we won't, mum," said the man, touching his hat,
" not unless you wishes it. But I'd recommend you to
take this one — the other was a reg'lar little whelp."
" No; no whelp," replied Miss Twinch — " the dearest little
dog that ever — that ever — " and, not finding any thing apt,
she went on: " Are you sure there is no other?"
'• No, mum, only old Buster. Ullow, Buster, where are
you?"
As the stoker whistled, a blind dog crept out of the fire-
hole of a used-up engine, arrayed in a paletot made of grimy
canvass.
" A steam-pipe was turned off upon him by mistake, mum,
and he lost his coat — so we made him another, and shunted
him into here. Eat any thing, mum, he will — he's uncommon
fond of a bit of coke."
Miss Twinch was insensible to the information. Her heart
was with Tip, and his acquirements: it was not large enough
to hold two dogs at once. She returned sad and lonely
to the station, where the discovery of her luggage did
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 141
not even tend to raise her spirits — she would sooner have
seen Tip. And so, in deep distress, she was packed up in a
cab, with her recovered effects, and rattled off to the abode
of her friend.
Mrs. Cooze resided in one of those gaunt, dusty houses,
with large passages and heavy window-sashes, forming the
streets that lead from Soho-square to some complexity of
butchers' shops, market-stalls, and short courts, never tho-
roughly comprehended. It is a dangerous thing to wander
in this neighbourhood unadvisedly. Bent upon such a des-
tination you may get into Leicester-square — -but you may
also, with equal chances, find yourself in strange localities,
abounding in old furniture, second-hand books, piping bul-
finches, and manufacturers of hitherto unknown, and now
but indistinctly-understood, articles of commerce.
These Soho streets have a distinctive feature, apart from
other bygone quarters. They are almost entirely inhabited
by persons who have allowed time to go on without the
least effort to keep up with it. They form a little world by
themselves, and live in the past. Everything about them
is of the gone-by, and they do not desire a change; hence,
their bonnet-shops display the fly-spotted paper patterns of
former seasons; their libraries offer old novels and maga-
zines; their upholstery is cumbersome and dark with age.
But it is old — not antique: for one style must not be con-
founded with the other. The natives of Soho have not yet
been able -to draw the line between the mediaaval and the
rickety, but incline to the latter. In their furniture, they
patronise secretaries, square pianos, knife- cases on sideboards,
and round flap-tables; and their notions of daily papers are
confused, and far from general.
Mrs. Cooze was, however, in advance of her neighbours,
and lived there with her husband because she got a large
house at a small rent, not caring for situation. She had great
notions of the air, though, and kept plants on the leads at
the landing — small, potted bits of stick, dignified by various
names, which there was no chance of refuting. She might
have called a fuchsia a geranium, or anything else; no one,
by its characteristics, could say that it was not. She was a
woman of impulse and poetic temperament; said she was
thirty; liked society, and admired talent. She also suffered
142 THE POTTLETON LEGACY
from depression of spirits, for which she was occasionally com-
pelled to have recourse to stimulants.
Miss Twinch's arrival caused some degree of confusion;
for Mrs. Cooze, having given up all idea of seeing her visitor
that day, had suddenly changed the dinner of welcome to
that of ordinary domestic life, and sat down to it. To speak
more clearly, the preserved currant tart had been put by un-
cut to come up fresh on the morrow; and, for the couple of
fowls, had been suddenly substituted some cold boiled beef
from the fourpenny luncheon shop, on which Mr. and Mrs.
Cooze were regaling when Miss Twinch arrived, with one
Palmer's candle in the middle of the table, burning in a large
glass shade, to make it look like a lamp. The noise of the
cab-wheels gave the alarm, on which the other candle was
rapidly lighted, as well as two wax ends, stuck in a pair of
black images on the mantel -piece; and a cover hastily put
over the cold beef
" Come in!" cried Mrs. Cooze, joyfully, as she burnt her
fingers with the spill, and throwing it unguardedly into the
grate, set fire to all the willow shavings, which went off in a
puff almost like gun-cotton. " Come in, dear! we were so
disappointed when you did not arrive; but never mind — here
you are, and there's Mr. Cooze."
Mr. Cooze stood at the table as if he was going to make
a speech, smiled graciously, and bowed his head — only his
head though — until his chin touched his shirt-pin.
The slight confusion of getting the luggage in, and paying
the cabman — when Miss Twinch, being a lady, had not got
her money ready, of course, this being one of the circum-
stances under which her sex make a point of being simi-
larly unprepared, in common with getting out of an omnibus,
procuring a second-class ticket in a rush of passengers, and
keeping back a string of vehicles at a turnpike whilst they
dive into all the corners of their baskets and pockets — this
little matter being arranged, Mrs. Cooze said, hurriedly, to
the maid, " Tell the cook to put down the fowls again, if the
fire is not too low:" and then accompanied Miss Twinch to
take off her things ; whilst she gave Mr. Cooze a nod, as
pregnant with meaning ot every description as Lord Bur-
leigh's in "The Critic." That is to say, by the single motion
she wished him to understand that, whilst they were gone, he
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 143
was to see the table laid again, get out the wine, have the cold
beei" removed, see that the Palmer's candles would not go out
in the middle of dinner — from which disease they frequently-
suffered — and send out for some more ale.
It was not until all this was over that Mrs. Cooze saw, for
the first time, her friend's sorrowing face. We will not so
far impeach her gentle woman's nature as to say that, whilst
she condoled with Miss Twinch with affectionate sympathy,
she inwardly rejoiced at the cause of Tip's non-arrival. But
she told his mistress that they would be sure to recover him
again, for her butcher had a large connexion amongst people
who dealt in dogs, and he should be directly applied to. And
after this consolation Miss Twinch and Mrs. Cooze descended
to the dining-room.
All that Mrs. Cooze desired had not been accomplished:
for Mr. Cooze was still slightly black in the face with tugging
at the woody cork of a bottle of Marsala with a pocket
corkscrew that hurt his fingers, being also flurried by some
ill-management of the Palmer's candle, which had shot off
suddenly, and fired its inch that remained against the ceiling,
where it stuck. But these were no great matters: and at
last they sat down to dinner.
" We have been keeping all our gaiety for you, Letitia,"
said Mrs. Cooze, " and mean to make you a perfect rake."
" That will ' harrow' her feelings," exclaimed Mr. Cooze,
laughing, and rubbing his hands.
The worst thing in Mr. Cooze's character was, that he
thought himself a funny man, and w^ould be always making
jokes.
Miss Twinch smiled, and said:
" Very good indeed!"
" ]Sow, Septimus !" said Mrs. Cooze, with affectionate
upbraiding. " He's just tlie same, you see," she added,
to her friend.
" Just the same," said Miss Twinch.
" What, did you expect to see me anybody else?" asked
Mr. Cooze. " Because I'm sorry I'm not, if you did. Let me
give you a little more fowl. * Fair is foul,* you know, and
fowl's our fare. Eh? Ha! ha!'"
" We have conspiracies for all sorts of little parties while
i44 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
you Stay with us," said Mrs. Cooze; " and Septimus has been
promised a box at the play."
" Better than a box in earnest," said Mr. Cpoze. " Come,
I think that's not so bad. Oh, we will show you all sorts of
things, Miss Letitia, before you perform that singularly
evanescent operation popularly known as amputating one's
timber."
This w^as another of Mr. Cooze's attributes. He thought
it funny to elaborate common-place sayings into long
phrases.
•'Now, Septimus," said Mrs. Cooze, again, "you forget
that Miss Twinch is not quite used to such conversation.
Oh! he's a terrible fellow when I'm not in town!" she con-
tinued, to her friend.
Mr. Cooze did not give one the notion of a terrible
fellow. But he evidently liked to be thought so.
" Never mind what I am," he said. " Call me what you
like, so long as you don't call me too late for dinner — eh?
Take a little nutmeg with the custard. Miss Twinch. We
are all great, but that's a grater. Eh?"
He handed the nutmeg-grater to her. It was like their
own at Pottleton, fashioned after the Pavilion at Brighton,
and had been bought at the same time, when the Cooze's
were on their wedding tour.
" You know that?" he said. " The Pavilion. What do
you think I call it? The wreck of the Royal George. Do
you see? Eh? Ha! ha!"
And in conversation of this kind the evening passed;
^jntil Miss Twinch, wearied Avith the events of the day,
retired to bed, and dreamt that Tip was restored to her by a
feputation of missionaries and infant scholars, who had found
him in the Ponso Islands.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 145
CHAPTER XVII.
M. POLPETTE AT HOME.
There is, in the neighbourhood of Leicester-square, an in-
finity of houses, devoted entirely to thehabitation of mysterious
foreigners, who have, in this quarter of town, established, as
it were, a perfect colony; and here enjoy their own customs,
cookery, dirt, and domestic economy to the extreme verge
allowed by our social habits and observances.
Apart from the regular hotels, which stand boldly forth
with their names in blazoned letters, you will find, on close
inspection, a number of small establishments shrinking, half-
concealed from the casual eye, with the usual reluctance of
poverty to attract attention. Thus, the Hotel de Flandres
may be entirely confined to the second and third floors of an
ordinary house, and would be entirely unknown but for its
name under one of the bell-pulls: the Cafe-Restaurant — which
may almost be regarded as the site of a secret society, known
only to a few, without sign or direction — looks upon some
back leads, or into a well of brickwork and grimy windows;
and the Pension Bourgeoise can only be reached by those
well acquainted with certain long dark passages and eccentric
stairs, bounding a shop in which imprisoned flights of canaries
and finches chirp, and twitch, and take galvanic and limited
exercise in their model prisons.
At the extreme top of one of these latter establishments —
that is to say, over the ordinary garret, and in the pitch of
the roof — a room, such as it was, had lately found an occu-
pant in the person of M. Polpette. Its dimensions were
necessarily contracted. He was compelled to get upon his bed
to open the door, and to lie upon his back to shave so much
of his face as he was accustomed to keep in stubble. It was
lighted by a few glazed tiles, which in fine weather allowed
the sun to shoot down upon his eyes early in the morning,
but when covered with snow kept him in total darkness.
A door, originally intended as a fire-escape, opened upon the
roof, and there the greater part of M. Polpette's system of
domestic economy was carried out. An old pigeon-house
L
146 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
formed his kitchen; and an earthenware furnace, something
like a flower-pot, with a grating half-way down inside, his
cooking range. On the top of a party-wall were a few articles
of crockery, and against the door were some candles, hung
there to harden, and so burn the longer. There was little
fear of these things being stolen. In the first place, they
were not worth it; and in the second, the place was very
difficult of access. The cats alone invaded it; and as there
was never anything for them to eat, and nothing they could
carry away, M. Polpette's privacy Avas undisturbed.
He had a neighbour though. From a similar opening in
another roof, a gentleman sometimes showed, when the
weather was fine enough to admit of an al-fresco pipe. He was
also a foreigner, although not a Frenchman; and when they
had been lucky enough to get an old copy of the Constitutionel,
it was to be regretted that no powerful politicians were pre-
sent to hear the simple means they put forth for the entire
regeneration of Europe.
After M. Polpette had left his last lodging so i:ncere-
moniously, some little time elapsed before Mr. Wyndham
Flitter discovered his habitat, which for certain reasons he
was anxious to do. At last, recollecting a shop whereat the
Frenchman was in the habit of buying his haricot beans, he
applied there, and was by the people directed to the house.
He found M. Polpette preparing his breakfast on the tiles,
when, after some trouble, he got there. The foreign gentle-
man was cooking some eggs over his little charcoal stove, in
the saucer of a flower-pot, by a process something between
poaching and frying. By his side stood a pint of beer and
roll, brought there by some mysterous agency; and hanging
from the wall was a slice of butter in a bird-cage. The ap-
pearance of M. Polpette at home was not of that fashionable
character he assumed in society. His mustachios, whiskery
and wig were in their box : on his head he wore an old
velvet cap, and the rem-ains of a once-gay dressing-gown, with-
out any buttons, enveloped him. But this did not surprise
Mr. "Wyndham Flitter. He appeared to know all about it.
"Bon jour, Polpette!" exclaimed that gentleman, as he
put his head through the doorway.
" Ah, c'est vous ?" replied the other, after a moment's
pause of incertitude ; for M. Polpette had been haunted.
tyt^tA^^Ci^ aZ^ /^.r
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 147
ever since he left his last abode, by fears of persecuting
landlords.
"Don't derange yourself," said Mr. Flitter, turning an
oyster barrel, with charcoal in it, topsy-turvy, and sitting
down upon it. "Goon; I've breakfasted. Those eggs are
scarcely the thing. I don't think you put enough butter in
the pan first. They'll stick and burn — ' ceiifs au grating
instead of '^sur le plat.^ "
" Ah! ce bon Flittare!" said M. Polpette, delighted to find
that a great mind could stoop to such trivial considerations;
and then he handed his visitor the beer, who just put it to
his lips, and returned it: first, because he really did not wish
to rob the Frenchman; and, secondly, because he had been
making a capital breakfast, beginning with oysters and Chablis,
and ending with coffee and Cognac, at Spooner's rooms.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter had an object in thus paying a visit
to M. Polpette; indeed, he never did anything without one.
But he did not explain it just yet. He laughed and joked
with the Frenchman, told him good stories, and talked
about his favourite politics, until their conversation became
amazingly animated when they were suddenly interrupted.
"Bolbette!" said a voice from a neighbouring siiylight;
" here ish der newsbabers — der Zeitung — zo !"
" Stoff !" cried Mr. Flitter, as some familiar tones fell upon
his ear, and he recognised the face of his friend behind the
dense fumes of a pipe, that clouded up from the trap. " Well,
this is odd! So we've discovered where you hang out, after all!'*
" Ya! *hang out,' zo!" replied his friend; "ver goot vits.
*Hang;' ya, ya — zo."
"Yes — you've deserved it long ago, you old rascal!" said
Mr. Flitter, in affectionate abuse. " Well — what's up?"
" Vol's ope! ya: Mr. Shtaudigl — see dare!" the other went
on, pointing to a paragraph in the newspaper with his pipe;
" Mr. Shtaudigl, vos sing Der Freyschutz with der Koenig."
" Yes — I know Koenig," replied Mr. Flitter, " plays the
cornet-a-piston."
"Bishtons! no!" said Stoff, smoking his pipe furiously to
get it alight again. "Vith der King — vot he vos — der
real king; ya — zo!"
" Oh,"now I have it!" said Mr. Flitter. " Why don't you
speak English?"
l2
148 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
"Ya! tish difficoold!" returned the Herr. "Yen Mr.
Shtaudigl vos play Pertram, he speak pewtiful — zo — ^ya:
goot pye!"
And here Mr. Stoff appeared to be summoned from
below, for he rapidly disappeared down the trap, after which
voices were long heard in foreign altercation, which is never
very subdued.
As soon as he had gone, Mr. Wyndham Flitter unfolded
the purport of his visit to M. Polpette. He first painted, in
glowing colours, the indignities that the foreign gentleman
had met with from the hands of Mr. Spoon er; and then
alluded to the surprise of certain acquaintances at finding
that M. Polpette had allowed the insult to go unnoticed.
This, M. Polpette listened to with the expression of several
thousand " tonnerre^^ and " sacr-r-risties'^ until Mr. Flitter
found he had worked him up to the proper pitch of anger,
when he added, speaking always in French, " In a word,
Polpette, you must call him out."
" Oui!" replied the other, with an expression that sounded
anything but acquiescent.
" There will be no danger," said Flitter; "but your posi-
tion renders such a step absolutely necessary. He can't
shoot: it would bother him to hit a barn door at six paces."
" But I am not a barn door," answered M. Polpette ;
" besides, he might hit me by chance."
" He won't even aim near you," said Flitter. " Now look
here, Polpette : I come to you as an old friend, and a man I
regard as my brother, and I am going to tell you what no
power on earth could have forced from me; you must keep it
a dead secret."
" Always — I swear it," returned the Frenchman.
"Well, then — now, may I trust you?"
" To the end of eternity," said M. Polpette.
" Well, then — Spooner once confessed to me, that if he
was in a duel, he would never aim at his man, but always
fire in the air. Now, what do you say?"
This statement appeared to render M. Polpette more com •
fortable in his mind. He immediately said that a Frenchman
never put up with an insult; and that his ribbon of the Legion
of Honour was still without stain or reproach. Having ex-
pressed which feelings he went on with his cookery.
THE POTTLETON LEGACr. 149
Thus far being settled, Mr. Wyndham Flitter's next visit
was to Mr. Spooner, to whom he had agreed to go as M.
Polpette's friend, " waving all private feelings," as he ob-
served, "in any matter where the honour of a man he
esteemed was concerned."
He found Mr. Spooner and his friends as he had left
them, still at breakfast, or rather at cigars, and Willy Sprott
entertaining them with various diverting accomplishments.
These were unbounded, and had the advantage of never re-
quiring much preparation. At present he was blowing soap
bubbles filled with cigar smoke, until they looked like large
globes of opal. He had reduced bubble-blowing to a science
that the whole Stock-exchange might have envied. With a
little paper cone and some suds he could do such marvels,
that when, on fine summer evenings he took it into his head
to sit at his open window in Lincoln's Inn, and there ex-
perimentalize, he would cover the whole area with his fairy
balloons to the intense delight of the boys who swarmed
below. And once — when having produced one of great size,
he artfully changed it for the round globe of a lamp, and
tapped it with his pencil-case to show that it was hard — he
was almost regarded as a magician, and so cheered by the
increasing crowd, that the police were compelled to request
Mr. Sprott would not blow any more bubbles in public,
since which his feats had been confined to his rooms, or
those of his friends.
" An emblem of life," observed Mr. Flitter, as a bubble
burst into a light vapour when he entered. " By the way,
Tiddy, can I have half a word with you in private?"
" To be sure," replied Mr. Spooner. " Come in here."
The two moved towards the door.
" Oh! that's it, is it?" said Sprots, pretending to know all
about it. " Don't believe her any more."
"If you owe anything, old fellow," said another, "my
purse is quite at your disposal. There it is — there's nothing
in it, but no matter. The will's the same."
Mr. Spooner looked back at his friends — gave a wink
which he wished to express that he was not the man to be
done, and that he was going to be put into a good thing, and
closed the door.
" Now what is it, Wyndham?" he asked, eagerly.
150 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Spoorier!" said Mr. Flitter, with earnestness; "I have
known you long, and I hope the deep regard I have ever
entertained for you is mutual."
"My dear fellow!" replied Mr. Spooner, wringing his
hand.
"If it were not so," said Mr. Flitter, *' I should not have
come to you upon this serious affair."
" What affair?" asked Mr. Spooner, whose face had been
going through the physiognomy of the passions, ending with
fear.
"In a word; then Polpette — that wretched Frenchman
whose cover you drew below here, has been goaded on by
some of his damned bravo friends to call you out."
" Oh stuff!" said Mr. Spooner, pulling vigorously at his
cigar. " I shan't go."
"Now, stop a minute, Tiddy," observed Mr. Flitter,
" You see, in the position "
"Oh, I shan't!" repeated IVIr. Spooner, with firmness.
" Now, will you listen. I can have but one motive — that
of serving you. If you will not, I must wish you good
morning. It will make, I trust, no difference in the good
feeling that has hitherto existed between us, but as a gentle-
man, and a man of honour "
" Stop ! stop ! Wyndhara," exclaimed Mr. Spooner, as his
friend had been gradually getting towards the door, with an
expression of wounded pride upon his face. Mr. Flitter was
softened, and returned.
"You are in for it, Tiddy," he said; "and that is the
truth of it. You see you are a known man — one of the
celebrities of the day — in London, and must not flinch. A
snob could do anything."
" It is true !" replied Mr. Spooner, with sorrowing conceit.
" Now, I'll tell you what I have done. I have under-
taken to be Polpette's second."
"My God, Wyndham!" exclaimed his friend. "You
don't mean that? I was counting upon you myself."
" Stop a minute," said Mr. Flitter, " and understand me.
Is it not better that I should be his second than some of hia
cut-throat foreign friends, who are all professed duellists?
Do you think, if he is put with the sun in his eyes I shculd
object? Eh?"
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 151
" My dear "Wyndham," said Mr. Spooner, " 1 am in such
a flutter I scarcely know what to say."
"Ah! I can understand it; the first time/' answered Mr,
Flitter. "But it's nothing when you are used to it. I have
been out three or four dozen times. This ring with a blue
stone was given me by a man who had wronged me, and
whom I afterwards wounded. The watch is rather a more
serious souvenir. It belonged to a poor fellow I shot through
the lungs."
Mr. Flitter spoke in a deep solemn tone— so much so that
the other quite trembled.
" But don't you be nervous, Tiddy," he went on. " See
what a position it will give you. And now, about your own
second. What do you say to young Hammond?"
" I scarcely know him," said Mr. Spooner. " I should like
Sprott, I think."
" Not to be depended on," returned Mr. Flitter, shaking
his head.
•' But really — I have only met Hammond once."
" So much the better," replied Flitter; "for he will have
the greater influence over you. Besides, I know him; and
it will be better for us all to keep the aifair in a ring fence.'*
" Oh — as you please," said Mr. Spooner; " if, as you say,
it must be, it must. 1 leave everything in your hands."
"And you shall not repent it," replied Flitter. "But,
remember — not a word: you see the delicate position I am in
with you all, and I should be ruined if it was blown. I will.
settle everything. In the meantime, don't let these men
know anything about it; and wait till you hear from me this
evening."
Mr. Wyndham Flitter grasped his friend's hand and de-
parted; whilst Mr. Spooner returned to his companions.
But his manner was so changed; he was so pale and distracted
that a sudden chill fell over the party, and they one by one
took their leave, with the notion that some heavy money
scrape was impending, and that they might be asked to
advance a trifle to clear him from it.
" I thought he was going too fast," they observed, one to
the other, "and would be obliged to pull up suddenly.
, Very well — serve him right, a stupid ass. He ought to
have known better."
152 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE FUNNY WRITER.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter's scheme had thus far progressed
very well; and it now only remained for him to see Philip
Hammond. He was getting his acquaintances into the posi-
tion of billiard balls in the hands of an experienced player —
nursing and pocketing them as suited him, but always leaving
them in circumstances most advantageous to himself ; and the
game he played was always one of winning hazards.
He had reasons for supposing that Philip would visit the
printers of " The Cracker," who were also the proprietors, and
accordingly first turned his steps in that direction.
The printing office of Messrs. Brainer and Clinch composed
a tall building, all windows, looking, indeed, like half-a-dozen
greenhouses, built one on the top of the other, and constantly
reminding the inmates that they should be the last people in
the world to throw stones. It was situated in the centre of
a labyrinth of courts between Fleet-street and Holborn, which
opened upon small streets, only known to travellers by omni-
buses trying to discover a north-west passage, when the
great arteries were blockaded, by what a medical man would
term a varicose state of the sewers, or congestion of the gas-
pipes. Otherwise dead quiet reigned in this quarter. Wan-
dering pilgrims, who vended household articles, occasionally
announced their arrival by unearthly and unintelligible cries;
and potboys and muffin-men woke the echoes of the solitude
in their respective callings.
The printing-office alone was noisy. At unwonted hours
its windows were gaily lighted up, and such a banging and
clattering would begin as made the neighbourhood tremble
again J and this in itself was enough to appal budding authors^
who crept timorously up creaking stairs and worn ladders,
through heavy swinging doors that came to with a weight
before they had passed their portals, and drove them half-
way up the next flight — the sanctum wherein Messrs. Brainer
and Clinch wrung jokes from authors, as the barons of old
in their fastnesses made all their own wheo the victims once
crossed their threshold; or rather they turned human heads
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 158
into alembics, and, with a fire made of cheques, distilled into
their receivers the last drop of essence that the mind was
capable of yielding.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter knew all the stairs and doors
intimately ; and he went through rooms, where composi-
tors were quietly packing together the unit letters that
were to produce more powerful effects, when combined,
than if they had been cast into bullets, instead of small
pica ; and others, where driving-bands flew round their
shafts, and huge machines threw forth their damp knowledge
to the world, until he came to the office of the partners.
" Oh, Mr. Flitter !" exclaimed Mr. Brainer, as he entered ;
*• this is too bad !"
"Too bad!" echoed Mr. Clinch.
" What is the matter!" asked Mr. Flitter, with an air of
simple astonishment.
" The first number of * The Cracker' should be out to-
morrow, and there are still four columns short !"
"Four — columns — short!" said Mr. Clinch, impressively.
" Four columns short !" ejaculated Mr. Flitter, with
astonishment. " Impossible! — how can that be?"
" That is Mr. Scute's business — not ours," said Mr.
Brainer.
" Certainly not ours," corroborated Mr. Clinch.
" And we have sent to his house, where the gentleman
you introduced to us is at work with him; and all we can
learn is, that one of his children has been burnt. Now,
really; we are very sorry for his child, but if his entire
family were to tumble into the fire, admitting that he himself
escaped, he should recollect a great property is at stake — a
serious affair."
" A very serious affair!" added Mr. Clinch.
According to a summons, the foreman now appeared,
with long slips of literature in his hand, putting one in mind
of three feet of new and popular jokes for a penny.
" Well, Mr. Chapel, how does the copy stand ?" asked Mr.
Flitter.
" There wants four columns, sir," replied the foreman. He
said this in a cold, deliberate tone, as though four columns of
jokes could be furnished on the instant, like an extra piece
of paper-hanging.
154
THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
"Well — Stop a minute," said Mr. Flitter; "don't bother
poor Scute; I'll see him myself. In the meantime, give me
a pen and paper : I'll knock you off something in a jiffey."
" We would rather have your articles the result of work
and thought than knocked off in a jiffey, whatever that may
be," said Mr. Brainer. " Rapid writing is slow reading."
" Slow reading, indeed !" observed Mr. Clinch.
" Oh — I don't mean to write anything that I have not
arranged beforehand," said Mr. Flitter : " I have often been
called in upon similar emergencies. This very ring, with the
blue stone, -was given me by old Ghoul, the publisher, for
finishing a novel that poor Rackstraw was prevented from
doing, by dying in the Fleet — breaking up in mind and body
altogether. ' I thought there was still meat on him,' said
Ghoul. But he was done — the other was a mere dry bone.
Pepin's digestor couldn't have got any more from him.
Give me some paper, and just leave me to myself for a few
minutes."
The partners went on with their work, which consisted in
turning over mighty books of abstruse sums; and Mr. Flitter's
pen wac heard chirping and sputtering at a mighty rate, over
acres of scribbling paper, until he once more addressed his
two employers.
" Here is a thing," he said, " that I think may do — a sort
of Bacchanalian song. It goes so — "
" Fill the bumper fair,
Every drop we sprinkle,
O'er the brow of care.
Smoothes away a wriakle.
Wit's electric "
" I think I have heard something before very like that,"
said Mr. Brainer.
" Very like it, indeed," added Mr. Clinch.
"Possibly," answered Mr. Flitter; "the idea would be
likely to strike, generally. However, never mind; we won't
have it for an instant. There!" And as he spoke he tore
up the manuscript, and threw it into the fire-place, with
great unconcern. " I'll run over and see Scute," lie went on.
'" It is possible that he may have got all ready, and then my
work would be thrown away. You shall hear from me in
twenty minutes."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 155
And, without waiting for the chance of any more remarks,
Mr. Wyndham Flitter caught up his hat, and rushed out to
the editor s lodgings.
Those who laughed over the number of ' The Cracker' when
it came out on the following week, could not have conceived
the scene in which it had been concocted. In the cheerless
apartment wherein Mr. Scute had been first discovered, that
gentleman, unshorn and undressed, was sitting at a rickety
table, working, with Philip Hammond. An apology for a
cloth had been spread, and on this was a plate or two, with
some slices of meat and unskinned potatoes together in a pie-
dish, evidently purchased at a cook-shop: a bottle of gin
nearly empty, and a pewter pot. In one corner of the room
was a trestle bed; in another a large press, which appeared
to serve for kitchen, wardrobe, and cellar.
On some chairs at the fireside lay the poor little child that
had been burnt — one of those who had peeped over the
banisters when Philip first called. The shock that the
system had received had been so severe that it had no power
left to cry. A low moan was all that escaped from time to
time, as it shivered with agony, unable to bear any covering
over its scorched and naked limbs. One of the women who
lodged in the house was attending it, placing rags dipped in
vinegar and water on its chest, where the injury was greatest,
and supplying its constant entreaties for something to drink.
The other child — a little girl of six or seven — was adapting
some tattered finery to an old doll, glancing timidly every
now and then at the sufferer, but afraid to approach within
some feet of the temporary couch. They had no mother
living. Mr. Scute, like many literary men who have not
been thrown into general society, had married foolishly and
early. Afterwards getting some slight'name, he was taken
up by circles, higher far than that in which he moved, and
invited to their tables, to amuse the guests by his conver-
sation. Flattered by this notice, he lost his self-respect so
far — in common again with many literary men, we regret to
say — as to be constantly visiting where his wife would never
have been received by the females of the family, and believ-
icg himself, even under these mean circumstances, on a level
■with them. Thus neglected, Mrs. Scute first fretted, and
then gave way to drowning her sorrows in drink, until after
156 THE POTTLETON LEGACT
several wretched years she died, leaving her husband with
two children, neither of whom could assist their father in
any way with his household. And so affairs became worse
and worse; and each day Mr. Scute became dirtier and more
grisly and unpresentable. Then, with the carelessness of
genius, he became embarrassed; and troubles thickened,
until every feeling of self-respect was gone, and he became
the hapless literary hack, trusting to chance for employment,
and to the bottle for inspiration.
" I think she seems a little easier, Mrs. Tollett," he said,
as he went to the fireside and looked at the little patient.
"My poor Louey! never mind, dear — it will soon get better.
Doctor will come again at tea-time, and do it good. Ah!"
And as he came back to the table he almost gave a wail
of brain-weariness and despair.
"Come, Mr. Hammond," he said to Philip; "we don't
get on. Take some more gin-and-water."
" Thank you — no," returned the other. " If I can't write
without that, I'm sure I can't with. Don't you think that
trusting to drink for ideas, is living on your capital?"
" But suppose your interest w^on't keep you," replied Mr.
Scute; " what are you to do then — eh? You won't have
any? Very well, then, I must drink by myself. Now, then
— the jokes, the jokes!"
He mixed a tumbler — half gin and half water — and took
up his pen when he had swallowed some, whilst Philip, at
his desire, looked over a newspaper to see what subjects
offered.
" Here's Mr. Topper's last work advertised," cried Philip.
" That will do," observed Mr. Scute. " Quote it as a
paragraph, and head it ^ Gratifying Intelligence.' The * Last'
— don't you see?"
" Oh— I see," said Philip. " But I like his books, really."
" That's nothing to do with it: you wouldn't lose the joke,
would you? What's the book called?"
"Madelaine; or, the Three Trials."
" Capital; w^e must say those were the trials the reader
made to get through it, and failed in all. Put it down."
Philip did as he was ordered, not altogether seeing the
justice of the attack; and then continued, as he looked over
the paper:
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 157
" I think here's something we may make some fun of.'*
" What is it?" asked Scute.
" An advertisement headed ' To Amateur Farmers,' " re-
plied Philip. " That looks promising. I tried my hand with
a bit of ground myself once at Pottleton. Let me see about it."
Poor Mr. Scute was not sorry to jump at the subject; for,
as a last resource he had just made up his mind to another
squib upon the ministers, which was always the refuge of his
destitute humour. Gin, trouble, and a constant drain upon
his head, for artificial fun. had nearly done their work, and
the arrival of the doctor to see the poor child, furnished him
with an excuse to leave the writing-table; whilst Philip, after
a little arrangement, w^ent on with his paper.
" I think we are better, Mr. Roopy," said Scute, as the
medical man approached the couch. " Not so much pain
this last half-hour — none at all scarcely just now."
" She is very ill," answered the doctor, with the slightest
shake of the head, after looking at his patient for an instant.
" But her screams was dreadful an hour ago," observed the
woman.
" And now it is scarcely a whimper, you see," added Scute.
" I will send you something different to that wash," said
Mr. Roopy — "something that will not chill her so much.
But she is in danger. I almost think it would have been
better if she had been taken to an hospital."
He looked round the room as he spoke. Mr. Scute saw
what he meant ; but he did not now talk about " the mis-
creants of a licensed villain," or display any " virtuous in-
dignation." He knew that embarrassed literary men and
disaffected mechanics were the only classes such a tone agreed
with. And when the medical man took his leave, and said
that his wife should send a few delicacies round for the little
patient, he felt how empty all his jokes against the doctors,
from time immemorial, had been; and perhaps he would have
felt all the other attacks he made upon classes equally un-
just, had they come as literally home to him.
Mr. Scute returned to the work-bench of his brains, on
which he strained, and screwed, and twisted them into various
articles of sale. As the doctor .left the room, he called the
woman after him on some pretence, and whispered to her —
" The poor child will not live through the night. Her
158 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
feeling so little pain is the worst symptom. I would rather
hear her screaming, bad as it would be." And promising to
come again, he left the house.
During this time Philip had been at work ; and whilst Mr.
Scute had collected his ideas, by drinking the remainder of
the liquor in his tumbler, and arranging a few scraps of
articles, Mr. Wyndham Flitter arrived.
" Are we no better ?" he asked, as he entered. " Dear,
dear! — well, I am very sorry to hear it. I've come up from
B. and C.'s. They're in a devil of a way about the number.
"What have you got ?"
" I have just tried something," said Philip, "if it will do.'*
" Not a doubt of it," observed Mr. FUtter. " What is it ?
Go-a-head."
" I call it * A Letter from a Gentleman Farmer.' "
"Good!" observed his friend; and Philip commenced, as
the other gentleman assumed a critical air.
" ' My dear Meccenas.' "
" Who's Mecaenas? — I beg your pardon," asked Mr. Flitter.
" Oh, he's the friend," replied Philip : " it's a letter, you
know."
" Yes ; but there are no Mecasnases now-a-days; I wish
there were."
" So do I," said Mr. Scute. '*A man of fortune, whose
purse and house were ever open to literary men, would
be "
" In the Bench in six weeks," said Mr. Flitter. " I've
known a few small such, in my time, — men who collected
what they called ' the wits of the age' round their table, to
supply the only article their money failed to procure them:
it was great whilst it lasted; but they all came to a wind-up —
served them right."
" I think it rather lowers one, to go out under such circum-
stances," said Philip.
*' Not at all," replied Mr. Flitter; " the fairest thing in the
world. They've got money, which you haven't; and you've
got brains, which they havn't. Perfectly equal."
" But Mr. Hammond is going on with his paper," observed
Scute.
"All right," said Mr. Flitter; *''but don't have Mecajnas ;
call him Jones. It is the age of the real, and will do much
better."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 159
" ' My dear Jones, then,' " Philip went on, " * I should have
written to you before, to have told you how my farming has
answered, but did not feel sufficiently aufait in the subject.' "
" Don't put a French word where an English one will do,"
said Mr. Scute; "not aufait — say, * up.'"
The correction was made.
" ' A valuable little work,' continued Philip — * Every
Man his own Farmer — has taught me everything, although,
from hard studying it, my notions are at present slightly con-
fused, and I cannot say that I have been altogether fortunate.
My last litter of ducks that I turned out on the hills to breed
about and form coveys, like game, instead of dirtying my
lake, have all died ; and the flock of pigs that I tried to keep
upon the spoiled hay during the winter, and lodged comfort-
ably in a dry loft over the harness-room, went off in fits, one
after the other. But this will be remedied next year. I
escaped the ravages of the fly pretty well, by letting my
rabbits have the run of the turnip field before it came, v.'hich
was rather an artful move. I send you a brace, that you may
see what good condition they are in. In consequence of this,
however, my sheep had to live during the frosts on the
apples stored up for the servants' winter puddings. So I
kept the servants on rabbits ; by which means the circle of
consumption and supply was well maintained.
" ' With respect to breeding cattle, I am in hopes of getting
a cross between a Southdown and an Alderney, which will,
I think, produce a profitable race ; as I may possibly then be
able to have my wool and butter from the same animal — a
delicate kind of mutton remaining. Of a breed between my
bantams and partridges, I am less sanguine. The last dozen
that I shut up together all killed each other; and some snipes
also died, that I tried to fatten in a coop.
" * I send a great deal to market; but the worst of this is,
that I can generally buy the things I sell for one-third of
what they cost me. This is particularly applicable to my
cabbages and eggs. The latter might do ; but since I turned
all my fowls out on the moors to live naturally, no one knows
where they lay, except the boys and weasels.
" ' My thoroughbred brood mare answered, but the colt I
broke in myself kicked my gig to pieces, so I have put her
into the timber- waggon. This will spoil her for the ,race-
160 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
course ; but one cannot have everything. Perhaps, however,
when she misses the weight of the wheels, she may run the
quicker, as dancers who wear leaden shoes at rehearsal fancy
themselves balloons at night.
" ' The large dog I was recommended to get as a guard,
howls all night long, if tied up ; and, if let loose, worries my
neighbours' sheep. He has also bitten the tax-collector, and
the whole parish is on tip-toe to see whether the man will go
mad before Easter. But these, of course, are chances that
every man is liable to who engages in a large concern.
" ' I will write again in a week ; meanwhile, believe me,
your sincere friend, " ' Agricola.' "
" Very fair," said Mr. Flitter, as Philip concluded — " must
be brightened up a little; we will put in the plums. Only,
why * Agricola ?' Have a comic name, that alliterates — * Tom
Turnip,' or ' Walter Wurzel,' or ' Christopher Crops.' Don't
you see the fun ?"
" Not exactly," said Philip ; " but I dare say I shall. Put
it down."
" Bravo I" said Mr. Flitter — " that will do; and now. Scute, I
must leave it to you to get this ship -shape ; for I have a mat-
ter of some importance to arrange with our friend Hammond."
"Are you going?" asked the editor, drearily.
" We must, my boy. I hope all will be better here to-
morrow : it will though. Finish the paper, you know, and
send it down."
" I have nobody to send," said Scute.
" Oh yes, you have — anybody ! Sorry I can't stay longer.
Good-bye."
And so saying, he led Philip away with him, towards Mr.
Spooner's.
Mr. Scute laboured at his task, and it was late when he
started to the printing-office — for he went himself. Once
there, he was not allowed to depart : they would have locked
him up sooner than let him have gone. But he was kept
there all through the night — altering, and adapting, and cor-
recting, until the few pages that were to throw England into
convulsions on the Saturday following were ready to go to
press ; and then he crept home — a living automaton that
moved, but scarcely thought. When he got to the door, he
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 161
found he had forgotten his key, so he rang softly, and the
woman in attendance came down and let him in.
" How are we going on, Mrs. ," he said, for he had
forgotten her name.
She made no answer, but preceded him up stairs with the
candle, to his cheerless room. The temporary bed was still
at the fireside as when he had left; but now there was a
white cloth thrown over it.
CHAPTER XIX.
I
MR. SPOONER'S affair OF HONOUR.
" Scute's a poor unlucky devil!" said Mr. Flitter to Philip,
as they went on their way. " A man who has let time get
before him; and that's fatal, now-a-days. Mind you never
get distanced in a like manner; or, however you start, you'll
never be placed."
Mr. Spooner was at home. He had been engaged to dine
with a man at a club, but had thrown him over. He had taken
a box for the benefit of his friend, Mr. Shorn, who let him
go behind the scenes; but had given the ticket to his land-
lord. He had promised to take a Pearl of the Ballet to
Weippert's, but had written a hurried note to say that his
mother had come up unexpectedly from Suffolk. And so,
altogether, he was in a bad way. A light dinner — two cut-
lets and some maccaroni — was untasted on the tray; but the
silver mug, and the pint bottle of claret were both empty.
He had evidently taken to drinking for the nonce.
The business of the visit was soon talked over; and then
Mr. Flitter took his leave. But before he went, he said:
" By the way, Tiddy, a verbal arrangement is not etiquette,
I know; but that poor devil Polpette, has hardly a sheet of
paper to bless himself with. He gives me entirely carte
blanche to decide everything. Where will you meet?"
" I thought there was danger in England," replied Mr.
Spooner, "from the — hem! — the police fellows. Can't we
go to Boulogne?"
He had feeble hopes of a possibility of fraternization on
the journey, ending in a dinner at the Hotel du Nord.
M
1'^ THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Oh^no — no ! not the slightest occasion. Only keep it
dark. Where shall it be — Battersea Fields !"
" No — not Battersea Fields," said Mr. Spooner. " It's so
cheerless there."
" Well; but duels don't take place in a thoroughfare," re-
plied Flitter. " Never mind — anywhere else. Greenwich
Park — Epping Forest — Brompton — or Clapham Common?
It's a good place to get away from, in all directions, if any-
thing happens."
JVIr. Spooner flinched at the notion.
" Come now," continued Mr. Flitter. " Hampstead Heath,
— you can't find fault with that."
" Very well," said Mr. Spooner. " My head is in such a
whirl that I don't know what I am about. It has been going
round ever since you left."
" But my dear Tiddy," said Mr. Flitter, alarmed at the state
of brains such a long gyration must have produced: "you
really must keep cool. Now look here. Mr. Hammond
knows that I am influenced only by the warmest feelings
towards you. For all our sakes, as gentlemen, pray pay a
little attention."
" I will pay attention," said Mr. Spooner, in desperation,
tying the cord of his dressing-gown so tightly round him
that it made him cough. " Go on. I'm calm."
"Well, then, Hampstead Heath, this side of the Spaniards,
at half -past seven to-morrow morning. Am I to say
that?"
" Oh, yes," answered Mr. Spooner: " wherever you
please,'" and he spoke with great resignation.
" By the bye, Tiddy," said the other, " oblige me with
five pounds till to-morrow morning. The banks are shut,
and I have nothing but a cursed check."
" Oh — to be sure," replied his friend. " Will five be
enough — better have ten."
He fancied his antagonist's aim would be a degree more
oblique, for every pound he accommodated his friend with.
" I don't want ten — really, no," answered Mr. Flitter,
taking them. "Here's an I.O.U."
" Oh — never mind that, Wyndham."
" Pooh! pooh! as I have often told you — short reckonings
make long friends. Besides, suppose anything was to happen
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 163
to you — I only said * suppose' — are there no other that such
an acknowledgment is due to? Think of that."
" God bless you, Wyndham !" said Mr. Spooner.
"God bless you. Tiddy!" was the response, as he left the
room. " Keep your courage up and your powder dry: it's a
good debut for your pistols."
He went down stairs, but Philip followed him, and over-
took him at the door. A brief conversation passed between
them. What took place, it is not here necessary to record;
but they appeared to understand one another, at parting,
very well; and then Philip returned to Mr. Spooner, whom
he found dispatching West off in haste with a note written
in the interval.
Philip agreed to remain with his friend all night; they
could lie down on the bed by turns, Mr. Spooner observed,
for it was not probable that, under such circumstances, either
of them could sleep; besides, they had a great deal to arrange.
This " great deal" chiefly consisted in various attempts on the
part of Mr. Spooner to make a will, or rather, put upon
paper the distribution he wished made of his property. But
this was not such an easy task, for the minute he had left a
thing to one person, he thought of somebody else he liked
better; and finally bequeathed it to nobody. Mrs. Wracketts
was, however, the chief legatee; and in the depth of his ad-
miration, he would have put her down, not only for his
lighter articles and ornaments, but even for his glazed boots
and bear-skin wrapper. And as he kept drinking claret, so
did his affection increase, until, becoming too large for the
especial object, it took in all the world.
" I would not drink too much," said Philip; " you will not
be sure of your aim in the morning."
" I can't help it," answered Mr. Spooner. " I'm getting
into such a state, that I shall shoot myself, perhaps, instead.
Besides, you don't suppose that I should aim deliberately at
that poor man, to kill him? Pooh!"
" You should not say so."
"Why not?"
" Because, if it was known about, it would expose you to
all sorts of insults."
"Pshaw! I can't help it though, and that's the truth.
When I shot at the conjuror who caught the bullets at the
m2
164 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
theatre, I never aimed at him — always took my sight a yard
over his head. Suppose I had killed him! — a ghost is a
nasty thing, any way, to haunt one; but the ghost of a con-
juror must be fearful!"
Mr. Spooner paused an instant, shuddering at the bare
notion, and then continued —
" Were you ever out before?"
" Once," replied Philip, " at Rouen. It was a quarrel be-
tween two young French engineers."
" And how did it end?" asked the other, anxiously.
" One was shot through the heart, poor fellow!''
' Oh!" said Mr. Spooner, as he twisted his handkerchief
into a cable. " And where were the police?"
" They never interfere unpleasantly abroad," replied
Philip.
"But they do here," said Mr. Spooner; "it's unlawful,
you know."
"They can't interfere if it's all kept close," observed
Philip — " ard only cowards would inform."
" Of course not," answered the other, pouring out some
more wine, with a hand that made the neck of the bottle
chatter against the glass. When he had drunk it, he said,
gravely —
" Hammond, I shall write to my mother."
" I think you ought."
" What would you say, if you were in my place?"
" Well, I can't exactly tell. You are the best judge of
that."
" I am, I am; I know I am," said Mr. Spooner, with
haggard intensity, " only I am such a precious fool! Take
another cigar, and let me alone for a few minutes."
Mr. Spooner wrote, to all appearances, half a dozen letters,
but none appeared satisfactory. At length, however, he
concluded one after a fashion, and gave it to his companion to
read. It was as follows, as well as it could be deciphered: —
" My dearest Mother, — In the agony of mind" (" awe?,"
that,^^ scratched through) " of one on the brink of a precipice"
(" which /" scratched through) " is too dreadful to contem-
plate when this reaches you I shall be" (" no more'"' scratched
through) " beyond all trouble but the honour of my family
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 165
which is the first duty of your" (" unhappy" scratched
through) " poor boy a foolish quarrel with a French noble-
man to avenge which I have been compelled to" (" be but-
chered" scratched through) '' assert my position as a gentle-
man and a man of honour I forgive all my enemies excuse
this scrawl but I am distracted and let" (" Harry^^ " Wil-
liam Fenn," " Uncle Click," all successively scratched through)
" the bearer of this Mr. Hammond have the pony I remain
yours" (" once" put in over the line) " affectionate son
" H. TiDD Spooner."
" I am to take charge of this, then?" asked Philip.
" If you would be so good," replied Mr. Spooner; " only
let me seal it. Stop! that won't do — it's a comic one. Ah,
I've used that in happier times, to many jolly letters!"
Philip agreed that a seal with " Go to the devil and shake
yourself" for a motto," was not altogether in keeping with
the subject; so he found Mr. Spooner's ring somewhere on
the floor, and gave it to him.
" I can't do anything more," said the young gentleman;
*' everything must take its chance. I shall lie down on the
rug. Set that thing to go off at six. Heigho!"
" Won't you go to bed ?" asked Philip
** No, no bed; this will do. I shall be too glad to lie here
to-morrow. Oh, how my brain whizzes when I shut my
eyes! All mind."
Mr. Spooner indulged in a few more broken observations,'
but Philip, whose equanimity did not seem to be so much dis-
turbed, was already asleep. His companion shuffled about
long and restlessly; now bringing down the fire-irons in
turning, and anon playing sad havoc with his toilet appoint-
ments, feeling about after the water-bottle. But at last he
also was quiet, only betraying his presence by a heavy, occa-
sionally startled, breathing.
It was dark early morning, when the alarum — which was
a dreadful machine in a small round case, and combined the
effects of a shrill bell and a watchman's rattle — went off at
the hour appointed. Philip jumped from the bed in an
instant, as West, who had be6n apparently on the alert,
brought a light and some coffee into the room, and proceeded
to awaken Mr, Spooner. This was not accomplished at
168 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
once, nor were his first impressions particularly clear. After
having inquired who was there, he simply ejaculated, " Bother!'*
and was giving out his orders not to be called until twelve,
as he had a bad headache, when Philip managed to make him
understand his position, whilst West lighted the fire. And
then the reality struck him all of a heap, as he gathered
himself up on the rug. He had never experienced the
gensations of a man waking on the morning he is going to
be hung, but he must have known tolerably well what they
were like.
With a "stunning" headache, as he called it — and for once
the word was not so badly applied — feverish, yet chilled;
and oppressed by the uncomfortable feeling which always
attends getting up by candle-light; his hair in that reversed
style commonly supposed to be attendant upon a forced pas-
sage, feet first, through a bramble-bush; and his toilet as
consistent with external influences as an evening dress always
is at daybreak — Mr. Spooner was not altogether the type of
a champion about to undergo the ordeal of trial by battle.
Peevishly telling West to get out of the room, and bring
some hot water; and receiving the information that there
were no other fires lighted yet, he at last contrived to get
upon his feet. Philip really pitied him; albeit, he did not, by
his general demeanour, appear to anticipate serious con-
sequences. But this Mr. Spooner took for cool courage
acquired by continental experience, and respected him ad-
ditionally.
"I shall not undress," said Mr. Spooner; "if nothing^
happens I shall be too happy to change when I get back."
And he gave a ghastly smile of hope, which shadowed into
blank despair, as he added, " And if I am shot, what matters?
Oh! how my head aches — it feels as if it was going to fall
in two. I wish it would."
Philip poured out two cups of coffee, and then, finding
Spooner refused to take any, he said: —
* I think you had better take some brandy. Never mind
your head; you want supporting. Try it with some soda-
water."
This sounded refreshing to Mr. Spooner's parched mouth;
and Philip got the draught ready for him.
" You are very good," he said; " and I have so little claim,
upon you."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 167
He had not liked Philip a short time before; but a man in
a fix is usually most affectionate to a sympathizer
" Oh, don't speak about that," replied Philip. " You must
do the same for me some day, when / am in a mess."
"That I will," exclaimed Mr. Spooner; " and delightea,
too. I should think so!"
" Take a bit of biscuit."
" No thank you, I am not hungry — not at all. I couldn't
swallow a crumb; it would either make me sick or choke
me."
The time drew nigh for them to start, as wheels were
occasionally heard in the street, and the dull grey light of
morning showed through the blinds. Philip was collecting
together the different articles required, and Mr. Spooner was
sitting by the fire with a wet towel tied round his head, to
cool and steady his ideas, as he said. All the time his friend
was occupied, the latter was asking him questions, or specu-
lating upon subjects connected with duelling. The greatest
master of statistics could not have supplied him with sufficient
information, as to the proportion of combatants who escaped
to those who were shot; and the number of times he peeped
out of the window to regard the distance that Philip had
defined upon the pavement opposite as twelve paces, and
calculate imaginary chances, was incredible.
"You had better send for a cab, I think," said Philip.
" Everything is ready. I have put the pistol-case in a carpet
bag, to avoid suspicion; so nothing will be known — and we
will get a quick Hansom."
Mr. Spooner did not receive this intelligence with proper
admiration. In his own mind, he would have preferred a
slow cab, with a large placard on the back, informing the
world in general where they were going, and what they were
about to do. In the interval before the time arrived, he
walked nervously up and down his room; first taking great
pains to put his right foot upon all the rosettes of the carpet,
walking with his left upon its seam, as on a tight rope; then
deducing predictions, as to his fate, from the number of sprigs
on the border; and lastly, performing intricate cross-steps
on the pattern generally, which, long practised with the same
perseverance, would have qualified him, beyond all rivalry,
to have danced blindfolded amongst any number of eggs that
168 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
fashion or scepticism might have ordained. At last the cab
came.
"What do you want? — ^have you forgotten anything?"
asked Philip, as Mr. Spooner lingered behind.
" No — no," he said, mournfully; " I was only looking at
my old room I may — never see it — again."
" Oh, nonsense!" replied Philip; " we shall be comfortably
at breakfast here in an hour" — for once, though, he was
wrong — "and perhaps M. Polpette with us — who knows? —
all good friends."
" I should be delighted to see him!" said Mr. Spooner, as
they went down stairs. " I owe him no malice; you hear
me say that I do not. I should have no objection to shake
hands with him as soon as we meet. And you think we
shall be back here again to breakfast?"
" Haven't I said so?"
" If we do, I will give you a first-rate gold repeater,
and "
"Never mind," said Philip, smiling; "we'll talk about
that by-and-by.'*
They got into the cab, and told the man which direction
to take. As they started, Mr. Spooner leant forward, and
gave a significant nod to West, who touched an imaginary
hat in return.
" That fellow will keep all right, I hope?" said Philip.
"He's as close as " Mr. Spooner was about to say
' the grave,' but he could not get the words out at such a
time, so he said — "wax."
The ride was not inspiriting. It was a cold raw morning,
and nothing was about the streets beyond the fog, except
flocks of sheep going to Smithfield, to furnish kidneys for the
Cyder Cellars, as Mr. Spooner observed — kidneys that he
was destined, perhaps, never to eat!
The shops were not opened, and everything looked forlorn.
The large teapots, that were presumed to pour forth cascades
of unequalled four-shilling black, dripped melancholy con-
densations from their spouts; and the opposition Chinaman,
who every week alarmed the public with the information that
teas would rise next month to double their present price, and
so, curiously enough, was most anxious to get rid of his stock,
instead of keeping it back — this distinguished Mandarin stared
with vacant eye, little in consonance with the excitement he
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 169
was anxious to create, at the Jehosophat meeting-house
opposite. In the New Road, the public exhibitions of lad-
ders, zinc-works, and statuary, were equally depressing.
Damp Eves at dry fountains loomed through the fog; and
melancholy eagles assumed attitudes of defiance at nothing,
on the corners of the show -yards; whilst it would have
puKzled the highest artist to have decided whether the Danc-
ing Faun was catching up his leg from terpsichorean excite-
ment or intense cold. The only occupied objects appeared to
be the assemblage of revolving chimney-cowls, and they kept
constantly turning about and looking in all directions, as
though they were anxious to see whether there was a chance
of rest and finer weather.
It was within a few minutes of the appointed time when
they drove through Hampstead: and at length they arrived
at the Heath. Seeing a cab at the edge of the road, they
turned off to the left, before they came to * The Spaniards,*
and found Mr. Flitter and M. Polpette already there, in a
sort of hollow that concealed them from the thoroughfare.
The Frenchman had got himself up very carefully. All
his mustachios and whiskers were in full trim, and he had on
a military kind of cloak, with a corner of it thrown over his
left shoulder, which gave him an imposing air as he marched,
up and down, smoking a cigar, with an unconcern that went
to Mr. Spooner's very soul. But they bowed gravely, and
then left the two others to arrange matters.
There was a fifth party present — a gentleman in a rough
pilot coat, with a small terrier looking out of his pocket, who
was introduced as Mr. JoUands, of the hospitals.
Mr. Spooner flinched, as he heard it.
" I say, Hammond," he whispered to his friend, " stick up
for fourteen paces, if you can."
" Flitter talks about ten," replied Philip.
" Oh, nonsense! it would be murder," said Mr. Spooner, as
Philip walked away.
The seconds got the pistols, and proceeded to load them,
whilst Mr. Spooner tried to have a cigar also. But he could
not make it draw: he only chewed it to pieces in his mouth,
and then threw it away. Mr. Jollands, of the hospitals, looked
at him with great contempt; and then, still keeping a short
pipe in his mouth, sang a convivial chorus, until reproved by
Mr. Flitter.
170 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
The ground was measured, the places decided, and the
pistols loaded and placed in the hands of the principals by
the seconds, who then fell back.
"Here it comes!" thought Mr. Spooner, with calm despe-
ration, after an anxious glance towards the road.
" Gentlemen, are you ready?" exclaimed Mr. Wyndham
Flitter, in a deep, loud voice, as if he had been asking them
whether they were all charged.
" Ready!" said the Frenchman.
" Mr. Spooner gulped out some indistinct monosyllable,
and shut his eyes.
"Very well! One! "
And here Mr. Spooner's hair trigger went off, from agita-
tion.
" M. Polpette" cried Mr. Flitter, " you have a right to
your fire, but as a man of honour you will not, I think, take
it."
The Frenchman declined the chance; and Philip re-loaded
the pistol, with a word of advice into hi3 principal's ear to be
more cautious. This time, M. Polpette alone fired. Mr.
Spooner waited an instant, and then, pointing his pistol straight
up to the sky, discharged it.
"This settles the business, I hope," said Mr. Flitter.
"Polpette — Tiddy — you are both trumps, and worthy to
know one another. Shake hands !"
Mr. Spooner bounded forward for the purpose, and M.
Polpette was advancing, when Mr. JoUands, of the hospitals,
alarmed by a yelp from his pocket companion, looked down
the road, and saw something like the outlines of two people
in a gig advancing in the fog.
"Crushers!'' he exclaimed. "Cut!"
The information, brief as it was, was important. In an
instant, Mr. Wyndham Flitter had hustled M. Polpette from
the ground, into the cab; and Mr. JoUands having got on the
box, to see that the driver did not spare his horse, the vehicle
turned a corner of the road, and was lost to sight.
"The police!" cried Philip. "Who could have put them
up to it? Sauve qui pent r
He bolted off towards their Hansom, and jumped in,
followed by Mr. Spooner, with his pistols and case under his
arm.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 171
" Now. look sharp, my man !" he cried. '• Can your horse
go?"
" Can't he !" replied the driver. " I wish I had as many
sovVins as he can go when he likes. Pst!"
The lash was applied, and they started oif, as the gig was
near enough to recognise two policemen in it.
" I didn't bargain for this," said Philip. " Fire away,
cabby ! — across country — anywhere."
The man turned on to a bye-road, whipping his horse furi-
ously, as they bumped over (i-ains and mole-hills with terrible
recklessness; but the gig followed them. Philip was really
anxious, but Mr. Spooner was in such a whirl of delight, at
being still alive, that he had no feelings at all, until excited
by his companion, who kept looking round the side of the
cab and urging the driver, he thrust one of the pistols up
through the little hole at the top, and cried to the cabman,
with terrible spirit —
" If we are overtaken, you are a dead man."
"Don't, sir; it may go off;" said the other, with a grin.
Mr. Spooner had not observed that the hammer was down on
the nipple.
"Pshaw!" that gentleman went on. "I'll give you a
sovereign to get us away."
" All right, sir!" said the man; " on ve goes to China!"
He flogged the horse afresh, and as they emerged into one
of the regular roads, they almost flew; at a speed that would
have rendered their journey to the remote part of the earth
mystically alluded to by the cabman, comparatively a brief
one. The gig, however, kept bravely up with them; and a
large waggon was a-head in the centre of the road.
<" Shout out!" cried Philip — " you can't pass."
* Heaps of room, sir," replied the man.
But his calculations were at fault. Trying to pass, with a
spurt, on the off side, the broad wheel of the wagon caught
that of the cab, and shivered it to spokes. The man was
pitched off; the horse began kicking; and — as such an occur-
rence is not pleasant in a Hansom — Philip and Mr. Spooner
scrambled out as weU as they could, just in time for the in-
mates of the gig to come up with them, and take them into
custody for a breach of the peace. In twenty minutes, they
found themselves locked up in the nearest police station
172 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter and his own party were more for-
tunate. They got away unperceived; and as that talented
gentleman took Mr. JoUands and M. Polpette to Mr.
Spooner's rooms, and ordered breakfast on his own responsi-
bility, awaiting the return of the others, he thus reflected: —
" Polpette is my slave for ever, after being his second —
whenever I want him. When Spooner hears that I drew his
adversary's ball, on his account alone, I have got him under
my thumb. And as for Philip Hammond, the affair must
be talked about, and he must be lionized, and made to feel
that he owes his position to me alone, and so he will always
believe in me. If he gets in a scrape thereby, so much the
better. It will answer equally well. Not a bad morning's
work, upon the whole!"
CHAPTER XX.
THE POTTLETON BALL.
It was about this time that a great event took place in
Pottleton.
The railway, as we have seen, had already effected great
changes. The natives found that if they did not move a
little out of their old jog-trot style, they would be run down
by the faster immigrants daily arriving amongst them. And
therefore, when they perceived various things done at New
Dibblethorpe — which was a town close to the I'ailway that
had risen up, all suddenly, as though it had been entirely
founded by a tribe of harlequins, who lent the original and
celebrated bat to one another, as the Pottletonians accommo-
dated their neighbours with the turnip-cutter, haymaking
machine, or, on convivial occasions, musical box, which was
the wonder of the village, to work marvels with — when they
found, we say, what was done at New Dibblethorpe, they
always tried to imitate it: even to starting a book-club, and
subscribing for a fire-engine.
The book-club caused much dissention. Each of the dozen
subscribers was allowed to order a book in turn, and a re-
markable spirit pervaded them all of bespeaking, not what
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 173
they liked themselves, but what they thought would be dis-
agreeable to somebody else. Thus young G-rant, the little-
too-fast farmer, ordered translations of all Paul de Kock's
novels, one after another, because the Misses Medlar, who
stood close to him on the list, and kept the young ladies'
seminary, had openly protested against his sitting opposite to
them in church, inasmuch as during the Psalms he would
stare at the pretty pupils. In revenge for this, Miss Twinch,
who was on tea-drinking terms with the Medlars, ordered the
" Narrative of the Pongo Enlightenment Mission, with an
Account of the Settlement at Bolter Cove," and thus drove
young Grant's great friend, Dick Finch, who kept the har-
riers, to plan a special committee, with diabolical ingenuity,
when the majority of the members had gone to the sea-side,
and appropriate all the balance of the funds in hand to the
purchase of back volumes of " The Sporting Magazine." Mr.
Wolly, the retired grocer, albeit he liked to see his name on
the same list with Mr. Howell Ewavitt, the London banker,
yet ordered works of " large sympathies," as the reviews
called them, to show his neighbours that he was quite as good
as they were: inconsequence of which, the banker's so ncom-
manded a Florentine edition of Tasso, " to teach Woolly, or
whatever his name was, what a snob he was beside his own
governess, who could understand it I" The only person who
really consulted his own taste was good Mr. Page, the blush-
ing curate in the high shirt collars, who invariably chose ab-
struse mathematical works; but as these disgusted everybody
else, he did not get off any better than the rest of them, but
was compelled to see, with sorrow, various popular books,
which he looked upon as more or less trivial — not to say
really questionable — going the round of the club.
The fire-engine might be considered, as a whole, more suc-
cessful, and, at the same time, valuable; especially if the imi-
tation of New Dibblethorpe extended to burning a carpenter's
shed or two, as had lately occurred there. On certain fine
afternoons, when it was taken down to the pond, to see that
its valves and pipes were in working order, and how far off
it could drench the boys, there were perfect festivals held;
and the inhabitants yet recount, with animation, the excite-
ment in the village when it went off, with four post-horses,
from the Red Lion, to put out the Aurora Borealis, and was
174 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
brought back by the train, twenty miles, the next morning
But all these events soon came to be swamped by a greater.
There had been a ball given on the occasion of the opening
of the town-hall at New Dibblethorpe; and the trains had
run up and down specially, at all sorts of times, to carry dis-
tant company to and from the festive scene. The reports of
this from fortunate visitors, added to the list of those whom
the Dibblethorpe Messenger observed amongst the company,
so fired the Pottletonians that they agreed nothing would do
but to have a ball likewise. And, accordingly, a committee
was formed to arrange it. The countenance and support of
the Brayboeufs — the family at Pottleton Court — were solicited
and obtained, and the leading folks of the village were ap-
pointed stewards.
The moment the affair was settled, and formally announced
in real printed circulars, there was a bustle and stir, such as
had not been known in Pottleton since the opening of the
railway. It is a daqgerous thing to draw lines in the society
of a country village, where the interests of all are, in a mea-
sure, mutually dependent. But the circulars were placed in
the hands of the landlord of the Red Lion, to send out, with
his name annexed; and he was, so to speak, the stalking-
horse put forward by the committee; and from behind him
they despatched their missives.
Of course there was a great uproar. Why the Fielders,
who lived in a little poky cottage under the hill, should have
received a circular, when the Gussets, who, though they had
been in the advertising outfit line in London, could have
covered in the whole Fielders' homestead with their rick-
cloths, was more than the Gussets could determine; but
never mind — all in good time ! — they would have the laugh
some day on their side. There was young Grant, too — a
perfectly low young man, whose father scarcely spoke Eng-
lish, (so Miss Amelia Medlar said, who was not asked.) — he
had been invited just because he was a pot companion of
*' that Mr. Finch," and whooped, and yelled, and scrambled
after the hounds with him; and had some rubbishing woods,
where people went to make a noise with guns, and kill poor
birds. Why was not Mr. Augustus Medlar asked? He was
but the brewer's clerk, it was true; but he had every pro-
spect of being a brewer, and brewers never knew where their
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 375
working ended. But because he preferred his flute and
family to that Mi\ Finch's rude riot, he was considered a
nobody. Ah! it was all very well then; but the day might
come — and then they should see!
,The Twinches were invited in common with all the profes-
sional folks of the village, who, as lawyers or doctors, clutched
at an anomalous sort of position, entailing great discomfort, as
they struggled to become the fringe of the " families," without
offending the general population, upon whose support they
so much depended; and, to the astonishment of all the vil-
lage, Annie was included — specially included in the circular.
They could not make this out at all. How Annie Maitland —
who would hardly have the decency to go, under circum-
stances, to be sure, even although she had been asked — how
Annie Maitland, who had lived literally in an alms-house
with an old miserly aunt, could ever be thought of for an in-
stant, although she was a relation of the Marsdens — but in
what a way ! — who had lived formerly at the Court, was mar-
vellous. They did not know it had been at Mr. Page's sug-
gestion; and that Miss Martha Twinch, mindful of past kind-
ness at the wild-beast show, had also a slight hand in the
affair.
But the great row of all was about the BuUiams. Mr. Bul-
liam w^as the most dreadful old man going — drank port wine
after dinner, till it filled all his veins instead of blood; and
then would begin to swear in such a fashion at everything,
that it was a wonder the ground didn't open beneath him.
Possibl}^, as it would only have let him down into the wine-
cellar, this would have been no punishment. The young
BuUiams had all stubbly hair, and wore pumps — could do
little but shoot, play billiards, and drink and swear, like their
father, in a diluted form; and the Miss Bulliams couldn't do
anything. They were, besides, decidedly ugly; and, what
was worse, stupid. But the Pottleton railway had brought
heaps of money into Mr. BuUiam's coffers; and as he was
now the managing man, and would have much to do with its
extension, every one who had ground adjacent payed him.
the greatest deference; and this upset all the petty gen-
tilities of the village to an awful degree. Mrs. Spink, whose
husband had been great things in India — who had a son now
in the Ceylon Rifles; and whose rooms were so filled with
176 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Patna boxes, Poonah tea-tables, and whole armies of model
Sepoys, Kidgebaloos, Bundledums, Hurrycoos, Mutchgullocks,
Chockytaws, Papsylals, with all the other inferior domestics
of an Indian establishment, that it was difficult to move about,
— Mrs. Spink was so disgusted with the airs the Bulliams
gave themselves, when Mr. BuUiam's own brother had been
her husband's clerk at Madras, that she thought of returning
her circular to the committee, unopened. But her two nieces,
who had swarthy, Hindoo complexions; broad, flat noses; and
were five feet high at twelve years old, persuaded her to go
for their sakes; and so, at last, she consented. As for the
Shiners, who had taken Clutcher's cottage, on the old Dib-
blethorpe road, it was not so much a matter of wonder. Mr.
Shiner was an enormous fisherman, and Mrs. Shiner was
cruelly pretty, and drove the loveliest ponies, and also hunted
like an Amazon. But nobody could make them out exactly.
All their visitors were young men who blew horns and drove
dog-carts; and they never went to church. So that the
establishment was unsatisfactory: and although Mr. Shiner
intimated his intention of shooting all the committee through
their heads, he soon abandoned the idea, upon calm reflection.
The large room at the Red Lion was to be the ball-room.
It took a few days to get the odour of the farmers' tobacco
out of it: for they dined there on market days, and afterwards
smoked the longest pipes made: and it was also a task of some
labour to clean away all the sand ground into the floor by
their feet. But when everything was got out — and the huge
old sideboard took a day to move — it was not so bad. A
private arrangement was made for all the sconces from the
meeting-house, to be disguised by ever-greens. Mr. Twinch's
best branch candlesticks, and plated snufFer-stand with silver
edges, were borrowed for the card room: the yeomanry and
club flags were tastefully disposed about the staircase: and
the great room was outlined with laurel leaves. Amongst
these were tastefully disposed paper lilies and dahlias from the
young ladies at the Misses Medlars': and the oranges tied to
the potted yew trees in the passage were greatly admired. All
this caused intense excitement in the village: and the female
branches of the tradespeople's families who were admitted
beforehand to see it, formed an exhibition of themselves.
At last the day came, and even at noontide the boys idled
about the gate of the Red Lion, in the expectancy of seeing
THE rOTTLETON LEGACY. 177
something. The hair-dresser was torn to pieces. He began
his labours immediately after dinner, and thej lasted until
midnight. Had he not procured the assistance of a brother
coiffeur fromDibblethorpe, he could not have got through them.
As it was, the usual business of his shop was left entirely
to the boy, whose energies were usually confined to nailing
strings of hair on the wooden blocks, in the manufacture of
fronts ; but who that day committed such unheard-of atrocities
with blunt razors and hot irons, in the recklessness of his
power, that there are now living those who speak of him
with a shudder.
But the great struggle was respecting the fly — for there
was only one in Pottleton, which young Grant talked rudely
of as a ' tabby-hutch.' This was bespoken over and over
again; and it really did appear so probable that the Drainers,
of Boggleswade, would never arrive at all, especially as the
machine had first to fetch the Coulters, of Mallow — which
was a good five miles off — that the old coach which used to
run through Dibblethorpe, and had been contemptibly stowed
away in a barn, was dragged out and mopped, and the moths
beaten out, and- confided once more to the guidership of old
"Will Turret, the former coachman, who — on the authority of
Whacky Clark — cried like a Christian when he got on the
box again. There was also a sedan-chair resuscitated, in a
similar manner; but as this only took one at a time, its use in
a family of five or six was comparatively trifling.
At twenty minutes past eight, long before the candles were
lighted — but it could not be avoided — the first fly-load was
disembarked under the gateway of the Red Lion, consisting
of Mrs. Spink and her nieces. They were very brilliantly
got up — in fact, with Oriental splendour. Long-treasured
necklaces, earrings, and bangles, flashed and rattled as they
descended; and heavy silk shawls shrouded their forms.
The fly was redolent of sandal-wood from the fans, and chips
of beetles' wings were found all about it, the next day. The
"boys were greatly excited. They cheered each lady as she
descended with a flushed cheek, amidst such demonstrations,
and then swept gracefully along the passages to the tea-room,
where Mrs. Baker was knocking the candles about all sorts
of ways in her anxiety to light them.
Next came old Lady Flokes, who was the occupant of a
N
178 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
tumble-down house the other side of the Green, and visited
everybody who asked her, never inviting a soul in return, or
allowing them to enter when they called upon her. Her costume
was rather that of the middle ages than the present time: and
all the fingers of her gloves were much too long for her
hands. She revelled also in a great quantity of cloudy lace,
and scarfs of ancient splendour, rouged highly, wore false
ringlets, and carried a large flacon of salts. The sedan had
been bespoken first, expressly for her: indeed, she usually
hired it at parties, making her servant act as one of the
bearers, to save expense. When she arrived she was depo-
sited at a card-table, and there remained for the entire even-
ing. These were the only circumstances under which she
was ever seen, and nothing was known of her domestic eco-
nomy; but it was usually understood in the village, that on
her return from any entertainment she was packed up very
carefully, and put by in a dry place, not to be taken out again
until the next festival.
The company now began to arrive quickly, sailing up and
down the room, and scrutinizing each other, whilst the band
grumbled forth notes of preparation. Mr. Twinch, his
daughter, and Annie were amongst them. Miss Martha had
a wonderfully bright green wreath, procured expressly from
London to make a hit, and the false curls defied detection.
She walked along the room with a girlish jerk at each step
that was perfectly refreshing to see, regretting only that the
E-everend Mr. Page was not there to behold her: with her
sister, too, away! But on Annie was the observation of
everybody settled. Simply dressed in black, without an
ornament of any kind, except a camelia in her hair, which
was twisted round her ear in a compromise between bands
and curls, she was beyond all question the belle of the room.
Accordingly, many were the severe things said about her —
the wonder, not only at her appearing there under such cir-
cumstances, but of her appearing at all : " really, however,"
as many remarked, " the public balls were getting so mis-
cellaneous, that they would have to be given up." But Mr
JPage had talked so much about Annie everywhere — of her
sweet temper and general goodness — her- really charitable care
of the cottagers, and the infusion of gentle blood, which, after
all, ran in her veins, than those to whom she was no rival
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 179
greatly esteemed her. And when Mrs. Brayboeuf, of Pottleton
Court, made room for her by her side, and introduced her to
her daughter, the BuUiams all looked at one another, and
said, " Well, to be sure!" so audibly that Annie heard it.
But the blood that flushed up to her pale cheek at the remark,
made her look more beautiful than ever, and young Rasper of
the Guards, who was staying wdth the large party at The
Court, immediately requested to be presented. Annie only
danced quadrilles, which was a severe trial for young Rasper's
energy, he being accustomed to go round the room like a fire-
work, clearing everybody out of the way, and knocking not
a few over, in a waltz or polka; only selecting, in general,
those fast young ladies with whom he could attempt dan-
gerous flights, and accomplish rapid stops and reverses, which
in feeble-minded partners would have ended in certain down-
fall. But Annie was so nice, that he thought he could put
up with a quadrille for once, merely for the pleasure of talk-
ing to her.
Annie's thoughts were, however, occupied — she was thinking
all the while of Philip, and ^vondering if he would come; for
she had, unknown to anybody, written him a letter to beg he
would be there, because she was sure he must have learned to
dance so well in France. This she made the great reason
for his attending, merely adding at the end, " and it is so
long since I have seen you." So that whatever young Rasper
was talking about, she looked anxiously towards the door at
everybody that entered ; and when the quadrille was over,
she would not go with him to have any tea, but resumed her
seat; upon which, young Rasper pronounced her, to Jack
Poole, formerly in the 7th, " Deuced pretty, but slow and
provincial." Influenced by this. Jack Poole took his arm,
and they walked up and down the room, and laughed aloud,
and covertly looked at their boots, until they saw Henrietta
and Rose Fielder arrive; and as they danced beautifully, and
could valse any number of miles in an hour, kept perfect step,
said wicked things, and were very pretty girls indeed, the
young oflicers thought no more of Annie all the evening.
Mr. Twinch had long been settled at a rubber with old
Xady Flokes, Dr. Keene, and Mrs. BuUiam; and Miss Twinch
ivas conversing with mild Mr. Blandy, the surgeon, who
^superintended the increase of the parochial census, at five
n2
180 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
shillings an occasion; and wrote letters every year to the
assistant commissioner, showing, by elaborate calculation,
how many miles he walked for a pound, when he divided the
year's number of journeys by his salary. This, Miss Twinch
said, she far preferred to dancing; and they were soon dis-
cussing the sanitary condition of every cottage in the parish,
to the sound of Weippert's band.
" The Colliers are getting beyond all endurance," said Mr.
Blandy. " I cannot give them enough medicine; but what
can you expect of people who live nine in a cottage with two
rooms and a scullery, and keep rabbits in all of them. There's
a hornet's nest in the thatch, too. The children are always
getting stung, and coming for sweet oil and hartshorn."
*' Shocking!" observed Miss Martha.
" It is, indeed," said Mr. Blandy. " I told them how to
drive the insects away, a long time ago; but Dr. Keene — I
speak with all deference and kind feeling — but Dr. Keene
has promised them a sovereign if they will keep it for him
through the winter, and so the grievous evil is tolerated. Far
be it from me, my dear Miss Martha, to depreciate Dr.
Keene "
" Oh, I am sure you would not!" interrupted Miss Twinch.
"No," continued Mr. Blandy; "professional differences
ought never to influence either public or private matters.
Besides," he added, with great humility, " Dr. Keene holds a
higher rank in the world than I do — a plain Mr. — a man of
little consequence."
" You must not say that, Mr. Blandy," said. Miss Twinch,
amiably; and, for the moment — but for the moment only —
the Reverend Mr. Page was almost forgotten.
" You are very kind," replied Mr. Blandy. " But to re-
turn to Dr. Keene. It may be a grand and gratifying thing
for him to show the nest eventually to the scientific men of
London, for I see his aim; but can that compensate for the
nights of agony that family have endured, when the poor
children found the hornets in their little portion of coarse
food; or beds — such as they are — ortrowsers. It is too bad!
— now, is it not?"
"The Stiles are equally T^TCtched," said Miss Twinch,
trying to edge oiF from the incipient attack upon Dr. Keene;
for the doctor was a kind of link between all the classes of
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 181
Pottleton societj; and by bringing different sets closer toge-
ther, like the connecting screw of a train, often prevented
much oscillation and getting off respective lines. Besides,
Dr. Keene put all his law business into her brother's hands.
" The Stiles, are equally wretched."
" Quite as bad," responded Mr. Blandy. " I believe those
children are sent into bad localities to catch the fever, and
excite sympathy. They are always in the pigsties, or the
drained ponds at The Court, or at contagious funerals."
As Mr. Blandy was speaking, a burst of laughter from the
tea-room, rather louder than had as yet characterized the
proceedings, diverted their attention.
" Dear, me !" exclaimed Miss Martha; what is that singular
noise?"
Mr. Blandy offered to escort her to find out, and taking his
arm, they walked off together. When they entered the room,
the lady found, to her surprise, that an acquaintance had
arrived.
At the end of the table, in most elaborate evening costume,
with his cuffs turned up over his wristbands and embroidered
at the edges — a crimson velvet waistcoat ornamented with
bunches of grapes made of pearl beads with gold tendrils,
and a heavy gold chain, which went in and out various button
holes, and looped into his pocket and twisted round his neck,
was Mr. Wyndham Flitter. He was evidently in great force;
and had collected a few young men round him, to whom he
was pouring forth a succession of anecdotes, as freely as though
they had all been his most intimate friends; interspersing them
with riddles, jokes, and good things generally, until one or two
of the more convivial guests said, "Oh, bother!" when they
were reminded of the ball; and appeared inclined to pass the
evening there.
" Who the deuce is he?" asked the Guardsman of his friend,
" I never saw him before, but he's a devilish amusing card,'*
was the reply. " He'd make a hit at the mess."
" Here's another, if you have not heard it," said Mr. Flitter,
following up some witticism. " Why is a man in the first
carriage of an express train like a village on the Niger?"
The company thought for an instant, until Rasper said —
" We give it up: what is it?"
" Ah — now you have me," replied Mr. Flitter. " I wish I
182 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
could tell J but, do you know, the answer has never been satis-
factorily defined, and I do not see the least chance of its
being so, until we learn a little more about Central Africa."
*' Sold!" cried one or two of the young men, with a burst
of laughter, as Rasper did not exactly know whether to look
angry or amused.
" A glass of sherry?" said Mr. Flitter, with refined courtesy,
turning away wrath. Rasper directly assented.
" Talking of sherry," Mr. Flitter went on, " I heard a good
thing of Sheridan the other day;" and then he proceeded to
give one of the conventional anecdotes, which we may spare
the reader's feelings by suppressing. But it went very well:
and Mr. Flitter, knowing that the next thing to making an
impression in a party was to get with effect out of it, took ad-
vantage of the laughter be created, to make his exit, and go
into the ball room. Renewed inquiries were made as he
entered, respecting him; and when he gave his spring-hat to
Mrs. Baker, to take care of, she was so frightened that she
called all the servants up to look at it, and finally broke it.
Mr. Flitter made his way straight to Mr. Twinch, and having
shaken hands with him, begged to know where his amiable
ladies were, as he must dance with them — was very much
grieved to find only one there — requested Miss Martha's
hand for the quadrille; and then considered his position per-
fectly established, whilst to Miss Martha it was a circumstance
of great joy.
Mr. Flitter conversed on general subjects during the dance;
but just at its conclusion, so as not to appear too anxious,
inquired after Annie, and she was pointed out to him still
sitting by Mrs. Brayboeuf So he immediately offered to pro-
vide Miss Twinch with a seat, but the lady thought she
should like some negus; and, indeed, did not wish to sit down
just yet. Indeed, Mr. Flitter had some difficulty to get away
at all, even when she had taken the refreshment.
Annie had seen him as soon as he came into the room,
watching him anxiously, and half expecting to see Philip with
him. But as the latter did not arrive, she was still more
desirous to speak to Flitter: and directly accepting his arm,
walked to the end of the room, where their conversation could
be less restrained than amongst a lot of people.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 1B3
" And where is Philip ?" was Annie's first question. " I
hoped he would have come with you. Is he well?"
" Yes; he's quite well — as far as health goes?" was the
reply.
" What do you mean, Mr. Flitter?" asked Annie,
eagerly.
" Oh — nothing; — nothing of any consequence. Perhaps
he's a little too careless of himself : too imprudent, if I may
use the term. But then, you know, he is comparatively young
upon town. The mode of life is new to him."
" I am sure you are keeping something back: do tell me
all!" returned Annie. "I can ask you about my cousin:
for I know you have been very good to him. What has
happened; and why did he not come here?"
" To tell you the truth, I persuaded him to stay in town,"
answered Mr. Flitter. " You will find I did, if you ask him.
He would have written and told you so himself, but he was
rather pressed with his work when I left, and I promised to
explain everything to you."
" And why did you persuade him to stop?"
" Well — if you will know, this is the affair. He got into
a scrape — some silly brawl — on the morning that the new
journal was to be published: and — and "
" And, what?" said Annie, as the other affected to hesitate.
" And, in fact, then, was locked up in a police-office.
This in itself would have been nothing — a mere frolic: but
it shook the confidence of the proprietors in him, and so it
was unfortunate. But how pale you are looking; let me take
you to the refreshment-room."
Mr. Flitter again held out his arm, which Annie took, in
her confusion, and they left the ball-room, followed by Miss
Martha Twinch's eyes, looking all sorts of edged tools after
them, and wondering what Mr. Flitter could want to pay
Annie such attention for, and whether it was not rather bold
of her to hang on to him so.
Upon gaining the refreshment-room, they found few people
there, for a dance was going on: so they took possession of a
conversation-stool — not a causeuse, but one of the old sort—
and when Mr. Flitter had insisted upon Annie taking a glaiB
of wine, he went on: —
184 THE POTTLETON LEGACY;
" I may speak to you without reserve. I am a straight-
forward, matter-of-fact person, and I hope you will think the
better of me for being so. At all events, I shall think the
better of myself. Truth may be blamed, but it cannot be
shamed. You love your cousin."
In an instant the red blood flushed over Annie's neck and
cheeks, and corroborated Flitter's assertion far more certainly
than words might have done; for Annie never spoke.
" Do you think he is, in every way, worthy the aifection
of one so good — so perfect, as yourself?" continued the other.
Again the poor girl made no reply; but she turned her
eyes full upon Flitter, almost flashing with anger at having
her cousin's claims to her love questioned. And the next
instant she rose coldly, as if to leave the room.
" I have offended you?" he half asked. " If I have done so,
I am sorry. I need not tell you that such was far from my
present intention. Perhaps, when you know me better, you
^yill give me credit for having only one object in view — your
happiness. And remember, I am, and always shall be, through
all, his friend."
The wily man-upon-town had been concerned in too many
intrigues, not to have got both voice and expression into the
most perfect subjection to the desired end. He spoke this
in such a low, earnest, almost tremulous tone, that Annie's
coldness, which she had so suddenly assumed, thav/ed in an
instant, before his apparent fervour.
" Do not speak so mysteriously," she said. " Tell me, IMr.
Flitter, what you allude to."
"You have not heard, then?"
" How could I hear anything? Who is there that knows
Philip in London, to tell me, except yourself. What is the
worst?"
" Oh, * the worst' is too strong a word; for it really is no-
thing, except taken in connexion with circumstances. He is
paying some attention to, certainly, an attractive person in
London."
" Who is she?" asked Annie, in a breath.
" A Mrs. Wracketts; the wife of one of my friends. But,
pshaw! it is nothing, I tell you. Leonie, whom I have known
from a child, is the best little woman going; and if she
THE rOTTLETON LEGACY. 185
thought for a moment that anybody was buzzing about her,
from mere idle gallantry, she would soon settle him, I can
assure you. But come, let us return to the ball-room, and
don't think anything more about it. The subject is really
not worth a moment's consideration."
But now the girl would have been the one to stop, and was
about to detain him, when Miss Martha Twinch, having come
to the conclusion that Mr. Wyndham Flitter and Annie had
been quite long enough together, entered. She had looked
all round the ball-room, having made several false starts in
the hope of finding a cavalier. But Mr. Blandy was talking
to Mrs. Spink about the real Asiatic cholera, and Mrs. Spink,
like everybody else who had been in India, had an infallible
remedy, which Mr. Blandy was copying, with the determina-
tion of trying it upon the first tramp who came into the Union,
with any ailment that might be twisted into the disease in
question, and aiford matter for a letter in the Dihblethorpe
Messenger, and medical periodicals. And the two young
officers, who were again lounging up and down the room —
not dancing quadrilles — and had pronounced Miss Martha,
with respect to figure, to be " a perfect flat," did not make
any advances. So «he very determinedly walked oiF by her-
self; and informed Annie, in a playful, girlish way, that she
had really come to see where she had got to, for that she was
getting quite alarmed.
" Oh, you need not be frightened!" said Mr. Flitter. " We
have been talking about everything and everybody. What
funny people there are here!"
Miss Martha's purpose was diverted in an instant, as Mr.
Flitter said this to her with a tone of the greatest reliance on
her perception.
" Oh, yes," she said; "so very odd, to be sure!"
" I wish you had been with us," Mr. Flitter went on, with
the most delightful frankness — "you would have joined so
capitally in our fun. Those BuUiams! — oh, haven't we
laughed at them. Miss Maitland?"
Poor Annie said she had: or rather she scarcely knew
what she said, so much had Mr. Flitter's conversation upset
her.
" I think we will return, if you like," said Miss Martha.
186 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
*' There is going to be a country dance." And she looked
very meaningly at the gentleman, and spoke of it as though
it were a great thing.
"Oh!" he observed; "a country dance. Ah! yes; what
is that? I think I have seen them mentioned in old maga-
zines, with curious names. * Lady Bab's Folly' I remember
was one — danced at Ranelagh. I should like to see it."
Miss Martha at once perceived that everybody did not
think a country dance such an occasion for rejoicing. So
she said something pleasantly about reviving old country
fashions: for which piece of tact she was rewarded by Mr.
Flitter again requesting the pleasure of dancing with her.
This he did for various reasons, but Miss Martha only
thought of one. And therefore, when they had conducted
Annie to her seat, they took their places. The dance was
accomplished, as most of its class are — with no conversation
and a slow alternation of working like a horse or standing
dull and unoccupied, but expected to look festive. When
it was over, Mr. Flitter found a partner seat next to
Annie, and then went into the card-room, from which he did
not emerge for some time.
The dancing went on; and the people's hearts began to
open as the hours advanced. Young Bulliam asked Mrs.
Spink's eldest niece to dance; and the aunt was really sur-
prised (as she told old Lady Flokes next day,) to find he was so
agreeable. For after all, as she took care to add, the family
really came from nothing; and Mr. Spink, when he was at
the head of the great Madras firm of Spink, Jaggerbedam,
Mofoozel and Co., had often given him a sack of cowries to
get his dinner with. And the Coulters, of Mallow, who had
been at daggers with the Fielders ever since the last election,
got quite friendly again; even to Bessy Coulter promising to
make a chain for Harry Fielder, who in return promised to
send her a pair of lovely bantams, if she would so contrive
that they could not get into the garden; inasmuch as they
were most indefatigable in their researches after seeds.
The young officers, though, somewhat alarmed the steady
old provincials — they did dance in such a very extraordinary
manner! After the first polka in which they appeared, the
resident respectabilities firmly resolved that at all events
tlieir daughters should not be twirled, and whirled, and really
THE POTTLE TON LEGACY. 187
even hugged, in that disgusting manner. But when they saw
Constance Braybceuf, who went to Almacks, start off in the
same strange fashion with the young guardsman; and knew
that he had been at the Queen's balls, and that most probably
he danced there just in the same manner, their severity
somewhat relaxed. But they said, after all, it was all very
diffsrent when they were young. So, as "that Mr. Finch'^
observed, were gun-locks and shot-flasks — travelling, lamp-
lighting, geography, and new-fangled parsons — and indeed
everything that beat cock-fighting generally! But the re-
marks of this ribald young man were met with the scorn they
merited.
One person was supremely happy, and that was Miss
Martha Twinch; for when the evening was far advanced,
who should appear but the Reverend Mr. Page — not come to
dance, but because the whole of the resident gentry were
there, and he thought it proper and respectful to show him-
self. If anything could have clouded her happiness, it would
have been the attention he paid to Annie; but Mr. Flitter
drew him off, just as the first pang shot though Miss Martha's
virgin heart; and began to talk to him. No two people could
be more dissimilar; nor had good blushing Mr. Page ever
had the highest opinion of Mr. Flitter. But the latter
gentleman so immediately began to talk to him on subjects
most likely to prove interesting, — paying great deference to
his opinion, and not entering upon any questions as to whe-
ther a parson had a right, or not, to play antics in costume
in the pulpit, or defy his flock, as though a church were a
town-hall, — that Mr. Page, at last, pronounced him to be a
very entertaining gentleman. And when Mr. Flitter informed
the worthy young parson that a friend he had, named Spooner,
who was under some trifling obligation to him, had asked
him to Oxford, whither he intended shortly to repair, this
opened a new vein of talk, which did not finish until Mr.
Twinch, looking as hard as ever, so that it was impossible ta
say whether he had won or lost, came from the card-room,
and began to think that it was time to go home.
" You will come and see us to-morrow, Mr. Flitter?" said
Miss Martha, as though she intended to appropriate him
entirely to herself; albeit Mr. Page was in attendance with
the shawls for Annie and herself.
188 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Yes; I hope for that pleasure," was the answer. " Indeed,
I have some affairs to arrange with your brother. Miss
Maitland — allow me."
And whilst Annie was looking earnestly at him, and wish-
ing him to come — not that she could learn anything more
from him, or that, if she could, the information was likely to
prove agreeable, but simply because a strong link in their
acquaintance had been rivetted that evening — he allowed Mr.
Page to put on her shawl, after some unknown fashion
stumbled upon by chance in his confusion; and then escorted
her across the road, leaving the others to follow. For it was
a fine night, and the Red Lion was near enough to Mr.
Twinch's for the servant to have been occupied all the
evening in thrusting her body as far out of the window as
the laws of gravitation allowed, and watching the company
going to the ball.
Annie had little sleep that night. The novelty of the
affair, to her, would have been in itself a sufficient cause for
wakefulness; but the conversation that had passed between
Flitter and herself drove away all thoughts of slumber; and
she heard all the carriages go away, one after another, until
the very last, when day was just about to break.
This was one of the very dog-carts that an observant eye
might have seen, before that, at the Shiners'; but at night it
was not recognised. It contained young Rasper and Jack
Poole, who had been smoking in the bar of the Red Lion,
long after the company left, with Mr. Flitter, whom the
Guardsman had asked to dine with him at the Tower, in the
delight of his heart, and who had accepted the invitation,
" as soon," he said, " as he came back from Oxford, where he
was about, to go."
The young ofiicers were on their way to knock up Shiner,
for some of his game pie: for it appeared, after all, that they
knew Shiner in London quite well, and Mrs. Shiner, too, for
the matter of that; but yet, were not surprised not to meet
them at the ball. Certainly, this was strange; but any, or
all, of the Pottletonians would have been more astonished to
have seen them blow a post-horn under the window till
Shiner put his head out, and asked, in a loud voice, who was
there.
'' The Duke, and lord Hardinge, for some pale ale," was
the reply.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 189
" All right," said Mr. Shiner, not put out by the announce-
ment of such distinguished visitors. And presently a light
was seen flitting about the house, until the master, in an
entire suit of scarlet flannel, came to let them in. Upon this
the mare was pulled into the yard, and left with a cloth over
her; and they all went into Mr. Shiner's room, which they
said they liked better than the one in St. John's Wood, because
it was jollier: the jollity arising from the perfectly free-and-
easy style of the apartment — the tankards standing on the
piano — the fishing-hats being hung on the lustres, and the
canaries, hyacynths, whips, shawls, and v/icker dog-houses
all being grouped about in splendid disregard of social con-
ventionalities. There was an odour of cigars that clung to the
handsome damask furniture of the room, and the card-racks
were filled with kid gloves (*six and three quarters') and paper
cigarette books. Mr. Shiner routed about in the kitchen, and
brought up the refreshments himself, and then they all set to,
and waited there until it was time to go back to Pottleton
Court, where there was to be a battue. All this was certainly
curious; but the respective parties appeared to understand it
all very well.
In the meanwhile, the ball had quite broken up. The last
of the pretty girls had been escorted down the staircase to
their respective vehicles; the last soft w^ords had been whis-
pered into delicate ears; and the last gentle pressures given,
and sometimes returned, as the small white hands were pre-
sented at the carriage windows. Everybody had left, except
Mr. Wyndham Flitter; and he was still in the bar.
" And you really have no bed, Mrs. Baker?" he asked.
" Not a corner, sir," she said; "they w^ere all bespoken a
week ago; and the card and tea rooms take away two, you
see.
" Isn't there a sofa, Mrs. Baker?" asked the gentleman.
" I'm going to occupy that, sir, with my sister,"
Miss Tapper, Mrs. Baker's sister, was a nice young lady,
who lived in the bar, and passed her life in saying smart
things to the young farmers, and studying hydraulics, as ap-
plied to raising fluids by machinery.
" Dear me!" said Mr. Flitter. " There really is nowhere,
then? I slept in a cab once; but then it was summer, to be
sure. Ha! I have it! — the music-gallery of the ball-room 1"
190 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
"La, sir!" exclaimed the landlady.
" A capital place," said Mr. Flitter. " Don't distress your-
self a minute. Give me my carpet bag, and those two rail-
way wrappers; and if you don't call me until I call you, I
shall sleep like a top."
Mrs. Baker offered no opposition, for she was anxious to
get to bed herself; so Mr. Flitter collected his things, and
wound up a staircase like a hollow corkscrew to the gallery.
Here he disposed the music desks, and such instruments as
the performers had left, until the morning, so as to leave a
small space for his bed; and then, with his usual power of
accommodating himself to circumstances, was soon asleep.
Indeed, his slumbers lasted until after eight o'clock in the
morning; and perhaps, even then, he would have slept longer,
had not the string of the violoncello flown, and awakened
him.
The village was more quiet than usual — that is to say, the
usual promenaders had not yet appeared to give it what very
little life it ordinarily possessed. Mr. Twinch was the only
one about of the company; and late hours did not much affect
his iron nature. He was not, however, in a very good temper,
for the servants had sat up for the ladies and taken it out pro-
portionately in sleep the next morning ; so that when he came
down at his usual time, he found the house all shut up. And
therefore, in a huff, he went over to the Red Lion, and en-
sconced himself in the bar, to breakfast with Mrs. Baker, in
her sanctum — the only part of the house that the festivity had
not deranged.
" Good morning, Mr. Twinch!" was the salutation of Mr.
Flitter, as he entered the bar. " Up early, I see : there's
nothing like it, sir."
" How d'ye do, sir?" responded Mr. Twinch, somewhat
hardly, as he looked up from the egg he had just cut the top
from.
" Stop!" cried Mr. Flitter; "don't eat that egg yet. I'll
tell you something worth any money — chloride of sodium is
not soluble in albumen."
" I beg your pardon?" said the lawyer, inquiringly.
" Salt won't dissolve in eggs — that is what I mean — hence
you get a pellet of nothing else, in the middle of the first
spoonful. Now, look here: pour three drops — no more — of
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. ],9l
your coffee into the egg. Now, put in your salt; there —
you see, it is equally difiused."
" Umph!" said Mr. Twinch, dryly, without being so much
struck with the value of Mr. Flitter's wrinkle.
" He's very tough," thought the other; but he was not to
be so easily beaten; so he went on. "Have you thought
anything more about the chalybeate on your property, Mr.
Twinch?"
" No, sir;" replied the lawyer, curtly.
" But I have," Mr. Flitter went on ; " and am more and
more convinced of its being the first speculation of the day.
I am about to stay for a short time in Pottleton — at least, I
shall be here very often, and we must really have some talk
about it."
"If you please, sir," said Mr. Twinch, still hardly, but
evidently less so, as the prospect of gain opened before him.
" I never had the pleasure of meeting Miss Martha Twinch
before last evening," continued Mr. Flitter. " She is a
charming person. I am going to do myself the pleasure of
calling on her this morning."
"Bless me!" thought Mr. Twinch; "if he would take a
fancy to Patty, what a chance it would be for her!"
And he directly added, " Won't you have some breakfast,
sir?"
Mr. Wyndham Flitter did not require any pressing to eat,
but immediately fell to, at everything before him. Mr.
Twinch, on the contrary, suddenly stopped — a counter-
reflection had come across his mind, that he could not exactly
make Mr. Flitter out; and that he had been civil too hastily.
In a moment of ill-temper, at not finding his own household
up and about, he had evidently done his sister an injustice.
Mr. Flitter divined this in an instant, so he made up his
mind to keep his ground.
" You have been many years in practice here, ]\Ir. Twinch?'*
he observed.
" Thirty-seven, sir," said the lawyer.
" Thirty-seven!" replied Mr. Flitter, with astonishment.
" And yet you must have been, too. Your name is familiar
to me from a child. You had the affairs of the Court Estate
to manage, I think."
What the Court Estate was, or how Mr. Twinch had been
192 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
connected with it, Mr. Flitter had not the slightest idea.
But he had seen something about it in an ancient bound
twelvemonth of the Dibhlethorpe MessMiger that he had found
in one of the rooms of the Red Lion, amongst some of
his similar lively specimens of country-inn literature, and
this had been quite enough for him to go off upon.
" True enough," said Mr. Twinch, looking up again.
" But how did you hear of that?"
" Oh — it is a long story, but some relatives of mine were
concerned in the conveyance. I will tell you all about it
one of these days. I only know, I have often heard your
conduct throughout the affair, made the theme of the warmest
praise, by my uncle. But no matter."
And Mr. Flitter dropped his voice iiito a melancholy key,
fearing that Mr. Twinch might inquire too closely who his
uncle was. Possibly it would not have been a difficult task
for him to have named a dozen, idly speaking.
" He has respectable relations, then," thought Mr. Twinch.
" Those days are for ever gone," Mr. Flitter went on.
" But let us speak of other things. I see your amiable sister
has been very kind to Miss Maitland."
" Martha has shown her some little attention," said Mr.
Twinch; "and, indeed, so has Letitia."
" She is a nice girl," continued the other; " but it would be
a pity for her to throw all her goodness away upon that young
Hammond. Do you know him?"
" Very slightly," answered Mr. Twinch. " At the same
time, I don't know anything against him."
"Nor do I — not a breath," replied Mr. Flitter, eagerly.
" But I fear he is getting into a bad set in London. He is
young, and easily dazzled. Two or three things have occurred
lately that might as well have been avoided."
" Indeed!" said Mr. Twinch, as he looked over his
spectacles at the other; "and what are they!"
Upon which Mr. Wjmdham Flitter, having got the other
exactly to the pitch he wanted, proceeded to tell, in detail, all
he had recited to Annie, on the preceding evening.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 195
CHAPTER XXL
TWO NICE CHILDREN.
The first thoughts of Miss Letitia Twinch, as she awoke on
the morning after her arrival at Mrs. Cooze's, reverted to Tip.
He occupied her mind all the time she was dressing, and
took away her appetite at breakfast, in spite of Mr. Cooze's
assurance that the locality of every stolen dog in London was
as well known as though it was inserted in the Post Office
Directory.
It was a great relief to her depression when the butcher
called, for Mr. Cooze had spoken of his connexion amongst
the dog-stealers; and by her desire he was introduced.
" Snoswell," said Mr. Cooze, who took upon himself to be
spokesman, " this lady lost a pet dog yesterday."
" Yes, sir," answered the man, in a tone which implied
he looked upon such an event as a matter-of-course, just as
if he had been informed that she had eaten her dinner or
gone to bed.
" And we want you to put her in the way of getting it
again, if you can," observed Mrs. Cooze.
" It was lost from the railway station," said Miss Twinch.
" I'd sooner it have gone in the streets, ever so much,"
remarked Mr. Snoswell. " You see a railway's such a place
for corded boxes."
The company began to wonder what connexion such kind
of luggage had with stolen dogs. IMr. Snoswell relieved
their embarrassment.
" You see," he continued, " one of the cabmen keeps a
box on purpose: it looks as if it was corded, only it's got no
bottom, and the cords are fastened to the edges."
" Did you ever hear !" observed Miss Twinch, to the
company collectively. " The wretches!"
" Very well, ma'am," Mr. Snoswell went on. " Now
suppose my hat to be the box, and this chaney cup the dog:
whilst the owner is looking after his luggage, and the dog's
just let out of the locker — all stupid and scared, as dogs are,
with the noise of the ^ourney — the cabman's friend that rides
o
194 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
with him for society, claps the box over the dog, like this,
and sets himself down upon it. Now, of course, nobody sus-
pects the dog to be in a corded box."
" Of course not," observed all the party.
" Presently, the owner misses him, and wants to know
who's seen a dog. ^ What sort of a dog was he?' asks the
thief: * little black tarrier?' 'That's him,' says the owner.
* Oh, he's just run through the gate,' says the other; and off
the owner starts. The minute he's gone, the dog has rather
an uncomfortable journey, as his covering is shoved along
the platform, and he has to walk with it; but when they get
near the cab, it's lifted up a little ways and he's taken out and
thrown into the cab; the box is put on the roof, and off they
goes."
" And that was perhaps the way my darling Tip was
taken," said Miss T winch. "But you can get him back
again?"
" Well, I'll try, ma'am," said the butcher, " unless he's
been shaved or sewed up, and then it's not so easy."
" Don't tell me any more," cried Miss Twinch. " Here
is a little account of him, I drew up for a bill. And do, my
good friend, use your utmost endeavours. You shall be well
rewarded."
Mr. Snoswell promised to do so; and, as he departed, he
left Miss Twinch in a calmer state of mind, as she saw Hope
riding on his shoulders.
Breakfast passed, during which Mr. Cooze did his best to
render the meal festive, by making a joke upon everything
at table, and went off to the Customs — "and he hoped
some day the Customs would improve his manners," he said,
as an exit speech: upon which Mrs. Cooze observed, "she
hoped they would, for there was quite room for it." But
this was only said in affectionate banter; for Mr. Cooze re-
turned, and saluted her, and then told Miss Twinch " to keep
off, as he did not approve of such familiarities," which made
quite a pleasant little laugh for him to go away with.
The next excitement was the introduction of Mrs. Cooze's
two dear children. Lobby and Totty, with whom she knew
Miss Twinch would be so pleased. Lobby, so called be-
cause it was the infantile for Robert, was eight years oldj
and Totty, whose name was Jane, was a year youDger,
THE POTTLETON LEGACY; 191
They were both of that delightful class known as ''sharp little
things" — high -pressure children, offensively educated to dis-
tress acquaintances with the display of their talents. There
was nothing of the attributes of pleasant childhood about
them : they had large eyes and sallow complexions, and they
twitched and worked their features about, as if they were
always making faces at you — in fact, at times, their ex-
pression was perfectly impish. They seldom laughed, and
when they did it was anything but the joyous musical peal
which makes children's laughter so delicious; being usually
a little sardonic snigger. They said rude things — in which
the boy excelled — and when not made the features of the
company, got additionally unpleasant.
" There are my 'jewels,'" said Mrs. Cooze, in the words
of the Roman matron. " There, my dears — that is the
young lady that I told you was coming."
" You're not a young lady," said Lobby, immediately upon
the introduction.
" Robert, my love!" exclaimed Mrs. Cooze.
"Well — you're not," continued the boy; "my mamma's
ever-so-much younger: she told my papa so, yesterday,
before you came."
" How dare you tell such stories, sir!" cried Mrs. Cooze,
with great anger.
" But you did, mamma, when you said you never bargained
for the dog, too."
The interview was getting as painful for Miss Twinch as
it was for Mrs. Cooze.
"' Give me that," said Totty, pointing to a brooch, with
which something Miss Twinch wore about her neck and
shoulders in the morning was fastened.
" I'm very sorry I can't give you that," said poor Miss
Twinch; " but I will buy you something much prettier, when
I go out."
" And when shall you go out?"
" Oh, soon!"
" Yes— but when ?"
" For shame, Jane, to worry Miss Twinch so," cried the
mother. " You shall not come down stairs all day, if
you behave so badly. Yv^hat do you ask for that brooch
for?"
o2
196 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Because we're turned out of our room to sleep with
Elizabeth, whilst she's here," replied Totty.
" And she's got the looking-glass," added the boy, " and
my table."
Fearful that fresh domestic revelations might be made,
Mrs. Cooze hurried the children from the room, telling them
to get ready for a walk; and then returned to smoothe all
their remarks over as well as she could, to Miss Twinch.
'' They do not mean anything rude," she said; " it is only
their acute perception. They are really not like children;
when you have heard Totty play, and Lobby sing a duet
with her, you will think so."
Miss Twinch had made up her mind already. But she
was anxious not to make Mrs. Cooze uncomfortable, so she
turned the subject, and thought it would be a fine day, —
thereby also intimating that a walk would be agreeable.
The Jewels were to accompany them, and they soon made
their re-appearance, quite ready — Lobby carrying a whip
with a frightful whistle at the end, with which he announced
his approach all the way down stairs; and Totty, in a
crimson dress, made so very short — as Mrs. Cooze loved to
see — that her little cold legs appeared to hang out of the
bottom of it like the pistils from a fuchsia.
The entertainment of the walk began by the childrea
rushing out into the street the instant the door was opened,
by which means they ran under the very neck of a cab-horse,
and were saluted with such dreadful oaths thereupon, by the
driver, that Miss Twinch felt all her blood go the wrong
way, as she expressed it; and the more so, when, being next
to tlie door, the same uneducated and altogether badly
brought-up man told her if she had children she ought to
look after them; at the which she well nigh fainted. Lobby
and Totty were then dragged back by the maid; the playful
boy taking the opportunity of splashing her stockings from
the gutter, by putting his foot violently into it, as they
crossed. Then Mrs. Cooze declared they had brought
her heart into her mouth; so that amongst the millions of
ihat great city, probably no two persons went forth with
thpir circulation in such a strange state as these luckless
ladies.
The Soho Bazaar was the first visit decided on, — a place
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 1^
which few picture, except a long way off, through Time's
inverted telescope; when they can only recollect their heads
on a level with the counters. Ladies, perhaps, know it as it
is at the present, but men have no notion of it beyond a
childhood's aspect. Yet we imagine that it is still in ex-
istence on much the same plan as formerly. Various toys
have become, it may be, extinct. The " Miller and his
Men," is not, perhaps, the popular drama that it was of yore,
in the little theatres; nor do the fashionable ladies and
gentlemen made of figs and raisins hold similar sway. Possi-
bly a more modern race of children's books has supplanted
Mr. Newberry's; and " The Hundred Wonders of the World"
have swollen beyond the old red, thick octavos, with the bad
wood-cuts that depicted them. Nor should we be surprised
to find science gradually altering the tone of the playthings,
and sweeping away the Tumble-down-Dicks, the musical
flour-carts with the incomprehensible windmill, that turned on
two revolving pilasters at the end; and the little man in the
fashionable frock-coat, who so industriously lifted up heavy
beams to let them fall again by his toothed barrel, for any-
thing in which magnetism, pneumatics, caloric, or hydrogen
could convey a surreptitious lesson of wisdom in the guise of
a merry-andrew.
Are the large pictures still left against the red walls, por-
traying the history of Leopold and Charlotte, about which
we were told such melancholy stories? And do the charming
ladies and gentlemen who formed " the Druramond gallery"
still decorate the staircase? Do the same old dowagers still sit
on the chairs to watch the company; and do the same young
girls still duck under the counters to gain their fastnesses
with such celerity, disappearing like rabbits in a warren?
Alack! we expect such is no longer the case. The old ladies
must have departed long ago, or have been transported for
life to their bed-rooms; and the young ones may be the
mothers of the industrious girls who now dive under the ma-
hogany flaps, or jump up, like their own Jack-in-the-boxes,
to confront a visitor, or run to their neighbour for change, as
of old.
The behaviour of the Cooze Jewels, when they went to
the Soho Bazaar, — and it was impossible to get them past it;
. one might as well have attempted to have persuaded a Rams-
198 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
gate donkey to pass his stable, — was not a good example to
the other olive-branches there assembled. If there was any
article of sale more treacherously placed than its fellows on
the corner of a counter, they swept it down in passing, and
if it was of a nature in any way fragile, they broke it, —
upon which it had, then and there, to be paid for. Then
Lobby blew all the bundle of trumpets that hung to the toy-
counter; nor would he move until each had been tried; and
he had, in addition, turned the wheels of the campanalogian
coal-cart, which played a melody of three notes, the w^rong
way, and deranged its internal economy beyond repair.
Totty contented herself by displaying her musical accomplish-
ments to the assembled audience in playing " Ah, vous
dirais-je,"&c.,on the harmonicons, or toy-pianos; but this was
less reprehensible, for it gave great pride and pleasure to
Mrs. Cooze, who would tell her child to come away, in a
tone that intimated to her she might stay; and would then
look triumphantly round at the girls who had outgrown their
leggings, to the ungraceful exposure of their black boots,
and the staring children from the rural districts, with an ex-
pression that seemed to say, " When will you be able to do
that?" After which she would thank the stall-keeper with a
gracious smile, which the stall-keeper returned as graciously
as the frustrated hope that anticipated a purchase would
permit, and moved on.
To Miss Twinch the babies' dresses were the chief attrac-
tion; she loved to look at them, as a boy of fourteen loves
to have a dressing-case with razors in it. But as these, in
the abstract, were not of deep interest to the Jewels, they
found excitement in other causes, — trying to lift themselves
over the edge of the counter, in which gymnastic feat they
usually pulled over several of the tall bill-files with wooden
buns on the top, on which their caps were placed, or indulg-
ing in pertinent and impertinent remarks.
" I know where babies grow," said Totty, looking up at
Miss Twinch: " you don't."
" And I know, too, Miss," observed Lobby, with a face,
to his sister.
" No, you don't!"
" Yes, I do, then; at Nurse Bottler's, at Peckham, where
tte parsley is. . That's where you came from."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 199
. "* No I didn't."
" Yes you did. Mamma — mamma! Wasn't Totty digged
up with a gold spade at Nurse Bottler's, at Peckham?"
"Hush, Robert! I'm engaged," said IVlrs. Cooze, inconti-
nently asking the price of a body.
" No ; but wasn't she ?" continued the pertinacious Lobby:
and then, finding he did not get an answer, he went on to Miss
Twinch.
" Did you come from anywhere ?"
" There's a pretty rocking-horse," said the confused lady.
" Yes, I've seen him," continued the Jewel. " But did
you come from anywhere ?"
" Pottleton — such a pretty place," replied Miss Twinch,
in agony, as she saw the dialogue was furnishing great amuse-
ment to some by-standers. " You shall see it, some day."
Ah ! that's where you live," continued the indefatigable
boy.
*' But I mean, where "
" Now we'll go to the other toy-shop," interrupted Mrs.
Cooze ; and this announcement had the effect of instanta-
neously diverting the attention of the Jewels, who frisked on
immediately in a species of extempore dance, with their arms
working like windmills at their sides. The relief that Miss
Twinch felt, those who have had a tooth out, or a new boot
off, or a bore go away, only can tell.
" You'll buy me something pretty now — won't you ?" said
Totty, as she came to that persecuted lady's side, and pulled
her mantilla all awry. She spoke in a low voice for her mamma
not to hear.
Miss Twinch took no notice, but walked on close to Mrs.
Cooze, thinking that such a step might stop the request; and
she also thought — albeit, Jane Collier had always a cold in
her bead, and Harriet Stiles was absurdly nervous — how
much better every child in her own Infant School would have
behaved under such circumstances.
Mrs. Cooze had raised the hopes of her Jewels rashly: she
had led them to the toy-counter without intending to buy ;
and a grand rebellion would have commenced had not Miss
Twinch, with a slight exclamation of astonishment, rushed
to another counter, where a gentleman in black, with a
yrhite cravat, the flat bow of which looked like the two oppo-
200 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
site sails of a windmill, high shirt collars, and a smooth blush-
ing face, was making a purchase.
"Mr. Page!" exclaimed Miss Twinch, with energy.
The good young curate, for it was that gentleman, was
quite startled. He blushed deeper than ever, advanced his
hand and then drew it back again, knocked down his stick,
put his purse into a work-basliet on the stall in his confusion,
and finally extended his smoke-coloured thread glove to Miss
Twinch, and said how happy he was to see her. And then,
as very often happens after a sudden and rapturous recogni-
tion, in which every energy is expended, there was a dead
pause. In the moment of plenteous delight no provision is
made against approaching poverty of subject.
"Jane," said Miss Twinch to her friend; "let me intro-
duce you to Mr. Page, our clergyman at Pottleton, and my
excellent friend."
Here came a moment of fresh embarrassment for the good
curate ; but he got through it pretty well, touching his hat
rather than lifting it, and knocking down a crochet-basket,
for which he apologised vaguely to Miss Twinch.
"We are "
" This is "
Commenced both Miss Twinch and Mr. Page at the same
time, both stopping short to listen to the other, and then
begging a mutual pardon.
" My papa won't like you," said Lobby, who had picked up
Mr. Page's stick, and was trying to climb up it. " He says
all the parsons ought to "
" What are you buying, Mr. Page?" asked Miss Twinch.
" Hem ! a little — I was thinking about — it's not quite in
my way — a little work-basket."
And he nervously proffered a shallow basket, lined, and
with little pockets all round the sides. Miss Twinch looked
at it with a spasm. It could not be for himself; she had once,
it was true, heard Mr. Page declare that he could sew on a
shirt-button in an extremity — which, indeed, was the case, by
holding the needle between his finger and thumb like a watch-
key, pressing its head upon the table to push it through, in
lieu of using a thimble; and then, in tribulation and suffering,
never hitting the right hole of the button when he tried to
send it back again, but pricking his thumb, at an unexpected
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 201
point. But he could not want such a basket as that for his
work-things, or else where was the housewife she had once
presented to him, with the thread-tubes and the flannel needle-
book? It was certainly for a female!
^* What taste you have, Mr. Page," said Miss Twinch.
"Jane, isn't it pretty?"
** Oh, very !" responded Mrs. Cooze, in an ecstasy of admi-
ration.
" These have been very much admired," said the stall-
keeper, putting forward some fresh things which were totally
disregarded in the emotions of the party.
" And who is that for, Mr. Page?" asked Miss Twinch,
with a smirk.
" Give it to me," said Totty, clinging fondly round the
curate's leg, and treading on his cloth-boots : on which Mr.
Page looked pleasant at the child and patted her cheek, in-
ducing further familiarity.
"Jane!'' cried Mrs. Cooze, with severity. Miss Twinch,
although an infant's friend, wished that Totty could be hung,
had it only been for a little while, as she repeated her ques-
tion.
" Why, you ought not, by good rights, to have been in
the secret, Miss Letitia," said Mr. Page; " but now I cannot
help it."
Miss Twinch fluttered generally; it might be — and yet she
scarcely dared to hope that — in fact, she didn't know what
to think.
" Do you like it?" asked the curate.
" It is most elegant," replied the lady.
" That's prettier for half-a-crown," observed Lobby, taking
a part in the discussion, and pointing to a ticketed basket.
" Give me sixpence," he added, addressing Miss Twinch.
Had that lady carried Golconda in her pocket she would
have made it over to the Jewel at that moment.
" It will create quite a little effect in Pottleton," said Mr.
Page, " on the table of your parlour."
" Oh, you are too kind!" murmured Miss Twinch.
" Say rather I am too happy," was the reply. " Do you
suppose I have not watched with interest for some little time
the improvement in our infant flock, without appreciating the
unwearied assistance afforded?"
THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Miss Twinch could scarcely speak; she could only take up
a knitting-box and look at it, as she sighed forth, " Oh! don't
mention that."
" And, therefore." continued Mr. Page, " I thought this
little remembrance was no more than due to Miss Maitland
for her kindness."
" Oh — Miss Maitland!" said Miss Twinch, with bitter dis-
appointment.
She could not help the tone in which she spoke. Her
hopes had been so suddenly and totally destroyed, that de-
spair rushed, in an unchecked tide, through the breach. Mr.
Page saw it.
" You thought it was for your sister?" he half affirmed,
half asked. " Her claims are equally great; but, you see, in
her present position, the compliment has greater weight with
Miss Maitland."
"Don't!" said Miss Twinch, sharply to Totty, who once
more pulled her mantilla; and then there was another pause,
which Mr. Page varied by pulling out his watch. It was a
large silver one, with chain ^and seals which he tucked away,
believing that in London everything was taken from every-
body, the minute they appeared in the streets.
" I must be off to the station," he said, " or I shall miss
the train. Good bye, MissLetitia; I shall say I've seen you.
Goodbye."
He bowed to Mrs. Cooze; forgot to take his change until
the stall-keeper gave it to him, and then went away, leaving
his stick in the possession of Lobby.
Miss Twinch's manner was so changed all at once, that her
friend was quite astonished; she was perfectly snappish, and
disagreed with Mrs. Cooze upon every subject started — even
to admiring the latest morning caps. So that the rest of the
walk was not very lively: and if it had not been for occa-
sional expressions of alarm or expostulation, called forth by
the conduct of the Jewels, it would have passed almost in
silence. Luckily, however, Mrs. Cooze determined to call
upon her friend, Mrs. Budd, in Wimpole-street — first-rate
people the Budds were, to introduce Miss Twinch to — and
they accordingly proceeded thither, arriving at luncheon time,
to the great joy of the Jewels.
The Budds, who were wine-merchants, had always been
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 203
intimate with the Coozes ; but Mr. Budd had made several
lucky hits in his life, one after the other, which had enabled
him to move from Ormond-street to Bloomsbury — thence to
Berner's-street, and finally in his present location — following
the sun, as Mr. Budd's own bottles were said to do on the
table, and even now looking forward to Hyde Park Gardens.
They were the great connexion of the Coozes, and if the latter
could not secure them for a party, they did not give one.
Miss Twinch was a little impressed with the style of the
house, and was somewhat recovering from her humour. But
the children did not improve — on the contrary, their behaviour
when they went to lunch was by no means pleasant.
First of all they would be helped from that dish on which
there was the least to be eaten, containing some very nice
jugged hare. Then Lobby said, "Is this only lunch? It's
ever-so-much better than our dinners at home, when no-
body's coming;" and Totty asked Mrs. Budd "whether cold
meat wasn't ever-so-much nastier than hot ?"
" Well — I don't know," replied the lady: "perhaps it is
not so nice."
" There mamma," cried both the Jewels, in ecstasies,
drumming with the handles of their knives and forks upon
the table. " We told you so — we told you so. She says
it isn't."
" Once we had cold meat two times running," said Totty.
" Ah," replied Mrs. Cooze, not precisely knowing what to
say; " but Mrs. Budd knows how awkward it is when a
cook leaves suddenly."
" No, mamma," cried Lobby, " the cook hadn't left, now,
because papa had nice things when he came home, and she
gave me some in the kitchen."
In conversation similar to this the meal passed away, in
spite of all that Mrs. Cooze could do to turn aside the re-
marks of the Jewels. But before she left, she contrived to
find out an evening on which Mrs. Budd could come to her
house, as it would be an opportunity during her friend's
visit, to show her a few of the clever people of the day; and
this was a great point gained. And then they took their
departure to leave the children at home, preparatory to going
to some exhibition or another, at which their presence might
be extra-uncomfortable, not to say hazardous.
204 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
This was the more judicious, since at Madame Tussaud's,
Totty had picked a bit out of Mr. Cobbett's cheek with her
nail; and Lobby, at the Polytechnic, had utterly ruined a
working model of a steam-engine, by putting his cane
through the paddles when it was whirling round at full
speed, and breaking them like barley-sugar.
Poor Miss Twinch, however, was ill at ease. Her spirits,
first unsettled by the loss of Tip, and further beaten down
by what she could not but consider as heartless conduct on
the part of Mr. Page, were by no means in good order. Nor
was it until Mr. Cooze returned home with a newspaper
order for the play that evening, which another gentleman ia
the Customs had given to him, and it had been settled — as it
only admitted two, and Mrs. Cooze had seen the pieces before —
that he would " beau" Miss Twinch (as she termed it) to the
theatre, that she at all recovered. But the little pleasantries
that passed on the occasion, — how Mrs. Cooze said she was
quite jealous of Miss Twinch, and Mr. Cooze begged his
wife would not come on the sly, and look after them, — some-
what dispelled the cloud: although she still thought that if
they could politely get rid of Annie Maitland from her
brother's establishment, it would be as well.
CHAPTER XXII.
FRESH EXCITEMENTS.
It was some time before Pottleton recovered its accustomed
tranquillity after the ball. The little affairs and bickerings,
and scandals even, that the eventful night gave rise to,
furnished conversation for a good month; and if everything
had been published that was then privately circulated, there
is no knowing how many actions of libel Mr. Twinch might
have had to conduct on matters entirely confined to his
friends and neighbours.
Young Grant was the most dreadful promulgator of the
reports. He declared that he had seen Harry Fielder kiss
Bessy Coulter in the card-room, after the whist-tables had
been broken up, and when nobody was there. And, moreover.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 205
that -when he kindly said, upon his sudden and unfortunate
entrance, " Don't mind me, you know," they both bolted off
by opposite doors, one of which led Fielder into the ladies'
shawl-room, where Clara Bulliara was said to have boxed his
ears — and she could do it, too — and threatened to inform the
committee. Accordingly Harry Fielder called upon young
Grant to know what he had meant by it, — to which young
Grant replied, " Just what he had said."
" And quite right of you, too," he continued, " to take
advantage of such a good opportunity. I should have done
it if I had been lucky enough to have got the chance. I
knew you were not the spoon to let it go by. I'm only
sorry I came in to spoil the sport."
Young Fielder's wrath melted before the indirect compli-
ment. What mountains of rage an atom of kindness will
at once smooth down: the fabled drop of oil on the waves
is nothing to it.
" You ought to be proud of having it known, — such a
nice girl, too ! By the way, we are going to shoot on the
Hill Farm to-morrow. Only three guns — if you like to
make a fourth I can promise good sport. I know you're a
first-rate shot."
Harry Fielder was quite delighted with young Grant, and
had no idea he was such a nice fellow. In fact, they parted
most intimate friends; and when it was generally understood,
a short time after, that Fielder and Bessy Coulter were
engaged, nobody dared to say a word more about it.
The Brayboeufs at Pottleton Court continued very kind
to Annie, and asked her there occasionally: for there was a
sort of romance in her history which, added to her sweet and
gentle manners, made them take a great interest in her.
But they did not ask the Twinches; they were only very
polite to them. And this, under ordinary circumstances,
might have offended the latter family greatly. But Mr.
Twinch managed all the law business of the Court, and Miss
Martha was pleased even to be bowed to by the Brayboeufs,
so that no great mischief arose.
Old Lady Flokes, having been packed up and put by for
the winter, was not able to contribute to the tittle-tattle.
During her hybernation, nobody saw her but Dr. Keene,
and he was a discreet man, inasmuch as he could not have
reported anything without offending some of his patients; and
206 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
SO he very properly kept quiet. Hence, in the matter of old
Lady Flokes herself, when Mrs. Spink was dying to know
whether that vestige of quality lived all the cold weather tied
up in a flannel bag, as she had heard; or, having once had
her face enamelled for a party, could not open her mouth very
wide, or laugh or frown after it, for fear the false complexion
should crack and chip — to these questions Dr. Keene would
never reply. He even professed utter ignorance about her
false teeth, and yet he could have made a good story of them;
for once, when he called suddenly, and took the old lady un-
awares, she was so hurried in her making-up that she put in
her set upside down; in consequence of which, when she
essayed to speak, they sprang out of her mouth like a toy-
frog, to her great confusion. But Dr. Keene knew that, if
his patients heard him tell anecdotes of others, they might
suppose him capable of telling the same things about them-
selves, so he kept quiet — listened to what everybody said
about everybody else — never replied, but built his own con-
clusions thereupon; and so got a goodly practice.
The rich BuUiams were the most spiteful, especially the
girls, — finding fault with all the young men, because none
had paid them the attention that they ought to have exacted,
except a few of the blundering sons of the families, who
feared the extension of the railway would cross their fields.
And as they were great at domestic quarrels, not having
anybody to abuse directly, they began to knag their brother.
" He talked a great deal about his crack friends in town,'*
they said; " and brag'd of the nobility and ofiicers who
would have him with them always in London; and now that
two real officers, and one of them a guardsman, had come
down actually to Pottleton, — in their own part of the world,
and where he might have shown them that he had respect-
able connexions and something like an establishment, in pre-
ference to his comic actors, and singing and dancing people
in London, with whom he appeared to be so much engrossed —
when this had happened, the officers had evidently known
nothing about him; and had even been driven to dance with
that young person who lived with the Twinches — the com-
panion, or whatever she was — whilst they themselves were
sitting down." On which young BuUiam would get savage,
and, indulging in his most favourite forms of powerful Ian-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 20T
gnage, would kick over his sisters' work-boxes, bang the door
after him; and then getting on horseback, would gallop furi-
ously over to New Dibblethorpe, and get rid of his bad
temper in the parlour of the Railway Hotel.
But as the cold weather came on it somewhat checked the
epidemical irritation; and, fortunately for that purpose, this
year it came very early.
We have returned to Pottleton again — and the snow is on
the ground; those who only knew our village in its leafy
summer dress would be puzzled to find out their favourite
nooks and corners amongst the skeleton trees. But it is still
charming for all that. The air is so vivid and exhilarating,
that your lungs cannot drink in a sufficiency of it at each in-
spiration; and the bright clear sunlight is thrown back in
sparkling diamonds, with dazzling purity, from the snow that
crunches beneath each step. It is as tranquil as in summer;
indeed, the repose is that of death rather than sleep, broken
only by the sharp ringing echoes of an occasional gun, or the
whirring chatter of a stone, sent swiftly sliding across the ice
by the ruddy urchin, anxious to know if the mill-tail will bear.
The river would freeze if it could; but the floods have driven
it on too turbulently. Where the pollards, that its stream has
undermined until they tumbled into it, have collected the
reeds and dead leaves into their harbour, there is a pellicle
of ice, rimy and white, within an inch of where the water
washes it: and some of the drooping sprays of the bramble-
bushes, that bent so gracefully over its quivering lily-spangled
surface in summer, are tipped with long crystal-looking pend-
ants that would have been elsewise fog-drops; but it holds out
no promise of skating. Yet it is freezing hard, for the place
that was broken in the pond, to let the cattle drink, and get
the ice for the Court ice-house, is already glazed over. Still
it is a degree of cold that no one feels inclined to quarrel with.
Indeed, the only points in the landscape that one might wish
to find fault with, are where the southern eaves are dripping
in the sun, and making a dark unseemly gutter on the white
causeway below.
The road is spotted with birds — ^poor little fellows, hardly-
driven to pick up a livelihood, for the hedge-row's are even too
frost-bound for them to scrape out for the pungent roots that
would nourish them; and the hips and haws have all been
208 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
carried away — so have the seeds about the Grange, that were
too high for the inmates to collect. When they settle on the
great tree before the inn, they bring down such a shower of
crisp flakes of snow, that they are frightened into a departure
forthwith, and fly back to the pollards, where they know
of decayed knot-holes and hollowed limbs. Some very old
birds — plump as pincushions — have lived in Baker's barn ever
since the frost began; but this is evidently a secret.
There is something very solemn about the old grey Norman
church, in its canopy of snow, which also hangs upon the
lych-gate, and covers the grave-yard until the tombstones are
merged in the same hue. You can now imagine that those
who lie beneath it are locked in a dead and awful sleep — far
more so than in summer, when the daisies and primroses
looked upwards from the graves towards Heaven, or the
gentle cowslips bent their fragrant heads towards the earth,
as if in mourning. In the corner there is a heap of black
mould, thrown up since the snow fell; but it will be filled in
again before night, and those who have been long separated
— one, perhaps, toiling and struggling on whilst the other
slept tranquilly — will meet again.
Picture this scene, as well as you can from our description,
and the slight acquaintance with Pottleton that we have
wished you to make — and imagine, in addition, that you see
Miss Martha Twinch and Annie walking up the village.
Whacky Clark, who is sweeping the causeway before the
Red Lion, touches his cap as they pass, and hopes they have
heard of the little dog in London as Miss Letitia lost ; and
young Grant, who is riding in one of his own waggons to
Dibblethorpe, to buy a load of cheap carrots for his cows,
now that general food runs short, bows gallantly as they over-
take him — for the horses' shoes " ball," and the wheels clog
with the snow they drag up in black ruts after them, and so
progress is but slow — and asks waggishly if they are going
his way, because he should be happy to give them a hft. But
they smilingly decline, for they have another object in view
— a visit to the Rev. Mr. Page.
Mr. Page lived in a neat lodging over the chemical division
of "the shop" of Pottleton; which, as an unambitious and
blushing curate, suited him exactly. He had, of course,
taken his rooms furnished; but he found it necessary to re-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 209
move a few of the decorations which the taste of the landlord
had picked out to adorn the walls of his first floor — being
slightly of a sporting turn of mind. This chiefly related to
the pictures, whereof there were several of great historical
interest. On each side of the oblong looking-glass, in three
divisions — and only those who caught sight of their face, half-
way between two of these, knew the fearful image it repre-
sented — were two full-length portraits of gentlemen lightly
attired in certain cotton garments, as they appeared perform-
ing the celebrated matches against time between special mile-
stones on popular high roads, for sums of money which, look-
ing to their natural powers of absconding, appeared marvellous
instances of faith in one another still existing. There was
also an exciting picture of that wonderful dog, Billy, accom-
plishing his great feat of killing one hundred rats in five
minutes, in the presence of a crowd of agricultural gentle-
men, in top boots and blue coats, that only a fat cattle-show
could have brought to London; some of whom were so ex-
cited that they were paying notes away to one another, even
in the middle of the match, across the angles of the pit, with
a recklessness perfectly incomprehensible, as though they had
been from the Bank of Elegance instead of England.
The same comical-looking, burly, broad-faced, merry gen-
tlemen — who appeared built to order to attend a Licensed
Victualler's Festival, (of which, by the way, there was an
animated print) — were present at all the different events thus
pictorially chronicled. Whether it was on the grand arena
where Spring beat Langan for the championship in the dark
ages; or where Tom Thumb was trotting over Sunbury Com-
mon, with a pair of high wheels behind him and a perch on
the axle, facetiously termed a gig; or where some tremendous
match was being run between two crack horses, on a wild and
dreary race-course, with nothing on it but one stand like a
Punch's show, containing six people, — still they were there.
Mr. Page's first care was to have these illustrations of the
sports and pastimes of the people of England carefully re-
moved, and more seemly pictures of his own put in their
places. Next, on the chiffonier, he ranged his library, which
was not lively but very proper ; and, finally, in a sort of dressing-
room, attached to his bed-chamber, he had put up his turning-
lathe, which was a great source of revolving consolation to
p
210 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
him, and enabled him to furnish the spiritual spinsters of the
village with reels and bodkin-cases for their work-boxes,
which they prized highly.
Mr. Page had lots of visitors, and nearly all were ladies,
who in his case did not think it against etiquette to call on
a single gentleman. Some of his friends, however, at times,
made him very uncomfortable: and there were old university
chums who came to see him, having also called upon the
Shiners, and forgot that Mr. Page was obliged to assume dif-
ferent habits to those he had adopted at college. Thus, it
may be conceived how he was shocked, one fine afternoon, on
returning from a district visit, to see two of his old friends
sitting at his open window, with pipes and beer, to witness
the performance of some tumblers in the road, they being, as
it were, in a private box, beneath which half the village were
collected: and the shouts of laughter that greeted the humour
displayed by one of his visitors, in throwing a hot halfpenny
to the merry-andrew, were quite appalling; indeed, Mr. Page
had words with his friends, and was obliged to speak so de-
cisively that he quite trembled at himself for using them.
On the bright snowy morning just alluded to, Mr. Page
had commenced a new accomplishment. Ever since the
Pottleton Ball, at which he had found such great pleasure
hi talking to the ladies of his acquaintance, and had been
pleasantly rebuked by them for always sitting out of the
quadrilles, he had determined to learn to dance. It was the
last thing in the world he might have been expected, or in-
deed ought to have done. But clever simple secluded people
occasionally take wild notions into their heads; and this was
the good curate's. So he arranged a private meeting with
Mr. Stocks, who taught the young ladies at Miss Medlar's 'all
the new and fashionable dances, curtseys, and deportment ;
and three times a week had an hour's lesson, entering upon
the different steps and positions with the same gravity and
attention which he would have bestowed upon a mathematical
problem.
Mr. Page wished to keep this a secret; but he could not.
People in ' the shop' heard unusual hops and jumps overhead;
and the servant, sometimes going unawares into the curate's
room, when he was alone, would find him standing up with
three chairs, one of which he would lead forward, as though
4<^ .yl^^Z'^^r^yruzi
/
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 211
he was about to oiFer it to a visitor, and then put it back
again, subsequently turning it round him. A large unearthly
fiddle, also, on which he was accustomed to play the violon-
cello parts of Haydn's symphonies, was put to a diflferent use,
in puzzling out a totally different style of music; and once,
when a wandering boy with a piano-organ had gone through
the village, Mr. Page detained him for an hour before his
house playing popular airs, whilst, to the folks in the shop,
the footsteps overhead became continuous.
It was on this same brisk cold morning that Miss Martha
Twinch and Annie decided upon paying a visit to Mr. Page,
ostensibly on matters connected with the parish, and they
chanced to arrive at the exact moment that he was having his
lesson. A visit, under any circumstances, would have made
Mr. Page blush; but when he found he was actually detected
:n going round the room, and repeating with Mr. Stocks "one,
two, three— and one, two, three — and one, two, three; a step
and a jump I" his face assumed the tint of a crimson flock, and
his high collars came out in such relief that they almost
dazzled one.
" I fear we interrupt you," said Miss Twinch, speaking
first, and most charitably, for the good curate was quite
dumb.
"Oh — no — -no; not at all!" replied Mr. Page, com-
pletely out of breath, with confusion and exercise. " De —
lighted — to " and here, by way of distraction, he took a
chair, that had lately formed one of his partners, and handed
it to his visitors. " To-morrow, Mr. Stocks," he con-
tinued, aside, to his professor, anxious to get rid of him — " to-
morrow, about twelve."
But Mr. Stocks, to whom politeness was a portion of ex-
istence, would not go until he had bowed respectively to Miss
Martha and Annie, and inquired after everybody they knew,
with the deepest interest; and finally asked if they had seen
the new foreign dance, the Shufflische, so popular at the
nobility's balls, which he was endeavouring to prevail upon
Mr. Page to learn. And not before all that had been gone
through could he be got out of the room.
" You will smile. Miss Martha," said Mr. Page, who had
collected his breath a little, in the meanwhile, " at my occu-
pation. But exercise has been recommended to me, and
p2
'212 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
dancing appears to condense muscular action more than any-
thing else. It is purely a medical whim, I can assure you."
Those who knew the long walks that good Mr. Page took,
across plashy windy commons, with clogs over his cloth
boots, and a large umbrella over his head, in the pursuit of
perverted paupers, would have marvelled at his wanting
exercise. Miss T winch was one of these, and she did so; but
at the same time inwardly rejoiced that her Curate was
learning to dance, as she thought of future balls at Pottleton.
" We have come on a little message — almost professional,'*
said Miss Martha, with a smile; "which may provide a little
more exercise for you, Mr. Page, and perhaps equally agree-
able."
And here Miss Martha smiled still more slily.
" I shall be too happy— anything," replied good Mr. Page.
*' Pray what is it?"
"My brother has come from the union, where he has
been attending the board," said Miss Martha; " and brought
a message, that if you could go there this morning, a woman
who had just come in was anxious to see you."
" I shall be happy to walk up there at once," said Mr.
Page.
" And if," said Miss Martha, almost blushing — " and if it
will not incommode you, I was going there with Miss Mait-
land, and we would keep you company."
Mr. Page was delighted. He rang for his cloth-boots,
blushed as he took them into his adjoining bed-room to put
them on: and presently appeared all ready for the walk.
It was great glory to Miss Martha, as they went up the
village. She returned all the bows made to Mr. Page, even
by the little ragged boys, who appeared insensible to cold,
and were collecting a battery of snowballs to pelt ' Pickled
Sam' with, when he went by after dinner, on his way to the
church. After they had passed, Miss Martha felt one of
them against her back, but she did not sink her dignity by
taking notice of it, walking on as condescendingly as if
nothing bad happened. She knew, at the same time, that it
was a sad idle urchin. Tommy Collier, that had thrown it,
and resolved to be revenged by proxy as it were, upon his
sister Jane, when she returned to school. For the malady
of that hapless perpetually influenza'd-child had so increased
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 213
faring the cold weather, that her feature appeared to be all
going away in a rapid thaw.
Mr. Page was a charming companion — the type of those
largely-informed tutors who walk out with little boys in
story books, and explain that the bud contains the embryo of
the future plant, and that sound travels, as they will see, if
they watch the woodman. Miss Martha thought that he
talked a little too much to Annie Maitland; but then his con-
versation was so interesting, that she could listen to it for
'€ver. He caught a flake of snow upon his hat, and would
have shown them, with his glass, that it was like a crystal
feather, only it melted before he could get his glass in order;
for Mr. Page, in a fashion common with good young
curates, who blush and show much linen, always chose sad-
coloured thread gloves, the fingers whereof were too long
for him: so that in bitter weather, it was a matter of great
distress, not to say impossibility, indeed, for him to take up
small change from a counter. He also made little holes in
the ice with his walking stick, that they might see the fish
come up to them, for air; which, without doubt, they would
have done, only there were none in the pond. And when
they crossed the meadows, he got brave, and ventured on the
frozen flood pools, and invited the ladies to come after him.
Annie declined, but Miss Martha, in the spirit of advancing
young ladies, who will always enter with avidity into girlish
Actions, and dance more furiously, flirt more desperately,
talk more unceasingly, and behave generally more recklessly
than their juniors by ten or twelve years — Miss Martha, we
say, went on the ice, holding Mr. Page's hand — squeezing it,
indeed — rather tightly, and making the meadow ring again
with her laughter. And thus pleasantly did the journey go
on until they came to their destination.
Dibblethorpe union workhouse was a large brick building,
something between an Elizabethan mansion and a county
gaol, situated at the edge of a common about a mile from.
Pottleton. The front of it, as seen from the road, was
rather gay than otherwise, with its banks of new ever-
greens, and diagrams of grass-plots, and flower-borders of
flints from the railway; but the gaiety stopped at the hall
door. There was not a greater difference between the
spangled drapery and trophied columns of the outside of a
214 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
dancing-show at a fair, and the dingy patched canvas and
rude benches of the interior. Yet it was clean, and roomy,
and, indeed, comfortable, albeit there were always letters in
the Dibblethorpe Messenger every week, detailing dreadful
enormities committed therein, which the Tower of London,
the Bridge of Sighs, and the old original Bastille itself, all
put together, could not have equalled in their chronicles.
But the inmates all looked well. The old people were hale
and hearty; the middle-aged ruddy and muscular; and the
children as broad as they were long; and, above all, they
were all clean, which is not a reigning attribute of " The
People." Not being a literary philanthropist, nor addicted
to stirring up wild paupers with a long pen until they become
troublesome, we may venture to say this. Nor did the
mildest correspondents in the Dibblethorpe Messenger look at
the union in its true light, when they spoke of the misery
that must follow on becoming an inmate. They regarded
its wards and diet only in comparison with their own abodes
and living — not with those of the cottagers who v/ent there,
to whom the increased accommodation and comfort must have
been in the same degree, as if they themselves had been
compelled to take up their quarters in a club, or any other
great building where they met their equals.
But this by the way. If we go on in this strain we shall
begin to write ' with a purpose,' which style, in a novellist,
partaking somewhat of the somniferous, we leave to those
benevolent gentlemen who prefer — and very properly — im-
proving their readers to entertaining them. As Mr. Page
and his companions arrived at the union, they met the inde-
fatigable Mr. Blandy just coming out.
Mr. Blandy, as we have seen, was the parish-doctor, and,
by dint of his horse's legs and his own, with those of an
assistant, circumscribed more ground in a day than did the
oxhide of Queen Dido. He greatly respected the guardians,
upon whose votes on Easter Tuesday his appointment de-
pended, and kept in with the master and mistress, who,
accordingly, never sent for him without real occasion.
" A bad case," said Mr. Blandy, after the first recognition,
as he took his horse from the gate-post, where it was accus-
tomed to stand for any length of time. " A bad case. A
poor woman tas come in with a broken leg. She slipped
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 215
down in tlie long field belonging to Grant, walking from
Dibblethorpe last evening, and lay there all night.
" During the snow-storm !" exclaimed Annie.
" Just so, my dear," said Mr. Blandy. " She was almost
covered up when the little boy first found her this morn-
ing.
" This must be the person who wished to see me," ob-
served Mr. Page. " You will excuse me, ladies," he added,
with a blushing bow to Martha Twinch and Annie, " there
is a famous fire in the board-room if you like to sit down,
and it may amuse you to read the laws, which are framed,
over the mantel-piece."
And then, feeling he had recommended a weak amusement,
almost before he had finished, Mr. Page blushed deeper, and
went into the house, whilst Annie and Miss Martha con-
tmued to talk to Mr. Blandy.
"Is there much illness about?" asked Miss Twinch.
" Pretty well, I think, for such fine weather," replied Mr.
Blandy, complacently. " I believe, though, it is chiefly in
my direction; I hear Dr. Keene was at the reading-room for
two hours yesterday, in the middle of the day. That does
not look as if he was very busy!"
" It does not, indeed," observed Miss Twinch.
" And for a * doctor,' too," continued Mr. Blandy. " You
see the diploma does not always carry confidence with it.
Far be it from me to reflect upon a brother practitioner; but
when it is so generally known that, in point of interest, the
parishioners of Pottleton are as so many ciphers to the
Fellows of the Royal Society — why — and pray understand
that I speak in all absence of rivalry, because I know that
Dr. Keene's position, although he is only a Fellow of the
College of Surgeons, is still far above mine — what can one
expect? I ask you. Miss Twinch, as being gifted with per-
ception a little above the ordinary run — what can one
expect?"
Miss Martha scarcely knew what one was to expect under
such circumstances, and was puzzled to reply. So Mr.
Blandy turned it off by pulling the girths of the horse much
tighter, and then, getting on him, bowed, and went off quite
in a gallant caracole — chevauchant, as old Monstrelet would
have said, had he seen him — along the road, until he turned
216 THE POTTLETON LEGACY
the corner, when he dropped into the usual parochial trot,
and so continued until he came to the next cottage halt upon
his journey.
Meanwhile, Mr. Page had been introduced to the bedside
of the female who had desired to see him; whilst Miss Martha
and Annie had gone into the general infirmary to visit the
patients. It was a cheerful room in the day time, albeit, in
so remote a part of the country, it was, in some measure, a
perfect hospital ward. The windows faced the south, and
the sun came warm, and bright through their swinging panes,
and nourished the slipped geraniums and "creeping jennies"
that the poor people had placed on the sills. But it was very
sad at night. For then the dim lamp that burnt until
morning, cast a sickly light upon the formal row of beds,
each with its fevered and restless inmate. Here lay one —
trembling — ^panting through the night, as she reflected upon
the operation to take place on the morrow, that could alone
save her from the grave — dreaming that the dreadful ordeal
was past, and that she was well — and then awaking to the
dreary reality of the ward. Further on, another could not
stifle the low wail of pain and exhaustion that her hopeless
disease forced from her parched lips, although she tried to
keep it to herself, for the sake of the other sufferers. And
at the extreme end, perhaps, there might be seen, through
the obscurity, a screen placed round the bed, and behind it
lay the body from which life had just departed, and which
would presently be borne off stealthily to the chill dead-house,
so that when the adjoining patient awoke in the morning,
the neighbour she had assisted and tried to cheer would not
be there.
Miss Martha went round to the beds and inquired into the
wants of the patients, and what Mr. Blandy could order for
them; also lending them some of the small periodicals (at
fourpence a dozen for distribution) to enliven their weary
hours with. But when she came to the bed of the poor girl,
— who would be dead of consumption before her little baby
was two months old, — she looked very stern, and marched
by, to talk to the nurse. Annie waited there, however, and
gave the broken-hearted sufferer some oranges, pressing her
hand, and kissing her infant's soft cheek so gently, that the
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 217
motlier burst into tears. For insult and scorn had so crushed
her, spiris that now she could not bear kindness.
When Mss Martha had concluded her inspection, she
went with Annie into the room which IVIr. Page had recom-
mended to them, and there awaited his return. He was not
long coming; but when he arrived, his countenance was
somewhat thoughtful, and he excused himself from walking
back with them — " for," he said, " he had some visits to pay-
in another direction." And although Miss Martha still offered
to accompany him, and even declared that she had not had
walking enough by several miles, he could not think of taking
her so far out of her way with him. So he started off,
leaving the two ladies to return to Pottleton alone. To
Annie this made very little difference — of the two, perhaps,
she preferred it; but it caused much discontent in Miss
Martha's bosom. She did not, however, inflict much of her
anger on her companion; but vented it on the cottagers she
chanced to call upon going home. And upon those who,
having large families of helpless children, and unheard of
household labours to accomplish every day, had not time to
read the interesting little tracts she left with them, to be
kept clean and called for again, her anger fell with especial
severity. For most country spinsters, who have been kept
too long, become rather tart; and none more sharply so than
those who worry cottagers and bore medical men, under the
guise of religious charity, which never, by any chance ex-
tends to beef and blankets.
Let us now, however, return to Mr. Page, from the time
when he followed the porter of the union to the room in
which the poor person who desired to see him was lying.
She had been placed in a small room, on the ground floor,
as it was found next to impossible to get her up stairs, after
her accident; and here the curate was introduced to her,
directly after the visit of Mr. Blandy, who had left her, as
the nurse said, " quite comfortable." He found a female oi
about forty years old, lying on an iron bedstead, drawn near
the hot-water pipe that warmed the building, and ordinarily
produced the children's chilblains, from their feet being con-
stantly kept on it. As he entered, she expressed a wish to
speak to him alone, upon which the nurse withdrew, greatly
218 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
to her annoyance, and not until the desire of the poor woman
had been twice conveyed to her by Mr. Page.
As soon as they ascertained that she was gone, by her
departing footsteps along the stone passage, the woman spoke
— faintly and in broken sentences, the nurse's notions of the
comfortable, being rather formed upon comparative states
than any fixed standard.
"I have something of consequence, sir — at least so it
may turn out — to speak to you about," she said. " But I must
first beg that you will promise not to reveal it. It might
bring some into much trouble, and perhaps cost me my life
even, were it to be mentioned to a soul."
*' You may rely upon my keeping sacred whatever you
entrust to me," said Mr. Page, in reply; wondering what
might be the important business that this poor woman could
have with him.
She gazed at him earnestly for a few seconds, and then
went on: —
" I was foolish enough to think — but only for an instant —
that you recollected me, when you were looking at me just
this minute. But you could not have been born when I first
left Pottleton."
" You know the village then?" asked Mr. Page.
" I was born there," answered the other, sadly. " I mar-
ried from there: and I am in hopes that I may, sometime,
be buried there. All my family lie in the church-yard.
There were tomb-stones once over them, but it is so long
since I have seen the place, that I dare say they are all gone
now, and so must be my friends — all gone!"
Tears had been stealing down the woman's lined and
sharp features as she spoke. She now went off into an hys-
terical fit of crying, during which poor Mr. Page did not
know exactly what to do, and would have recalled the nurse
but for thinking that the patient would not wish it. So he
sat quietly, awaiting the termination of the paroxysm, as he
steamed his cloth boots against the pipe. The other soon
went on again.
" You must know my name," she said, adding, in a low
voice; " did you ever hear of Sherrard, at Pottleton ?"
" Undoubtedly," said Mr, Page; " he lives, or lived, at
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY. 2l9
the Grange. And you are his wife?" he exclaimed, as a
sudden thought struck him.
" They do not know that," said the woman, alarmed.
* They have not told you that I was — I mean the people
here?"
" They know nothing about you, that I am aware of," re-
plied the cjirate. " It was a mere supposition. I had heard,
some time ago, that Sherrard had a wife somewhere in
London."
" It is true, sir," returned the woman.
"And who are your friends?" inquired Mr. Page; "and
what has brought you back to Pottleton?"
" I told you, sir, their names are in the churchyard," she
went on; " do not ask me any more. As to my coming to
Pottleton, it is concerning that I wished to see you."
" Speak freely," said Mr. Page, seeing that she hesitated;
" you may depend upon my secrecy."
" Do you know the daughter of the old lady, Mrs. Mait-
land, who lived at the Grange?" asked Margaret, as we may
now call Sherrard's wife.
" She is in the house at this moment," replied Mr. Page.
The woman started, and appeared wavering in some re-
quest for a few seconds. At last she said, as it were to her-
self, "No, no; not here — not here."
" You would not like to see her, then?" asked the curate,
divining w^hat was passing in her thoughts.
"No," she said, hurriedly, "no; but it is about her I
wish to speak. Let her take care, for she is in jeopardy —
not of her life — but of her happiness and everything belong-
ing to her. There is a deep plan, in London, to get what-
ever her aunt left her."
" Indeed !" exclaimed Mr. Page, all attention. " I almost
thought as much. Do you know a person named Flitter?"
" I am coming to him," she said. " He is leagued with
my husband to lay hold of everything. I overheard all their
plans by chance; and when I could leave London, I got
away, and came down here as well as I was able. I should
have come to you first, as the clergyman, for I did not dare
to go to the Grange, where Annie Maitland lives, fearing to
meet my husband."
220 THE POTTLETON LEGACY,
" She is not there now," observed Mr. Page.
" As it is, I think he saw me," she continued, without
heeding his last remark. " I came over from Dibblethorpe
hy the fields, last night, not even wishing to be seen, and
perhaps recognised, at the railway; and in the snow-drifts I
missed my footing, and this accident happened. I was in the
snow all night; how I am alive to tell it is a wonder, unless
I was spared by Providence to speak to you."
She was evidently becoming exhausted with the conversa-
tion. Mr. Page saw this, but was too deeply interested in
the revelation not to prolong it.
"But what are these plans?" he asked.
" I cannot tell," she said; " but all that craft and safe vil-
lany can do will be employed. Only, do you watch over
the girl, or she will be sacrificed."
" You may depend upon me," answered Mr. Page.
** And do not breathe a word of this to a soul, I again im-
plore you. They do not know here who I am — they have
not even got my own name. May I trust you?"
She asked this last question with so much painful earnest-
ness that Mr. Page was really touched. He appeared to be
the sole person in the world that this poor woman had to
rely upon.
" I have told you that everything is safe with me," he an-
swered: " and my acting upon your suggestions will be the
best proof of the value I attach to them. You require a
little rest. I will now leave you; but you will see me very
often. In the meanwhile, you may trust to my discretion."
The good young curate, who, now that he was following
up his serious duties had not blushed once, keeping that
weakness only for society, bade the poor patient good bye in
his kindest manner. And then, quite confused at what he
had heard, and determining that a long walk by himself was
necessary to arrange his plans for acting upon, he returned
to Miss Martha and Annie, and parted from them in the
manner we have witnessed.
Day closed in early over Pottleton, and the solemn wintry
twilight stole rapidly along the valley, soon after the last
pale glow of sunset left the old tower of the church cold and
grey once more. Then, one by one, the windows were seen
THE POTTLETON LEGACY, 221
lighted up; and the "Red Lion ' enticed customers by the
cheery glow that wavS seen dancing and flickering on the
ceiling of the common room, above the warm red window
curtains. The two candles in *' the shop" sent their rays
almost from one end of the village to the other, for lamps
were as yet unknown; and when they were extinguished^
such travellers as there were got through the village as they
could. At present, this was no very difficult task, for the
bright moon soon rose above the hill, and shone forth so, in
the clear frosty air, that good eyes could see the white walls
of the next station gleaming in the distance.
A little room had been allotted to Annie, in Mr. Twinch's
mansion, on the ground floor, as a kind of boudoir, to whick
she retired when the enthusiasm of teaching the infants, or
the difference of family opinion that sometimes prevailed
promiscuously between the brothers and sisters, got too
powerful to be pleasant. To this, something like a con-
servatory was attached, formed, it was reported in the village,
of the shop windows of a refractory dealer who entertained
different notions of paying his rent to those cherished by his
landlord; and had been obliged to quit ultimately, after much
tough resistance, by the establishment of draughts of air all
over his house, consequent on the removal of the w^indows
aforesaid. Within this small greenhouse Annie had collected
her pet flowers for the winter, and the funnel of a small
stove that ran through it sufficed to give it a little warmth.
It was pleasant enough in the summer, when the vines were
in full leaf on the roof, and the canariensis and convolvulus
climbed up the rough fir trellis — that Whackey Clark had set
up after the model the triumphal arch had afforded when the
railway opened — through which glimpses of the bright flowers
could be caught in the sunny garden. But now, in the
morning, the frost covered the glass with its fairy groves; the
vine looked like a parcel of straggling crooked dry sticks
that no one would ever have accused of vitality; and the
stumps that jutted forth from some of the flower pots
appeared as likely to blow, on a future occasion, as a clothes-
peg, or a stuffed-bird's perch would have done, planted in a
similar manner.
On the evening of the visit to the Union, Annie had retired
to her apartment, to finiab some elaborate piece of woman's
222 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
work that she was perfecting for Philip; and had, as usual,
opened the door between the room and the green-house, that
the heat from the fire might pass into it. She had been
working some little time — after the curfew, which was still
rung at eight o'clock in the old tower, according to the cus
tom of some country places, had sent its solemn voice of rest
over the surrounding country — when she heard a sound like a
person tapping against the glass of the conservatory. Think-
ing it might be some dry branch beating against the panes by
the wind, she at first took no notice of it; but it was almost
immediately repeated, and in too measured and distinct a
tone for it to be the effect of accident. Somewhat startled,
she rose from her seat, and, looking towards the glazed front,
was still further frightened to see the shadow of a figure
thrown by the moonlight upon the half-rimy panes. Her
first impulse was to run and call the servants ; but before she
could gain the door, a small practicable pane was pushed open
and she was called by her name. She knew the voice directly;
it was Sherrard's.
" Hush !" he exclaimed, in a low tone: " do not move. It
is only me; come here."
" Mr. Sherrard," cried the girl, her voice quivering with
the alarm.
" Come here !" he repeated. Annie went towards .the
window.
" I must speak to you," he went on, " on business of the
utmost importance. I have been trying all day to see you
alone, and have only found you so this minute. You must
come with me."
" With you ?" cried Annie, all amazement.
" Yes, with me," replied the Ganger. " If I am seen here
I shall be at once taken up and sent to gaol."
He spoke with reference to certain deficiencies at the pay-
table of the railway, which had laid him open to unpleasant
meetings, not only with the constabulary force of Pottleton,
but also with the * navvies' he had engaged.
" I am not going to hurt you, Annie," he continued: " you
can trust wzc, I suppose; but I cannot talli to you here. Come
with me. You may be sorry, by and by, that you did not, if
you refuse."
« What do you mean?" inquired the now really terrified girl.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 223
" I mean what I say," said the other, with a vulgar air of
mystery. " I should not come in this way to find you, if my
business was not of importance; I only want you to come to
the Grange — ten minutes will be enough."
" 1 cannot do it," returned Annie. " What will they think
here, when they find me gone?"
" There is nobody to think," said the Granger; " the old
man is at the Red Lion with the farmers, and his sister is at
the school. You will be back long before either of them. Are
you coming? If not — then good night, and repent some day
you did not, as well as Philip."
He made a feint to retreat, when Annie exclaimed —
" Stop! I will come; only you promise that I shall be
back in a few minutes?"
" Who can detain you?" asked the other. " I am not a
murderer. You appear to have forgotten altogether what
friends we once were. Hush ! there are some people coming
up the road. I^oUow me to the Grange."
He left the garden as he spoke, and Annie, trembling and
bewildered, took her shawl and bonnet, and leaving the house
by the doorof the conservatory, followed him as he had desired.
The shadows of the buildings fell on the path they were track-
ing, so that they were not noticed. When Annie got to
the Grange she found the other waiting at the door to receive
her. He led the way into the old room, and she followed
him almost without fear. She had not been there since her
aunt died, but the place seemed homely and familiar to
her.
The Ganger threw some chips on the embers in the fire-
place, and fanned them into a flame with his hat, after he had
looked to see that a sack nailed across the window prevented
the light from being seen in the road. But there was not
much chance of interruption. The old building lay down a
bye lane ; it was late, also, for the village, and the snow was
beginning to fall.
" And now, Mr. Sherrard," said Annie, " what do you
want?"
" What lies and nonsense did she talk to you to-day ?"
asked the man, angrily.
" She !" exclaimed Annie—" Who ?"
"Oh! you know well enough," he replied; "I have not
224 THE POTTLETON 'LEGACY.
watched and slunk about the cold fields all day for nothing.
Who did you see at the workhouse ?"
" Those who have been there for weeks," returned the
girl; " and I did not speak ten words to any of them. What
do you mean ?"
She spoke the last phrase so earnestly, that Sherrard was
almost startled in his turn.
"Hush!" he rejoined; "and listen; there is no occasion
for everybody to know what passes here. I don't much care
to be found myself, if it comes to that. On your honour,
have you not heard my name mentioned by any one to-day?"
" By no living soul."
"It is odd," the Ganger went on; "but I suppose I must
believe you. I never knew you tell a lie, before you became
a fine lady, and forgot all your old friends."
"I have never forgotten your kindness to me, when I
thought I had not one in the world," answered Annie.
" I wish 1 could tell what game you are playing," said the
Ganger, fixing his keen eye upon her with a searching
glance; that falsehood would have been shrivelled by.
" I do not understand you," cried the girl. " Mr. Sherrard,
pray tell me what you mean, and let me go."
" I thought I had more to tell you," he replied. " No
matter; you will be sure to hear it. Now listen; you will
probably, in a few days, hear your best friends spoken of as
criminals, and those who are really bent upon your ruin cried
Tip as angels."
" On my ruin!" exclaimed Annie; " I have no enemy in
the world."
"Others have thought the same," said Sherrard; "and
with less cause than you have to alter their opinion. You
say 3''0u have no enemies; are you sure of your friends?"
" You are speaking in such riddles," replied Annie; " how
can I understand you?"
"Pshaw!" the Ganger went on; "look here, then — if you
must know all. You think your cousin loves you."
"He does!" she exclaimed. A low short laugh from
Sherrard was the only reply.
" You know something, I am certain, that you wish to
hide from me," she went on. " Oh, tell me; pray tell
me!"
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 225
" I know nothing more than all the world knows," replied
the Ganger. " I know that Philip Maitland is becoming the
most dissipated man upon town; that he is getting involved
far beyond all chance of redemption; and that his friend,
Mr. Flitter, will soon get tired of freeing him from his em-
barrassments, as he has already done half a dozen times."
" It cannot be true," said Annie.
" Possibly it cannot," resumed Sherrard, " and yet it is
Now, look here, and do not slight what I tell you; for I
know his depth. You will hear — if, as you say, you have
not already done so — fearful stories against myself and
Flitter by a person that, I know, has came to the village for
that express purpose. Do not believe a word. Philip
Maitland is playing a deep game with you; it is your own
fault if you are taken in."
" Have you anything more to say?" asked Annie, pale and
trembling, as she gathered her shawl around her to depart,
offering no comment upon Sherrard's speech.
"Nothing," was the reply; "only, think upon the hints I
have given to you. As I have told you, you may trust me ;
and when you want a friend you will find me ready to assist
you."
" And I may go, now?"
" Certainly. Stop — I will see you to the end of the lane.
Look out of the door, and tell me if any one is about."
" There is nobody," said Annie, doing as he ordered her.
Sherrard gave her his arm, to which she clung — chilled
and frightened at her mysterious interview — and they went
up the lane towards the long main thoroughfare of the village.
As they turned the corner, and the young girl prepared to
wish Sherrard good night, two persons coming along the
causeway met them. The moon was still shining brightly;
and Annie was surprised to recognise, and be recognised by,
Mr. Page and JMr. Twinch, returning home from some paro-
chial festivity, at which, in their respective positions, they
had been assisting.
The Ganger turned quickly away as he saw they were
observed, and was almost immediately lost in the deep
shadow of one of the houses; but Annie remained, trembling
jdth confusion and fright, before the two others.
" Miss Maitland!'' exclaimed Mr. Page, with astonishment.
226 THE POTTLETON LEGACY
"Halloo, Sly"boots!" cried Mr. Twinch, who had been
drinking the healths of all tbe parish ever since three
o'clock, and was by no means to be trusted alone on the snow
slides which the boys had made on the footpath. " So that*s
it — is it? Doing a little bit of courting by moonlight, eh?
And very nice, too."
" Mr. Twinch," cried Annie, "let me assure you — and
you, sir," she continued, turning to Mr. Page — "that a
matter of importance alone brought me here to-night."
" I hope it is so," said the young curate. " But, Miss
Maitland, is it not injudicious in you to be keeping appoint-
ments at this hour, and away from home?"
" Leave her alone, parson, leave her alone," continued the
convivial Mr. Twinch; "you're only jealous that it is not
yourself. I saw him — he'd make two of you. Come along;
it's all right."
" Let me accompany you," cried Annie, as she grasped Mr.
Page's arm. " Indeed, indeed you are mistaken! I have not
come here by my own free will."
" I did not know that you were under constraint," said
Mr. Page, somewhat coldly.
The good young curate was evidently hurt ; but it is diffi-
cult to say how much some slight jealousy had hold of his
feelings. Still he was very polite. He offered his arm to
Annie, and they moved towards home.
" Always true what I say," continued Mr. Twinch.
" Always true, as I was saying. Let's see — what was it
about. Hold up!"
The last caution was addressed to himself, as he stepped
npon the edge of the path.
" Ah — yes; that was it," he went on. " Always the way
— your quiet ones are the real little gipsies after all. Never
mind, young lady; when I was your age, I "
" We are at home," said Mr. Page, as they stopped at the
lawyer's door. ''Miss Maitland — good evening."
And with a formal bow he walked off, leaving poor Annie
to enter the house with her exhilarated companion.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 227
CHAPTER XXIII.
A LETTER, A DINNER, AND AN ADVENTURE.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter and Philip were alone in a secret
connected with the duel, which may now be divulged. The
pistols had never been loaded with ball. But the latter had
promised, sacredly, by no means to betray this to a soul — not
even to Mr. Spooner; and, indeed, it was not likely that such
a revelation would be made. Brought up before a magistrate,
they were both obliged to enter into recognizances to keep
the peace, which the Oxford young gentleman easily found;
and then they were allowed to depart, being joined by Mr.
Flitter in the neighbourhood of the office. That great tac-
tician had kept in the neighbourhood, after his breakfast at
Spooner's rooms, to see which way affairs would go; and
being informed by Mr. Jollands, of the hospitals, who ven-
tured into the court, 'that they were both as right as ninepence,
before either could say peas,' he had ventured forth to meet
them. Mr. Spooner almost directly started for Oxford, to
talk about the affair he had been engaged in, making Philip
promise that he would come down to see him in the ensuing
week; and Mr. Flitter went with his friend as far as his
lodgings in the street running out of the Strand, and there
left him, not caring just then to face Mrs. Docker, but ap-
pointing to meet him at Brainer and Clinch's, in the after-
noon. In the meantime it was his intention to talk about
the duel to everybody that he expected would spread it, and
therefore he started to sun himself on the pavement of the
clubs in St. James's Street, and catch such as he knew were
the best chatterers thereunto belonging.
On arriving at his room, Philip found a letter from Annie,
— written, we should state, before the events of the last
chapter — which ran as follows: —
" My Dearest Philip, — It is so very long since I have
heard from you, and they make me feel so uncomfortable
here, by wondering every day why I do not have a letter,
that I write to beg you will send me one, if it only contains a
few lines. Sometimes I think that I must have offended you,
and that is why you are so silent. I am sure such has not
Q 2
228 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
been my intention; and you know, my own dear Philip, or
rather you ought to know, that I would go through a great
deal, silently and without complaint, rather than cause you
one minute's annoyance; for I am sure you must have
enough in great London to worry you. But a few lines,
which you could write in two minutes, w^ould make me very
happy. Only tell me that you are well, and getting on, and
think of me sometimes. I do not want to hear anything else.
If you were only to direct an envelope, and send it to me,
it would be something.
" I have very little news to tell you, for one day here is
exactly like another. Miss Twinch is still in London. Have
you seen her? but I suppose you do not meet folks when you
go out as we do here. Young Mr. Grant has offered to lend
me a pony if I like to ride with him sometimes to Dibble-
thorpe. Would there be any harm in it? because if you don't
like me to, Philip, pray tell me. It won't cost me anything,
as I can make a very good habit out of my old green cloak,
which I never wear now. I do so wash the year was over, to
know everything. But however it may turn out, believe me,
my dearest Philip,
" Your very affectionate
Annie."
" P.S. — You wall write soon, won't you?"
There w^as not a great deal in this letter, but every line of
it went to Philip's heart. He knew that all the while he had
been rattling on in London, scarcely thinking of his cousin
(because he felt so sure of her), all this time Annie had re-
mained in her present quiet home, day after day expecting to
hear from him as the village postman went round to the dif-
ferent houses, delivering his letters and selling poultry, — and
day after day being disappointed; and it would have been
such a small sacrifice of his time to have written !
However, he determined upon sending her a letter that
afternoon. In the meantime he had promised to see to some
things for poor Mr. Scute, before he met Flitter at the print-
ing-ofiice. These he accomplished, and at the appointed time
he went to the rendezvous. To his astonishment he found
Mr. Scute there. The poor man was conversant with all
kinds of troubles connected with difficulties. Executions in
THE POTTLETON LEGACr. 229
the house, bill-miseries, prisons, and levanting from lodgings
— borrowing mean sums in a mean manner, and undertaking
degrading commissions — were all familiar to him, and he
could face them. But he was unused to death, and he had to
give up his front room for the poor child to lie in; so that
he had sent his other little girl to a kind neighbour's, with
her scanty wardrobe and battered doll tied up in an old
Sunday paper, and, leaving the woman in possession of his
dreary lodgings, without going to bed, had betaken him-
self to the nearest public-house. And here he had been
sitting and drinking gin, go after go, until a miserable
flush of spirits once more drove away the thoughts of
his actual misery. But there was not, as at evening, any-
body to talk to: so after a time he got restless, and wandered
about the streets, looking at old book-stalls and talking to
small actors and reporters whom he met about the theatres,
until he began to tell his miseries and cry over them, when
they adjourned to another tavern. And this kept on until he
at length got to Brainer and Clinch's, where he met Flitter
and Philip, to their astonishment.
" I have got a capital subject for you, Mr. Maitland," he
said quickly as he entered, for he did not want them to allude
to his trouble — " a serial, weekly, of two columns, to be
called ' The Life of a Vagabond,' you could do it famously."
Philip smiled at what could hardly be considered as a com-
pliment.
" Don't you think the subject would be too entirely
amongst "
And here Mr. Brainer was seized by a fit of sneezing that
interrupted him for a minute.
" Too entirely amongst ," said Mr. Clinch, stopping
dead short at the extent his partner had arrived at.
" The lower walks of life," suggested Mr. Flitter.
Mr. Brainer nodded his head, and so did Mr. Clinch.
" It's great success, sirs," answered Mr. Scute, whose eyes
were staring and starting from his head with his excitement.
" Reflect on the immense majority of low people over high
ones. But what are low people, sirs? They are the brawny
arms, and swart faces, and unshorn chins you see about — the
giants of the world — the tax-oppressed and fettered engines of
the great human system I"
280 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
The others knew that when Mr. Scute got on this subject,
no one might tell when he would end. So Mr. Flitter and
Philip turned to the partners, touching certain arrangements,
and left him to go on alone.
And this he did, talking vast philanthropy, and alluding to
the immense circulation " The Cracker" would get into : and
the awful manner in which he, as editor, intended entirely to
smash, put down, and annihilate therein, various persons and
systems, beyond all chance of revival. For it is a singular
idiosyncrasy with some literary gentlemen, that they regard
their productions through a lens of mental delusion of a re-
markable kind: inasmuch as the more chance their favourite
work has of failing, the more they say abroad that it will go,
or is going, by thousands — not in vanity and from a wish to
impose on others, but to make themselves believe it. They
have also notions that the lightest touches of their pens are
suiScient to move the world from its axis, and that the
smallest paragraph, the instant it appears, pervades the whole
universe, and animates the minds of the entire human race
with sentiments akin to its own. In this vein poor Mr.
Scute went on.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?" asked Mr.
Wyndham Flitter of Philip, as, their business transacted, they
left the printing-office, each with a cheque in his pocket from
the proprietors.
" I was going home to write," said Philip: " I have had a
letter from my cousin. I know you are good enough to feel
an interest in my affairs, so I will read it to you."
And as they went along Philip read Annie's letter to his
companion.
" You see I ought to answer that," he said. " I have been
wrong in not writing before; and this has somewhat upset
me."
" Pshaw !" replied Flitter, " a girl has got nothing else to
do but write letters; she forgets that you have other things
to think about. Don't be in such a hurry to answer."
" But you see she is hurt at my inattention. I shall answer
it to-day."
" Now take the advice of an older man than yourself, my
boy," said Flitter. " Never give in too readily."
" But there is nothing to give in here."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY 281
"Ah!" replied the other, mysteriously, "as you think.
You've got a little of the world to see yet. Come into the
city, and we'll change the cheques."
'* We can leave them until to-morrow, when I shall be
there."
" Never keep a cheque a day — not an hour, more than you
can help," Flitter answered; " I never do. Suppose anything
was wrong with Brainer and Clinch's?"
" Oh — there is nothing likely to be wrong there. They
may be safely trusted."
" Never trust anybody," said Mr. Flitter, " except, per-
haps, me," he added. " I don't think / should care to de-
ceive you."
" I am sure you would not," answered Philip, warmly.
At this minute Mr. Flitter was hailed by name from a
Hansom, which was immediately pulled up short in the centre
of some coal-carts and omnibuses, provoking the usual com-
pliments, and the head of young Rasper, of the Guards, pro-
truded from it.
" Mr. Flitter," said he, " I have heard all about your affair
this morning with the Count" (Wyndhara had taken care to
give M. Polpette a title) " and the Oxford man. I am on
guard at the Tower to-da}'-. Come and dine with us, and
tell us all about it."
" Let me present my friend to you," said Flitter, " who
was Spooner's second — Mr. Maitland."
" Perhaps you will give us the pleasure of your company,
too ?" asked the G-uardsman.
Philip bowed.
"Very well — recollect the Beauchamp Tower: half-past
seven — sharp. All right, cabby: go on. Guards' Club.
Good bye."
And the Hansom was immediately lost in the ruck of vehi-
cles.
"There!" said Flitter, as they went on again, "what do
you say to that, Philip? I think the walk into the city has
been worth something."
To dine with the Guards, and in the Tower of London!
Philip's head was quite bewildered, and he scarcely knew
whether to be pleased or frightened at it.
The cheques were changed, and then "Wyndham took
232 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Philip to lunch at a comical old tavern in the depths of the
city, where they first bought their steak at the butcher's next
door, and then carried it in to be cooked on the large grid-
iron in the eating-room. Piiilip was almost ashamed to do
so. and thought if the Guards could see him, what they would
think of him ; but Mr. Flitter assured him it was the proper
thing — even for noblemen and her Majesty's ministers — some
of whom, without doubt, they should meet in the tavern. He
knew the girl who superintended the gridiron, and pointed
out to her, with almost affectionate confidence, where to put
their portions to be cooked the best. Broiling hot and tender
it certainly was, and the pewter plate made it hiss again;
indeed, Philip confessed that he had never enjoyed anything
so much. Then Mr. Flitter put him up to the secret of
some excellent punch to be had there, which Philip also gave
in to, still looking up at the clock every now and then, and
saying that he must go home and write. On which Mr. Flit-
ter assured him there was plenty of time; so they had more
punch, and then agreed to go and call on Mrs. Wracketts. Here
Philip sat some time and heard that lady try some new bal-
lads, which perfectly enchanted him. At last he said he
must go home and write; upon which Mrs. Wracketts was so
sorry, for she was going out in her Brougham, and wanted
Philip to accompany her. This was a fresh temptation not
to be resisted. The Brougham was ordered, and they drove
forth, Mrs. Wracketts making such wonderful eyes, and talk-
ing so fascinatingly to Philip all the time, that now his head
was quite turned, and the post hour went by, so that he did
not write to Annie after all.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter was staying at an hotel near London
bridge for a few days " until his effects arrived from Ostend,
which he expected by each packet," and here Philip met him
at a quarter past seven, and they went on to the Tower. Mr.
Wyndham Flitter did not appear to stand in any awe of the
beef-eaters or sentinels; although Philip was somewhat nervous,
expecting, as it were, for any breach of etiquette, to be called
out and shot immediately by the authorities. But his friend
boldly crossed the court yard and led the way up the steps of
the Beau champ Tower.
Nobody had yet arrived, so Philip, who was all eyes, had
time to look about him a little. The appearance of the room
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 233
was somewhat in contrast to that which it must have pre-
sented in former times, when day after day the dying
twilight closed in upon failing hearts, whose throbbings grew
fainter and fainter in that dismal stony room until they
ceased to beat; and every cold ray of early morning only an-
nounced another day of hopeless wailing and agony. Now
the stony walls, it is true, remained, with all their sad memo-
rials of anguish or resignation; but the one of the deep arches
was shrouded by the gay colours of the regiment; a cheerful
fire blazed and crackled on the hearth, reflected in tiny beacons
on the plate and glass of the well-appointed dinner-table; and
the air, instead of being imprisoned, was kept out by a screen
covered with light and graceful subjects, that conveyed an
idea of aught but solitude or despondency.
* Presently an officer appeared. He did not know Mr.
Wyndham Flitter or Philip, but he bowed politely to them;
poked the fire; said it was colder than yesterday; and then
proceeded to settle various straps and buttons of his uniform
which did not appear comfortable. After him came an Ensign,
who was young and mild, and not bothered with a beard —
thinking there was no fun in life like never going to bed
until six in the morning, and dancing himself to a lath at
every public ball that was advertised. This young gentle-
man stood before the fire, and found out a likeness to a scene
in the last ballet amongst the coals, which sufficiently occupied
him. Anon more arrived, including young Rasper — who im-
mediately introduced his friends — and Jack Poole, who was
formerly in the 7th, and had also been asked. Mr. Wyndham
Flitter now began to talk to every body, and Phihp, in spite
of his misgivings, felt quite at his ease, for there was an easy
graceful courtesy about their new acquaintances — a knowledge
of the most agreeable conventionalities of the social world,
even amongst the youngest, and a gentle manner of availing
themselves of it — that made a stranger feel immediately at
home with, if not one of them.
They all sat down at table, Wyndham and Philip on the
right and left of the commanding officer---Rasper next to
Flitter, and Jack Poole on the other side — and then all the
others, with the Ensign for vice. The duel formed subject-
matter enough for dinner; and the lies that Mr. Wyndham
FKtter told at last approached the marvellous. Philip, who
234 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
did not wish to be brought into this narrative, albeit he was
dazzled by his friend's brilliancy, was engaged with the Colo-
nel in a little sober talk about the inscriptions on the walls,
Normandy, and, finally, about the French railways ; so Wynd-
ham had all the young men to himself, none of whom he
found had ever been out, except Jack Poole; but that was in
Ireland.
" Indeed," said Mr. Flitter, " I fought in Ireland myself
once — a very ludicrous affair. Let me see — that was the
fourth or fifth time I was out. First," and he began to count
his fingers, " with a man who took my hat at an evening
party and swore it was his own. I said if it was I'd spoil it,
and I put a bullet through it, at twelve paces. Secondly, in
America "
" Ah ! indeed," said one of the officers. " Do you know
America?"
" As well as London," replied Mr. Flitter.
" I was in Canada with the Guards, in 1841," continued
the other.
" Canada is the only part I don't know," replied Mr. Flit-
ter. " California — anybody know California ?"
Nobody did.
" Ah! that's America, if you please," said Mr. Flitter, quite
relieved. " I fought a duel there, v/ith a bear-hunter. "We
used rifles, and were to advance and fire. He fired first and
missed. I walked up to him, and said, ' Look here, now :'
being in devilish good practice, ' wait' till those two birds up
there get in a line, and see what I'll do.' He was in a deuced
funk, but he looked up, and when they did get in a line I
fired. The bullet went through one and riddled the other as
well, and they both fell dead."
The Ensign was beaming with admiration and astonish-
ment.
" ' Strainger,' said the man, continued Mr. Flitter, * you
are a screamer!' ' Tell me some news/ said I, ' or else we shall
have another scrimmage!' Upon which he gave me this ring.
The blue stone is a Californian pebble, found in the beds of
rivers after floods. ' There,' he said, ' that belonged to Wash-
ington, and now it's yours.' "
The ring was passed round the table for inspection.
" You were going to tell us something about Ireland," said
joung Rasper.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 235
"Ah! very true — yes; what was it?" replied Flitter,
thinking for an instant. " Oh — I had a row with a man
named Desmond Blake.'*
" What ! Desmond Blake of Clonmel?" asked Poole. " He
was in our regiment."
'< No — one of the Blakes of Bally shannon," replied Mr.
Flitter. " It was a cold morning, and we shivered so that
we could hardly hold our pistols : much less hit one another.
So we kept popping away; and presently Morgan Ryan, who
drove the mail for amusement, pulled up at the roadside, with
all his passengers, to see the fun. He would wait so long
that a gentleman quarrelled with him, and so they borrowed
our pistols for a go-in of their own, whilst we went and had
a drain at the post-house. This brought about a reconcilia-
tion between Blake and myself : but, by Jove, when we had
got back Ryan had shot his man."
" Your friend has seen a great deal of life, I should ex-
pect," said the Colonel to Philip, quietly.
"A great deal, indeed," replied Maitland; "he is altoge-
ther a wonderful person. There does not appear to be any-
thing in the world that he does not know something about."
And it appeared so, for Mr. Wyndham Flitter was akeady
off on another subject.
" Never played Fly Loo ?" he asked. " God bless me! you
astonish me. Why, Fly Loo is the finest game going. You
know Lansquenet T^
" Yes!" said several voices, eagerly. " Is it like it?"
" Not in the least," replied Mr. Flitter : " but it's quite as
good : it's played in California immensely, but it can only be
played in summer."
" Will you explain it ?"
" Certainly," said the other. " Six people sit round a
table and each puts a bit of sugar before him, and stakes a
dollar. The owner of the first bit of sugar that a fly settles
on has all the rest. It's amazingly exciting. I won enor-
mous sums at it one year."
''You were lucky then," observed young Rasper.
" Not particularly. I trained a blue-bottle to keep near
me. It was not exactly the right thing to do, I admit,
but every Yankee is such a sharp blade, that you must be a
sharper, if you would win."
236 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
The conversation circulated with the wine, until it became
general, and then they all launched their favourite topics.
Young Rasper's chiefly related to " little parties" he felt
an interest in. Thus, for instance, there was a little party
had promised to dance with him at Weippert's on the follow-
ing Monday ; and his influence had got another little party
into the ballet at one of the great theatres. His elaborate
shirt-front had al?o been worked for him by a little party in
Paris ; and he furthermore knew a little party who was now
engaged on some slippers for him, near Park Village — all
which admissions were made in a dimly confidential manner
to Mr. Wyndham Flitter, who flattered him in return by
saying that he supposed there were few little parties with
whom Rasper could not be first favourite if he chose.
Percy Hampden, (who sat next,) a fine handsome fellow,
with muscles like iron and the chest of a dray-horse, was
more inclined to sporting. He was always whip to one of
the Guards' drags to Epsom, and usually had a horse there.
He would be Lord Fairland by and by, so some of the
tuft-hunters hung closely about him — took his guards, and
got him good shooting. He was, however, just the same to
everybody : that is, everybody he liked. He could thrash a
snob, hit a woodcock, clear a double, blow a post-horn, tool
a team, breathe a partner, and drink pale ale, with anybody
in the household troops; and when Mr. Wyndham Flitter
told Uim that he recollected the splendid w^ay in which he
cleare(| the bourne at the Great Purling Steeple -chase, they
were Erectly friends for the evening. And in addition, Mr.
Flitter made a great hit with everybody, by showing them
how to balance a cork upon a pin, with two forks, which once
set revolving on an inverted champagne glass would go on
always longer than anybody would wager, and was a safe
bank to keep against a whole table.
Archy Warren had just come back from the Cape, and was
full of Caffres, Boers, and Bosjesmans : Jack Poole cared for
little beyond Paris and Madame Doche; a supper at the
Maison Doree; dancing in an anti-serjent-de-ville style with
a black domino at an Academic ball, and singing argot songs
and parodies without end; w^iilst Mr. Down, the Ensign —
who was a capital fellow when he came out after dinner —
<,y/bey <^0 e<iU-c<:>rLa^?'ri/z
2/ i^' cH/^^-e^^^
THE POTTLETON LEGACY, 237
had his mind tinged with various shades, from these different
attributes, and delighted in a smattering of all.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter was wonderful that day. He talked
South African politics with Warren, and laughed about the
Bal Mabille and Mogadore with Jack Poole ; and told the
young ensign capital things on the sly, until he was nearly
choked in his coat-collar with laughter. But he did more
than this. Anxious for Philip to shine, as his friend, he
drew him out upon all the subjects he knew him to be best
acquainted with, with consummate tact, until his friend, in
one or two instances, when he told a few local Normandy
legends, or gave some capital imitations of the French rail-
way workmen quarrelling^ commanded the attention of the
table. Dazzled with the light-hearted, creamy society in
which he found himself— pleased with its courtesy, and
flushed with the wine, the contagious mirth, and the associa-
tions generally, he had never been in better spirits.
The time flew on with swift and spangled wings ; every
minute that had once lagged drearily away in that old tower
was longer than the laughing hours as they now passed.
Scenes of some bright and dazzling future, formed of gay
atoms, tossed together into a brilliant indefinite whole, half
real and half phantasm, like the forms of a kaleidoscope,
were conjured up before Philip's eyes. The future alone
reigned, the throbbing present being made subservient only
to its fancied glories. The chasms of doubt or failure — of
the common-place and the inevitable — were cleared at a
bound ; and a vague but brilliant position was all in which
he could see himself: and all this he owed to Wyndham
Flitter !
At last, the time arrived for them to depart ; for if they
were not outside the gates by eleven, they would be locked
up all night. They broke up with many regrets, and one or
two of the officers came down with them to the outer gates,
at which a succession of cabs kept hurriedly arriving, con-
taining inmates of the fortress who wished to sleep in their
own beds that night. There was a great quantity of shaking
hands, and then they went off arm-in-arm. Jack Poole jump-
ing into a return Hansom, and telling the man to go like
fireworks to the Cyder Cellars.
288 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" What a rush of cabs !" replied Philip.
" Nothing to what I have seen elsewhere," said Mr. Flit-
ter. " I knew a man whom the cabs drove away from his
lodgings. He lived up a court by Twinings, in the Strand —
one of the Temple alleys — and never came out but a dozen
always bolted up to him, crying, ' Here you are, sir !' from
the stand by the church. He was a nervous man, and
couldn't stand it, so he moved."
It was a fine cold night ; so they determined to walk to-
wards their respective homes. When Mr. Flitter got to his
hotel, he said that it was much too early to go to bed, and
voted for extending their walk towards the West End. The
other directly complied, and they went on towards Leicester-
square.
" Have you got any money with you ?" asked Wyndham
of his companion.
" A few sovereigns," answered Philip, " from the cheque."
" All right — so have I," returned the other. " You have
seen a little life to-night — we will see some more. Let us go
into a gaming-house."
"Oh no, no — not there!" exclaimed Philip, hanging
back.
" Why not ?" asked Wyndham. " I am sure you are
lucky. Besides, it's a thing you ought to see, as a rising
man upon town."
" I would much rather not.*'
" Pooh, stuff; here we are. There, you see it is nothing
so terrible."
Mr. Flitter took Philip's arm and half dragged him into a
house, the door of which was just ajar, and along a passage,
at the end of which was another door. He knocked, and a
man's head appeared at a little wicket, when the door was
opened. Wyndham exchanged a nod of recognition, said
something aside to the porter, and then went up stairs to the
back drawing-room.
Two or three men, who were smoking strong cigars, and
drinking whiskey and water, got up rapidly from where they
were sitting, as the visitors entered, and began playing hard
at the table, just as the thimble men, on the approach of a
victim, used to commence their game so extemporaneously on
the race-courses. Indeed, these fellows looked something as
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY. 239
thimble men might be expected to appear in their Sunday
clothes, if they knew what such a day meant. They had a
turn-table before them, and a variegated cloth ; and the keeper
began at once. "Five to one upon the blue; three to one
upon the red; even betting on the black I" as he might
formerly have done in a booth. Mr. Wyndham Flitter threw
down half-a-crown, and so did Philip. They both won; in
fact, there was some contrivance in the divisions of the wheel
that the ball could be checked, almost to a certainty, into
whatever division the man chose. Presently iMr. Flitter
looked hard at the others, who played all at once, and talked
loudly; and then he whispered to Philip to do as he did, and
they might break the bank. Philip assented, getting addi-
tionally excited with the play, and placed comparatively a
large sum on one of the colours. So did Mr. Wyndham
Flitter, apparently, in notes; but a close inspection would
have discovered them to have been issued by a self-confident
artiste, who had such a vast opinion of his abilities, that he
had backed himself to cut hair better than anybody else, to
the extent of many thousand pounds.
The ball was wavering between the two divisions, one of
which was the colour betted on, when the table-keepers gave
the wheel a slight tilt, and turned it into the losing one; and
quick as lightning the croupier swept the money from the
table with the rake. But, swiftly as it was executed, the
manoeuvre was not made rapidly enough to elude Philip's eye.
He immediately demanded his stake back again. This was
of course refused, when, before the " bonnets" were on the
alert, Philip rushed across the room, and, seizing the heavy
poker from the fire-place, dashed the table to pieces, clutch-
ing at the bank, or at least as much of it as he could seize;
then, hitting right and left, he fought his way to the door,
and went down stairs. The porter tried to stop him, but
Philip was desperate, in his danger, and the man was floored,
as the other left the hall door open, and gained the street.
All this was so sudden, that Mr. Wyndham Flitter and his
friends — for such, of course, they were — were completely
paralyzed. Nor were they recalled to their senses, until the
door-keeper, bleeding in the face from Philip's attack, bolted
into the room, and said the police were coming. And then
there was something like a scrimmage. Mr. Flitter jumped
240 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
completely through the window on to the leads, caring no
more for the stained glass and transparent blind with the
birds of Paradise all over it, than if he had been a rider in
a circus going through a large tambourine of silver paper.
Then he climbed like a cat to the top of a low wall, and
from that crawled up a sloping roof to the highest leads of
the houses — scrambling on from one slope to another,
amongst the chimney-pots and along the gutters, as if he
had been on the tiles all his life.
At last, he saw a door open on the roof, and down he
went, rushing into the first room that he came to, which was
the top attic of one of the bonnet-shops where the liberal
proprietors provide assistants gratuitously, to stand at the
doors all day long and point out the most fashionable bon-
nets to country ladies and gentlemen, which is a very kind
and considerate proceeding
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 241
CHAPTER XXIV.
AN UNEXPECTED INTRODUCTION.
We left Mr. Wyndham Flitter, after his escape at the gam-
bling house, and subsequent flight along the roof, rushing
into a door on the tiles, at the summit of one of the Cran-
bourne bonnet stores.
We have been taught that " a thief doth fear each bush an
officer,'' provided he be in a locality adapted to the growth of
bushes. On the housetops he might be excused for falling
into the same error with respect to each chimney-pot; and
such was Mr. Wyndham Flitter*s suspicion. For whilst he
was half hesitating what course to pursue, a cowl on an adja-
cent chimney turned slowly round; and mistaking its out-
line over the the ridge of a house for the hat of an extra-
energetic policeman, he darted through the doorway, and
lifting up a fire-escape trap, which was slightly open at his
feet, he dropped through the aperture into the chamber
beneath.
There are several circumstances under which people expe-
rience sudden surprises, well-nigh tending to bring on great
nervous commotions. A thoughtful gentleman walking near
Smithfield, on a market-day, and finding himself suddenly
impelled through the window of an optician's shop, by the
head of a bullock whose horns are too wide apart to impale
him, may be excused for uttering an exclamation of astonish-
ment as he falls amidst the wreck of dissolving views, gal-
vanic batteries, and barometers, caused by his intrusion: an
old lady incontinently sent down the centrifugal railway: a
poetical youth rowing his wager-boat against Putney bridge,
as he thinks sentimentally of the moon : a gentleman taken
for the first time behind the s<jenes, and discovering him-
self in front of the audience in his ignorant wanderings :
a select couple going in a brougham to Epsom, with jibbing
horses, and suddenly finding a strange pole dividing them,
are all liable to express their surprise or terror with a fair
excuse. But the astonishment of all these put together
would not make a tithe of what was experienced by a single
THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
one of the party amidst whom Mr. "Wyndham Flitter so pre-
cipitately arrived.
The chamber into which ha dropped, feet foremost, was a
bed room, although the bed was now covered with plates and
oyster- shells, and on the table, in the centre of which he
alighted, were other signs of supper. Round about this
table were five or six young ladies, mostly in high stuff
dresses, with long tight sleeves, and all their cloaks and bon-
nets were in a heap in the corner. There was also a gentle-
man in a frock coat and white cravat — the ends of which were
in open lace-work, after the pattern of the paper on the top
of a French plum box — who had his hair curled and liberally
anointed with some product of the distant Circassia; and he
was the only beau of the party. As Mr. Flitter dropped
down there was a violent scream from all the ladies, and
one, in her agony, threw herself into the other gentleman's
arms, exclaiming,
" Oh! Mr. Dipnall — save me!"
The Mr. Dipnall thus addressed seized an empty stout
bottle by the neck, and appeared resolved upon selling his life
as dearly as possible, when Mr. Flitter, casting one of his
rapidly comprehensive glances round the assembled party,
cried out —
" I beg your pardons. Do not be alarmed. I will explain
everything. It is nothing, I can assure you. Rather let
me beg of you, young ladies, to save we."
And thus speaking, he pulled the trap to, closely after
him, and stepped down upon the floor.
" One instant," he continued; "hush! ruffians are tracing
my footsteps. My life is in your hands."
The imploring, earnest tone of Mr. Flitter's voice, coupled
with his mustachoes and effective appearance generally, had
its effect. The young ladies unlocked their arms — for most
of them had clung together as the intruder first broke in
upon them, except one who had tried to hide amongst the
cloaks — and ventured to look steadily at him; whilst Mr.
Dipnall, having glanced into a glass to see that his hair was
all right, rose and said, with a determination that was per-
fectly fearful: —
" Explain yourself, sir, if you are a gentleman. I cannot
see these ladies insulted."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 243
" Hush, Henry," said the one who had placed herself
tinder his protection, speaking in a low tone.
" Oh, Mr. Dipnall, don't be violent, pray!" cried the others,
as one or two placed their hands upon his arm.
" Ladies," said Mr. Dipnall, " I beg of you — Miss Newton,
yea must leave this matter entirely to me. Pray, sir, who
are you?"
" An officer in her Majesty's service," replied Mr. Wynd-
ham Flitter, twirling his moustache, and looking Life-Guards
and Lancers at the inquirer. " And now, pray sir, who are
you^ What are you in?"
" I am not in the army," replied the other, in a less decided
tone. He was flurried between his wish to appear the champion
of the young ladies and his natural disinclination to enter into
a row. Mr. Flitter saw this in an instant.
" You have a card, sir," he said, fiercely, to the increased
terror of the girls.
" If you please, sir, we are all quite satisfied," observed
the young lady who had been addressed as Miss Newton.
" We are bonnet-makers, and this is Miss Harrup's room,
and she asked us because it's her birthday."
" Permit me to have the pleasure of wishing you many,
many happy returns of the day," said Mr. Flitter to the
young lady indicated by the other, speaking with most
effective politeness. " Although a stranger, no one's wish
could be more sincere."
Mr. Dipnall, who had shielded Miss Harrup from the first,
again looked very angry.
" Now, Henry," said the lady, who was a little sharp-
faced black-eyed person, rendered additionally dangerous by
the presence of pins stuck all about the body and waistband
of her dress, which from time to time entered Mr. Dipnall's
fingers — "Now, Henry, I wont have it. This gentleman,
sir," she went on, addressing Wyndham, " is named Dipnall;
and he's in the hosiery department at Leicester House."
" The first establishment in London," said Mr. Flitter.
*' My family have dealt at it for years, and I have no doubt,
sir," he continued, " that they may frequently have had to
thank you for your attention."
Mr. Dipnall's wrath was turned away in an instant, by
Mr. Flitter's courtesy. And the next thought that struck
R 2
244 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
him was, liow good it would be to go back to Leicester
House and tell the other gentlemen that he had been passing
the evening with an officer — one of the Life-Guards Blue, he
thought he would say.
" The truth is," said Mr. Flitter, after a moment's pause,
finding that he had ingratiated himself with all his new-
acquaintances — "the truth is — for I feel I am amongst
friends — I have escaped from a serious riot in one of those
blackguard hells, (I beg your pardons, ladies,) close here. A
foolish young ensign in our regiment wished to see one, and
I thoughtlessly took him in. Poor fellow! I hope he is
all right."
The young ladies were quite touched, and really hoped
80, too.
"Polly," whispered Miss Chownes, who was an artificial
florist, and a very pretty girl, having been to school at Bou-
logne, and taking high ground amongst her companions,
because she was sent two or three times a year to Paris to
catch ideas from a magasin — (that is to say, a shop, but we
should have liked you, in the most glorious days of French
anti-respectability to have called it a boutique to the owner's
face,) — "Polly," Miss Chownes breathed, in the ear of Miss
Newton, of whom she felt slightly jealous, because she had
first attracted Mr. Wyndham Flitter's attention, "he says
an '' ensign' in his regiment; he ought to have said a * cornet.*
If he is in the Guards he would not wear mustachioes."
" I don't know," replied Miss Newton, very coldly. " I
am not in the habit of meeting the Guards. I only know my
equals."
There was a great deal of intended bitterness in this reply;
so much so, that Miss Chownes answered : —
" Well, I'm sure I don't know, Polly, either ; but I know
those that know them all, and know I'm right, too — that
they do."
And here Miss Chownes seized one of the cruets, and
treated an oyster with such evidently-meant spite, that if no
illustration of the unkind treatment, " giving him pepper,"
had ever before been offered, the present one was sufficient.
Meanwhile Mr. Wyndham Flitter was quite at home. If
the police had been after him, he would have heard of them
long before this, so he sat down upon the edge of a short
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 245
form — room having been made for him by some of the girls
— and yielded to the entreaties of the assembly that he would
have some supper.
" You are very good," said Mr. Flitter, taking six oysters,
which Mr. Dipnall had opened, after sending the point of the
knife as many times into the ball of his thumb — for a novice
could play the fiddle before he could open an oyster — " but I
have dined late, at the Guards' mess, in the Tower."
" There, now, he is in the Guards," whispered Polly New-
ton to Miss Chownes, in triumph.
" Indeed!" said Mr. Dipnall, with a hard struggle of tact
to keep the would-be assumption of the knowledge of such
proceedings from merging into the humility of the shopman
before the ladies.
"A wonderful sight," continued Mr. Flitter — "I suppose the
only remnant of the stirring times of old left in London.
You dine but I am boring you."
" Oh, no / " cried all the girls at once — Polly and all —
leaning forward in intense attention. " Do tell us all about
it."
" Well, then, you dine in that tall white place with the four
towers, that you see from the Thames."
" I've often seen it, going to France by the boat," observed
Miss Chownes.
" I suppose we all have," said Polly Newton. " The
Tower's just as visible, if you're only going to Gravesend."
Miss Chownes never thought of her scissors in connexion
with such a sanguinary business as she did when she reflected
upon their inability to snip Polly's head off.
" All the dinner is served," continued Mr. Wyndham
Flitter, " by men in armour — the most brilliant sight you
can imagine — and the officers sit down in chain mail. A
band is stationed at the end of the room, and the beef- eaters
are ranged all round the gallery with trumpets, which they
blow, as every fresh dish is brought on."
" Oh, lovely! " cried the girls.
"When the Queen's health is drunk," Wyndham w^ent on;
•* if there is a strange officer present, who was expected, one
of the early crown jewels is dropped into his cup after the
manner of the ancients. — You remember, Mr. Dipnall, how
beautifully the custom is alluded to in the song, ' Here's a
246 THE rOTTLETON LEGACY
health to the King, God bless him ! ' — and he is allowed to
keep it afterwards. / was the stranger to-night.
" There now, Polly, he is not in the Guards after all,"
retorted Miss Chownes to her friend.
"Hush! " answered the other — "listen!"
" This ring was the gift to-day," said Mr. "Wyndham
Flitter. " It is very interesting, being the same that the
Countess of Rutland took to — pshaw — thingamyjig — who
was it?"
" Essex," suggested one of the girls, with timidity.
" Yes — to be sure — into Essex, you know; and Queen
Elizabeth and all the rest of it. Look here."
And, as usual, to prevent further investigation, Mr. Wynd-
ham Flitter spun his ring to the delight of the spectators.
Miss Harrup — the founder of the feast — now began to think
that it was time she said something ; so she took advantage
of the attention the others were bestowing upon the ring, to
observe :
" We were going to finish card-playing after supper, if you
have quite done, sir."
" Oh, quite," said Mr. Wyndham Flitter ; " indeed, I did
not require any. Let me assist you."
And, not at all proud, he immediately helped in clearing
the table, and putting additional plates and oyster-shells upon
the little French bed, leaving it a matter of some inquiry,
altogether, as to where Miss Harrup was to sleep that night.
For, as Miss Newton observed, " There was nothing so nice
to eat in bed as Abernethy's biscuits, only the crumbs were
dreadful ; but what oyster-shells must be, she never did! "
The only person of the little party not quite at his ease
was Mr. Dipnall ; for hitherto the only gallant of the evening,
he had held undisputed sway over the attention of his fair
companions; but now there was another cavalier, and he was
not that host in himself that he had, up to this time, been.
But he had met an officer, and that was sufficient. Mr.
Beans, of the outfit department, was always boasting of having
ridden with noble lords, hunting, when his uncle, Mr. Ralph
Beans, farmer, of Englefield Green, lent him a horse once, on
a holiday; but now Mr. Dipnall would take him into the
Park some Sunday and keep him leaning against the rails
until Ml-. Wyndham Flitter passed; and then wouldn't he
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 247
bow, and sew Beans up for ever ! After all, this made up for
a great deal.
The table was cleared, and the green baize put over it
again — it was the green baize that covered another table in
the back shop down stairs, where the last year's bonnets were
laid out in state, with staring new trimmings, to catch the
country customers who came up in summer to the May
Meetings, and in winter to the Cattle Show — and then they
formed again for cards.
« What shall we play? " asked Miss Harrup. "Van Toon? '*
" With pleasure," said Mr. Flitter.
" I think vingt-et-un is the best game for a large party,"
suggested Mr. Dipnall.
He pronounced it ' vanty-un,' for he went to a French class
at a Literary and Scientific Institution, and wished to show
Mr. Wyndham Flitter that he knew the proper way to call
it.
" Oui, ma chere : vingt-et-un," said Miss Chownes, led, by
Mr. Dipnall's reminiscence of French, into a momentary
obliviousness of English.
" Shall we play partners?" inquired one of the girls.
" Oh certainly," cried the others : and they all had a hope
that Mr. Flitter would choose one of them.
" You're my partner, you know, Kate," said Mr. Dipnall,
in a most subdued tone to Miss Harrup.
Miss HaiTup did not make a direct reply, but she kept
counting out button-moulds, used instead offish, and observed,
" Those large ones with the shanks are half-a-dozen."
" I say, Kate," continued Mr. Dipnall in the same whisper,
as he pressed her foot, '' we are partners, you know."
" Miss Newton," said Mr. Flitter, to the young lady,
" sliall we join our banks? "
The girl was too delighted.
Miss Harrup looked at her like Devonshire cream that has
stopped too long at the terminus; and then replied to Mr.
Dipnall :
" Oh, yes; we'll be pardners.
" What shall the counters be? " asked another.
"A penny a dozen," said Miss Harrup; •' and you are not
to bet more than six, or less than two."
" Charming," said Mr. Flitter, as he paid sixpence for
248 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
himself and Miss Newton, and received the button-moulds,
which he put into the lucifer-box used for a pool. " Now
then, the first knave deals; I wonder who it is."
By some singular chance, the first knave fell to Mr. Dipnall
— almost as if Mr. Flitter had intended it — at which there
was great laughter — such being an occurrence when it is
always proper to indulge in ridicule at the luckless object,
and to say that it was just what you expected. And then
Mr. Dipnall, after apologizing for his hands, the nails of which
were rather more of the chesnut than the filbert pattern, began
to deal.
The game went on as games at vingt-et-un usually do.
The timid stood at thirteen, and occasionally won; the brave
drew at seventeen and got twenty -two. Dishonest people
did not proclaim how much they ventured until the second
card came, and then if it was a good one, surreptitiously put
on a dozen; and those who had been doubled by the dealer,
declared that the fish lying on their cards represented the
original, or the two-fold, stake as suited their position and
interests. When one partner had an ace and a three, and the
other had a ten and a two, the ace was exchanged for the two
— slyly and under the table — and a natural vingt-et-im ef-
fected. And when two paid the dealer, or it came to a desperate
venture, one only had, having overdrawn and then kept quiet
thereon, to throw any card under the table, to make what-
ever sort of hand was best suited to the emergency. For as
cheating at a social round game appears to come under the
same category of allowable villany as selling horses to friends
when you know they are worth nothing — persuading relations
to join new assurance offices of which you suspect the rot-
tenness; or forming partnerships upon delightful ledgers and
daybooks compiled with much care and industry to that end
— it is always to be followed as long as you perceive there is
not the slightest chance of being publicly found out, in which
exposure alone, rather than the commission itself, appears to
consist the crime.
In all these little tricks and dexterities Mr. Wyndham
Flitter was at home. Indeed, he could have gone much
further, and made especial court or plebeian guards get into
whichever part of the pack or hand he chose; or even de-
scending from the high art of gambling to *he illegitimate,
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 249
could have caused the same to rise to slow music out of magic
columns; or be shot into particular flowers of artificial rose-
trees, or be found in alien pockets, or as the transmigrated
forms of guinea-pigs, canaries, watches, pocket-handkerchiefs,
or even the domestic split-peas of humble life. But at present
he confined his necromantic energies to bringing all the but-
ton-moulds into Miss Newton's pool, which at last got so
full she was obliged to change.
" Come sir," said Mr. Flitter to ^Ir. Dipnall, " we must
have a little game of our own, I think; for we cannot ruin
the ladies. Shall we bet?'*
" With pleasure," replied Mr. Dipnall; for he had been
sipping ale all this time, and now the glory of playing cards
upon friendly terms with an officer, was coruscating before
his eyes; and his contempt for Leicester House got more
supreme than ever. Indeed he almost fancied himself an
officer, too; and once, when he had gone to the Hanover-
Square Rooms, to a fancy ball, as one of Mr. Nathan's popular
military men, he had been told, by a fair friend, that he looked
the character charmingly. It was but the same feeling that
Philip had indulged in, the same evening, under similar cir-
cumstances. But the cheering blaze and smoke that rises
amongst the clinking cinders, when you try to relight a gone-
out fire with brown paper, is not more transient nor leaves a
still drearier gloom behind, than the fancies of drinking.
However, Mr. Dipnall was dazzled and he said:
"WhatshaUitbe?"
" A sovereign on the first natural." replied Mr. Flitter.
" We are eight. You shall take the four on that side, counting
yourself — I will take three."
" Content," replied Mr. Dipnall.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter cut the cards, for Miss Newton
was to deal, and as he cut them, gave them a scarcely per-
ceptible flash. They were dealt round, and the first natural
came in Mr. Flitter's division.
" The luck is yours," said Mr. Dipnall, pulling a face
longer even than the mechanical pasteboard performer on the
violoncello is apt to achieve when supposed to be in the
agonies of a difficult note. " You must give me my
revenge."
" Certainly," replied Mr. Flitter. " Shall it be double or
quits?"
2S0 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" As you please," said Mr. Dipnall, in an off-hand way,
thinking that owing him a sovereign was quite enough to
establish a lively intimacy even with an officer.
" Henry!" quietly expostulated Miss Harrup, pressing his
foot in turn, as she trembled at his rash daring. But he
took no heed of her.
" Double or quits, then!" said Mr. Flitter, passing him
the cards. " This deal goes for nothing. Now, fire away!"
Mr. Dipnall dealt out the cards, and again Mr. Flitter
was the winner, he himself having the natural.
"Bless me!" observed Wyndham, "you are indeed un-
lucky to-night."
" I don't think I have got two sovereigns," said Mr.
Dipnall, ruefully, as he fumbled in all his pockets, and in-
vestigating those most especially in which he knew there
was nothing.
" Oh, never mind — never mind!" replied Mr. Flitter. Mn
Dipnall's face brightened a little, but fell immediately, as
Wyndham followed up the words by asking —
" How much have you got?"
" I've a sovereign," replied Mr. Dipnall, " and half-a-
crown, and a fourpenny-piece." And he put them on the
table as he spoke.
" Very well," said Mr. Flitter, " that will do, you know;
and you can give me your I O U for the rest. Or, stop, I'll
take the sovereign only. You may want the rest for a cab."
" Oh! thank you," gasped Mr. Dipnall. Want it for a
cab! Alas! cabs would henceforward be forbidden, fruit to
him.
The young ladies, who looked upon a sovereign almost as
the treasure of a fairy tale, were aghast at the reckless
manner in which so great a sum had been won and lost; and
the circumstance cast a general gloom over the party, ex-
cept Miss Newton, who from the establishment of the partner-
ship, regarded Mr. Yfyndham Flitter in some measure as
her own property, and began to see a difference between his
manners and those of Mr. Dipnall. Miss Harrup complained
of her head aching; and her cavalier thought that it was
really time to go.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter, thinking it manners, rose to depart:
but as he quitted his chair, a card inadvertently fell from his
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY. 251
lap upon the ground. In his despair, Mr. Dipnall saw it,
and darted upon it in an instant.
" Ha!" said Mr. Flitter, "we must take care of the cards.**
" Do not say we must," cried Mr. Dipnall; " you have
already done so. Sir, you are a swindler!"
" What does this mean?" asked Mr. Flitter, apparently
quite astonished.
" You are a cheat, sir!" Mr. Dipnall went on, trembling
with fear and fury.
" Henry!" cried Miss Harrup, " pray be calm! He will
do you a mischief."'
And all the girls began to express audible terror, espe-
cially Miss Newton, who was going to faint upon the bed,
until she saw the dirty plates and oyster-shells, upon which
she changed her mind, and drank a little ale that was in a
tumbler on the drawers, which somewhat revived her.
" I demand the instant restitution of the sovereign," said
Mr. Dipnall.
" Eeally, there is some mistake," observed Mr. Flitter,
still completely cool. " There is the card, to be sure —
a three of spades. Wliat use could it have been to anybody? "
" Of this use, sir," Mr. Dipnall went on. *' Look at this
smear upon the back : I noticed it when I dealt it to you;
but it was not one of those you turned up for the natural.
You kept back an ace, sir — you know you did."
•' Why, you miserable Snob ! " cried Mr. Flitter, as he
tried to approach Mr. Di-pnall, who however kept dodging
round the table, until Wyndham overturned it, bringing
down cards, candles, and bottles in one general smash. And
then advancing to Mr. Dipnall, amidst the screams of the
girls and knocking from the room below, on the floor, as
well as some corresponding blows against the wainscoat at
the side, he seized him by his hair. It yielded suddenly, and
the unhappy assistant at Leicester House stood before the
company perfectly bald, as Mr. Flitter flourished his wig in
his hand, and ultimately flung it at the only remaining
candle on the mantel-piece, which it directly extinguished.
" Police ! " shouted Mr. Dipnall, as he threw open the
window, and bawled into Cranbourne- street, whilst the girls
screamed every violent assault or accident, from " murder **
to " fire " inclusive.
252 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Mr. Flitter saw it was time to depart in tlie dark, so he
banged open the door, and made the best of his way down
stairs, meeting some people on the second-floor.
" Who's there?" asked a voice in the obscurity.
" Go up — go up," replied Mr. Flitter. " I'm oti for the
police. Go up; there'll be murder if you don't!"
The voice went on, and Mr. Flitter descended to the street-
door, whereat, as he opened it, he met a policeman.
" Come in," he said; "come in. I was looking after you.
Oo right up to the top of the house, whilst I get a surgeon.
There's a fearful business, I expect. Up as high as you can
go-"
And as the policeman began to ascend, Mr. Flitter closed
the door after him — shot up the first court he came to — and
then gaining the street at the other end, called a cab, and rode
quietly off to the hotel near London Bridge, just as if he had
been returning from the mildest party imaginable. And on
arriving, being regularly dead beat, he told the waiter not to
awake him under any pretence whatever; and if any one
called upon him, to say that he was not there.
We must now return to Philip, whom we left in the street
on his escape from the gaming-house. Once clear of it, he
made the best of his way to his lodgings. With his pulses
beating as though they would burst their channels, and his
head still in a whirl with the excitement of the evening, any-
thing like sleep was out of the question. He threw himself
upon his bed without undressing; and there tossed restlessly
about until the grey morning came through the window blinds,
and wheels were heard again in the streets.
Unable to close his eyes, he got up and walked about the
room; and as he caught a glimpse of his appearance, by
chance in the glass, he was startled at the ghastly expression
of his countenance. His face was completely white, and his
eyes encircled by crimson lids, whilst his hair was wild
and matted together, and his dress torn and in some places
spotted with blood. Annie's letter was lying on his dressing-
table as if i'n reproach; and the sight of it did not improve
his present depressed spirits.
Scared at the spectacle he presented, he endeavoured to
make such a toilet as might, in a certain degree, improve it:
and this finished, not knowing what to do— hating to be
THE POTrLCTOKr LEGACl. 253
alone and giving up all thoughts of sleep — he once more went
out into the streets. What had happened to Mr. Wyndham
Flitter was the first thing he was anxious to learn; and he
mechanicallj bent his steps towards Leicester Square, where,
from the house he had quitted, he saw the police still engaged
in moving some of the apparatus of the gaming tables. His
presence did not attract any attention. They looked upon
him as some late reveller returning home; and one of them
went so far as to inform him that they had made a capture of
gamblers that very night, and had them all in the station-
house.
"Were any people taken besides the gang themselves?**
asked Philip.
" None as we can find out," replied the policeman, who
had accepted an invitation, quietly, to take a drop of some-
thing at a neighbouring gin-shop. " They said there had
been two, but they had both got away. I expect they was
all of a feather, though."
Philip's mind was to a certain extent relieved. Flitter had
evidently made good his escape, and he determined upon
joining him at his hotel; so he went on at once to London
Bridge.
A coffee-room is not altogether an exciting place early in
the morning; nor are waiters particularly lively at this period.
On the present occasion, their denial of all knowledge of Mr.
Flitter's return, made them appear extra stupid. But Philip
resolved to stop until his friend appeared, albeit the place
was not very cheering, for there was a dull hanging odour of
over-night dissipation that all the open windows could not
get rid of; and he felt as if he were there upon sufferance.
This did not greatly tend to make him on better terms with
himself; but he drew near the fire, ordered breakfast, and
played with it rather than swallowed it, until an early copy
of one of the morning papers — damp and inky — was slapped
down upon the table before him, and this carried on the time
until he, by chance, overheard the boots giving directions to
one of the waiters to take Mr. Flitter's breakfast up-stairs.
By this means, and the fee of a shilling, he at length got to
his friend's bedroom.
" I wish I had known it was you down stairs," said Wynd-
ham; " I heard that somebody had been asking after me, but
254 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
somebodies occasionally turn out very troublesome. Have
some breakfast."
"I can't," answered Philip. " I ordered some down stairs,
but did not eat any."
"What did you have?"
" Oh, some mess or another — coffee."
"Coffee!" replied Wyndham, with an air of contempt.
" Pshaw ! of course not. Try bitter beer — or brandy and
soda. Have some with me."
The prescription answered to a certain extent; and Philip,
as he listened to his friend's exploits of the night before, felt
a little better. At last, when Mr. Flitter had finished, he
said —
" I am getting very tired of this uncertain life. I shall go
back to Pottleton, I think."
"Pooh! pooh!" observed Wyndham. "My dear fellow,
what are you thinking about ! Go to Pottleton ! why you
might as well bury yourself at once."
" I don't see that," replied Philip.
" But I do," said Flitter. " What does anybody do in the
country, but always stick in the same place. Work there like
a slav^ for fifty years, and you will leave off where you began
precisely. What do you suppose you could do there?"
" Farm," answered Philip.
*-Ho! ho! — farm!" cried his friend, with a laugh: "the
very thing you have made fun of. Farm, indeed! yes —
that's a brilliant prospect, to be sure. You'd sink gradually
to a savage in corduroys and clumping shoes — pass all your
time in squelching about soppy fields, or lifting clods after
your legs that weigh a hundredweight — and learn to talk
about nothing but ' oorts' and *wut.' Ho! ho! yes, I see
you farming !"
"But what am I doing here?" asked Philip.
" What are you doing here? Carrying everytiiing before
you; at least, about to do so. You could not have earned
the money you got yesterday so easily by farming as you did
by your pen.''
" I am not grumbling at that," said Philip. "' But, after
all, is not a literary life rather an uncertain affair?"
"No. Uncertain! How?" asked Flitter.
" Why, it must come to an end."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 255
" So must the world, or an Irish trial, or transportation
for fourteen years, if you wait for it."
"That's all very well," replied Philip; "but this is what
I mean. If you reflect, you will find that every literary man,
however great his success, knocks up at last. His powers of
invention get worn out by the constant drain upon them; or
if he has made his name from any peculiarity or originality
of style, the public, naturally enough, after a time, get tired
of it, and wish for something else."
" Then, let him try something else."
" Ay, but that is not altogether so easily done. The sight
of that poor man. Scute, and all his wretchedness, has made
a great impression on me. T remember, when I was a boy,
his books were run after far more even than ever I could
expect anything of mine to be. And look at him now."
" AVell, but he married."
" And so may I — nay, I shall be."
"Pshaw!" said Wyndham, anxious to turn the subject.
" You are a cup too low this morning — seedy, hippish, down.
Take the bright side of the question. Look forward to being
popular — to having your name on every tongue — to finding
every rank of society open to you."
" But rather from the absence, than the existence, of any
recognised position of your own," said Philip.
" Ah! we'll drop the subject," said Mr. Flitter. "You'll
be better, by and by."
Wyndham saw that Philip was getting mistrustful, and
altogether not exactly in a state of mind to be lost sight of.
So he kept him there until they wxnt out together towards
afternoon; and then he got Mr. Spooner to invite the
Wracketts to dinner, and Mrs. Wracketts brought a single
sister, if possible more attractive than herself; so that by
the time dinner was over, and the wine was once more
circulating, and Wyndham running over with anecdotes,
and little scenes, and clever things generally, all Philip's
gloom had disappeared.
" Well," said Mr. Flitter, as the party broke up at a late
hour, " I think this is better than sitting up to watch * tur-
muts,'-~eh, Philip?"
256 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
CHAPTER XXV.
A CHANGE OF SCENE.
Several days passed, and Philip was too much occupied to
recur again to the subject of the conversation he had held
with his friend. "The Cracker" had appeared, and had
been pronounced a hit: Messrs. Brainer and Clinch were in
ecstasies; and poor Mr. Scute had been prevailed upon to
turn out so clean and sober, that when he first called at the
office, the people scarcely knew him.
Philip had found time to write to Annie, but it was a
short letter enough, in which he told her he was very busy,
but nevertheless always thinking about her, and that he
hoped before long to be able to get down to Pottleton for a
day : but the day was always put oif by the post a little time
before, as something arose to prevent him, until his presence
was almost despaired of. At length, he settled upon the
journey, and was preparing to pack up his things, w^hen Mr.
Wyndham Flitter, who was aware of his intention, came
down to his rooms, the afternoon before his intended start,
and thus addressed him.
" Here's luck, my boy — Fve got you such a job to do — an
account of the opening of the Amiens railway for the papers.
See, here — tickets there and back, via Boulogne; and all
our expenses paid by the directors, with their compliments."
" But when is it for, Flitter?"
** To-morrow — we must start to-morrow. We can put on
a good price and make a day or two of it ; besides something
may turn up for * The Cracker on the way."
" I can't go."
" Why not?"
" Because I'm off to Pottleton."
"Ah! nonsense; you can go to Pottleton five times every
day, if you please; but this is one chance of a thousand. You
really must go; it is a pure matter of business."
" I don't know what Annie will think of it."
" If she cares for you, she will think how attentive you
we to your affairs. I question much, though, if women do
THE POTTLETOX LEOAOr 257
think; and I question more, if they care for anybody, really
""•--—^.^and truly. I never met one that did. However, that is
neither here nor there. You'll go."
And the prophecy contained in the last words turned out
a correct one; for after a little more reasoning, Philip
arranged to cross, with Wyndham Flitter, the next evening.
And, accordingly, at the very hour that he expected to be
at Pottleton, he found himself with his friend, and their
carpet-bags, going down the hill that leads from the station
into Folkestone, and finally stepping on board the steamer
that was lying alongside the rude but tough rock and pile-
work of the harbour.
Mr. Flitter's first glance was at the vanes of the different
ships to see how the wind stood, and it was found to be dead
against them, at which he expressed much discomfort; more,
indeed, than the manner in which he frequently talked about
his yacht voyages in the Mediterranean with noble lords would
have led one to suppose.
But this was to an extent allowable. The channel is no
joke, after all. "Weather-beaten old gentlemen, with red,
case-hardened faces, who have been backwards and forwards
to India — as though Calcutta had been Heme Bay — a score
of times: and have experienced the reality of all those won-
derful tumblings about in the Bay of Biscay as imitated, in
little, on the mechanical sea that rages in the hollow pedestal
of a foreign clock, where the ship, like the Flying Dutch-
man, is perpetually rolling and pitching without moving from
where she is — who have also been up and down the wave
mountains "off the Cape," which Mr. Daniell delighted to
paint, the journey over which can only, we are certain, be
compared to sitting in a swing at the antipodes, or being
impelled over a succession of montagnes russes — those tough,
red-parchment-visaged ancient mariners have told us, that
crossing the channel always makes them ill. They account
for it in some nautical fashion that we are not clever enough
to explain properly. There was always a " side swell" or
an " oblique trough" or something of the sort. But we sus-
pect the reason, after all, to be, that they never feel at their
ease in a steamboat. They look upon it as a contemptible
kind of floating boiler that ought never to be mentioned in
s
2o8 THE rOTTLETON LEGACY.
the same breath as a real Indiaman, and ai'e prejudiced
accordingly.
The sea-passage is not now, however, a very dreadful
affair. There is none of that long dismal work in the dark,
when the dim cabin lamp glimmered for so many hours over
the worn-out inmates of the close saloon, stiving there ever
since they left the Nore; and people used to hold tight by the
polished brass rail, as they crawled up the cabin stairs to ask
the first sailor they saw, "what time he thought they should
get in," or look out for the Boulogne lights. Now, to be
sure, the revolving lamps at Grisney mock the anxious
gazers for an hour or so, by always seeming to be the same
distance off, and the two Forelands and Dungeness never ap-
pear to diminish; but, except in a few of those gales that
rush up the channel at times, rather late for some festival
of the winds at the North Pole, the discomfort is transient.
There is little of that tendency to tumble about all ways at
once as the boat rolls — creaking, straining, and surging
through the dark and leaping waters, when all the wine-
glasses appear to be having a fight to themselves in
the steward's bar, and the paddles hit the sea whenever
they can get the chance, and when they can't turn round
clean out of it, with an accompanying roar of steam from
the funnel. Now, the channel is usually crossed in broad
day-light, and frequently in that state of weather-conviviality
which preceded " the return of the admiral," when the morn-
ing was all sunshine, and the wind was blowing free; and
you are not long enough on board for the feeling to be
carried on to the shore, and set you tossing and tumbling
just the same, all night afterwards, as if you were in a French
bed out at sea during a storm. Yet still, even now, there is
a great deal of qualmishness, especially amongst your old
conventional invalids.
For many folks think that there is an absolute duty and
necessity for them to be sick, the instant they get on board
a sea steam-boat. This they do in the same traditional spirit
that prompts bridesmaids to look serious, and even moist-
eyed at weddings; jurymen to take snuff round a corpse
at an inquest; pit people at the opera to believe they are
amused at the dragging Nozze di Figaro; and the world
generally, at a scientific conversazione, to admire the in*
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 259
comprehensible objects placed about upon the tables. These
good folks make ready for it the instant the boat starts, con-
triving couches and pillows from carpet-bags and leather
trunks, in that curious spirit of extemporaneous upholstery
and bedding that only steam-boat invalids can foster. But
everybody, ill or not, is always delighted, more or less, when
the packet turns from the open sea into the still water between
the two long barricades of piles which bound Boulogne Har-
bour.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter took his place at the angle of the
lee paddle-box a& the boat left Folkestone, and never re-
appeared until the extremity of the Capecure pier sheltered
the dancing waves into something like quietude. And then,
as the boat came alongside of the port, all the passengers
scrambled up on deck, and faces appeared from unknown
cabins that had not been visible before during the voyage.
The view presented was a well-known one to all who had
landed there before. Clusters of douaniers, and sturdy, thick-
legged women, marked the position of the custom-house;
touters had collected from the hotels in an impenetrable
band along the narrow causeway from its egress; and the
visitors who had kept pace with the steamer, as they ran
along the pier by its side, in the hope of recognising, or being
recognised by their friends, gathered against the cords which
formed a sort of course, along which the voyagers were
driven, like hunted dogs at Epsom, to the douane. Even the
aristocratic family who owned the handsome travelling- car-
riage on board, and had shut themselves up in it all the
journey — not so much to fancy they were still riding along
the road, as to keep up a proper degree of exclusiveness con-
sistent with their position — even these came upon deck, and
looked out their tickets, to deliver upon going up the gang-
way.
There was the old routine of business — the waiting at the
douane as the same soldier put his arm across to prevent too
many going through at a time; the same gentleman inquired
who had got passports and who had not, and took down full
particulars of the latter's age, name, and intentions; and
lastly, the same touters nearly pulled the travellers to pieces
as they emerged from the building.
Romantically inclined individuals feel affected by planting
s 2
260 THE POTTLETON LEGAOl.
their foot, for the first time, upon French soil; enthusiastic
ones tune the Marsellaise or begin to respect the memory of
the Emperor; commonplace ones of feeble education repel the
touters, and say, " Nong — lazy moi trankeel." Mr. Wyndham
Flitter did nothing of either. He simply damned the touters,
took Philip's arm, and walked straight over to the Hotel de
Paris, where he was in the habit of stopping — ^in a little room,
on the left as you enter, with two beds rather than apartments
opening into the salon. And here, as they were somewhat
tired, and Boulogne is not particularly lively in the evening,
they retired to bed.
Philip forgot all his misgivings and felt quite at home again
— more so than he had done for a long time since he left
Normandy. For with all its annoyances there is something
very pleasant in arriving at a French hotel. The perfect
novelty of everything around you, even in the houses termed
* English,' — the unwonted feel of the tiles on the floors — the
white crockery — the comical iron -work of the locks and
window fastenings, and the windows themselves, which always
open with a bang that knocks you down, and then blows you
into the middle of the room if the door is open — the walnut-*
tree bedstead — the rustling mattress — the black marble man-
tel-piece and tawdry flowers and treacherous clocks with the
large white closets on each side — the very shining key with
its little feeble brass number-ticket hanging to it — the trim
chambermaid speaking a language that you only associate, in
its purity, with almost patrician refinement, so fluently: all
this is very pleasant. And most comfortable are the French
beds — not to be confounded in anywise, with the structures
we know in England by the same appellation: only you cail
not get to sleep well the first night. The mere fact of being
in a foreign land keeps you awake.
And the same feeling of novelty is equally strong in the
morning. First of all you hear strange noises in the street —
perfectly different to the out-of-door sounds of England. Odd,
unnatural carts go jingling by, taking the wrong side of the
road, and very like the Liverpool 'floats' in their two- wheel
build. The women are again at work, carrying their loads
about like ants, (and funny men would say, perhaps some or
them are) with no perceptible object. Twenty men are doing
the work of one, upon the port, outside the chains; and the
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 26l
Steamer that fought the sea so lustily the night before, and
beat it, is lying at the quay, guarded by a soldier who looks
as if he had walked from a toy-stall in the Lowther Arcade,
and is put there to keep the bottles of stout and British manu-
factures generally, from marching ashore.
The opening of the new railway was very different to what
it had been at Pottleton. There was no triumphal arch, nor
band of music — no Sunday-school children, nor rosy country
girls, nor bell-ringing, nor refreshment booths with fine cold
rounds of beef and tubs of humming ale. For the whole
business was too practical and solid for the French to get up
2ifete about. If it had been to fraternize and drink vin d/hori'
neur with a lot of people they did not care the filing of a
farthing for; or to plant a ragged old poplar bedecked with
scraps of cheap coloured rubbish, in a hole in the pavement,
and call it the tree of liberty, they would have been festive
enough, being ever ready to worship the imaginary and eva-
nescent. But now a few sober gentlemen with inches of
ribbon in their lappel button-holes were bowed up to the
station : some under-sized soldiers kept back the boys : a
travelling merchant with a tin turret on his back, retailed
possibly the nastiest compound ever manufactured, since the
discovery of ginger beer made with powders, or spruce gene-
rally: a crowd of fishwomen, carters, and country people
cried, " Tiens ! la machine a vapeur I " as the locomotive
went puffing off with its train, along the level bank of the
Seine, flouting the distant road on the other side up which the
diligence used to toil so drearily: and the railway was opened.
" Well," said Philip, " there does not appear to be much
here to talk about. I don't see what can be made of it."
" Made of it!" replied Wyndham — " everything. You
must talk of the mutual interests of nations — bringing two
great capitals together, removing prejudices, and all that sort
of business. Then touch upon Boulogne, its history and
associations, the climate and soil, and those of all the
principal stations along the line, the enthusiasm of the
people ^"
" But they did not strike me as being very enthusiastic,"
said Philip.
" Pshaw! what does that matter? Look to the descrip-
tion — ^the picturesque costumes "
262 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" My dear Wyndham," interrupted Philip, " there is
nothing picturesque in those awful old women."
" Not upon paper? Why. they are all you want. You
can finish your account of these lookers-on by saying, ' Whilst
the bright and artistic tints of the poissardes, who, with
their snowy lace caps, scarlet petticoats, and trim blue legs,
lined the inclosure, as their heavy gold ear-rings flashed in
the sun, formed a picture so thoroughly continental, that the
spectator could scarcely believe two short hours had trans-
ported him from murky England to the plains of sunny
Artois.' "
" Artois?" asked Philip. " Are we in Artois?"
*' Most certainly."
" Oh!" returned the other, with an expression of disap-
pointment, as he gazed along the " slow" Liane and the hazy
harbour. " Sunny Artois! You would not think so, unless
you were told, would you?"
" Not more than you would of any other continental place
when you saw it," replied Wyndham, " after having formed
your ideas from pictures and descriptions. But it is all right.
If books of travels were matter-of-fact, the entire world
might be described in six penny numbers, and none would
ever pay for publishing. If you were to tell the truth, and
say that the vineyards of France were nothing to our hop-
gardens in appearance; or that the Rhine about Cologne was
a great deal drearier than the Thames at Gravesend; or that
Cologne itself was the most dirty, odorous city in Christen-
dom, nobody would believe you. Follow the mob — never
attempt to lead them : it doesn't pay."
" But you would not follow the mob, in speaking of Italy?"
asked Philip, as they walked back, arm in arm, across the
curious structure between a lock, a dock, a breakwater, a
bridge, and a mill-dam, that connects Boulogne with Capecure.
"Certainly, I would, said Mr. Flitter; "inasmuch as the
mob only believe in the Italy of the past, because they think
it proper to do so. If you do not appear to do so as well, you
will be called a snob."
" But I believe in the Italy of the past," replied Philip.
" Which past?"
" Why, what can I mean by saying so?"
" What you are not clear about. There are two pasts in
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 263
Italy. One which belongs to the stirring days of Venice —
to the Florence of Boccacio — to the Naples of — pshaw ! what
was the fellow's name — the ' Behold how brightly, brightly
breaks the morning,' and market-chorus man "
" Masaniello."
" That's the bird; and the other past, which belongs to
the fusty old fogies we were licked about at school. The
last's the one to go in for, if you wish to win; Virgil, Horace
and all the lot. Unless you have them at your fingers' ends,
nobody will believe you can enjoy Italy simply for itself."
" But, surely the glorious poetry of the old authors will
contribute to your delight, when in Italy," observed Philip.
" Conventional — all conventional," replied Mr. Flitter.
" You learnt Latin and Greek at the Dibblethorpe Grammar
School, with the notion that it would be of use to you ia
getting your living, didn't you?"
" Certainly," replied Philip.
" How many times, in society, have you wished that you
had been taught Italian and German instead?" rejoined
Wyndham. " French you have fortunately picked up. Look
at Spooner: he has been to college, and can run off the
classics as I can the two-year-olds. Put us in mixed society,
where there are foreigners, and see who is the muff — eh?"
Philip could not reply, but Mr. Flitter saved him the
trouble by turning into the Cafe Vermond, and taking him
upstairs to a room which he denominated The Club.
It was a large dingy apartment, with a smoke-clouded
panoramic paper round the walls, setting forth various skir-
mishes between French soldiers and Arabs, with lights and
shadows of social existence in Algeria generally, such as
cutting throats, stealing, firing houses, and drinking to intoxi-
cation. Tlie object of the panorama was to lead the visitor
to believe that he was in the middle of these exciting scenes,
which he might have done had not the continuity of the view
been interrupted everywhere by the doors, windows, clocks,
and looking-glasses of domestic life, and a standard, inscribed
" Soda Water," elevated in the midst of a terrible razzia; to
say nothing of an intimation raised over a mosque, " BeWs
Life in London taken in hereJ^
There were squab seats all round the room, and two tables.
On one of these were some old English journals, read until
264 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
they had become quite limp; and on the other was a card-
board and counters, and some gentlemen were playing ecarte
and betting thereon.
There was something peculiarly the same in the appear-
ance of all these men — a look of that mouldy flashiness
always inseparable from dashing professors of social doisra,
who only lack means, manners, and morals to become the
* swells' they wish to be considered. They all wore musta-
chioes, although a glimpse was sufficient to show that they
were not in the army; or if, by chance, any one addressed
them by a military title, it was by virtue of some anomalous
Spanish brevet, mysteriously connected with bills, billiards,
cigar shops, and feebly transparent schemes for making
money. When abroad, they walked on the port, and swam
large dogs in the harbour, or lounged round the gateways of
the big hotels, and were constantly expecting letters from
England which never arrived. They were great in the
Anglo-resident politics of Boulogne: and the balls, parsons,
cliques, and scandal generally of that instructive locality
furnished the entire subjects of their conversation.
There was great rejoicing as Mr. Wyndham Flitter entered,
for he was evidently known to all of them; indeed, many
might htive been taken for his relations. But what was
Philip's surprise to see Mr. Wracketts amongst the party,
comfortably installed by the fireplace, with an enormous
cigar in his mouth, and a lively bottle of beer on the mantel-
piece at his shoulder.
*' To be sure he is," said Wyndham, as if in answer to a
supposed remark, glancing at Mr. Wracketts. " I forgot to
tell you, Philip, that we should meet our friend."
" Why, how suddenly you have come over," observed
Philip; " and you said nothing about it last week."
" No; I didn't know it myself; but really Mrs. Wracketts
was so very poorly, that an immediate change was neces-
sary."
" Oh, she is here, then?" said Philip.
*•' Yes; at Carpenter's Boarding House, in the Rue de la
Lampe. We shall be delighted to see you there. We ex-
pect Spooner, too, before long; but really we came off in
such a hurry, that I had no time to see anybody."
" Not in such a hurry as I once did," said Mr. Flitter,
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 265
" I had been let into a pecuniary difficulty — by a friend, of
course — and was compelled immediately to absent myself, at
two minutes' notice. How do you think I contrived to pack?"
" Tell us, Wyndham," said Philip.
" I emptied two of my drawers into a hamper — took my
carpet-bag into the omnibus; and made my fellow get out-
side, and pitch the things down to me through the window.
By the time I got to London Bridge, everything was packed
in fii'st-rate style, except my boot-jack, which I was glad to
have an excuse for putting in my pocket, and throwing into
the sea at the North Foreland."
" Why so?"
" Because it was an evil thing — 'portable,' which is another
word for painfully useless. It shut up, and either pinched
your foot with it, or threw you heels over head backwards
when you used it."
" Is this your first visit to Boulogne, Mr. Maitland?" asked
Mr. Wracketts.
" It is," replied Philip.
" There is a great deal to be seen here, which, as I have
had the pleasure of reading two or three little things you
have done Mrs. Wracketts the favour of contributing to her
album, you could describe admirably. Have you come here
to show us up?"
" I wish he would," said Wyndham; " in fact, I was
going to suggest it to him. I must be back in London; but
if he would stay a week, it would pay him well." And Mr.
Flitter gave a significant nod to Mr. Wracketts.
" Now, look here," said the latter gentleman, speaking to
Philip. " We shall be delighted to see you at Carpenter's.
There is just one room vacant. You will be charmed with
our party, and Mrs. Wracketts will be too happy to have you
next to her at dinner. Say you will come."
" I should like it," replied Philip, "but really I "
"Pooh! stuff!" interrupted Wyndham; "now, there is not
one earthly reason for your return. There — you will stay,
and that's the end of it."
And then, not caring that Philip should argue the matter
further, Wyndham led him away, saying he would dine at
Carpenter's at six; and they went on the Port.
It was as lively as usual, and as noisy. All the stray dogs
266 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
were out in full force; and all the fishermen on the quay
were loudly quarrelling with those in the boats — now sunk
low on the mud of the harbour — with their customary
frantic unintelligibility. There was an unusual influx of
strangers, and the little shops on the Port were in high
business, selling cheap eau de Cologne that scented the hand-
kerchief with something between turpentine and peppermint;
or huge Ostend oysters, as large as poached eggs, and some-
thing like them, if they had had greenish yolks; nine-and-
twenty sous gloves — real Paris ones, which never fitted any
known fingers; and, in fact, all sorts of things that people
bought and secreted in their luggage, and trembled about all
the way home, for fear the custom-house officers should dis-
cover them, only to find that they could get them cheaper in
London.
The sun was shining and the wind blew about the
thoroughfares with the peculiarity which the Boulogne wind
possesses of coming from all points of the compass at once,
and concentrating at the corner of the Rue de I'Ecu, or at
the end of the harbour dead against the boat. But it was a
healthy, invigorating breeze, and the people looked cheerful
and ruddy — the young ladies blushing, in addition, as they
whisked by the corners, and showed most enticing ankles; or
turned round in dismay, and " really could not face the wind
any longer — it was perfectly horrid!" This did not distress
the fish-girls much: habituated to show any amount of legs
at all seasons, they kept laughing on their way.
A pipe and tabor allured Mr. Flitter and Philip to the
spot, where a wandering professor of dancing, as applied to
the canine species, was beating up an audience. His little
performing dog, who had put on that absurdly conscious ex-
pression of self-degradation inseparable from his race, when
costumed in any fashion, was evidently a novice. He pre-
ferred his normal position to standing on his hind legs, and
when told to jump through a hoop, first slunk down to the
very ground in terror of the switch, and then crept under-
neath it — not in that spirit of pleasantry which induces Mr.
Merriman to go under a horse instead of over him, when
joining the vaulters, but from sheer lack of intelligence.
" He is not a promising pupil," observed Philip, as he
lounged with Mr. Flitter against the posts and chains of the
quay.
^
THE POTTLETGN LEGACY ^W
*' I ought to know that dog," said the other, by that odd
white mark over his eye. I am sure I have seen him some-
where before, and his name is Tip; but I totally forget
where."
" Call him," suggested Philip.
"Hi! Tip, Tip!" cried Mr. Flitter.
The dog, who was about to walk round the circle with a
waiter in his mouth, in such forlorn hope of contributions as
a French audience held out, dropped it suddenly, and ran
towards Wyndham Flitter.
"There! I knew I was right," he said. "Where can I
have seen him? Stolen, of course."
The man, who appeared to think Mr. Flitter was not far
from right, raised the siege of the pockets of his audience
and retreated. For Wyndham had spoken with reason; it
was indeed the original Tip of the Twinch hearth that they
had been watching ! If the virgin heart that still mourned
his loss, even in the festive halls of Mrs. Cooze and her
friends, could have known the chance of discovering him
that had been lost, there is a question whether it would not
have broken at once. But the opportunity was suffered to
go by. The showman gathered up his things and moved
away; the apparition of Tip had passed, and his little bark
was once more lost in the great ocean of the world.
" We will take a turn along the pier," said Wyndham,
" and then prepare for dinner. They have a little music and
dancing in the evening, at Carpenter's. Where the deuce
have I seen that dog?"
Philip took his arm, and they strolled to the end of the
north pier, to see the people and watch the waves rolling
across the bar, and leaping over the fort, out and away in
the sea, towards Wimereux. The sun was shining, and now
and then the cliffs of England could be seen, even to their
indentations and shades of samphire patches, across the
channel. Philip looked at them, and was thinking of Pottle-
ton and Annie, when Wyndham changed the current of his
thoughts by simply observing —
" What an odd sensation it is, to be at Boulogne, with
the power of going home again whenever you like !"
268 THE POTTLE.TON LEGACY.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE COOZE JEWELS MIGHT STILL BEHAVE BETTER.
The researches of that ingenious butcher, Mr. Snoswell, after
Miss Twinch's lost favourite were ineffectual; so also were
those of the lady herself. But these latter were principally
confined to scrutinizing the little pets, held for sale in Regent
Street, and choking themselves as they inclined to different
views with regard to running round whatever lamp-posts
they chanced to be stationed near. Once Miss Twinch fol-
lowed a private carriage, in a hack cab, to the distant fron-
tier where the patrician Belgravia merges into the domestic
Brorapton, solely on the belief of having seen Tip looking
out of a brougham: and another time she kept guard with a
■|)oliceman at the door of a draper's shop in the Quadrant
that ran through into Piccadilly, for upwards of an hour,
because she had seen a lady enter with a similar Tip; and
after waiting thus long, she ventured in, and found that the
suspected party must long ago have departed by the other
egress; and, indeed, was almost given into custody herself,
upon suspicion of being a shopHfter, after all. For the
attentive gentleman, who walked about the establishment and
handed chairs to promote staying at the counter, and saw
that the ladies were properly attended to, and that they did
not pocket anything, had marked Miss Twinch watching
through the glass door for some time; and when she marched
through the shop, and, glancing suspiciously to the right and
left as she passed, went out without purchasing, he naturally
followed her. But nothing was missed, and he had seen
nothing appropriated, so Miss Twinch was allowed to go
her way.
Mr. Snoswell was not more fortunate. He went, at peril
of his life, into fighting neighbourhoods, where dogs grew by
hundreds in back-yards and cock-lofts; and made friends
with his apprentices, who told him of matches coming off,
kept dark to the world at large, between certain remarkable
dogs — born quarrelsome, and bred up to foster their natural
propensities — in the hopes of hearing news of the lost
favourite. But it was all of no avail.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 269
In vain Miss Twinch every morning looked down the
second column of The Times^ where the dissolute initials
were requested to return home, that they might be forgiven;
and people of a sanguine purity of mind expected that the
purse of sovereigns they had lost between Chelsea and Isling-
ton would be cheerfully brought back again by the right-
minded finder — the poor but honest peasant of the touching
melodramas. A few noble souls occasionally advertised that
they had found purses, which the owner might have by pay-
ing expenses and describing contents — such being usually
crossed cheques and notes whose payment was stopped;
and now and then, liberal people who had been followed by
fine retrievers, which had been kept until they howled all
niglit, and ate as much as an able-bodied man all day, an-
nounced the fact of that possession with some hope of the
original owner applying. But beyond this there was no
hope. Mr. Snoswell, however, sent in a bill for expenses
and loss of time incurred in the search; and Miss Twinch
settled it with the same feeling of indefinite dissatisfaction
that attends the paying for something done to your watch,
the extent of which outlay of labour or value is entirely re-
gulated by the inventive faculties of the artificer. And so
Tip was mourned as one loved but lost ; and Miss Twinch
felt that the tendrils of her heart which clung so fondly
round him began to wither, and, like Arcite, felt inclined to
weep when she heard touching music, so feeble w^ere her
spirits.
At this time, fortunately, Mrs. Cooze received an invita-
tion from Mrs. Budd, for her children to a juvenile party, as
Mrs. Budd's niece, little Minny Waring, was staying with
her, and it would be her birthday. Mrs. Cooze was requested
to bring Miss Twinch with her; and Mrs. Budd seriously
begged that they would both come early to assist her in the
tea and cofiee department, and also to look after the little
folks generally during the arrival, conjuring, and ball, which,
formed the excitements of the evening.
It was a trying time to live with the Jewels that elapsed
between the first intimation they got of the party and the
evening of its celebration; for every night a humble man
came to rehearse Goodness knows what kind of figure
polka with them, which X\\Qy were to show off in at the ball!
270 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
and the ordeal this poor professor had to undergo was never
exceeded by the Inquisition — " What a dirty face you've got,
Mr. Puttick," Totty would observe, not in the frank observa-
tion of a child, but because she had some indefinite notion
that it would make her teacher feel uncomfortable.
"For shame, Totty!" Mrs. Cooze observed, as poor Mr.
Puttick bent down his head, and put his violin in a vice be-
tween his chin and his knee to tune it. " How dare you be
so rude. Miss?"
" Well, Ma, you know you said you wished Mr. Puttick
would spend half as much money in soap as he did in tobacco;
and that was only yesterday, now."
"No, it wasn't!" said Lobby.
" Yes, it was!" retorted Totty.
" Now, that it wasn't, Miss!" continued her brother; " be-
cause it was when Papa came home and smelt the smoke, and
said Miss Twinch had had a cigar. Oo-o-o-oo!"
The last prolonged monosyllable accompanied a grimace
which Master Robert made at his sister, upon which Totty
tried to clutch his face, but was prevented by Mrs. Cooze
rushing forward, and Mr. Puttick knocking on the back of
his fiddle, when the dance commenced.
The children went through sonie painfully absurd business
with their arms and hands, and toes and heels; and then Mr.
Puttick proposed that they should rehearse their quadrille.
" Poof !" said Totty, with a supercilious toss of her head;
" just as if we did not know our quadrilles."
" What funny feet Mr. Puttick's are," observed Lobby;
** and I can see all the joints of his great toes through his
shoes."
" Now, my loves, the quadrille — the quadrille," cried Mrs.
Cooze. " Miss Twinch and I will be your vis-a-vis" And
the ladies stood up, as Mr. Puttick began to play.
" Hbw funny you dance!" observed Lobby to Miss Twinch,
after a while.
Miss Letitia's style was that of the primitive female
quadrillers, or early fandango — that is to say, she rose on one
elastic foot at each step, drew her chin back towards her
aieck, and presented her hand, with a graceful wave of the
arm, describing the top arc of a circle, whenever there was
an occasion. And she was especially mindful to do her
footinor in time to the music.
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY 2Tt
" Ah, I dure say little folks think it funny," observed Miss
Twinch; " but your mamma will tell you we had the first
masters of the day when I learnt."
" But that was such a long, long — oh, I don't know how
much a long time ago," replied Totty.
" I think that will do for this evening, Mr. Puttick," said
Mrs. Cooze. " To-morrow, at half-past six, if you please."
Mr. Puttick bowed, and prepared to leave the room, as
Lobby ran up to him, and said —
* Please stop a minute, and then I'll show you something;
but don't look."
" No, I wont look," promised Mr. Puttick.
" My dear Lobby, what are you going after?" asked his
mamma.
" I know," said the Jewel, leaving the room, after exacting
another promise from the professor not to watch him.
" He is such a fellow," observed Mrs. Cooze, in admira-
tion. " Now, you'll see — something funny and original, I'll
be bound."
Mr. Puttick smiled blandly, as if acquiescing with the lady
of the house in her estimate of the dear boy's attributes.
" Yon can't play the piano, I know," said Totty to Miss
Twinch, " else you would. Play that, now."
" Hush! here he comes," observed Mr. Cooze, as Lobby-
re-entered the room.
" Now you may go," he said to Mr. Puttick, " because
it's nothing about you. Mamma, mayn't Mr. Puttick go?'
" Certainly, my love," answered Miss Cooze; as the Pro-
fessor bowed his way sideways out of the room, and Lobby
made a confidential communication to his sister; at which
Totty laughed, as heartily as she was accustomed to; which
ebullition might have been mistaken for a sneer, after all, by
short-sighted people.*
*' Will you try that duett now, my dears, for the flageolet
and piano," their mamma went on.
" Wait a minute. Hush ! " said Lobby.
They listened ; and then heard a noise as of some one
groping about in the dark in the passage; and now and then
a chair scrooped along the floor. Lobby and Totty indulged
in little sniggers, at each sound.
" There he is," said the former.
272: THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" And he can't find them," remarked the girl.
" It is Mr. Puttick," exclaimed Mrs. Cooze; " and the
lamp must have gone out. It's that bad, cheap oil again."
The lady took a candle and opened the door. The Professor
was seen playing, to all appearances, a game of blindman's
buff by himself.
"Can't you find your way out, Mr. Puttick?" asked Mrs.
Cooze. "It's the little latch, and turn the handle at the
same time."
"No, ma'am;" replied Mr. Puttick. "I can open the
door; but I have lost something."
"What is it?"
" Oh, nothing — I dare say they are here — only my shoes."
It was Mr. Puttick's custom when he came to give the
Jewels their lesson, to exchange his Alberts of every-day life
for the pumps of society; and he usually left the former under
one of the hall chairs. They had now disappeared; and in
his researches after them, he had attracted the attention of
the others, who now found him with his pumps in his hand,
wandering about the stone flags of the passage in black-cotton
stockings with white toes.
The servants were rung up, but none of them knew any-
thing about it. It could not be the woman, either, who had
brought the clean things home, because she was not alone for
a minute; and the man who had come for the box of steel-
pens he left the night before, never came inside the door.
"Lobby," cried Mrs. Cooze, with severity, "where are
Mr. Puttick's shoes?"
Lobby, who was in the room, blew his flageolet very loud
in reply.
" Now, I insist upon knowing," said the lady, who began
to suspect a conspiracy of the Jewels; " if they are not found
this instant, I shall not let you go to Mrs. Budd's party.
"Totty knows," at length replied Lobby, bringing his
flageolet solo to a conclusion.
" You told me, sir, then," retorted the young lady.
" I would not let them go to the party, indeed," observed
Miss Twinch, in an infant-school tone, delighted to get a
chance of once more exercising her teacher's severity, " unless
they say where Mr. Puttick's shoes have been hidden."
" I don't care for you — not a bit," said Lobby.
THE POTTLBTON LEGACT. 275
" No more do I — no more do I — no more do I!" chorusecJ
Totty, as the two performed a savage measure round Miss
Twinch, joining their voices.
"For shame!" cried their mamma; "I wish your papa
would come in.'*
And, as if to support the old adage, the latch-key turned
in its lock at that moment, and Mr. Cooze entered.
"Septimus!" cried his lady; "will you speak to these
naughty, naughty children?"
" I'll tell if he does," said Lobby, half confidentially to hi»
mamma.
" What will you tell, sir ?"
" I will !" replied the Jewel.
^* And I wiU, too," added Totty.
" I'm ashamed of you," said Mrs. Cooze. " Septimus, if
you don't punish them "
"Then I will!" interrupted Lobby, with determination;
" when I went with mamma to Leicester House, to-day, she
told the man to put the new shawl down, because she was
sure you would be angry if she paid for it just now; and
he did."
" Robert, you wicked boy !" exclaimed Mrs. Cooze.
"Yes you did, ma; and she knows it, too," he continued^
pointing to Miss Twinch.
Poor Mr. Cooze had been so suddenly beset on all sides,,
upon entering, that he was scarcely collected. But he watched!
the servants with their ears wide open, and Mr. Puttick,
overwhelmed by the storm he had created, and the un-
natural feud between the mother and children, so he put on
a look as terrible as that of the ogre of old, and said, in a cor-
responding voice to Lobby —
" Where are the shoes, sir?"
The dear boy was quite awed by his father's presence: —
he shuffled to the end of the passage, and pulled them out
from a stove. They were directly restored to the expectant
Puttick, and then the Jewels were ordered off to bed. This
produced a fresh storm, which raged for some time in the
upper regions of the house, finally causing great floods of
tears, with which it terminated.
In little domestic scenes similar to this did the time pass
imtil the night of the party; on which evening, at half-past
4
7^4: THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
seven, Mrs. Cooze, Miss Twinch, and the Jewels, cleared
outwards with cargo from their home, and were deposited at
Mrs. Budd's, in Wirapole-street. The Jewels had been got
up regardless of expense. Mrs. Cooze, as we have seen,
thought that children's dresses could not be made too short
for them, to be patrician, whatever their ages; and so Totty
looked more like a teetotum than a little girl, when she
walked into the still-room. Lobby had an embroidered
frock-coat of velvet, the economy of which he sadly deranged
by keeping his hands in his trousers' pockets, wherein he had
a collection of chair-crackers, detonating balls, marbles, peas,
and painful missiles generally, to be surreptitiously used, as
occasion might present.
" This is very kind of you to come so soon," said Mrs.
Budd, who was, with her pretty little niece, Minny, in the
tea-room.
" Oh, I am too happy," replied Mrs. Cooze; " besides, I
said I would be here early."
" But you wouldn't, mamma, if we hadn't made you,"
observed Totty. " I know what you said in the drawing-
room."
" There, now, never mind, my love," said Mrs. Cooze,
*' you shall have some tea."
" Yes; but I know what you said," continued the atrocious
child. "You said she" (pointing to Mrs. Budd) "always
got you to come early, to make use of you, and "
*' Now, mind, you naughty boy !" cried Mrs. Cooze turning
to Lobby. " See — your tea is all running down your coat."
Little Minny thought it was time for her to pay some
attention to her guests, so she brought forward a little doll's
service of cups and saucers, and said to Totty, with a smile:
" Come and have tea with me."
The Jewel's only reply was a curl of the lip, and an observa-
tion to the effect that she had much better ones at home,
and that only babies had tea from doll's tea-things. So poor
Minny retired with her service, in much humility, and waited
the arrival of more social little friends.
, " That is a lovely collar you have on," said Mrs. Budd to
Miss Twinch.
" ' Tisn't hers — that's my ma's," exclaimed Lobby. " Ma
lent it to her to-night, because she hadn't got one."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 275
A knock at the door announced an arrival; for being a
luvenile party, all the people had been told to come early.
The Jewels would run out into the hall, to see the new
comers, and then hurried back to give their mothers details
of their appearance, more or less flattering.
"Oh! — there is such an ugly old woman come, ma," said
Lobby. " Oh ! so, so, so old — she is older than her^ everso-
much."
The comparison was instituted at the expense of Miss
Twinch.
" And she's got a cap like my doll's, that was bought
ready dressed," added Totty. " Such a fright it is!"
The style of those primitive ready-dressed dolls, whose
entire wardrobe is kept together so marvellously by two nails,
one driven into the chest, and the other into the poll, did not
appear calculated for modern evening costume. But the
children were as disagreeably observant as was their custom
to be, and not far from the mark. When the old lady came
in, who turned out to be Mr. Budd's mother, they said,
audibly, " Look at her, ma," and then burst out laughing.
The company kept arriving, and when the tea was finished,
they Tvere all marshalled up stairs to see the conjuring.
Lobby and Totty immediately possessed themselves of the
two best seats, obtaining one of them by violent means; and
when they were all arranged, the folding-doors were opened,
and the wizard w^as seen at his table. He introduced him-
self by some terribly hard w^ords, so imposing that the small
children stared at him in terror, with their eyes widely opened,
and held tight to the rout-seats they were perched upon, far
too nervous to dream of taking a card when one was offered.
But the Jewels were not awed. They struggled for the pack
when it came near them; and threw the conjuror out by
small fiendish tricks of their own, denying what they had
drawn, or refusing to give it up -when appealed to.
" Now," said the wizard, " 'ere's little Jack, the travelling
doll, that goes 'ere, there, and hevery where at once. Observe
his 'ead. Which of you, my little gentlemen, will lend him
a shilling?"
All the little boys felt enthusiastically in tlieir pockets for
the coin, but Lobby was first; and having presented it, with
T 2
276 THE i»OTTLETON LEGACY.
great pride, to the showman, he looked round with an air that
said — " See what I have done?"
" Hobserve the shillin'," the wizard went on; " I put it on
'is 'ead. Okus pocus crackafelto cockolorum jig! The 'ead
is gone and the shillin' too. 'As it gone to Hireland or
Hitaly? Which shall it be?"
The opinion of the little audience appeared considerably
divided, as to its destination. Lobby did not interfere in the
question, but merely informed the wizard, " That he did not
mind his H's."
" The 'ead is gone to Hireland," continued the professor.
" No, it isn't," said Lobby, " I saw you put it in your
pocket. Let me see."
And he ran from his seat, and pulled the wizard's tails,
until he tore one of them.
" I know it's there; I felt it," he went on.
" Hanky-panky, peccavy, crinkum-crankum, perriwig and
bobtail," exclaimed the wizard, " be'old the 'ead!"
" What nonsense he talks," cried Totty.
" I now take this little measure full of bird-seed," the
wizard continued.
" It isn't full," said Lobby, " because I've got one like it.
That's only a little glued on the lid, and it's got two tops."
*' Well, my little gentlemen, I will use another," replied
the wizard, going towards his apparatus.
" Don't go round the table, because there is a woman
hidden under it," said Lobby. " I peep'd in, and saw her
when I came up stairs."
" I shall be glad when this is over," observed Totty. " I
want to dance."
"Hush, my dears! For shame I" said Mrs. Cooze, in a
low voice.
" Well, I shall," Totty went on.
"And so will you. Ma," added Lobby; "because, you
know, you said, coming along in the cab, you hoped there
wouldn't be any conjuring rubbish; and that you did, you
know. I say, Mister, where's my shilling?"
" I cut this horange," said the wizard, " and, lo! it his the
shillin'.*'
"That's not the same," observed Lobby; "mine had the
THE POTTLETON LEGAC\. 277
Queen's head, hadn't it, Ma? The one you wouldn't give
when you quarrelled with the cabman."
Poor Mrs. Cooze, who was amongst ' carriage people,' felt
very mortified; nor was her vexation diminished when Totty
cried out —
" Mamma, does it rain?"
"No, my love — why?"
'* I hope it does, because you said, if it was fine, we were
to walk home, and save the fare."
The wizard proceeded with his cards, and cups, and en-
chanted caddies, about all of which the Jewels had some re-
marks to make, until he concluded with a distribution of sugar-
plums from his hat, which gave rise to some serious snatchings
and predatory warfare amongst the children. The doors
were then shut; the things cleared away; a meek performer
of active hands and feet, who went out with a mighty piano,
that played the drum, triangle, and trumpet at the same time,
glided into the room, and took his place for the evening; and
the dancing began.
It would have done anybody's heart good to see how these
little people enjoyed themselves; for even the Jewels were,
for a time, amiable. They did not talk a great deal to their
partners; but they stood in pretty positions, and quite panted
to begin their figures; and when they did, their eyes sparkled
so with real enjoyment, and their cheeks so flushed with pure
healthy colour, that the fairest belle of the season might have
despaired of equalling such attractions; and when they
laughed — which they did heartily at Master Palmer, who was
evidently the way of the company, and could make such droll
faces, and jump up and twist right round in pastorale, and
then pretend to be suddenly frightened in the middle of
cavalier seul, and run out of the quadrille — when they
laughed at that, as well as at Master Wilson, who slily put
on a false nose with a large red pimple on it, they made such
a cheering, joyous, ringing noise, that no music, however fine,
could come up to it. And it was infectious, too, amongst the
elders, for they laughed as well — all except the old lady who
was Mr. Budd's mother; but she was evidently re-decorated
and embellished for the occasion, and built up so gingerly,
and with such care, that there is no telling what effect a hasty
278 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
laugh might have had upon her constitution. Perhaps it
might have shaken her all to pieces, like the skeleton in the
Fantoccini.
After the dance the negus came round. It was not very
strong, but very delicious; and the little girls sipped it care-
fully, as though they feared it would get into their heads;
and of the rout cakes, the filberts and birds'-nests were sup-
posed to have the finest flavour, and went first. Then, whilst
they were resting, Master Palmer sang a nigger melody,
playing the bones as well as boys in the streets, for which
purpose he had kept them quietly, hitherto, in his jacket-
pocket. Next, he and Master Wilson performed a little
scene from a pantomime they had witnessed, wherein
Master "Wilson was supposed to be a shopkeeper, and Master
Palmer, the clown desirous of taking his business, on those
advantageous terms peculiar to such conveyances. Master
Palmer provoked the impatience of the. supposed dealer two
or three times, by knocking at the door, and running away,
until, having worked him up to a proper pitch of anger, he
knocked and laid himself down; on which the maltreated
tradesman fell over him, which was a piece of such exquisite
humour that the tears ran down the little people's cheeks
with laughter. Lobby and Totty alone saw nothing in it;
they simply said it wasn't done so well as at the play.
At last, after many hints, thrown out not merely by the
Jewels, but even by Mrs. Cooze, they were asked to per-
form their duet. After a great deal of squabbling at the
piano, they began; then, in common with the perfoi-mers of
all instrumental pieces ever played, without an exception,
they tired their audience out by the length of their exhibition,
so that the children got fidgety and shuffled about; and when,
at its termination Mrs. Budd said, " Thank you — very pretty
indeed 1 " it was a difficult thing to decide whether she was
grateful for its performance or because it was over. Clever,
certainly it was, but it did not please anybody. The mothers
generally disliked it because it seemed intended as a challenge
to their own children. Mrs. Cooze disliked it, because she
Ihought it had been thrown away, not having been sufficiently-
applauded; and the children all disliked it because they were
obliged to keep quiet whilst it was going on, and, if it had
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 279
not been, Master Palmer and his friend would have done
something else funny.
There was more dancing, and then the great event of the
evening — the supper — was announced. Lobby and Totty
struggled through the little throng to get the best places, as
usual; and were first in the room, and seated down under the
fairy yew that graced the centre of the table. It was a
lovely tree, and almost struck the children dumb with admi-
ration. Wax tapers innumerable, of every tint of the rain-
bow, twinkled like stars on its boughs, from which depended
bonbons, toys, purses, and trinkets, in equal profusion. It
had a perfectly enchanted appearance, as if some old fairy
had sown all the contents of the Burlington Arcade in a rich
soil, and trees such as this had been the produce.
" I should like that," said Lobby, seizing on a beautiful
carton of bonbons that lay at the foot of the yew.
" Presently, my dear," observed Mrs. Budd. " The tree
is not to be touched until supper is over."
" And then I may have it?"
" Yes; — we will see."
" Ah, but you wont see, I know. When will supper be
over? "
"Hush! there's a dear. See what a pretty barley -sugar
bird-cage that is."
And Mrs. Budd passed on to look after her other guests.
The elderly folks of the party had a table to themselves,
looking down upon the one round which all the little people
were arrayed. Mies Twinch, in the fulness of her heart,
wished to attend to them herself; but as she was the greatest
stranger of the party, Mrs. Budd would not allow this. And
yet it would have made the lady very happy, for she was
used to the business, having been well taught in the infant
school banquets of Pottleton; although the little folks assem-
bled on the present occasion could not be awed and corrected
as the influenza'd Jane Collier and nervous Harriet Stiles of
her native village.
For on the wrong side of thirty, with either sex — when the
chance of partners is not so secure as heretofore, and a new
and more dangerous race of rivals has arisen, to dispute the
claims to hands for a quadrille, than existed in one's usual
280 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
dancing days, and gain their point, it becomes convenient to
pay great attention to the little folks — to look upon them as
camphorated amulets, whereby the approach of age may be
warded off. And therefore is it supposed to be, that, in
country villages especially, kind spinsters are always found,
like Miss T winch, to shut themselves up in stivy rooms on
hot Sunday summer afternoons, (turned from a season of rest,
and loitering in the fresh and sunny fields, and worship of the
Creator through his rarest handiworks — the hedge and
meadow flowers, into a time of thumbed and grubby spelling-
books, and clogged atmosphere, and dread and weariness,) to
swelter therein, in the sole hope, as it would seem, of catching
youth by contagion.
This night, however, although Mrs. Budd would not allow
her to attend to the little folks, Miss Twinch was happily
placed; for she got next at the table to that calm haven for
girldom's wrecked philanderings — a young clergyman. And
the young clergyman of a London fashionable congregation —
good-looking, intelligent, and well-connected, with an organ
and a choir in his church, and a rush for pews — not like
poor now-discarded Mr. Page, who preached in the old grey
Norman church at Pottleton, to people who sang to a cla-
rionet, and sat down wherever they found room as they came
along the aisle. Mr. Sparks — that was the clergyman's
name — was no more to be compared to Mr. Page, so Miss
Twinch thought, than was the bonnet she bought ready-
made in Regent-street, to the one that Miss Piatt, of Pottle-
ton, trimmed after the pictures in the fashion-book, which
she received the month after publication, fly-spotted and
curled, from Miss Roosh, of Dibblethorpe.
Under similar circumstances it is allowable for spinsters
to commence a conversation. So Miss Twinch began by
sayinof —
" What a charming sight this is!"
" Yes, very funny — very good fun indeed," replied
Mr. Sparks. " Look at that little fellow — how he is walking
into the raised pie, and how ill he will be to-morrow I"
Miss Twinch was somewhat taken aback. She had not
expected quite such an off-hand answer, so she went off on
another line.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 281
"I have been accustomed to see little people enjoy them-
selves," she said. " I have an infant-school under my super-
intendence at Pottleton."
"Ah, indeed! — Pottleton! — why, I ought to know some-
thing of Pottleton."
" It is a charming country," said Miss Twinch.
" Oh, I don't know anything about the country," said
Mr. Sparks; "but the name struck me. A man from St.
John's is curate there, I believe. Page — Poppy Page."
" Mr. Abel Page, I think you must mean," observed Miss
Twinch.
" Yes, Abel Page I believe was his right name; but we
used to call him Poppy — first, because he told very sleepy
stories; and, secondly, because he fired once at sixteen
pigeons from the trap, one after another, without hitting one
of them. Pop, he went, pop — pop ! Just like that."
And Mr. Sparks imitated the exploit of Mr. Page, by
twisting, his hands into the semblance of a gun, and snapping
the right thumb and second finger for a lock.
" He is very much liked," said Miss Twinch; " although,
as you say, he does tell long stories."
Alack for human nature! Since the scene at the bazaar,
Miss Twinch felt a petty satisfaction in helping on the depre-
ciation of the individual for whose opinion, co-operation, or
approval, she would before have given her most valuable
treasure — even a tarnished old gilt chatelaine, that had been
her grandmother's, and was only worn on especial Sundays
and family anniversaries, with a watch thereunto appended,
that might plausibly have been mistaken for one of those
golden French walnuts, in which tiny scissors, thimbles,
almanacks, and other Lilliputian afiairs, absurdly useless, are
revealed upon opening.
" He is a great favourite, though," continued Miss Twinch.
" Oh, that he is sure to be," said Mr. Sparks — " a kind-
hearted, steady-going, sober old fish he always was, as ever
lived. Ah ! our positions have been somewhat different. He
would not have done for London, though. He wanted the
savoir vivre. He was a good creature, but too * slow.' "
Miss Twinch would have liked to have heard something
against Mr. Page more than had yet been expressed. But
282 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
just then the good and evil angels, who are constantly at see-
saw in our dispositions, were so nicely balanced — for they
are utterly independent of our own inclinations — that the
slightest breath turned them. And Mr. Sparks so evidently
had a kindly feeling towards his old college friend, from the
way in which he spoke of him, that the warmth influenced
the beam, and the charitable predominated.
"I am so happy to find that you were at college with
him," said Miss Twinch. " Was he very studious?"
*' Oh, veiy," replied Mr. Sparks. " We could never get
him out for anything. If there w^as one of those foolish
broils, which sometimes take place in the streets, he never
w^as in it."
Miss Twinch believed it.
" We played him cruel tricks, though, sometimes. We
sent him out hunting, one day, upon an unbroken colt — he
was found in a willow pollard; and the week afterwards we
persuaded him to drive the same horse — he never recollected
it — in a tilbury: I thought he was killed. I went into the
parlour of the little inn, near which he had been picked up
when the trap upset, the same night, and I saw a bundle of
something in the corner, that was not usually there, and I
asked what it was, ' Oh! that's Mr. Page, sir,' said the waiter;
and it was, indeed — poor fellow!"
Miss Twinch could scarcely conceive that this was a
member of the same class Mr. Page belonged to, that she was
addressing. It almost shook her faith in young curates.
But Mr. Sparks had such a name, and w^as really so at-
tractive in himself, that she was obliged to think him per-
fection.
" You are very much engaged in town, I have no doubt/*
she said.
" Oh, just as it happens. When the opera is open, three of
my evenings in the week are usually taken up. Only, you
know, on Saturday night, when the ballet begins after twelve,
I am obliged to leave."
Miss Twinch perceived that he was not of Mr. Page's
kind, and that she was not exactly upon the right tack for
conversation. So she shifted it.
'• You liko parties?" she said.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 283
" Pretty well — a polka is the most agreeable means of
exercise. Do you dance it?"
" Oh, yes," replied Miss T winch; but she told a wicked
story. The administered flattery, however, of being taken for
a polka dancer, salved her conscience.
" A little wine?" asked Mr. Sparks.
31iss Twinch looked pleasant acquiescence, and allowed
the gallant curate to pour out a glass for her.
" Does Page dance ?" he inquired.
" Oh, no; he is too steady," she answered, with playful
emphasis. If she had known the steps that good blushing
Mr. Page was at that very time taking to plunge into the
gay world, her mind would have been less at ease.
" You must come to my church on Sunday," said Mr.
Sparks, who understood his line, and was equally attentive
to belle and spinster.
" I shall be most happy, if my chaperon, Mrs. Cooze, will
take me," replied Miss Twinch.
It was a pretty girlish idea, considering the relative ages
of the parties.
" We have admirable singing," continued Mr. Sparks.
" All those fairies who sing the flying chorus so beautifully
in the Christmas piece at the theatre, are in our choir. You
would be astonished how neatly they turn out, and how ad-
mirably they behave."
" I dare say they do," said Miss Twinch, but she did not
mean it. With her, fairies were only pure in type, on the
pages of a book of magic tales. Apart from it, and palpably
presented to the view, they were nasty impudent creatures
in pink tights, who showed their legs.
Meanwhile, the little folks were getting up a great buzz of
their own at that especial table. Small flirtations were
already commencing. Little Minny had found a tiny beau
who had kissed her openly before the juvenile company; and
one or two little girls had squeezed the keepsakes of their
partners — usually consisting of cakes — so tightly in their
little puddy hands, that they were fit for nothing but the
manufacture of bread seals. Master Palmer still continued
to be the great gun of the evening — even to singing " Hot
Codlins," which had hitherto been looked upon as an almost
S84 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
sacred lyric, the sole property of clowns and Master Christ-
mas.
And he found an admirable coadjutor, still, in Master
"Wilson, whose papa wrote for a Sunday paper, and so he
got orders to see all the pantomimes when they came out,
and understood their chief features to perfection, even to the
gags of the boys in the gallery. So that when Master Pal-
mer sangj after the true version of that ancient lyric —
" She drank so hard that the bottle shrunk,
And this little old woman, I'm told, got "
and then stopped suddenly, for his auditors to supply the
deficient rhyme, Master Wilson would suggest —
"BufFy!"
" No, it wasn't," said Master Palmer, putting his hands
in his pockets, and searching far and near after vague or
supposed property, in the manner of the clown proper. How
the little people laughed! and how they looked at Master
Wilson, until he was nearly devoured by their eyes, in ex-
pectation of what he would say next.
" Mops and brooms !" he continued.
"No it isn't— try again," said Master Palmer, with a
fresh face, that sent a little girl into convulsions, as near a
perfect fit as might be without danger. And then all the
small audience gasped for Master Wilson's next funniment.
"I know what it is!" shouted Lobby, breaking down all
the trellises of anticipation that they had been forming, "It's
* drunk' — that's the word — who couldn't tell that."
Master Wilson had prepared a little joke of his own, for
the nonce, but now it was of no use. So he quietly seated
himself again by his baby partner; and what with Lobby's
forwardness and Totty's sneer, the whole fun of the song was
spoiled, and no more verses were tried.
But the diversion caused by it had the effect of bringing
the supper, as far as the practical eating part of it went, to
a conclusion; and the Jewels immediately prepared to storm
the tree, having kept their eyes on it all the while, and
especially on those bonbons and trinkets they wished to ap-
propriate. Mrs. Budd went back to the adult table to invite
i
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 285
her guests all to be present at the distribution, when the
Jewels at once made the attack — one of them springing up
upon the table and seizing the tree, whilst the other per-
sonally attacked a child of weaker purpose, bent upon the
same errand. The result of the onslaught might have been
anticipated. The treasures were attached to the tree with
stronger silk than the aggressor had supposed, and a stout
pull, in the anxiety to possess some particular one, brought
the whole affair — wax lights, boughs, bonbons, and all,
amidst the shrieking company.
There was a terrible excitement. The screams of the
little folks could not have been exceeded by the simultaneous
regulation and removal of teeth from an entire preparatory
academy, and the friends contributed their share, as they
rushed to the scene of conflagration. The entire evening
was upset. The delicate emery cushioUvS, and wheelbarrows,
and barrels the glove-buttoners, and miniature mirrors, and
scent-bottles; the crackers, and burnt almonds and golden
walnuts were all upset and scrunched beneath the feet of the
affrighted children; whilst the overthrow of decanters, and
smash of plates, dishes, and tumblers, was frightful; espe-
cially when considered in relation to the new toilets that had
come out new for the evening. The people began to tliink
it was time to go; and the children seeing all the beautiful
things they had looked forward to possessing totally de-
stroyed, were of the same mind.
Sums of a vague and indeed impossible amount are fre-
quently put forward as a representation of the actual value
w^hicli people would not pay — not being asked or in any way
called upon or expected to do so — for the privilege of using
and occupjang the shoes of certain individuals at the parti-
cular moment of the determination. This is generally done
in a chivalric or determined spirit; but it would have been
difficult to have collected the real ransom which Mrs. Cooze
would have paid to have been delivered from her own shoes
at that moment. For there was no sympathy with her, for
reasons before perceived; and as the accident had put every-
body in ill- temper, they began to think of going home;
npbody having the heart to wish Mrs. Budd good night, or
thank her for the very pleasant evening that the little people
2.86 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
had enjoyed; which, under ordinary circumstances it would
have been proper to do.
And so the guests departed, and, as poets would have
said, the hall was deserted — such being the odd locality in
which festivities of all kinds are supposed to take place.
Mrs. Oooze was amongst the early goers; and, with Miss
Twinch, she hustled the Jewels out of the door and along
the pavement, keeping up her plan of making them walk
home.
" Oh, Letitia," she exclaimed, as they gained the tranquil
off-side of Cavendish-square, "what shall I say to Mrs.
Budd when we meet again — and they never danced their
figure polka too! You naughty — naughty — naughty
children!"
" It was all Totty's fault," said Lobby.
" Now, that it wasn't, sir," retorted the girl. " I got the
sweetmeats, though."
And she pulled out a little pannier of sugarplums from
under her cloak, which she had secured in the scuffle, and
hitherto kept concealed.
"]Mrs. Budd said I was to have that," cried Lobby, making
a snatch at it.
" You sha'n't — it's mine," replied the girl.
" I will," was Lobby's retort, as he seized it.
"llobert! you naughty child!" cried poor Mrs. Cooze
again, whilst her Jewels were in close warfare. " Give it
up to your sister, this minute. She shall have it."
" That she sha'n't, if I don't," replied the boy; and seizing
the case of bonbons, he pitched it down an area.
A renewed scuffle was the consequence; and the Jewels
began to attack each other with savage enthusiasm, to the
agony of the mother, and the perfect prostration of all ideas
generally that Miss Twinch could command. At last, Mrs.
Cooze forgot all her maternal affection, and took to slapping
them indiscriminately as they clung to the area railings, and
obstinately refused to move until the sweatments were re-
covered. A loud and prolonged wailing was the result :
continued until a gentleman in a night-cap protruded his
head from the second-floor window, and inquired what was
the matter.
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY. 287
" Now come, none of this noise here," said a policeman,
coming up at the moment.
" Well, you're a nice woman — you are !" exclaimed a
gentleman, who arrived in another direction, smoking a
cigar and singing a chorus at the same time. "You ought
to be ashamed of yourself to treat two poor children like
that. Where do you expect to go to — eh?"
"By Soho Square — boo-oo-oo!" cried Lobby, bellowing
through his words.
" Soho Square! Soho Round, you ought to say," replied
the gentleman; and having delivered himself of this joke,
after the manner of facetious minds coming home late, and
looking rather to antitheses of words than duplicity of mean-
ing, he went his way in the happy conviction of having said
a fast thing.
The presence of the policeman, whom the children re-
garded with an awe only exceeded by that they felt for the
Bogy of their earlier years, at once quieted them, and
they walked with tolerable tranquillity all the rest of the
way home, sobered down enough to think of the noise there
would be when Totty's muslin dress was found to be burnt
in sundry places by the wax tapers of the tree, and Lobby's
new coat was discovered splashed with lemonade, and smeared
with pink cream, as had occurred during the downfall at
supper.
However, they arrived at home at last, to the intense gra-
tification of Miss Twinch, who felt the street-door close her
in, as joyously as though she had gained refuge in some
Templar's stronghold, after being harassed within an inch of
her life by Paynims, as a Christian maiden. Her discomfort,
nevertheless, was not over, for she found a letter from her
brother, which was anything but consolatory.
It is not a good plan to read letters found on returning
home, at night. You gain nothing by it. The preponder-
ance of unpleasant communications over agreeable ones is so
decided, in every position, that you only prepare for yourself
a night of worry and wakefulness, in ten cases out of eleven.
All letters, however warm the weather, will keep for a few
hours; and goblin evils that would haunt the bed in terrible
dreariness all night, would be mere subjects for laughter at
the breakfast-table.
288 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
But Miss Twinch did not follow this plan; and when she
read a few lines from her brother to the effect that something
very unpleasant had occurred with Annie Maitland, and that
he wished her to return home immediately, she passed the
entire night in puzzlings and surmisings of the most harassing
and sleep-scaring description.
But she did not altogether keep awake. She had curious
dreams, which would have appeared comical if told in the
morning, but which sadly distressed her spirit at night. She
pictured herself giving a party to crowds of curates, all of
whom had been in search of Tip, with an army of infant
scholars to assist them. Then she found herself in a forest
of flaming German trees, with Lobby and Totty flying round
in the fiery air, like huge dragon-flies, stinging her and
darting off; and finally Mr. Page appeared riding on a
dragon with Annie Maitland behind him, going up higher
and higher, until at last she lost sight of them altogether, and
a thunder-storm came on, as amidst its noise she started from
her sleep and heard a voice of actual life exclaim, " Half-
past eight, ma'am; and, if you please, here's the warm
water!"
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 289
CHAPTER XXVII.
A BOULOGNE BOARDING-HOUSE.
It was in the Rue de la Coupe — a street that runs from the
bottom of the Neuve Chaussee to the Rue de TEcu — that
Mr. and Madame Lurker had opened their establishment
to offer the comforts of a domestic home, combined with the
ease of an hotel, and the society of a constant large party, to
any one who felt inclined to pay a certain weekly sum,
graduated according to the brilliancy or desolation — ^the con-
tiguity or distance — the level or altitude — of the bedrooms.
Mr. Lurker had been, in England, one of those luckless
individuals who change their abodes as often as a hermit
lobster; and when their names appear ultimately in connexion
with an advertisement from the Insolvent Court, may be
looked upon as gipsies of private life, from the number and
varied localities of their addresses, as well as their innocence
of payment ever made for occupation. For he had been first
of Broad Street, and then of Brompton, then of Guernsey,
then of Golden Square, then of Boulogne, then of Jermyn
Street, then of Islington, then of Jersey, then of St. John's
Wood, and finally, out of the way altogether, as Mr. Brown,
in some remote village: until he turned up at Boulogne, with
a Frenchwoman for his wife, as fresh as ever. He had been
coal merchant, wine merchant, accountant, newspaper editor,
tavern keeper, director of all sorts of forlorn boards, manager
of two or three hopeless-from-the-first theatrical speculations,
and had even been put up for a radical borough, and polled
two votes; but at length, having married the daughter of a
Cafe at Calais, had declared, for the fiftieth time, that he was
now settled for life. How men of his class live, is a puzzle.
Some have, it is true, known, although vague and precarious,
methods of existence, by the gambling table, and small social
frauds, and paltry venial peculations; together with those
wondrous means of temporary support, afibrded by drawing,
and discounting, and stealing bills, which defy all honest cal-
culation. But there are hundreds in London who have not
even these chances — men whom we meet, day after day,
u
m»
THE POTTLETON LEGACY*
always well-dressed, and with a small sum about them, whom
we know to have no possible means of earning a half-penny;
whose credit is utterly and entirely gone ; who are never met
in anything approaching to private society; whom their very
brother Doos fight shy of; and yet they live — nay, flourish.
That somebody is done, somewhere, is certain; but where,
or in what manner, is equally mysterious.
Mr. Lurker's house was always full. Some people lived
there cheaply throughout the winter; and many came there
regularly when the season returned. There was a large
party there, at present, for the time of year ; and when
Wyndham Flitter and Philip arrived, the bell had rung, and
some twelve or fourteen quests had assembled. A place had
been kept for Philip by Mrs. Wracketts; and Wyndham sat
by her husband. All the boarders looked at the new comers
during a few moments of silence, and then the general con-
versation commenced.
" Been on the pier to-day, Miss Plummer? " asked Mrs.
Bowles; such being, according to ancient usage, the first
question always put at a boarding-house dinner.
Miss Plummer was an elderly maiden lady, with a flaxen
front, which, being supposed to convey the notion of natural
hair, was, by a perverted taste of the manufacturer, of a tint
that no hair had ever been known to assume; and she also
rouged. As to Mrs. Bowles, nobody had ever seen the equal
to her, apart from the opening of a pantomime; she was so
like a witch. Indeed, when she spoke of ' her Broom,' in
London, the matter-of-fact article itself was first suggested,
as her most appropriate means of transport. She had a bass
voice, was very deaf, w^ore a head-dress all pins and black
bands, and put something round her neck very like a stock.
Being deaf, she used to join in conversation at awkward times;
and she had also a habit of thinking aloud, wliich was terrible
or diverting, as the case might be. And she never finished
a sentence.
"What a remarkable old lady!" observed Philip, as he
looked at her with curious amazement.
" Oh — she's nothing herself," answered Mr. Wracketts.
" You should see her bonnet. It never could have been
made. I believe it grew somewhere; eh, Sim?"
Mr. Sim was a little old bachelor, with a small quantity of
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 29t
light pluffy hair on his head, and was always looking be-
nignant at everything and everybody.
" Ha, ha!'* he replied, with a short double laugh. " Good
again! Grew! Ha, ha!" And Mr. Sim patted the fedge
of the table with the ends of his fingers, in approbation.
Just at this moment Philip felt a slight pressure on his
foot. He turned instinctively to Leonie, and her large black
swimming eyes appeared to be looking through his own.
" I am so glad you are come," she said, in her lowest,
sweetest tone. " You must go to the ball with me to-night:
and about with me. Wracketts is always engaged with
those men at the cafe, and I sadl^-- need a companion."
" I shall be too happy," replied Philip.
Another gentle pressure on his foot was the reply.
" This is the third day those stewed pigeons have been
up," thought !Mrs. Bowles out loud. " But then — ah — no — "
Mr. Sim, as usual, looked pleasantly at the old lady, until
he perceived the remark was not calculated to promote the
comfort of Mr. and Mrs. Lurker; upon which he dropped his
countenance, and took a pinch of snuff.
" Wracketts — a glass of wine," said Mr. Wyndham Flitter,
coming to the rescue, as everybody was silent.
" With pleasure. Any news to-day?"
*' No — nothing particular. A dreadful fire at Smyrna,
and a murder in the south of France."
"Well, I suppose there must be," observed Mr. Wracketts,
counting his fingers. Yes — it's quite time."
" What do you mean by that?" asked Philip.
" Why, that's periodical news. If you keep an account,
you'll find that every six months there's a destructive fire at
Smyrna, and a horrid murder, Avith an axe, in Aveyron. I
don't know why, but it is so."
" Ha, ha!" cried Mr. Sim, who had hung on this observa-
tion with the blandest interest. " Very clever — good again !'*
" I knew Mrs. Fitzherbert when I was a girl," remarked
Mrs. Bowles, under the impression that deep silence prevailed.
*' A bottle of champagne she says something about the
Prince of Wales!" cried Wracketts to Flitter.
"Done!" answered Wyndham.
*'But it wasn't at her house. No. The Prince of Wales — ^**
** Good again !" cried Mr. Sim, in ecstasy.
u 2
.292 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" — was dining with Mr. Boehra, when the news of the
battle of Waterloo was brought him, and he went — ^but it —
fifty — no, no — "
" She talks just like Stoff," observed Philip to Wynd-
ham.
" No — not exactly. Stoff always finishes his sentence
in his mind, and believes that to be sufficient for you to enter
into his meaning. Now, I can see she never finishes it at
all, anywhere. Oh — you nice old lady!"
He said the last words quite out loud to her face, which,
as she did not hear a syllable, was a highly diverting conceit.
" I saw you in the Grande Rue to-day," said Mr. Sim,
quite delighted at such a chance, to Miss Piummer.
" Yes, I was there," replied the lady.
When she had said this, Mr. Sim felt that he had started
a subject of conversation which he had not the power of sus-
taining, and became nervous in consequence.
" About twelve, I think," said Miss Piummer.
*' I think it was," replied Mr. Sim. And here all hope of
prolonging the dialogue departed.
"I wonder who these new people are that have come
to-day," thought Mrs. Bowles, in her usual manner. " If
I'm to lose my bedroom, I shall go; but I shall not tell the
Lurkers, or they will make it uncomfortable to me."
" Come, it's as well to be candid," said Mr. Wyndham
Flitter. " I mean, morally speaking. As a matter of interest,
perhaps, it is not so desirable. I knew a young lady once — "
" The Prince of Wales called himself Florizel, and he
addressed all his letters to Perdita," chimed in Mrs. Bowles,
with another anecdote, as she believed, to an attentive
audience.
"How I should like to hang that old woman; if it was
only for half-an-hour," said Wyndham.
" Everybody thought it would last," Mrs. Bowles went on;
" but they were separated in a year, and then — not at all —
the Queen — no, no — "
" Pray ask your friend to continue his story, Mr.
Wracketts," said Miss Piummer.
" Oh — it was nothing," replied Mr. Flitter. " I knew a
young lady who was acquainted with a Mrs. Chick. I hope
Bobody here knows Mrs. Chick?"
Mr. Sim was the only guest who expressed his ignorance
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 29^^
of the lady in question. But this he did in kindness of
heart to assist the narrative.
" Very well," Mr. Flitter went on — " one day she was
sitting in her room, and heard a tap at the door. * Come in,
if you're not Mrs. Chick,' she said; for she hated her, and
thought it would make fun with her sisters. But do you
know, it was Mrs. Chick herself."
" How very awkward," said Miss Plummer.
" More than awkward," added Flitter. " When Mrs. .
Chick died, she left all her property to Exeter Hall; but not
for a series of concerts — something quite in another line;
;missionaries, I believe — people who muddle savages' heads
with such to them strange theories, that, at last, they go
through life without any religion at all; except that which
they think will get them most brandy and blankets."
*' Oh, sir, I cannot agree with you there," said Miss
Plummer, to whom the May meetings, in her little way,
caused as much excitement as the programme of the Opera
does to the great world in general. If Miss Twinch had
been fifteen years older, and they had met, they would have
been great friends.
" I can assure you it's a fact," replied Mr. Flitter. " It's
as bad as teaching a man philosophy who has been brought
up all his life at a dog-fancier's or rat-catcher's."
" How very clever," whispered Mrs. Wracketts to Philip.
Mr. Sim was about to knock the table, and say, " Good
again!" but he saw there was a divided opinion, and remained
quiet.
" Support our side of the question," continued Leonie; "I
may call it our side, I suppose," she added, with another
pressure on the foot.
Philip was about to speak, when a thought struck Mrs.
Bowles, and she thus expressed it —
* * I'm sure I've seen that woman in London in a Broom
like mine, and that was the reason I never went into the
Park with one horse and a servant, because — and the rain-
though the Duke bowed to him — I know it — never mind "
" Don't you think so, Maitland," cried Wyndham, long
before the old lady had got thus far.
" There was a sort of example to-day on the Port," said
Philip; "a little dog in a strange dress. He had been
brought up like a savage — but, perhaps, with more inherent
29^ THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
notions of cleanliness and instinct — to move about accordlns:
to his nature, and eat what came in his way. But now,
some one else had taught liim to stand on his hind legs, and
wear an absurd hat, and assume attitudes. Very well; the
dog's original nature was not changed thereby; but he knew
he would get things to eat if he obeyed his teacher, and get
thrashed if he didn't; so very properly he obeyed him."
" Oh, it was love," said Miss Plummer.
" Not at all ; if he had been with a vast number of other
dogs, free and famished, they would have eaten the teacher;
the savages sometimes do the same. But that dog will come
to an unsatisfactory end. His notions will be so perplexed
between which, or how many, of his legs he ought to go on,
that he will lose his own instinctive love of the natural, and
therefore the beautiful, and become a nonentity."
Miss Plummer appeared quite overwhelmed by Philip's
reasonings; so she turned it off by taking a little wine, out of
a bottle of Vin ordinaire, with a piece of red worsted tied
round it, which lasted her a week.
In the above manner the conversation went on; Mrs.
Wracketts, however, keeping Philip all to herself, until the
ladies rose; when the gentlemen drew up together.
" A good season, Lurker ? " asked Wyndham of the
host.
" Pretty well for winter; I can't complain. We're toler-
ably full."
"Um, ah!" said Flitter; *' mostly old ladies, I see; no
girls — give me girls!"
" And me, too, indeed," answered Mr. Lurker. " The
old ladies in a boarding-house are the deuce. They make all
the rows. They get peppery and irritated, and talk at one
another, until they squabble openly. It happens e\eyy
evening."
" Can't we get up a row to-night?" asked Philip, laughing.
" It would be amusing !"
** You need not trouble yourself — there is sure to be one,"
returned Mr. Lurker. "Miss Plummer usually quarrels
after tea with Mrs. Parker — that lady who sat at the bottom
of the table."
*' What a comical lot of old seventy-fours you must have
in your harbour here," said Mr. Flitter; " and it always seems
tiie case at Boulogne."
THE POTTLETON LEGAC-X. 29^
■** You know Boulogne, then, well, sir?" asked a youngish
gentleman, with an imperial.
" Ought to," said Mr. Flitter. " I lived here once — or
xwice, I may say — perhaps more.'
"Ah; I came over here yesterday, on purpose to buy a
diligence; and because the railway opened all the way to
Paris, there is not one in Boulogne. I thought, at this very
time, to get one cheap."
" What did you want one for?"
'• To go to Epsom in, next Derby-day," replied the gen-
tleman, who was named Mr. Sparks. " IVe got a fast-trot*
ting mare tliat I think would show off well in one."
" A diligence is not the thing for a fast-trotting raare,"
answered Mr. Flitter. " You've seen one, of course?"
" No, I haven't! " answered the other.
<* My goodness!" said Mr. Flitter; " let me look at you.
See here — I'll cook you one up in an instant; as well as
Soyer himself could, and after his style. Here goes : ' To
make a Diligence.' — Take a broad-wheeled wagon, and sepa-
rate carefully the wheels from the body, which put by. Then
catch the body of an old-headed gig, as well as those of a.
post-chaise, a stage-coach, and a thick slice from the hinder
part of an omnibus, two persons in breadth. Truss the back
of the post-chaise to the front of the coach, the boots being
perfectly removed; and at the back of all, skewer on the
slice of omnibus. Set cai'efuUy on the wheels, and then add
the headed gig to the top of the post-chaise, securing it by
whatever skewers you please. Bake for twenty-fours hours
on a dusty road; garnish with bits of cord and a screw-jack,
and serve up with whatever sauce you may hear on the road.
Your diligence is then completed."
" Grood again — very clever," remarked Mr. Sim knocking
the table.
'• Let me add, * Another way,' as the cookery-books usually
do," said Philip.
^' Hear, hear!" exclaimed festive Mr. Sim, lost In bland
admiration of everybody.
" Divide an omnibus into three parts," Philip went on,
" and turn the middle one sideways, making such doors as
occasion may require. Place an old private cab on the top,
and cover with a tarpaulin. Finish with a crust 4)f gypsum-;
-dust and rain-water."
fl&6 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
After Mr. Wyndham Flitter had told a few more stories,
some of them being those we have already heard, with
variations, and exhibited his ring and watch, Mr. Sparks and
Mr. Sim went off to play billiards, and the rest joined the
ladies up-stairs. Mrs. Wracketts was at the piano, singing
wicked French songs with irresistible effect; and the old
ladies were playing audience, whilst Melanie, the good-
tempered, fat, Flemish maid, assisted Madame Lurker in
making tea. Philip and Mr. Flitter took up their places on
either side of Mrs. Wracketts; and her husband read the
proceedings of the Bankruptcy Court in the day before yester-
day's paper.
This tableau of one evening would have done for all : not
only at that especial season but at all times, and, with a few
allowable variations of locality, at all places. The minds of
folks who pass their lives in such circles, ought, at last, to
arrive at a high and fertile pitch of cultivation; for there is
very little strain upon their capacities to produce or invent,
and hence their little squabbles and peckings are of some
service, for they act as vivifiers to the blood, which might
otherwise clog and stagnate from too great slowness.
Mrs. Wracketts had just finished the ballad,
" Tu m'aimes quand ma voix touchante,"
when Mr. Flitter caught up an English song from the music-
stand with a lithograph, that to unthinking minds represented
St. Paul's out at sea.
"Ah!" he said— -' Beautiful Venice:"
" Yes," said Mrs. Wracketts; " do you sing it? Oh, do."
" Not exactly," replied Mr. Flitter. " But I know the
original."
" Indeed! and you will sing that — won't you? I will ac-
company you."
And her fingers floated over the keys.
" No; it is too high."
" I can play it lower," she added, altering the chords, as
Philip watched her in admiration.
" I will try," said Mr. Flitter. " It is a poor thing, but
I wrote it myself. It may be almost termed an amateur
composition." And then Mr. Flitter began, in a song which
lie termed—
THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
297
BEAUTIFUL BOULOGNE.
Beautiful Boulogne !
I laud thee in song ;
Home of the stranger
Who's done something wrong
Doorway to Europe,
Though Calais deplore ;
Making of Folkstone,
Ne'er heard of before :
Eamparts commanding
A beautiful view;
Billiards and beer,
In the Rue de rE9u.
I know some projectors
Turn'd Doos, who to thee.
Beautiful Boulogne,
Cut over the sea !
Beautiful Boulogne,
I laud thee in song,
What memories of old
To thy paved streets belong.
I think on Miss Cruikshank's
Fair liveried girls,
And Madame Fevrillier's —
Their eyes and their curls !
And the fancy bazaar.
Up the Grand Rue half-way
At that corner, so dear,
Of the Rue Neuve Chaussee.
I've wander'd about;
But the bathing for me
Is at beautiful Boulogne,
Two hours by sea !
The song was very successful; indeed, everybody but Mr.
Lurker thought it admirable. And then Mr. Flitter turned
to put the sugar in the cups for Madame, at the tea-table, and
Philip was lost in conversation with Mrs. Wracketts, who
still kept up some desultory music, as her eyes went through
him. If the days of magic were still flourishing, and we
were a powerful baron, in league with spirits who could assume
any shape we bade them for our purpose, and wanted to effect
any young rival's ruin, by leading him into evil ways, we
would put him in Philip's position just at this time. Let a
pair of dark eyes, floating in their own liquid light, vdth
pupils lustrous and dilated in the eventide, gaze on you; let
a low soft voice be heard in some sweet ballad — not a shrill
soprano, great in runs, and turns, and achievements of height,
but a trembling soft contralto, breathing nought but simple
notes, and melody, and passion; let taper fingers press the
keys as though they felt the notes they were producing; let
every body else be engaged; let champagne have sent your
own pulses on at a little quicker rate than ordinary, and then
say whether such a tempter, if wickedly disposed, could not
lead you wherever she chose. If she could not, then it is a
pity that you did not know St. Anthony or St. Kevin, for you
might all have taken lodgings together, and congratulated
yourselves upon being the only three of your kind in the
2d9^
THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
world. Philip gazed on Mrs. "Wracketts, and thought he
had never seen anything so beautiful. The two angels were
busy at work in his ear, and as the good one told him that it
was a crime— i-almost a double one — to admire her, the evil
spirit wondered if Annie could sing so sweetly, or whether
she was even so generally attractive. At the side of the
room, Wyndham Flitter was watching them like Mephisto-
pheles, and Mr. Wracketts still kept on at his paper.
But a little excitement amongst the old ladies diverted
attentions generally. It began from a simple thing — Mrs.
Parker had asked Miss Plummer to turn up the lamp she
being at the table.
Now this lamp required some courage to turn up. It went
by clockwork — that is to say, you wound a spring until it
made a noise that frightened you into fits, and then the oil
shot up in a fountain over the wick, which blazed like gas.
Its management was not a thing to be attempted by nervous
minds. As well might one have opened a bottle of soda
water, or let off a cracker, or got into a racing omnibus, or
taken a " header" from the bank through a thin coat of ice,
or fired a cannon without proper notice.
" I think it gives a very good light, ma'am," said Miss
Plummer, who being feeble as to her optics, but not liking to
own it, learned knitting or crochet, or whatever the legerde-
main with two sticks and a string consisted in, by heart; and
then pretended to be watching it by difiicult illumination.
" A very good light indeed, at least for mt/ eyes."
Mr. Wracketts looked at Flitter, who went to Philip, and
touching him on the shoulder, said —
" I'm sorry to disturb you — yes, I know; perfectly correct,
hush ! — but a storm is brewing with the old ladies. Lurker
has left the room. They say he always does when it com-
mences, for fear of being brought into it."
Mrs. Wracketts and Philip turned round immediately, and
one of them was blushing.
" Some people are favoured," said Mrs. Parker; "but I'm
fifty-four and want glasses."
She said this, because she knew Miss Plummer was a little
older.
" Indeed, ma'am," replied Miss Plummer; " you must have
a wonderful sight — wonderful really."
THE POTTLETON LECAClf. 299
"Nothing remarkable for my time of life," said Mrs.
Parker; "you might just as well wonder at my wearing mj
own hair."
"Oh, do you indeed?" asked the other lady; "well, I
always thought the bands you wore in the morning were
false."
" If you were in the habit of taking a bath, perhaps you
would know the advantage of it," said Mrs. Parker.
Miss Plummer began to ply her knitting-pins so furiously,
dropping and casting off all sorts of unintentional stitches,
that it is to this hour a question if what she was intending
to produce turned out so in reality — ^the premeditated cuff
might have been a baby's shoe, an anti-Macassar, or a
Bohemian pelisse, with equal excuse.
" There is no bathing at this time of the year," she ex-
claimed, quite in a tremor.
" Oh, I did not know," said Mrs. Parker. " I thought the
Hotel des Bains was always open. But I know how un-
comfortable it must be for the complexion to bathe before
appearing again in society."
Miss Plummer coloured up to the tint of her rouge, so
that all her face became one uniform carmine; and then she
coloured beyond it, and her cheeks paled to something like
ochre by the contrast, as she said —
" I should think ^mc found it rather awkward, ma'am. If
your teeth chatter in the cold as much as mine do, I wonder
they are not knocked to pieces. But I think you said they
were natural, and not terro-metallic. I have heard that the
last chip."
"Madame!" cried Mrs. Parker, in a voice of great ex-
citement, to Madame Lurker, w^ho all this time had been
in a terrible flurry at the table, pouring the tea into the slop
basin, putting five lumps of sugar in one cup, and none in the
others, and committing various other eccentricities — " Madame !
either this person or myself quits your house to-night."
The poor lady did not know what to do. All the others
were enjoying the scene mightily.
"Did you apply the terra 'person' to me, ma'am?" said
Miss Plummer, in reply; "because 1 am no more a 'person*
l^an you are. I have private friends of my own, thank
goodness, that I am not ashamed to speak of "
300 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Mrs. Fitzherbert lived on the Old Steyne at the
time," interrupted Mrs. Bowles, with another little anecdote
of the regency; " but I never saw Brummel but once, and
that wasn't near Brighton. No— he was — they never — and
Sheridan — ay, ay "
" If they were all in the cheap grocery line at Mile End,
I don't think I should speak of them myself," Miss Plummer
went on.
" None of your balderdash here, madam," screamed Mrs.
Parker. "Before visitors, too! I'm shocked at you! I'm
ashamed of you ! I'll not bemean myself in speaking to such
a — such a sliperous — such a slanderous, I meant to say —
viper. For shame! for shame!"
And here Mrs. Parker bounced out of the salon, and had
an attack of her nerves, in her own bed-room, which lasted
until Melanie had given her some very strong and hot cognac
and water, which, as she said, " brought her tears," and con-
siderably relieved her. Miss Plummer was about to com-
mence her own justification, when Mrs. Wracketts whispered
to Philip that she was going to dress, and left the room.
The three men at the same time went down stairs for a cigar;
and Wracketts declaring that he was too old to take the
trouble of dressing for a ball, and "Wyndham speaking of an
appointment for piquet at the Cafe Vermond, Philip found
that he was to escort the lady to the ball alone.
It was to be held at the Salle Delplanque, and when they
arrived, the room was nearly full — too much so for dancing,
so they adjourned to a small apartment set aside for refresh-
ments. Leonie, always attractive, had never looked so
lovely. Without ornament of any kind, except a single
flower, gleaming on her dark and glossy hair — her long
dark lashes fringing her shining, languid eyes, and almost
sweeping her peach-like cheeks, and her dress, high and
exquisitely fitting, of plain white muslin, provokingly transpa-
rent, over her neck and shoulders, she was, beyond all question
of comparison, the belle of the room. Philip saw this at once,
from the looks of admiration from the men, and envious con-
tempt from the women, launched at her as they passed. Not
exactly contempt, perhaps, but that mingled expression of
disbelief, doubt, and dislike, with which a very pretty woman
and a stranger is always regarded by her own sex. Accord-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY, 301
ingly he was proud of being seen as her especial cavalier —
possibly a very little conceited about his own appearance,
for he was good-looking as anybody you would meet in a
long summer day — and when, added to the excitement of
the dinner and the conversation, his imagination was freshly
kindled by the ice-bound fire of the Punch a la Romaine
that he was sipping, every other feeling in the world was
given up for that of the passing moment. He knew that it
was wrong; but he was fascinated, spell-bound, and allowed
the chariot of his passions to run on downhill with oiled
wheels, rather than exert the strength or courage to arrest
its progress.
Leonie told him that she was unhappy — that he was the
only one by whom she ever felt that she was understood —
would he always be her friend? If he would, she should be so
proud and happy to acknowledge him as such. Philip's
answer need not be recorded.
As the evening wore on, and the rooms thinned, they
stood up to dance, and in the waltzing, Philip fancied that he
almost felt her heart throb against him in her emotion, and
in answer to his own leaping and fevered pulses. The bril-
liant lights — the splendid band — the mere feeling of being
in a foreign country, and hearing little else but a graceful
language spoken around, which, in its purity, we only asso-
ciate with notions of refinement or gallantry, all combined to
cast him into a whirl of emotions, far more bewildering than
that of the waltz he was so recklessly pursuing.
At last the ball broke up, and Philip brought up the car-
riage they had engaged, as she stood muffled, in her shawl,
in a corner of the corridor. As the door was closed on them
she gave a deep sigh.
" Why is that?" asked Philip, as he seized her hand.
" Because a happy evening has passed," she said, " and
now I have nothing more to look forward to. You are going
to stay here though? You will?"
" I fear I must be in London," replied Philip, but in a
tone that belied the words.
" Oh, no, you can stay, I know," she replied; "and I shall
be so very, very happy. Say you will not go this week?"
" I will not," answered Philip, in a low, trembling voice.
"Thanks — thanks/' she said, as she pressed his hand.
302 THE POTTLETON LEGACY k
"Where are we?" she added, wiping the vapour from the
window with her filmy handkerchief. '' The Rue Neuve-
Chaussee — oh! how near we are to home."
There was a silence for a few seconds, which Leonie broke
by murmuring —
" Do not go home yet — it is quite early."
As she spoke, her fair head reclined against him, until her
scented hair touched his cheek, and then her rosy lips
turned towards his own, as he felt his own fingers in a vice.
" Coachman," said Philip, " go up the Grande Rue, and
round by the Petits Arbres."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE TWINCH FAMILY IN DEBATE.
One morning, just as the London sun, having found such
a dense fog over that great city, had thought the shades of
night still lingered upon the world, and had turned in again,
which error he continued to commit at intervals during the
day, until the roar of the traffic finally roused him — at this
period, the postman left a letter for Miss Twinch, at Mrs.
Cooze's, with the Pottleton postmark, and inscribed " Im-
mediate." The authorities at the General Post Office had
not expedited its special delivery upon this account; and,
indeed, had they done so, it would have been of little avail;
for Lobby and Totty, in a struggle to possess it at the door,
had let it fall into the area; and their subsequent endeavours
to clean it and dry it at the fire, in the course of which latter
operation, the seal half melted and was re-impressed with the
clock-key, detained its delivery still longer. But at last Miss
Twinch got it. It was from her sister, and it ran thus: —
" My dear Letitia,
" I shall be very glad if you will come home directly ^
for we are in a sad dilemma. Miss Maitland was found by
our brother, and Mr. Page evidently keeping an appoint
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 80S
ment with some man^ at the corner of Grange Lane, very
late the other night, and Septimus is furious, as he says we
have been sheltering a good-for-notking, I know you will
say you always had your suspicions on this point; but I must
confess I cannot still bring myself to think there is anything
wrong in her, although, to be sure, her general bearing
towards Mr. Page might be less affectionate. However, you
may imagine this has upset us very much, and, through the
servant, is known in the village, so that we wish you to re-
turn as soon as you possibly can.
" We shall have a great deal to tell you. Mr. Page is
learning to dance, but it is a great secret until he can find
out what the rector will say to it. Mr. Blandy has been
attending Harriet Stiles, who was frightened into Jits by
seeing two men, as she said, lift a dead body into a donkey-
cart, and drive off on the Dibblethorpe road, when she was
coming home from the public-house; but they have since
found out that it was Gogmore's pig, which died naturally,
and M^as going to London to be sold. I dare say you
have heard of this.
" A man named Rutty has come into the village to sell
cheap bread. He has a band of music in front of his house,
and gives a glass of gin to everybody who buys anything.
I am sorry to say Whacky Clark earned a shilling the other
day here, in the garden, and he bought twelve separate penny
rolls with it, and came back at four in a filthy state of intoxi-
cation I
" Jane Collier got the prize for catechism at the exami-
nation, which was to have been a book, but finding that tione
of the family knew their letters, I gave her four pocket hand-
kerchiefs instead, which I hope will improve her cold. Mr.
Blandy says it will never be better until they move from the
canal, because the waters will come i7iio the bed-room on
flash days, at the upper locks.
" Old Mrs. Mousel died last night, and Mousel insists upon
burying her himself; for he will have everything comfortable,
as he says. Mrs. Baker, at the Red Lion, is going to marry
a friend of that Mr. Finch's; and Mr. Bulliam was taken in a
fit, swearing at the gamekeeper on Tuesday; on account of
which, Mr. Page says, should it terminate fatally, that he
will preach a sermon on the angry passions.
304 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Septimus desires his remembrances; and with the hope of
seeing you soon^ believe me to remain,
" Your affectionate sister,
" Martha Twinch."
When Miss Twinch read this letter, she was not altogether
sorry. She would certainly have liked to have remained a
little longer with Mrs. Cooze ; but then she perceived a
chance of Annie Maitland getting into a slight scrape, which
offered a cheering light on the Page horizon. So she hastily
made her preparations for departure, promising Mrs. Cooze
to return to town as soon as she could.
The journey home brought back a flood of recollections to
Miss Twinch's mind, connected with her lost Tip. Had that
dear companion died at a good old age, and been buried in
the garden, decently and properly, in a coffin, perhaps, that
Whacky Clark's ingenuity could have contrived, the blow
would have been less severe. Two potted yew-trees might
have been planted at the side of the mausoleum, and Miss
Twinch could have mourned thereat, knowing her grief
would not have been thrown away. But the present uncer-
tainty as to his fate was terrible.
The train went on, screaming through the tunnels, clatter-
ing over the archways, and rattling along the cuttings, and
at length got to Dibblethorpe; where, as before, Miss Twinch
changed her carriage, getting from a second into a first-class
one, to go to the last stage into Pottleton respectably. As
her arrival had not been expected quite so soon, when she
got to the latter place, there was nobody to meet her, so she
left her luggage to be sent for, and walked up the village
towards her home.
Every step still recalled poor Tip to the caverns of her
memory. There was the little hole in the palings through
which he used to run after Mrs. Cripsy's cat; and the same
ducks that he hated so, and would bark round and round
the pond after, always turning them away from the margin
wherever he appeared, as though they had been mag-
netic, and he the red end of the magic wand. Then she
passed an old shoe in the road, which she knew he would
have stopped to have inspected; and when at last she saw
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 305
Toby, at the Red Lion, without Tip to run on to him and
play until they quarrelled, she felt her desolation indeed.
But the arrival at home dispelled the feeling. Annie was
not there, but had gone out to tea in the village. Miss
Martha, however, was in the parlour, and so was her brother;
and a cry of surprise burst from them as she entered. And
then, after a rapid statement of the position of affairs, as she
took her things off upstairs, she joined the family council at
the tea-table.
Mr. Twinch did not say much about the matter. He
evidently did not wish to be dragged into it, but was com-
pelled, from time to time, to put down the Dibblethorpe Mes-
senger, which he was reading, and reply to the direct appeals
of — " Now, Septimus, what do you say to this?" made to him
by the girls. He tried hard to stop the discussion more than
once, by reading entertaining paragraphs aloud as they caught
his eye; but these were either not attended to, or turned,
with wonderful ingenuity, into something that had directly
to do with the subject, however remote their apparent appli-
cation.
"Alone! and at nine o'clock at night!" said Miss Martha,
emphasizing every word. " I can assure you, my dear, it's a fact.
When Septimus came home and told me about it, I went
out with a lantern, without making any fuss, and traced her
steps all down Grange Lane in the snow, accompanied by
huge, clumsy, nailed footmarks."
" I don't see what else could be expected," replied Miss
Letitia, " when you recollect the low set she came from. It
is a pity, Septimus, you ever proposed having anything to do
Vith her."
Mr. Twinch uttered a kind of Iotv single grunt, and
twitched his door-mat wig straight down to one ear. as he
read —
" * As Mr. Soper, of Titbury, was returning from Dibble-
thorpe Market on Wednesday evening, he was stopped, near
Chancey's mill, by two men, and ' "
" I have no doubt Miss Maitland knows something about
one of them," said Miss Twinch, with great acerbity. " Never
mind Mr. Soper, Septimus. It will be fortunate if we are
not shown up to the neighbourhood.'*
"Pshaw!'* was the curt reply.
X
306 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Everybody knows it," said Miss Martha; "and the Miss
Medlars have not let it settle down for want of constantly
stirring, you may be sure."
" But what does JVIr. Page say to it?" asked Letitia. " She
was his pet."
" My dear, it's the wonder of everybody. Mr. Page can't
be got to enter into the matter at all. I called on him yes-
terday."
" Alone !" exclaimed Miss Twinch.
" My dear — the clergyman, you know, I have called on him
frequently."
" Oh, you have! Well, I think, it would have been better
if "
" ' Mildness of the season !' " observed Mr. Twinch, going
on with his readings. " * There is now in the garden of Mr.
Ripkey, at Tadler's End, a laylock in full blossom, a sprig of
which has been sent to our office.' Bless me, it must be
mild!"
" Mild enough to meet people in the snow," said Miss
Martha.
" You might really take this matter into consideration,
Septimus," observed Miss Twinch, "serious as it is; espe-
cially as you sent for me expressly about it."
" I sent for you, Tishy — stuff ! * The editor of the Boston
Buster says he can't write a leader this week, because his
child's cutting his teeth, his wife's run away, he's got corns
and the toothach, all his ink's been knocked over, and the
cholera's next door on one side, and a meeting of Howling
Quakers on the other!' I should think not. Hegh! hegh!
hegh! funny fellows those Americans must be."
" I am glad you can find amusement in anything at
present," said Miss Twinch. " I was observing you sent
for me, and you said you did not. Martha said so, at least,
in her letter."
" Well, perhaps I did, or perhaps I didn't. I don't know,
and I'm sure I don't care. Settle it all amongst yourselves.
Heyday! what's this? 'Bolter Cove — outbreak of the natives,
and increased consumption of missionaries.' Ho! ho!"
" Septimus!" exclaimed Miss Twinch, reproachfully. And
then, turning to her sister, she added, " I understood from
your letter, Martha, that our brotlier wished me home."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 307
** Well, my dear, it was a sort of a kind of a wish. But
"we are going from the subject. Mr. Page told me in con-
fidence "
" Oh, indeed ! in confidence. You appear to have got
wonderful friends in my absence."
" Not more so than we ever have been," replied Miss
Martha.
" Pooh, pooh!'' said Mr. Twinch, still reading the paper.
" What do you say that for, Septimus?" asked his sister.
"Because you are nagging and irritating one another
about that poor parson, who don't care a straw for either of
you. Why can't you let the good man alone?"
" Why, Septimus, it was merely for the District Visiting
that "
"District Visiting, indeed! stuff! What is it? Nothing!'*
" It is everything, Septimus."
" Pooh! It would be if it did them good, but it don't. It
worries them. What do you do? Go and poke about
amongst a lot of poor devils who haven't a halfpenny to bless
themselves with, to see that their house is ' clean,' and their
brats well ' brought up.' "
" But is there any harm in that, Septimus?*'
" Not in the least, if you gave them anything to make up
for the intrusion. It's as much their own private home as
this is ours. But you don't."
" Don't r
" No, don't ! I don't call a bundle of dreary books, that
you get wholesale at three for a penny, any present — books
that they never have the time to, and sometimes can't, read.
Why don't you give them bread, or bacon, or beef, instead?
Besides, you hold out a premium for filth."
. "Septimus!"
" You do. When you find a neat, clean family, you say
lo yourselves, they look comfortably off; and never send them
a coal or a blanket in consequence. But if you come upon
a hovel of dirty drunken never-do-wells, with ragless chil-
dren, and every thing that could be sold parted with for
liquor, you mag about their destitution, and work up sym-
pathy. Bah ! it's enough to make one sick."
"But, Mr. Page "
" " Fiddle Mr. Page ! He would be a good fallow if you d let
x2
308 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
him; but youVe spoilt him. You hunt him to death. There is
no reality in what you do; it's a clutch of despair at a floating
straw, and poor Page is the straw."
"I don't understand what you mean," exclaimed both
sisters at once.
" Yes, you do. Your feeling is not religion ; it's per-
verted excitement. Out of every hundred district pokers,
I'd be bound you would find a clear ninety old maids."
" Very kind, certainly," said Miss Twinch.
"Very brotherly!" echoed Miss Martha.
" I repeat it — old maids," continued Mr. Twinch, delibe-
rately. " Why, you know you are — you are almost old enough
to be that poor parson's mother."
The ladies were both so indignant, that they could scarcely
speak. Mr. Twinch, now that his burst was over, became as
calm as usual, and resumed his paper, until a fresh paragraph
started his bile.
" Here, — look here," he said; " I haven't done with you
yet. Here's something about opposition in certain quarters
to the Dibblethorpe races. Why, you've had a hand in this,
I do believe."
"We have!"
" Yes, you. The other day 1 routed out a whole packet
of bills, headed with the question, * Why do you go to the
races?' Well, the answer to that was simple enough — to
spend a pleasant day and meet one's friends. You've been
to the races. Why don't you speak. You have, I say."
" It was several years back, Septimus," said Miss Martha.
" I know it was — when you could find somebody to take
you, eh? Do up the Dibblethorpe races, indeed! I should
like to see you try. I'd give a Missionaries' Plate myself, to
be ridden for by converts — four hurdles with furze, and heats
— if I thought it was in contemplation to oppose them."
The Miss Twinches knew that they might as well try to
make a mill-wheel go the other way, as to alter their brother's
sentiments when he gave them thus decisively. So they
somewhat rejoiced to see him go on with his paper, while the
conversation reverted to the great subject of that council.
" I wish Mr. Page would take some decided opinion with
respect to Miss Maitland," said Miss Martha. " I tried to
£et him to speak, during a long walk I took with him——"
THE POTTLRTON LEGACY. 309'
" Oh, indeed!" interrupted Letitia — " a * long* walk. He
appears to have had enough of your society whilst I have
been away."
" What do you mean by * enough?' " asked her sister.
" Nothing; what could I mean?"
" Only you said it so oddly. I never forced my society
upon Mr. Page; nor even tried to draw out the school-chil-
dren before him. What little attention he has paid me —
for some little time past, I must say — has been entirely his:
Dwn wish."
" I can imagine," said Miss Twinch, getting spiteful — " I
can imagine you lost few chances of availing yourself of it.
Certainly, that accident at the wild-beast show was one
which required a great deal of pains to do away with any
unpleasant impression remaining."
" Thank you ! " exclaimed Miss Martha, in a like vein —
" thank you, and thank you, and thank "
" I won't have it," roared Mr. Twinch, putting down his
paper with a sharp rustling bang that quite startled them,
and increasing the confusion by knocking his flat candlestick
off from the arm of his old easy chair, on which he had
balanced it — " I won't have it. You, and Mr. Page, and the
whole infant-school may go to "
" Septimus!" screamed the girls.
« And be
"For shame — for shame, brother!" again interrupted the
ladies.
" Before I'll have my house turned into such an infernal
bear-garden," continued Mr. Twinch, speaking through it all,
and twitching his face about, so that his spectacles had the
hardest matter imaginable to keep their seat.
He spoke so decisively that the girls were awed. They
did not dare to peck at each other again; but they were, in
their irritated feelings, utterly unable to be suddenly calm;
and so, still tossed on the ground-swell of their passions, they
began on another tack.
" We never had these quarrels once," observed Miss
Twinch, in a milder tone.
" Never," echoed Miss Martha, appearing to know in-
tuitively what her sister was driving at,
310 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
"Before other parties came to sow the seeds of discord in-
our little circle," said Letitia.
" And not onlj that, but expose us to the scandal of the
country by their — oh! I hardly know what to call it/'
" Why did you have Annie Maitland here, Septimus? " they
both asked, one talking the cue from the other, but finishing
at the same time.
"Why did I?" said Mr. T winch— " why did /.? Why did
you^ you mean?''
"We!"
" Of course. You went and asked her, did you not — the
day you drenched all those poor children with spoiled hot
water, and choked them with dough. Charity! — Hegh, hegh!"
" It was at your request we went," said Miss Twinch.
" We never wanted her."
*' And, I'm sure, if I had known what was to happen, I
would have cut oiF my right hand first, Septimus," added
Miss Martha; "but it ivas your doing."
" 111 settle this, and settle it at once," cried Mr. Twinch,
jumping up upon his legs. " At all events, there shall be
no mistake about who gets rid of her. There! she shall
have a quiet hint to leave this very evening."
" But where is she to go, Septimus?" asked IVIiss Twinch,
so glad.
" Go? Go anywhere — keep Mr. Page's house; that will
do famously. Besides, it will shut up both your chances, and
you won't persecute the poor man any more. I've said it,
and I'll do it; and then, perhaps, I shall have a little more
comfort at home."
The girls did not make any reply to his taunt about their
reverend friend. They were too glad to find the determina-
tion Mr. Twinch had come to, and did not wish to upset it.
But, whilst they were debating what was to be done, a knock
at the door, which they knew to be Annie's, threw them into
a terrible flutter, which did not cease when they heard her
go on to her own apartment.
"Well, there she is," said Mr. Twinch. "Now, then,
which of you will go and acquaint her with what we have-
settled upon?"
There was neither a disposition to speak nor move on the
part of the girls.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 3H
" Why don't you answer?" asked their brother. "Why, you
talked enough just now. Which of you is going?"
" I think Letitia should, as the eldest," suggested Miss
Martha.
"Thank you," replied Miss Twinch; "but as you first
mentioned the affair to me, and know all about it, it would,
perhaps, be but right to finish up what you have begun. I
owe Miss Maitland no grudge; she never crosses my path."
" Why, Letitia, it was only just this minute "
" I'll put a stop to all this," said Mr. Twinch, ** and go
myself," and before the girls could reply, he marched off to
Annie's room.
He found her looking over some papers in her desk, with
a pale and anxious face; for she had heard that things had
got abroad in the village about her, and could not but per-
ceive, also, that her position in the Twinch establishment was
becoming exceedingly uncomfortable.
" Sit down, sit down, my dear," said Mr. Twinch, as
Annie rose when he entered; "I've not come upon any
pleasant business, but it is as well for you to have it out all
at once."
He spoke as kindly as his natural hardness would permit.
Annie returned no answer, but looked at him with an anxious,
half-frightened expression.
" You see this was an unpleasant affair, the other night;
and it has been talked about. Our girls are much vexed
at it."
" It is useless for me to speak more about it," replied
Annie; "I have no one in the world to whom I can appeal.
I can only give you my sacred word that you will find what
I did was innocent and for the best; even though I was
compelled to do it."
" Um! ah I" answered Mr. Twinch, with a grunt. " That
I don't know anything about. But you see the girls are par-
ticular, and there will be no peace for me if eveiy thing goes
on as it has done."
" You do not wish me to stay with you any longer?" said
Annie, divining his object.
" Well, I believe that is about it," replied Twinch, de-
lighted to find that Annie had herself broached the subject.
" You see, Miss Maitland, as far as I am concerned, you
312 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
might live here for ever, and glad to see you; but the girls,
(I mean my sisters,) they have curious notions, and "
" You need not say any more," returned Annie. " That
I am deeply grateful to you for the kindness you have
hitherto shown me, I hope some day to be able to prove to
you. But you must remember, it was at your own request
I came here."
" Well, at that time I believe it was," said Mr. Twinch.
"I never intended to intrude," Annie continued; "much
less to be the cause of an unkind thought or word between
you and your sisters. I wish I had stayed at the Grange;
miserable as the place was, it had been my home; and I
could have been very happy there."
And as she added, " Where can I go now?" she covered
her face with her hands and burst into tears.
"Damn the women," thought Mr. Twinch. It was an
awful sentiment to nourish with respect to one's own sisters;
but we fear, just at this moment, it was a hearty one.
" I did not mean you to think we drove you away. Miss
Maitland," he continued; "but you see, really we have been
in such hot water about it altogether, that I could not stand
it — I couldn't indeed — with all I have to think of."
"It was wrong, I admit," said Annie; "imprudent —
criminal — call it what you please; but I could not help it.
I tell you that, one of these days, you will know all. But I
shall not remain much longer to make you uncomfortable."
And as she spoke, she took her bonnet and shawl from the
table and proceeded to put them on again.
" Where are you going?" asked Mr. Twinch.
" Not far off," replied Annie; " I wish to see some one."
"You are coming back again?" asked the lawyer, getting
perfectly nervous; — "to-night, I mean?"
" Oh, yes; I shall be — I was going to say, * home,' in less
than an hour."
" But you would like some one to go with you? It is very
dark."
" No thank you, sir," replied Annie. " It is light enough
in the village, for the shops are not all closed yet, and I do
not want to go beyond it."
Without any more explanation she left the room. ]Mr.
Twinch remained staring at the door, which had closed upon
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 313
her, for several seconds, as though he expected something
remarkable would take place thereabouts; and then, with a
single shrug of his shoulders, he went back to the parlour,
where the girls were expecting him.
" Well, Septimus; have you managed it? What did she
say?" they both asked.
" Quite enough," replied Mr. Twinch.
" But what was it?"
" All nothing; she's gone out. Didn't you hear the door?"
" Gone out!" they exclaimed, again speaking together. " I
wonder where it can be to?"
" Perhaps to meet her friend again," suggested Mr.
Twinch.
"No," said Miss Martha; "I do really declare I shouldn't
wonder if she has gone to call upon Mr. Page!"
" Well !" cried Miss Twinch ; " the brazen ! If ever
I did I"
CHAPTER XXIX.
LADY FLOKES AT HOME.
We have already, more than once, alluded to old Lady
Flokes. As that respectable personage may have something
to do with the current of events in our story, it is necessary
that you should become a little better acquainted with her.
Lady Flokes, then, lived in a mouldy house, on the first
acclivity of one of the hills that bounded the valley of Pot--
tleton. It was a charming situation. The house faced the
south, and above and behind it were hanging woods of hazels,
and oaks, and shady sycamores, through which deep dark
paths twisted and ascended, until they ran through scented
copses, still on a rapid slope, of firs, and hornbeams, through
which the sun could scarcely dart his rays to gild the wings
of the forest insects that poised themselves, in solitude, on
the still air, or darted about in rapid and eccentric evolutions
beneath the lower branches. Still higher, you came to ferns
and little green plants, like box, from which the country children
314 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
gathered small blue fruits to eat, and called them *herts,*
for * whortleberry' was a name trying to pronunciation. And
when the fern was pulled up by its roots, if cut diagonally,
where it blackened in the ground, you found a tiny oak
pictured on the face of the incision, and as your fancy
chose to slant the knife you might have a minute spreading
forest monarch — a likeness, so tradition said, of the very one
amidst whose deep autumnal foliage King Charles concealed
himself — or a fine young tree, such as many of those around
you. Quite high up, clean white sheep nibbled the short
crisp grass, and corn-fields ripened and crackled in the glow-
ing noontide sun. And from these was such a prospect of
broad lands, and blue and distant hills — of silvery water,
glittering here and there, marking at open places its long
sinuous course, and large bare heaths, and straight pine
plantations — making so brave a country, that when one once
gave himself up to look at it, and think of nothing, the fine
mists of evening that shut it out from the view, only caused
him to come back to his ordinary thoughts of work to do,
and common-place toil, and struggling^
But nature, ever fresh and ever beautiful when left to
herself, had not the same chance lower down, about Monks-
crofts, as the old estate on which Lady Flokes lived was
called. She had been led from her path, and then deserted,
and had accordingly ended in a sad wreck. The house was
damp and tumble-down — except on the upper story, where
the old lady lived — from the intrusion of the well-springs that
had once filled the ornamental tank in the garden, but whose
channels were now choked up with the leaves and rubbish of
several winters. The turf grew rank and toad-swarming
upon the lawn ; the piece of water, which had once been orna-
mental, was clogged with spawn and unholy things, and car-
peted with green weeds. As the limbs of the trees had fallen
across the climbing avenues, there they had been suffered to
lie, and the grass had sprung up under them, and wild climbers
had clutched their withering branches, and strangled them.
None of the gates would open or shut without great labour,
and a knowledge of artful secrets connected with their capa-
bilities. The flower-garden was w^ild and rugged ; every-
thing always appeared running to seed; and the vine- trees
threw out their long sprangs across the paths, so that one
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 315
was compelled to put them aside as he passed. The only
thing that kept up its original gaiety was a little rill, which
commenced visibly at an old well, said to have belonged to
some former convent, high up on the hill, and tumbled head-
long down a pebbly watercourse to the fish-pond. At every
fall it drove down the opposing air, to send it up again to
the surface, imprisoned in crystal domes, which danced and
jostled onward until they burst; but when it got to the old
mantled piece of water, it caught the infection of dreariness,
lost all its life, and became as stagnant as the body with which
it was incorporated.
To the world at large, which meant that of Pottleton, the
domestic economy of old Lady Flokes was a sealed book.
We have said that Dr. Keene was the only person who was
acquainted with the interior of her mansion. Not that she
lived alone; but the three other individuals who existed at
Monkscroft could not be counted as anybody, for their com-
munication with tlie external world was limited in the ex-
treme. The old houekeeper was a fearful woman, whose
features a constant expression of the ogress had at last
marked so for perpetuity, as boots and clothes eventually
take their habituid wrinkles. Then there was a meek black
servant, pertaining rather to the times of Hogarth, whose age
was unknown, and who had not gone out and abroad since
the boys in the village had made his life wearisome by per-
sonal allusions, on his return from making one of the bearera
of the sedan-chair, that had carried her to the Pottleton ball.
For then a number of idle lads, whose inclination to any sort
of revelry in that quiet village was a great proof of the elas-
ticity of the human mind under difficulties, had escorted him
up to the gates at Monkscroft; and. it was said, under the
guidance of Whacky Clark, (who had once tried for his place
and failed,) had considerably annoyed him. They had not
done this by physical assault, but by absurd allusion; inas-
much as they had requested him, being of the complexion of
midnight when there is no moon, to wheel about and turn
about, and also to get out of the way, in consequence of
his being, as was asserted, too late to join in their evening
meal; and also had chorused a peculiarly insulting lyric
around him, the burden of which was, " Get away black man,
don't you come anigh me;" and the injustice of which, at the
316 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
same time, was shown by the fact of they themselves being
the parties who sought the approximation, by keeping so
closely about him. He was the second of the Flokes' esta-
blishment; and the third was the elder sister of the nervous
Harriet Stiles, who had been selected from the infant school
to be the old lady's own servant and companion. The latter
position, however, she did not arrive at until after much
education; inasmuch as it comprised various accomplishments,
such as playing at backgammon, cribbage, and double patience;
retailing the news of the village, collected from the baker
every morning; and listening to Lady Flokes's stories of what
her late lamented lord used to do, when he visited London
for the season thirty years before, and how she went to court,
with many other interesting anecdotes, without yawning or
going to sleep. Her name had been admirably chosen by
those godfathers and godmothers who, in her baptism, had
settled upon Patience.
Perhaps we were wrong in saying that Dr. Keene was the
only person, besides these inhabitants, acquainted with the
interior of Monkscroft. Good ]Mr. Page was a frequent
visitor; but his knowledge of the domestic economy of that
establishment was but small, as his visits and observations
were usually confined to Lady Flokes alone. He saw her,
however, in the winter; and his experience on this point
would have been of great value in the village. But he was
as discreet as the doctor; and not even the pets of his con-
gregation, under the most enticing influences, could have got
much out of him, as to the odd manner in which Lady Flokes
was reported to hybernate.
But, we can let the reader into the peiietralia of her man-
sion. It was a gloomy old room — gloomy from the objection
which a cypress, that grew against the window, had to let any
light enter; and old from its extra appearance of antiquity,
its worm-eaten floor, only covered by scraps of old lordly
stair-carpet, near the bed; and its discoloured ceiling and
primeval paper — a white ground, with lead-coloured foliage,
and small black dots.
This was old Lady Flokes's general apartment. Her bed
was a gaunt erection, of tall posts and faded heavy rustling
serge; and on the top of the posts, were black feathers — black
from dust and age, that is to say — which gave it the appearance
THE POTTLETON LEGACY 317
of something belonging vaguely to a funeral procession. The
whole affair ought only to have been seen at Hampton Court
or Windsor Castle; and then, with a railing interposed — for
there is no telling what solution of continuity in its furniture
intrusive hands might have achieved; or what visitation a
rude shake of its draperies might have induced.
Opposite to this, was an equally tall press, in which various
antiquated dresses were hung, that smelt like old books and
cathedral pews, when the door was opened. But in a side
cupboard of this contrivance — not a closet, but a regular
cupboard — was stowed the greater part of Lady Flokes's
economy. Here she kept her cooking utensils on brackets
and shelves, and hanging on nails in the boards. In its dark
depths, once used as a well for thrown-by clothing, could be
seen toasting-forks and gridirons — tongs for steaks; bellows;
brown jars of unknown mess, and dabs of lard and Dorset
butter hastening to rancidity. And, if one had dared to have
pulled open the deep drawers that opened under the press,
there might have been found two or three oddly-matched
plates and dishes; and the chilled remnants of what had formed
the meal of the day before.
On a certain day Mr. Page had called upon Lady Flokes, by
appointment; and on being ushered into her room, which she
never left, he found the old gentlewoman waiting to receive
him. Her attire was very peculiar. She looked as if she
had been tied up in an old satin patch-work counterpane, with
sleeves made to it, for the nonce, and then had enveloped
her head in an enormous quantity of old green veils. But
she was inclined to gaiety, nevertheless. Her cheeks blazed
with the hue of festivity, and (as we firmly believe that old
women who rouge never wash) had done so possibly for a
long season. All her old ringlets, too, were in fine order.
What makes old women rouge? Do they suppose that
the carmine cloud upon their cheeks, uniform and circum-
scribed as it always is, can ever be taken for the blush of
health and young blood? Is it the lingering love of some
old habit which forty or fifty years back Avas conceived to
give as great a charm to the complexion as the mantling
flush of youth and modesty which a racketing season-life
had jaded away? Are they acting a part, and think that the
detail of their assumDtion must be carried out even to throw-
318 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
ing up their eyes to a level with those before the glarrag
footlights? Or is it, that, to assist festivity, they wish to
provoke the same pleasant thoughts which the witches and
duenn^as in the opening scenes of pantomimes alw^ays call up?
At all events we do not quarrel with the fashion. The
appearance of an old lady, painted up for the occasion, always
promotes honest fun; and fun being, in a degree, a phase of
happiness, we hope they may long flourish. We know two
or three old ladies, w^hom w^e would not have appear with
clean faces for all our chances of future merriment.
Having encountered the old lady often, under similar cir-
cumstances, Mr. Page was not at all astonished. He simply
made his obeisance, and sat down, w^hilst Lady Flokes
finished the superintendence of some mysterious cookery that
was going on in a stewpan on the hob, and with the smallest
possible quantity of coals and cinders that could keep one
another alight.
" I am in a sad way — a sad way, Mr. Page; robbed and
pillaged right and left — right and left. Ah dear!"
" I shall be most happy to serve you, madam,** replied
Mr. Page, " in any w^ay that you may think advisable."
"Well, well — ah dear! you shall see," returned the old
lady, pulling a skinny bell-rope of old picture-cord, which,
after many tugs — until the slackened wires clattered all
round the room, and made the mice scuffle away behind the
paper — produced a dull tinkle outside. It was, however, loud
enough to summon Patience Stiles to her ladyship's pre-
sence; and that maiden came in, and, making a curtsey, stood
before them. Patience was the only thing about the house,
except the black footman, that was not skinny and old. She
was plump, and fresh, and w^ell-favoured.
" Now, Mr. Page," said Lady Flokes, " look at her — look
at her well."
Mr. Page did as he was desired; and, indeed, the task was
not an unpleasant one.
" Does she look starved, Mr. Page ? Would you suppose
she was kept so hungry that she was obliged to steal?"
" I should be starved if the hog's-puddings mother sent
me hadn't "
" Silence," cried the old lady, interrupting the girl. " Now,
IMr. Page, what do you think?"
'^Si-
'i^ce^,
Z-U-e^Zc-^:
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 319
Tt was difficult for the curate to return a positive answer,
so Lady Flokes went on.
*' That abandoned creature took advantage of my nap, yes-
terday afternoon, to finish the whole of a rabbit pasty Mrs.
Brayiiocuf had sent me, and of which I had not eaten so
much as a finger."
" 1 am sure half of it was gone," replied the girl, " when
T put it by in the bandbox."
" There!" said the old lady; " you see she owns to putting
it by, Mr. Page. Oh! but that is not ail; I can never get
dressed of a morning, because she will talk to the baker — a
horrible fellow !"
Patience did not mind being attacked herself, but it was
evident that the baker was, with her, a tender subject, for
she coloured up, and exclaimed —
"I'm sure I don't get too many people to talk to, and I
don't see why my tongue should be tied along of the baker,
though he is such. If other people had as Httle to be said
against them as "
*'Hush! my good girl," observed Mr. Page, seeing that
Patience was beginning to lose all right to her name.
" Thank you, Mr. Page, sir — thank you," replied the girl,
dropping several curtseys. " I am glad there is somebody
left to say a kind word to me; for though I am only a poor
servant, yet I've got my feelings as much as my betters* and I
won't — I won't be put upon any longer, I won't!"
" Why you — you," hesitated Lady Flokes, waiting for an
epithet — " you hussey!"
; And the old lady raised herself quite up from her chair,
and then fell back again in her indignation.
" Go along!" she continued; " go along, and never let me
see your face again, you ungrateful, bad girl! I am sure I
don't know what will become of you."
*'I don't know what will become of 3/0M," sobbed Patience.
" Don't be afraid, my lady," and here she eurtseyed ironically, .
**/ shall never darken your door again."
" Now, Patience," said good Mr. Page, " I really must
insist that you will not "
*'No, Mr. Page, sir, I will not; for you're a good, civil
spoken gentleman; but I've lived here too long. Yes, my
lady, now I will talk to the baker as long as I please. And
320 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
I'll tell them, in the village how you kept us all upon the
pig, that died in a fit, for a week; and how you made tke
beef-tea in the warming-pan, because you wouldn't pay for
the frying-pan to be mended; and how you kept the Devon-
shire cream in your looking-glass drawer 'till it turned bad,
because you couldn't eat it yourself, and wouldn't give it
away; and then sent it to old Mrs. Raddles, with your love
— ^your love, indeed — that for your love!"
And here, Patience Stiles, who had been gradually working
herself up to the highest pitch of excitement — in spite of the
alarmed interjections of Lady Flokes, and the mild attempts of
Mr. Page to stop her — swept a bandbox full of tea-things off
the drawers, with her hand, and flounced out of the room,
banging the door to after her with a concussion that increased
the confusion, by shaking down a sixpenny black figure in
plaster, holding a candlestick, in which Lady Flokes burnt a
tiny beacon all night, constructed so as to give the smallest
possible speck of blue light that could exist without actual
and utter obscurity.
"There, Mr. Page!" said Lady Flokes, as soon as she
recovered herself, upon the maiden's angry departure.
"There! now, you see what I have had to putup with! It
has taken twenty years off my life."
This was to be regretted, apart from other considerations,
for the reason, that had the extra scope been allowed to run
its natural career. Lady Flokes's age would have approached
the incredible.
" There is no knowing," she continued, "what a shocking
girl of that kind would not do! It is a mercy I have not
been burnt or murdered in my bed, long before this."
" Oh, no, my dear madam," said Mr. Page. "I do not think
that you have anything to fear on that score."
"Ah! I don't know — I don't know," replied the old lady.
" She will live to come to the gallows, Mr. Page; and she
might bite off her mother's ear there, like the boy in the
book, for not having taught her better. Oh! dear, dear.
What am I to do? That is what I wanted to see you about,
Mr. Page."
And, here, the cookery — ^whatever it was — on the hob,
boiled over, and produced a fresh annoyance.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 321
"I am obliged to dress everything myself, Mr. Page,"
continued Lady Flokes; "if I sent it into the kitchen, they
would steal one half and poison the rest. Now, you must
know what I want. I will have no more hoity-toity dab
girls. No; I will have a respectable young person; a com-
fortable, educated, respectable, young person. Do you know
of anybody? "
" Why, dear madam," answered Mr. Page, " such things
do not tumble into one's way the instant they are wanted.
And yet — I really ought not, perhaps, to speak decisively on
the point — but, I think I know the very thing. You want,
if I understand you, a companion, superior, so to speak, to
the usual class of such persons."
" Precisely."
" Then I believe — I speak with all reservation, in the event
of my suppositions being futile — but I believe I do know
the very thing — that is to say, if she is not disagreeable to
the matter."
" And who is that? "
" The daughter of old Mrs. Maitland, who died last summer
at the Grange," replied Mr. Page.
*' I have heard she is a very correct young person," ob-
served the old lady.
** That I can safely answer for," said Mr. Page, and
warmly, too. " She has been living with the Twinches —
for certain reasons, which it is not now necessary to enter
upon; and I believe that latterly they have not agreed very
well."
" Ah, indeed! " said the old lady, delighted at the chance
of a little bit of scandal, that had not yet reached her
through the baker and Patience channels ; " and what is
that?"
" Oh, a mere nothing, I believe," replied Mr. Page — " a
mere nothing! You know, my dear Madam, that ladies —
that is to say, ladies like the Miss Twinches (though I hold
them, indeed, in great respect) sometimes take strange fancies
into their heads, and little whims, and — but never mind,
she would, I am persuaded, if it was agreeable to her to.
come, be the very person to suit you."
" And will you see about this lor me, Mr. Page?*
Y
322 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
*' 1 shall be delighted," replied the good curate. And
he really was very happy at the chance of doing so. " I
will see about it forthwith."
This point settled, old Lady Flokes began to entertain
Mr. Page with various reminiscences of her late lamented
lord, and more or less interesting anecdotes connected with
her present domestic economy, to all of which the young
curate paid proper attention, albeit they effected but a slight
imprint on his memory. And then, after Lady Flokes had
insisted upon his taking a minute glass of curious wine —
of a dry flavour and dubious vintage, which had lived alone
for some time in an old decanter — he departed on his new
mission, quite pleased at the chance Annie might have of
finding a new, and certainly respectable home, despite its
comicality, until the period should arrive, when the position
of her aifairs could be more clearly laid down.
When he was gone, old Lady Flokes finished her cookery,
made a light dinner, and then called up the houskeeper, to
scold her slowly, for an hour and a half, for ever having
permitted any flirtation between Patience Stiles and her
friend the baker.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 323
t ■
! CHAPTER XXX.
MR. FLITTER AND THE MANAGER. '
Leaving Philip at Boulogne, where he appeared to be in a
fair way of bringing about a sequel to what was wished,
Mr. Wyndham Flitter returned back to town.
His determination was to go to Pottleton and make the
best use of the opportunity thus afforded him. But for this
a little ready money was essential. The thousand-and-one
minute ways that he had of collecting, or getting credit for,
small sums in London, would not avail him in any way in
the country village. And so when he got to town, and was
put down about noon from the omnibus at the Regent's
Circus, he stood a few minutes at the door of the coach
office, undecided as to where he should go.
" Carry yer bag, sir?" asked a young gentleman, who ap-
peared like magic at his side, apparently through the cellar
grating. " Take it a long ways for a penny, sir."
" Catch hold of it," answered Mr. Flitter. " Take it to
the stage-door of the — pshaw ! what's the name of the
theatre — go on a-head. I'll follow you."
The boy trudged off, and Mr. Flitter after him, until they
came to the mystic portal in question.
There was an old mouldy man sitting in a side nook of
this entrance, who looked as if he had grown out of the
grimy atmosphere of the place, like a small fungus from a
mildewed wall. That old man sat there always. Whether
the theatre was open or shut — whether the dirty door, that
gave to a push either way with the cord and pulley, was still
all day, or swinging every instant with the anxious-looking,
seedy people who passed in and out, was of no consequence
to him; there he was obliged to be, for ever lifting up and
down the flap of the scored and notched, and once raggedly
painted, desk before him.
His corner, for it was no more, was in a certain degree
decorated. There were one or two portraits of popular
performers cut from the pictorial papers, and some more of
y2
324 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
artistes that nobody ever heard of, from small-priced dramatic
periodicals, pasted against the wall. There was also a bill
or two of the benefit of some subaltern of the company, who
was not of sufficient importance to figure in the ordinary
placards, but who, to his great glory, had issued private bills
of his own, which were displayed at the bar of the nearest
public-house — perhaps, by a favour, in the parlour — and also
depended from legs of pork, bundles of cheap cheroots, door-
posts of eel-pie shops, and other establishments which the
fettered genius, who that night was to appear before his
friends in a character of his own choice, patronised.
These were the people who were the vampires of the
theatrical profession — who, instead of understanding that
their province was to be paid a certain sum to amuse the
public to the top of their bent, made their mistaken pro-
fession an excuse for sponging, in a humiliating and offensive
way, upon those whom the merest introduction had thrown
in their path. But, at the same time, these were the great
bringers-forward of miscellaneous talent. It was on their
nights that wonderful dogs, who tore down crusaders and
Highland drovers with equal ferocity — that painful infants
who put their angular limbs into absurd attitudes in the
Cachuca and Cracovienne — that latent talent which, at last,
blazed for one night in a great character, and then went out
altogether — that Miss (some patrician name be sure, or
rather the conventional cognomen of the half-century-ago
novels, as "Belville," "Clifford," "De Courcy," or "Mont-
morenci") — " of the nobility's concerts " — a vague species of
entertainment to define, but still persevered in in programmes
— sang some great air of the greatest Italian singers, upon
that occasion only : it was on their nights, that there were
rows, and hisses, and disobedient orchestras — that people
always came away disappointed, and promises were unful*
filled.
These were also the people who called skies skee-eyes ; and
garden, ghee-arden ; and kind, kee-eynd. They always left
out their h in ^umble, and thought it was proper. They
were the uneducated and socially-unplaced ruck, who sink the
profession from being one of thought, study of the real and
natural, and education, into a mere vehicle for mean begging
and dreary exhibition of incapacity.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 325
"Well, Coffey, how d'ye do?" said Mr. Flitter, as he dis-
missed his porter with the proffered penny, and spoke to the
janitor of the coulisses.
"Ah! Mr. Flitter, sir, how d'ye do?" replied the man.
" We haven't seen you for a long time."
" No, Coffey; I've been abroad. Is the governor in the
house.
" Yes, sir; he's in the treasury, I dare say. Leave the
bag with me, sir."
And the man took Mr. Flitter's carpet-bag and put it under
his old desk, to keep company with two umbrellas of the
corps-de-ballet that had been left there. The desk itself was,
as we have said, a rubbishing old affair enough, but it con-
tained important things. Apart from the applications to
actors for orders, which formed the majority of its contents,
there were many notes, redolent of patchouli, with crests on
the seals, and bouquets of the most exquisite arrangement,
(when hothouse plants were things to look at only through
glass,) that had cost more than those for whom they were in-
tended earned in a week.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter passed by a few dingy people, who
were waiting to have messages " sent in " — the most hope-
less transmissions known — and went up at once to the trea-
sury, where the manager at times received his employes of
various kinds — carpenters, authors, and other necessities, to
make arrangements with them for forthcoming attractions.
"Hah-h! Vyndham!" cried the director, in that fatal
accent which we, in a spirit so remote from the Christian,
associate always with hired fancy-dressers, old clothes, and
bad things generally — " Hah-h! Vyndham, how d'ye do?"
" How are you, governor?" was Mr. Flitter's reply. " And
what are you doing?"
" Doing? — vot am I doing? Don't know vere to put tho
people — they vill come. That's your sort, eh?"
And here Mr. Shem, as he was called, winked at himself
several times successively. He had been in the habit of
misleading the opinions of others so frequently and so suc-
cessfully, that he was obliged to do so, to get rid of the super*
abundant joy he felt at his deceptions.
But it was a horrible wink ; not one that bore witness to
an honest social joke, but one that spoke of deep deception,
326 ' THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
and victories gained by chicanery and double-dealing — at
least, anybody might have been excused for thinking so.
" Got anything for us?" continued the manager.
" Yes," said Wyndham; " some first-rate pieces. Saw
them in Paris last week."
He had seen them at Boulogne; but he had bought the
books, and knew the Paris casts; so it was all the same.
" Very well — all right," said the other, winking again.
" Come out and take a turn. I vant to buy some potatoes."
He was about to leave the room, when an aged woman —
the last thirty years of whose life had been passed in fanciful
conceptions of the dresses worn by the peasants in Switzer-
land and Bohemia, and who, as she still cheerfully believed,
tended cows and trimmed vines in spangles and pumps-
came to the door with a feeble knock, and ventured in.
" Veil! vat do you vant?" asked the director.
' If you please, sir "
" Veil, I don't please, so be off," he replied; adding, in
the same breath, " Go on; vot is it?"
He always thought it necessary to repel everybody at first,
for fear they came to ask a favour; in order that thus
frightened, they might ask a less one, or perhaps not muster
up courage to proffer the petition at all. And he carried the
same feeling out, in all his transactions.
" If you please, sir, Miss "VVirey wants silk velvet for
her page's tunic."
"Vot!" almost screamed Mr. Shem, "silk velvet! Ivon't
have it. I never had silk velvet for a page in my life."
" If you please, sir, she says Madame Trilli had it."
" Very well; I dare say she did — because she vos vorth it.
And you may tell Miss Virey, ven she can draw as much
money as the other, she shall have silk velvet. There, go
avay — go avay. Cotton velvet's very good — beautiful. Every
bit of cotton velvet I use costs me ten shillings a yard. Now
don't come again."
As the woman departed, Mr. Shem winked at himself and
Wyndham conjointly. And he was about to start, when
another knock was heard.
" And vot do you vant?" asked Mr. Shem again, as the
head scene-painter approached, "Eh?"
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 327
" I think we shall want some more canvas for the last
scene," he said. " There's a moon in it, and you wouldn't
like the large horizon cloth cut."
" Cut the cloth — \ y you're mad," again shrieked the ma-
nager. "I von't have a moon at all. Vot is the moon? all
trash and nonsense. I von't have it, I tell you?"
" Very well : that's just as you please," said the artist;
*' only the scene is by moonlight, and all the allusions are
about it."
"Bah!" continued Mr. Shem, with his scream, "vol's al-
lusions ; vot's moonlight ; vot's anything — all nothing : eh?
Vyndham."
Wyndham knew the scene-painter, and expected he knew
the author, so he poked the fire by way of reply, as the artist
bowed and departed.
" They cheat you all manners of vays if you don't look
after them," said Mr. Shem. " They'd ruin you in a veek.
HuUou! vot next?"
There was another rap at the door, and a man entered with
a parcel. Mr. Shem winked at himself so rapidly, that the
motion of his eyelid was almost galvanic.
" Veil, Mr. Tweed," he exclaimed, " is that the coat — eh?"
Mr. Tweed bowed and unpacked the parcel, producing a
Caucasian-looking frock-coat, with a fur collar, which he
proceeded to try on.
" Just the thing, sir, I think," said Mr. Tweed. "Very
nice in the back — stop, a little crease, — that's it, sir : nothing
but the folding. I think, sir, this is a lovely fit?" he added,
turning to Wyndham for his opinion.
But Mr. Flitter, at the first appearance of Mr. Tweed, had
stepped into the next room. He appeared to know him, and
not to wish himself to be recognised; but he heard what passed.
"You call that a fit!" exclaimed Mr. Shem; "a fit! go
on vith your fit. It's like a sack. I von't have it. Vot
vas it to be — eh?"
" Five pounds ten, sir," replied the other.
"Vot!" again screamed Mr. Shem; "five pun' ten. I
von't have it. Take it away — it don't fit. Take it avay, I
say. Go along — go along! Never let me see it again. Eh?"
'Mr. Tweed was afraid of giving his customer a different
328 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
fit — of apoplexy — for he looked upon the verge of it, in hia
rage; and so he departed.
" Vyndham!" cried Mr. Shem, as the other left; "see how
they all do you! Everybody does me almost. My actors
vould if they could, but they can't. Ven the theatre pays,
all veil and good, and I keep it on; ven it don't I shut it,
and say the season's over — eh?"
And he dug Mr. Flitter in the ribs, and winked at him.
" They must play for my season," he added; " but I needn't
pay for theirs — eh? Oh! you're obliged to look after
them— eh?"
"Ha! ha! capital! What a knowing one you are!" ex-
claimed Wyndham.
*' Ain't I? — eh? Now come and take a valk, eh?"
Seeing there was, at last, a chance of being permitted to
go out, Mr. Shem took Wyndham by the shoulder affec-
tionately, and they left the theatre. Two or three of the
dingy people, who still haunted the stage-door, tried to
speak to the manager as he passed, but he wouldn't have it.
" I've no time now," he said. " You must write vot you
vant— eh?"
A small pony-chaise was in waiting at the stage door, and
Mr. Shem called the attention of Mr. Flitter to it.
" There, Vyndham, vot do you think of that?" he asked.
" There was a bargain. The man wanted fifteen pounds for
it, as it stands — eh?"
" And not dear."
"No; but I did better than that. I gave him five in
money, and ten pounds' vorth of box orders for two. That
vos the agreement, and vot do you think I did? Eh?"
" I'm sure I can't tell," replied Flitter.
" I gave them all for the same evening, and didn't let vun
into the dress-circle. I had him there, I think. But it's
the vay vith all of them. They'll all do you, if they can."
Wyndham looked admiringly at his companion — they w^ere
kindred souls.
They walked on together, and at last came to a great
market, the appearance of which would have entirely silenced
all those honest people, still existing, who think that country
productions are easier to be obtained in the rural districts.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 329'
It was yet winter; but delicate and choice exotics flourished
in the windows; thousands of roots, bound in wet moss, and
ah-eady bursting Avith the petals of the crocus, the anemone,
the faint clematis, and the pale lily of the valley, were
heaped upon the stalls; and countless packets of all the seeds
that were to spring into light and life in May, and add to the
deeply-glowing glories of the summer flower-garden, were
sorted at such prices, that a penny would have produced a
bower in July. The world had poured its vegetable trea-
sures into that teeming spot. Fiery oranges, from Tangiers
and Malta; bursting grapes from glowing Spain; smart cran-
berries from icy Russia, and solid cob-nuts from the thick
country woods of England were there; Normandy, America,
the two Indies, and the scented Arabia, had all sent their
produce, in gallant ships, across the world of leaping waters.
The healing fruit that was brought in an instant on the en-
chanted carpet of the Arabian Nights was outdone. In a
second, any one who chose could command there every pro-
duct of the earth, not only that administered to the exigency
of disease, but embellished the table of luxury.
Mr. Shem was not much affected by these notions. He
only looked upon oranges as things to be eaten in the pit or
gallery; for the privilege of selling which, in his opinion,
certain individuals paid important sums. And he saw in
bouquets nothing but elements of popular success, when
showered upon a favourite at the fall of the curtain. The
other things did not concern him, so he did not regard them,
potatoes alone excepted.
" Ho d'ye do, Mrs. Punnett?" he exclaimed, to a dealer
in the latter articles, as he came up to her stall. " Veil,,
how's potatoes?"
" Beautiful, sir," said the woman.
" Yes, I know; but vot's the price?"
" Three halfpence a pound, sir."
"Vot! Never heard of such a thing! Three halfpence
a pound? Three pound for a halfpenny, you mean."
Mrs. Punnett did not enter into the merits of the re-
duction.
"Veil, seven pounds for sixpence. No? Then weigh me
out two pounds."
-S30> THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
The woman got the scale, and heaped in the potatoes.
As she went to get some more, Mr. Shem took two or three
large ones in his hand, and then cried out —
" Vot do you give me these big vuns for? You know I
don't like them. Get me some little vuns."
The woman obeyed; and when she put them into a bag,
Mr. Shem pushed the large ones in as well, on the sly, and
without her looking.
" There's a fourpenny -piece," said Mr. Shem. " Now give
me a penny, eh?"
" That's a quarter of a frank, sir," replied the woman.
"Pooh — pooh!" said Mr. Shem, taking it up. " So it is.
Did you ever see, Vyndham, how you're cheated if you don't
look after people? Now, my boy, come along, eh?"
They walked away from the market, Mr. Shem winking
^t his potatoes all the way, in frantic delight; and at length.
Flitter thought he might broach the object of his visit. So
lie pulled a French vaudeville from his pocket, that he had
bought at Boulogne the day before, and commenced —
•' There's a charming piece, governor; just out. I saw
it at Paris on Friday. Now, look here — it's sure to make a
tremendous hit; and if you'll give me a ten-pound note, TU
do it for you oif hand.
" Let me look at it — vot is it?" asked Mr. Shem. He
saw the name, which, with him, was to recollect it, and then
gave it back to Wyndham, saying —
" I had that piece over last week, my boy. I've got it
done already. My man Croon has two guineas a week to do
^1 my interludes, — eh?" And he winked at his own sagacity,
as he determined to order the vaudeville at Jeff's that very
evening.
" Don't you want a burlesque?" asked Wyndham.
" Vant a vot?: — Burlesque! My boy, I have had five of
the cleverest you ever saw sent in — capital subjects, too;
well known, and never been done, — eh?"
As they had walked on, they had arrived opposite the
shop of Mr. Tweed. Mr. Shem paused an instant — although
Wyndham would fain have walked on — and pointed to his
window. There were several garments, of what tailors
facetiously consider to be the latest fashions, hanging over
the wire blind; large patterned check trousers, gentishly-cut,
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY. 33i
plaid and shawl waistcoats, and offensively staring specimens
of various fabrics. Amongst them, however, was the coat
which Mr. Shem had rejected that morning.
" I knew it, my boy," he said, with great glee to Flitter,
as his eye winked like a star. " It's put there to sell as a
misfit. I shall send somebody down to-morrow to buy it
at half price, — eh? Had 'em there! Oh! if you don't keep
your eyes open, you're done all vays."
" I wish you would lend me a sovereign, by tne way,"
said Wyndham; " it will save my going into the city."
** My boy, I haven't so much as two and sixpence about
me, else I vould directly."
" Well, never mind," replied Wyndham, "just give me
a box for to-night." He thought he might make a little
of it.
" A box ! " cried Mr. Shem. " There now, if the queen
vos to come down to me herself this afternoon, and say,
* Mr. Shem, can you oblige me with a box?' I should be
compelled to refuse her."
Wyndham began to see that it was throwing time away,
for Mr. Shem was not evidently disposed to accommodate
him; so wishing him good morning, he turned off towards
Mr. Spooner's. But he did not call upon that gentleman
until he had formed several plans of the manner in which it
would be best to attack him; for he had borrowed so many
small sums, the promised immediate repayment for which
never took place, that some new form of application was
necessary. At last, he decided upon one which he thought
tolerably certain to answer.
" Is your master in, West?" asked Wyndham, as the ser-
vant came to the door.
" Yes, he is, sir; he's dressing; but he won't mind you."
But before he had got thus far, Mr. Wyndham Flitter
was at the top of the flight of stairs, and had rushed into
Mr. Spooner's bedroom.
His morning toilet took that young gentleman a long time
to make, but it was nothing to the evening one; if he got off
under two hours he had been hurried, and dressed rapidly.
This was its order. First of all he had a long consultation
with West, as to which of his waistcoats he should w^ear; and
when this was settled he had it laid in state upon the bed.
$82 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
together with his other clothes, and then sat ten minutes
with a cigar in his mouth looking at them. Next, all his
studs, of which he might have had twenty sets, were passed
in review before him; and after one pattern had been fixed
in his shirt-front, he thought another would look better, and
had the first altered. Then, perhaps, these were changed
again and again, until after the plain coral had been removed
for the blue-bottle flies made of precious stones, and these
had given place to the Neapolitan fancy periwinkle shells,
which were in turn superseded by the pearls hanging from
the coiled serpents' mouths, only to be put aside for the tur-
quoise raspberries or the enamel shields, the shirt-front was
crumpled and useless, and another had to be chosen, which,
when fitted up, was found not to correspond with the waist-
coat, and everything had to be gone over again.
But Mr. Spooner's hair was his chief care. Had one tenth
part of the attention been given to the inside of his head
that he bestowed upon its exterior, he would have been a
wonderful fellow. For the regiment of bottles and pots, all
connected with certain mysterious operations to be performed
thereon, would have stocked a stall at a bazaar. When one
came to think that Columbia, Madagascar, Russia, and Circassia,
had all been considered necessary to supply balm, oil, grease, and
cream, for the sole object of nourishing and beautifying the
hair, the enterprise of the spirited importers could not be too
highly lauded. And yet, with respect to Mr. Spooner's hair,
they certainly had not produced those pleasing effects which
one might have supposed from the public records of their
virtues. For it still remained wiry and wavy, and would
stick up here and there, in unseemly places, in small locks
that turned the wrong way, and which nothing could subdue.
One night, to be sure, going to a party, Mr. Spooner, with
much bandoline and a strong-minded tooth-brush, had re-
duced one or two of these rebellious " feathers" to obedience;
but from the very nature of the remedy, his hat had stuck
to his head, and when he arrived at the house he could not
remove it, until the butler got him a pair of scissors, which
at the same time took away the cause, and left him for some
weeks afterwards with two little stubbly tufts rising from his
crown.
He was also very particular in shaving twice every day,
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 333
not because he had a beard, but because he had not. And
to this end he had seven razors in a box, with the names of
the days of the week on the back of each. He did not, how-
ever, use them regularly, for he had a favourite Thursday
which usually took the lead. Next to this blade in favour
came Monday, but Friday and Sunday had been out of use
altogether for some time, never having gone well since Willy
Sprott tried to cut the wire of some bottled stout with them.
With one of the first named he was removing the lather very
easily from his smooth chin when Wyndham burst into the
room, and threw himself into a large arm-chair.
" Halloo, old fellow !" said Mr. Spooner, " how you fright-
ened me; you almost made me cut myself. What's up?"
Finding Mr. Flitter did not reply, he looked round, and
saw him with his face buried in his hands.
" Wyndham, I say, what's the matter?" continued Mr.^
Spooner, almost alarmed.
" Don't ask me !" exclaimed Mr. Flitter. " I cannot tell
you. I am ruined — lost — for ever!"
" Lor, I'm sure I'm very sorry," returned the other.
" How do you say — lost? Pshaw!"
" Spooner!" cried Mr. Flitter, violently, jumping up from
the large arm-chair, " this night will see me, not as I am
now, but a shattered corpse, awaiting the inquest! I am
resolved "
He said this in a deep low tone, followed by a gulp of air,
to look hysterical, and make it effective. It had its effect.
"Oh — come, come, Wyndham," said Mr. Spooner; "that
must not be, you know. Quiet yourself, old fellow: here,
drink this water, and tell me coolly what it means."
He gave Mr. Flitter a tumbler of water, who chattered
it against his teeth so desperately, that it is strange one or
the other did not crack.
"There," he went on; "now then, take your time, and
tell me all about it."
Mr. Flitter looked at West, who, at Spooner's sign, imme*
diately left the room.
" Tiddy! " said Wyndham, as the servant departed; " there
is no other man in the world, that I would have told this to,
but you. There is no other shall know beforehand of my
intentions. Ah-h-h!"
334 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Here, Mr. Flitter shuddered fearfully, and pressed his
handkerchief to his eyes, as though to shut out the horrid
visions that were flitting iDefore him.
"Well — what is it? Come, old fellow," said Mr. Spooner,
in a petting manner, putting his hand upon the other's
shoulder.
" I have been wronged by a villain ! " cried Mr. Flitter,
"A man that I had loved and trusted as my brother — as I
would have loved and trusted you."
He grasped Mr. Spooner's hand, who returned the pressure,
beginning to be deeply affected.
" I was security for him, for one hundred pounds. Now,
you see it all. He has absconded; and to-night, I must pay
the recognizances, or be cast into a dungeon! But no! they
shall see that the body of Wyndham Flitter shall be as free,
as is his soul. At twelve o'clock to-night, I shall blow my
brains out."
"Oh! nonsense! nonsense! You mustn't do that, you
know," said Mr. Spooner.
" It is fixed," continued Wyndham; " but I have one
favour to beg of you. "VYe have been friends together (as
the song which we knew in happier times, so beautifully
expresses it) " through many roving years." I have a last and
earnest favour to beg of you."
"Name it, Wyndham; but — no, no — you will never ^*
"Hush!" he interrupted. "We once, you may remember,
had a talk about ghosts; and we said we would enter into a
compact, that whichever of us died first, should appear to the
other, to prove if there were any truth in them, or otherwise.
The time is now come to put it to the test. At twelve o'clock,
this very night, skull-shattered, and brained, and bleeding as
I may be, I will appear to you. Let me beg, at this terrible
moment, that you will be alone."
Mr. Spooner began to get very nervous. His alarm at
Wyndham's violence was changing into terror at the anticipated
visitation. For he believed in ghosts.
"But, stop!" he said; "stop, Wjndhnm. Perhaps it is
not so bad as it looks. Can't they be induced to wait a little
while."
"No! no!" cried Mr. Flitter, m assumed desperation.
** The harpies would tear the flesh from my bones with red
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 335
hot pincers first, as they are now scrunching my heart with
their heels. Just as I was thinking, too, of taking a theatre
—a theatre for ballet and spectacle."
"You were!"
"Oh yes, yes; but that has past: a theatre, where my
friends would have been in the green room, as in their own
drawing-rooms; and had their own pieces played by the first
actors." And suddenly, changing his expression to one of
deep calm, he added: " No matter! my mind is made up."
He knew Mr. Spooner's available point, when all else failed.
He knew his attachment to the ballet, generally; his public
balls and petits soupers \vith. 'little parties;' his notions of an
entree behind the scepes. And he knew also, that Mr.
Spooner had a cherished farce, which he had often threatened
to read to Wyndham, and been as often prevented by great
tact and contrivance — which had been rejected by every
theatre in London, ' on account,' as Mr. Spooner said, * of the
suicidal jealousy of theatrical people, of young and fresh
talent;' and which, however, a friend — a member of the
Garrick's, had at last promised that he would show to Harley.
" Nonsense, man," said Mr. Spooner; " we have bright
years still before us."
•' I might have had," said Mr. Flitter. " Next week even,
hundreds would be to me what sovereigns are to day. But
where shall I be next week. Ah-h-h ! "
And Wyndham here shuddered again, fearfully.
" Now, just be still, old man," said Mr. Spooner, with
pleasant banter. "We can settle it all in two minutes. See
here. I will give you a cheque, and you shall pay me next
week. It is a pity the bank is closed; but my name's good
anywhere. There! there's your hundred! Now, then — how
about your brains ! "
"My preserver!" cried Wyndham, grasping Mr. Spooner's
hand between his own.
" Don't say a word more about it," replied the other.
"And now, what will you have? "
" I think some sherry and soda-water," returned Mr.
Flitter, quite in his old tone of voice. " Oh! if you knew the
load that was taken oflf my breast."
And to prove the change that had taken place in his feel-
ings, Mr. Flitter sang an air from a popular opera, and per-
336 THE POTTLETON LEGACY,
formed a little pas of his own about tlie room; finally, stop-
ping at tlie toilet-table to brush his hair, and put a little gloss
upon it. Then he combed his whiskers, curled his mus-
tachios, and finally announced that he was himself again.
All his peril was past; and, indeed, had he not got the
money, it would have been just at present a serious business
to him in the furtherance of his schemes. With all his
assumed gaiety, the entire morning had been one of great
anxiety to him; but now he found himself, for the present,
safely landed. A man who comes up from a coal mine once
more into an inexplosive atmosphere; a curious visitor, who
finds himself on firm ground again, after making that frightful
journey in the basket along the site of the suspension-bridge
at Clifton; a stranger landing from an American steam-boat,
a balloon, or a diving-bell; a traveller arriving unattached at
the end of his route between Naples and Terracina, or
Madrid and Seville; a quiet man tranquilly finishing a
month's sojourn in the Faubourg St. Antoine; a foreman at
a powder-mill on Saturday night; an amateur hunter finding
himself still on his saddle on the other side of an ox-rail;
the summit of a human column of street-acrobats when he
finds the paving-stones under his feet again, instead of the
crown of his companion's head, — all these persons can imagine
Mr. Flitter's delight at this relief to his embarrassments.
Instead of his dejection, an almost supernatural gaiety took
possession of his mind. He kept on singing, spouting poetry,
and flourishing about the room, until his friend's toilet was
completed, when he shook him again warmly by the hand,
told him he had saved his life, and then went back to the
theatre for his carpet-bag, which he was about to re-arrange,
intending to start the next morning for a place of no less
importance in our history than the quiet Pottleton,
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 33*1^
CHAPTER XXXI.
PHILIP GOES TO EPSOM, TO HIS COST.
Philip was in no Imny to leave Boulogne: nor was it Wynd-
ham Flitter's intention that he should quit it a day before such
departure was absolutely necessary. And therefore he com-
mended him more than ever to the care of Mrs. Wracketts,
who was evidently not at all displeased with her charge: and
by getting him to write a few sketches of a local character for
" The Cracker" — which Mr. Scute commended to Messrs.
Brainer and Clinch, as first-rate — and setting him to trans-
late a few high-jH'essure French novels for a cheap publisher
in the regions of Holywell- street, he gave him a pretence
for staying; whilst Mr. and Madame Lurker, glad to catch
anybody at such an out-of-the-w^ay time of year, took him,
by the week, for a sum certainly as small as, if not less than,
he could have lived for in London.
The time did not hang very heavily on his hands. Flitter
and Wracketts returned to England, so that he w^as left to be
Leonie's sole companion. They found enough to amuse
them, even at l^oulogne. They had long blowing ^valks on,
the edge of the cliff's, or on the level sands at low water, to
Wimereux: and strolls round the ramparts, and lounges
about the streets, where the shop windows were always
attractive. For there was the dehcately carved ivory of
Dieppe, in brooches, studs, and buckles: the latest music from
Paris, with its fanciful lithographed title pages: the large tin
gloves, and barber's brass basins, and novel signs to the
shops, altogether — nothing in themselves, but making up a
strange foreign ensemble, that it was pleasant to find oneself
amongst. The market, too, with its ocean of white caps,
and dainty wares fresh from the country about, was a favou-
rite resort: and when they were tired, they would turn into
the Cathedral; which is not a very imposing affair, to be sure,
but still worth a visit when it comes in one's way. For j^ou
do not have to wait for the keys, hunting up the clerk or.
z
338 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
sexton, and tagging round after him wherever he chooses to
take you, with payment in anticipation. The doors are
always open, and people go in and out just as they please,
from the market, the promenade, the sea, or the country.
They cheat and bargain — put down their baskets — go in and
pray, and come out again: and commence cheating and bar-
gaining as before. When you have seen one French church
you have seen all. Old women and young girls make up the
congregation: and a sprinkler of holy water at the door
guards the entrance with a doll's broom. Quantities of tiny
lights, like the " Christmas candles" of the children, flare,
gutter, go out, and smell, on triangular metal stands about
the interior. You will not be noticed by any one, unless you
take a chair; and then the owner emerges from behind some
pillar, and is pretty soon down upon you. So are the chairs
also if you go to move one yourself from the stack in which
the}'' are so artfully piled. They come down with the slightest
touch — sooner than anything else in the world, except the
corner articles on fragile stalls in the Pantheon and Soho
Bazaar.
It must not be supposed in these long saunters that Annie
was never mentioned. On the contrary, Philip was con-
stantly talking about her, because Mrs. Wracketts said " she
took such an interest in her." But the interest which one
woman takes in another, under similar positions of flirtation
and engagement, is somewhat of a doubtful character: espe-
cially if she admires the man herself. And although she may-
soften down the nature of her regard by ciilling it " sisterly,"
yet such is all nonsense, experience having discovered that
style of affection to be only existing in its most matter-of-
fact state of consanguinity. Philip was, however, disarmed
by it: and day by day fell deeper amongst the meshes laid
for him.
And so, in this easy life, the cold weather passed away;
the rough channel waves subsided, and the limes and acacias
burst out into leaf again, when Mr. Flitter once more made
his appearance at Boulogne; and the party at Lurker's was
broken up. But it was only to meet again, a day or two
afterwards, in London; and Mr Spooner's establishment was
the one favoured for the reunion. That true-hearted young
gentleman had asked them all to tea and lansquenet — a de-
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY. 339
lightful game, which Mr. Wyndham Flitter had been kind
enough to teach him; and which, to be sure, he lost at, just at
present; but then, he did not know it perfectly.
Mr. and Mrs. "VVracketts were there, the lady being in-
vited to do the honours, and order everything, as Mr.
Spooner intreated might be the case, exactly as if she were in
her own house. Mr. Wyndham Flitter was also there, of
course — and Philip was expected to drop in, from his office,
where he had been at work with Mr. Scute, every minute.
One or two of Mr. Spooner's most immediate college friends
— Willy Sprott and Co. — were also of the party; and Mrs.
Wracketts brought with her a young lady as handsome as
herself, whom she introduced as her cousin, Miss Courcy, lately
from Paris, and therefore rather an acquisition to the lans-
quenet table than otherwise. So that, altogether, they made,
what Mr. Spooner considered, rather a fast party, which it
was his great wish that the assembly should be considered,
and about which he was most anxious, inasmuch as he was
constantly putting secret questions to his friends, one after
the other, with an air of great earnestness, as to how they
thought it was going on.
Philip at last came, and was invited to join at the lans-
quenet table. He refused at first, but Mrs. Wracketts made
a space by her, for his chair to come in, and he assented im-
mediately: we must add, not altogether to Mr. Spooner's
taste, as that gentleman directly began to pay great attention
to Miss Courcy. The game went on, with alternations of for-
tune to the company, and perpetual ill-luck to the host, until
Philip, having lost rather more than he thought was proper,
rose to depart, on the score of having to go down to Pottletoa
early the next morning.
" Pottleton!" cried Mr. Flitter. " Come, Philip; what are
you going there for? You might just as well talk about
JSiOva Scotia, or Jericho, or the Great Desert."
''' I ought to have been there before," said Philip. " No —
I must really be off" — and by the first train."
There was an appealing look from Lconie.
"Why — man alive!" continued Mr. Flitter, " it's the
Derby day!"
" I know that," quietly answered Philip. " I ought to,
for I have heard nothing else talked about for the last month,
z2
340 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
But I suppose a man could still live although he had not
Leen to the Derby."
" Yes; and so he might without smoking, or drinking pale
ale, or lying in bed in the morning, but it would be existing
rather than living. Besides, this will be to your interest.
Look here."
And beckoning Philip towards him, he added, in a low
tone —
" You can work up an account of it for * The Cracker,'
don't you see?"
" Oh, yes," said Leonie, catching the words. " And I am
sure, from you^ it will be capital fun."
" I should not object to go," replied Philip. " How could
I? — on the contrary; but I know nothing in the world about
the matter. Tattersall's is as great a puzzle to me as the
foreign funds."
" Scute won't want you to do the racing," answered Wynd-
ham; " I'll look after that — only the road; there and back,,
you know. Your mission will be finished as soon as you get
on the course."
" But it has been done, over and over again," said Philip.
" So has every salmon-cutlet you order at Greenwich or
Blackwall," responded Mr. Flitter: " and yet people always
like it."
There was a laugh at Mr. Flitter's rejoinder, and Mrs.
"VYracketts and Miss Courcy looked large bright eyes at one
another, and showed their teeth — in appearance, to appreciate
Mr. Flitter's talents; in reality, to exhibit their own beauties*
And then they both looked at Philip.
" But how are we to go?" he asked, already wavering.
" Wracketts and Spooner are going to play ecarte for a
barouche," answered Wyndham." " It's all ordered — we've
only got to settle who shall pay for it. There — that's all
arranged — you go."
" You go — all right," echoed Spooner and Wracketts.
*' Yes — you must go," softly added Leonie, making sure
that Spooner was not looking.
Mr. Spooner's friends were going down in several Han-
soms, so they did not interfere with the arrangements, but
promised to join them on the Course. And therefore the
party was settled to be Leonie and Miss Courcy, Spooner
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 341
and Philip, inside; and Wyndham and Mr. Wracketts on the
box. A fresh game of lansquenet commenced: hock, cham-
pagne, and Seltzer water, came up in fresh quantities; and
once more Philip found the journey to Pottleton set aside.
Then came supper: and then Leonie produced her guitar,
and sang — not only solos but duetts with her cousin, and,
with these, the spell was perfected, scarcely dissipated in
dreams when the morning arrived.
And a famous day it was when it did come; with a glorious
sunshine from its very break. Whatever disgrace the clerk
of the weather might formerly have incurred from treating the
race to a snow-storm, his character was fully redeemed on
the present occasion. No threatening morning, no untoward
shower, not even a heat-drop, to form a little patch of mud
upon the new bonnet or parasol wherever it fell, to mar the
beauty of the day. The morning opened splendidly; and the
sun rose evidently on the right side of his bed, and appeared
with a bright, good-humoured face, which proved at once
that he meant to keep so all day. And so he did.
Long before Mr. Flitter or his friends were awake, the
traffic had commenced upon the road. For then did little
wagons, filled with ginger-pop, and long barrows, covered
with nuts, take their departure; together with many trucks
of forms and benches, which their toiling owners pushed be-
fore them all the way from town, in the hope of reaping a
harvest from visitors of short stature who had no available
carriage, and could not afford to go into the stand, yet wanted
their heads elevated a little above the rest, to get a glimpse
of the great race. Mr. Punch, too, might have been seen
here and there upon the road, now quiet and sleeping in his
box, for he had a hard day's work before him. Anon, the
carts belonging to the large refreshment booths thronged the
way, filled w^ith articles that required a late carriage from
London, to come out to advantage, — blankets full of ice and
crisp cool lettuces. Then came the large un>yieldy advertis-
ing machines to create a sensation by blocking up the turn-
pikes, and to creep about the Downs as if they had elephants
inside them. These all went on until the first visitors took
the road — regular holiday-keepers, who had looked forward a
whole year to the day — starting thus early, either with the
determination of making a long day of it, letting their horse
342 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
or horses take it easy, or getting a good place on the hill, or
near the ropes, or in the free ground, as the case might
turn out to be.
London also was alive at earlj morning. Resuscitated
post-horses and exhumed post-boys waked from their long
hybernation into light and life again, like butterflies. Already
idlers were collecting about the West-end hotels, in front of
which imposing arrays of first-rate drags were to be seen;
or about the Regent-circus and Grosvenor- place, by which
for four or five hours the stream of vehicles was to pass.
Carriages and four were waiting at the doors of the houses
in the patrician squares; stage-coaches, drawn forth again,
like the post-boys, from next door to oblivion — whose very
windows blinked in the bright sun from long inaction — were
being mopped into as good an appearance as they were
capable of putting on, in the coach-office yards. At many of
the inns, omnibuses, properly destined for any part of the
suburbs but that in which they were about to proceed, ruth-
lessly dragged from sober Upper Clapton to make the
acquaintance of strange Surrey turnpikes, or forced to tiy
other "climbs" over the Epsom hills, instead of those of
Highgate and Haverstock, were denying their course of life,
by suffering themselves to be placarded all over with " Ep-
som;" and in by-streets and humble neighbourhoods were
vans, which, as far as their capabilities of extension of accom-
modation went, might have been made of Indian rubber for
aught we know. They were all vans bent upon going out
for a lark. There was a flashy air about their very curtains,
and the scarlet streamers that tied them, that meant mischief.
They were for one day at least going to cut temperance and
Hampton Court, and plunge into the rollicking, fermented
festivities of the Derby day. Nay, down by the Thames
curious pedestrians might have come upon certain old coal
wagons, turned out quite clean and respectable, with a table
down the middle, and a nine-gallon tub — mark that — nine
gallons! — stowed away up at the end; and arched over with
such evergreens as were available. But these would only be
seen by the many, when overtaken far on the road; for they
left betimes, requiring five hours at least to accomplish the
journey in.
It had been settled down that Mr. Spooner's rooms should
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 343
bethe trysting-place. Mr. Wyndhara Flitter arranged this
for various reasons — because it was a good locality; because
he was certain Mr. Spooner would have, any how, to pay for
everything; because his own residence was, as usual, some-
what vague; and because breakfast would be provided, and
anything packed away in the landau that might strike them
at the last moment as likely to prove serviceable, over and
above the different things they had each been appointed to
bring. And to all this Mr. Spooner had not the slightest
objection, being delighted w4th the chance of going in such
fast society. So he had prepared the most elaborate break-
fast ever known — pies, prawns, hock, claret, sardines, and pale
ale — and perfectly filled his passage with hampers.
The party assembled with tolerable punctuality about ten
o'clock. Mrs. Wracketts was something to see, had nothing
of her been visible but her parasol, which was of shot silk
covered with lace, and of a shape entirely different to the
normal fashions. And her lemon-coloured lined muslin was
worked so beautifully that scarcely a square inch of the simple
fabric was visible; whilst her Albanian shawl almost dazzled
one with the brilliancy of its tranverse bands of colours. And
her bonnet appeared to have been made by spiders, so delicate
was it; indeed, but for the look of the thing, she might as
well have discarded it altogether, except that she would have
lost, at the same time, the effect of the small bouquets of pop-
pies, wheat, and corn flowers that lay against her cheeks.
Miss Courcy was also imposing and brilliant to look at —
rather more subdued, in tone perhaps, than Mrs. Wracketts,
as was proper.
Mr. Wyndhara Flitter, too, was got up at a great ex-
pense, and had a blue scarf round his neck, with a huge
pin in it, that was sure to make him be accosted as " my
noble sportsman" by all the list vendors upon the road; and
Mr. Wracketta' whiskers appeared to have taken a fresh
growth entirely for the occasion. As for Philip and Spooner
— who with all his feebleness was a gentleman — they had
simply an ordinary morning costume.
Mr. Spooner Avas very anxious to take a post - horn,
which hung in a wicker case over his boot -stand: but in this
he was overruled by Philip, who decided that they had not
344 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
in their party any one of sufficiently high moral courage and
tractable lips, to ensure them from the liability of exposure
to the contempt of the great world, by an immature per-
formance thereon. There was a little time occupied in stow-
ing away the things; for race-course refreshment is always
put in impossible hampers, that will not, by any exercise of
human ingenuity, go anywhere except under the seats, and
not always there. But at last, what with filling the sword-
case, and the folds of the head of the landau, and the pockets,
and in fact every available corner, they got off. The de-
parture, however, caused great excitement. The unquench-
able hoys, always so festively inclined, cheered everybody
separately as they entered. The maid, on the door-step op-
posite, paused to look round, as she rested on her hearth-
stone, and quite forgot the baker: fair heads peeped round
the curtains, and peered through the wire blinds: a courteous
young gentleman, in a paper cap and apron, with his shirt-
sleeves tucked up, hoped the company generally would win
their money, and then said to the postilion, looking at the
horse, "Hit him over the head! he's got but one friend, and
he's behind him." And with this recommendation they
departed.
Bent on pleasure themselves, it was human nature to
wonder how shops were being calmly attended to on the
Derby day. They pitied the shopkeepers ; they pitied the
ordinary passengers; and, above all, they pitied the mild
clerks on the inevitable omnibuses, all bound towards the
Bank, who were doomed to sit in dark offices, upon high
stools, all the goodly day, doing sums, copying letters, and
listening to the chirping of their own pens.
There was plenty to look at and talk about on the road.
AH along Clapham Common the inhabitants had turned out
to look at the multitude which, now thickened at the different
roads from the various quarters of town, met at Kennington.
All the villa-gardens were occupied; all the balconies; nay,
all the front windows. And where the walls in front were
high, the gates were open; and they caught glimpses of
smooth velvety lawns, and groups of nice-looking per-
sons, and such crowds of pretty girls ! Mr. Spooner declared
he never saw so much beauty in his life as was collected
in the space of a mile thereabouts. And then Leonie looked
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 345
at liim, and said she was afraid tliat he was a wicked fellow,
at which IMr. Spooner was very much pleased, more so than,
lie would have been had he seen her foot on Philip's all the
time.
Mr. Flitter and Mr. Wracketts knew an immense number
of people upon the road, but thej were all of the same class,
heavy-looking fellows in cumbersome phaetons, or flashily
dressed passengers of very miscellaneous four-in-hands. And
many were Jews. But Mr. Flitter spoke of all of them as
very remarkable men, of enormous wealth, or unbounded
talent; and to several he gave titles.
The schools all along the road came out uncommonly
strong. They were drawn up as advertisements behind all
the play-ground walls, great care being taken to put the fat
pupils in front, in order that the spectators might be im-
pressed with notions of the liberal feeding of the proprietors;
and hereat Mr. Wracketts made great merriment by saying,
that he almost wondered they did not adorn the healthiest-
looking scholars with placards, labelled " In this style at
live guineas a quarter." At this Mr. Spooner laughed
loudest; less, however, from appreciation of the joke, than
from the fact that Mr. Wracketts was the husband of such a
beautiful lady.
" I was very lucky to fall into this party," said "VYynd-
ham: " for I had a good many offers of a seat from all sorts
of friends. Young Rasper, of the Guards — you know Young
Rasper, Philip: we dined with him in the Beauchamp
Tower?"
Philip was glad to admit the intimacy before the ladies and
Mr. Spooner.
" Well — he keeps a cab, and two horses, and all sorts of
things, upon his lieutenant's pay: and he wanted me to be
' shooter' to his drag, and chaff the snobs coming back."
" And Avhy did you not go?" asked Philip.
" Because he said I must wear a purple veil and white
paletot, as they were going in livery, to cut out the Second
Life Guards, who were coming over from Windsor in straw
hats, regularly thatched to a man. Now I did not see that
as he did, so I declined."
"And who were the others?" inquired Leonie.
" Oh! Jack Brixy offered me a perch on the hind seat of
Z4& THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
his dog-cart, which tipped back last year going up Piccadilly,
and lifted the horse in the air, from being wrongly balanced."
" How absurd, to be sure!" said the ladies.
" Then my laundress's husband launched a van, and wanted
me to take a seat — eighteen inside, six on the front, and one
or two on the top, with a pair of horses, and to start at six in
the morning, with liberty to bait at every public house on
the road. And, lastly, my friend Barker, of Lyons Inn—
you know Barker of Lyons Inn? — wanted me to join him in a
landau."
" And, of course, you did?" observed Mr. Wracketts.
" Rather. I know what joining Barker is, in anything.
Very like betting gloves with a woman, or taking a share in
a Frankfort lottery, or acceptino^ an invitation from an Irish-
man about town to dine at Blackwall, or lending money
through an advertisement. It all comes to the same."
The usual halt at the turnpike gave a fine opportunity for
the wind instruments to show off, which they did with more
or less effect — all playing at once, and all different tunes.
Just at this minute, a drag with some stylish young men on
it, came up alongside the landau, and Philip was somewhat
surprised to see two of the passengers wink distinctly at Mrs.
Wracketts; and this he perceived even through the purple
veils which the others all wore, w^hich in some measure bore
out Wyndham's story — but liars are at times uncommonly
lucky — evidently by an arrangement, and not altogether with-
out its advantages. For the dust flew in heavy clouds; the
whole of the road appeared to have taken up its abode in the
air; the hedges were the same colour as the ground; and the
white chalky powder, settling on the reeking horses, gave
them the appearance of zebras; whilst the whole country to
leeward appeared to be choking, and gasping for a heavy
shower.
Mr. Spooner, who had not seen the recognition — if it was
one — from the drag (which would have kindled all his ire),
here attempted a small joke, feeling that it was time he said
something smart; and intimated that the crowd was raising the
dust in order that the losers might come down with it hand-
somely on settling day. But Mr. Flitter very properly re-
proved him for this unseemly conduct, in a jocular way,
though, and with great pleasantry; otherwise there is no
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 347
telling where he would have ended. They might have
been treated with the whole host of conventional jokes allowed
on the occasion, which, if not nipped in the bud, get to such
dangerous lengths with people who will be funny under natu-
ral difficulties.
There was more and more to look at, however, in lieu of
talking, every minute. The pedestrians from short distances
now began to increase, strapping away at the rate of four
miles and a half per hour, with hedge-stakes in their hands
and their coats under their arms — real amateurs of the race
— fellows who had seen the Derby run every year since they
M'ere children. They received many salutations from the
passers-by, such as, " You look precious tired, old fellow;
why don't you run behind your boots?" or, " Throw your
legs over your shoulder to rest yourself." But they were
working too hard to reply.
Epsom was, as usual, crowded: in fact, in front of the
Spread Eagle the road was almost impassable; and both Mr.
Flitter and Mr. Wracketts had enough to do to acknowledge
the many tokens of acquaintance from the freckled-faced men,
without gloves, who formed the greater part of the throng.
Beyond the town, the recognitions were still kept up, but not
so frequently. Mr. Spooner did not notice them so much, as he
was all eyes for the scene about him. The wide, open country,
the rich foliage of Woodcot-park — the " hill" blackened with
carriages and human beings, and dotted with colours, as if
different huge paint-brushes had been spattered down upon
it — the mighty clouds of dust flying far away over the country
— the long lines of carriages and foot-people crossing the
Downs in all directions — joined to form a panorama at which
Philip, no less than Mr, Spooner, was completely bewildered.
By some acquaintance with the constables, Mr. Wyndham
Flitter got one of the best positions on the course for their
carriage: and then, after brushing one another, and entering
into a desperate combat of eight to prevent their horses from
being taken to all parts of the course by bands of stable bri-
gands, they prepared to enjoy the race.
Of course, there was to be a sweepstakes, amongst them-
selves; and of course, Mr. Spooner had to bet a dozen pairs
of Houbigant's gloves — six and three quarters — with Mrs.
"VYracketts, upon some horse secretly recommended to him
348 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
by Mr. Wyndham Flitter. Philip was not worried much io
bet. Mr. Flitter had other views respecting him, which re-
quired to be gradually and calmly carried out. So he talked
unconcernedly about the people and the weather — paid com-
pliments to Miss Courcy, and did other things that only re-
quired surface attention. He was rapidly turning over his
scheme in his mind, when his eye caught that of a tall man
standing in the crowd of tag-rag-and-bobtail that surrounded
the carriages. He directly recognised the ganger, Sherrard.
An almost imperceptible gesture of the other drew him from,
the landau. He made some trifling excuse about seeing
after the latest betting, or something of the kind, and then
followed the other, at a little distance, to the outskirts of the
Course, amongst the encampments of the various tribes of
vagrants who follow the races about from one county to
another, all over England.
When they got apart from the throng, they both sat down
upon the turf, in the shade of a tilted cart, shut out from the
gaze of loiterers by a furze hedge: and then commenced their
talk immediately.
" I expected I should find you here," said the ganger:
*' and that was half the reason of my coming up. I've got
a bit of business though, with it — a booth and stabling affair
over yonder."
" Are you from Pottleton, then?" asked Wyndham.
" Yes: and a hard fight I've had with them there. They
pulled me up to the Bench at last; but I got oflT though, some-
how or another, and now they can't touch me. My wife's
down there, in the workhouse ; but I haven't bothered her.
The parish can afford to keep her better than I can. Why
should I?"
"Very true — why should you? But what did you want
with me?"
" You must keep constantly down at Pottleton if you wish
to do anything," replied the ganger. " Old Twinch appeared
for me at the Bench, and, when it was over, asked me about
Philip Hammond. What do you think I told him — that I
had heard of him in town; but that I did not think he wa.*
going on very well."
" Quite right: but do you think the girl does not suppose
THE POTTtETON LEGACY. 349
to the contrary. She's very tough in that respect, and I
know he has written to her frequently."
"I know it too," said Sherrard; "but, somehow or other,
the postman must have made a mistake in the delivery of the
letters. They came to me."
As the ganger spoke, with a grim smile, he took the
handkerchief from his neck, and unfolding it, produced two
or three letters from the envelope, which he showed to
Wyndham.
" How on earth did you come by those?" inquired the
other.
" I found the black servant at Monkscroft, unwiring a
hare one morning — they don't get paid over- well there, and I
suppose the servants look after the stray game to sell to the
railway poulterers. I told him I'd inform; and so got him in
my power. He went every morning for the letters, and those
I told him to keep back, he did. There they are.
" You are wonderful," said Wyndham. " I can't see
how she can do any otherwise than mistrust him. I know
I've done my share to make her."
" But it is time that it came to a head," observed Sherrard.
*' Can you get Philip into any out-and-out mess to-day .
something that there shall be no mistake about?"
" It is difficult. He is so damned prudent, in general.
Leonie is our only chance. He is rather gone in that quarter
already: and a hot sun like this, upon champagne, will do a
great deal more."
" At any rate, don't put off your visit to Pottleton. If
you don't go, he will : so start to-morrow, and make the
best use of your time. Dazzle her — ^you can if you choose.
Talk at Philip — hope he is getting on well, but fear that he
is too apt to be led away by company."
*' But I have done all this."
" Well — doit again; you can't too often. Marry the girl,
pet the chink, and share it with me. The whole concern
lies in a nut-shell."
" But rather difficult to crack," added Wyndham. " How-
ever, faint heart never won a good fortune. I suppose, at
last, it is to be done."
" Done!" returned the other, in a tone of slight contempt.
3^ THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
at the practicability of the affair being for a moment ques-
tioned. " Done! — pshaw! What did I do with the old
woman by a little management and nursing? Why, I got
her to alter her will altogether."
" I don't care if the matter is hurried on," said Mr. Plitter;
" for the state of my pocket is getting a good deal too in-
teresting. Money is running away like sand. I must work
some more from young Spooner. The worst is, with it all,
Wracketts sticks to his commission, if Leonie works all our
plans."
" Ah ! very well — never mind him," replied Sherrard.
^* Quite an after consideration. However, you had better
get back to them, only keep what I have said in mind."
" Devil doubt it," replied Wyndham, " and make hay
while the iron is hot, or whatever it is — ^you know. All
right, old fellow. Good bye."
And he then left his companions to rejoin the party on the
Course.
The race was what it always is. A great deal of expect-
ancy and preparation, and an enormous amount of noise;
much eye-straining and contradiction as to the position of
any colour or horse; a plague of parasols, always in the way;
a mighty surging murmur, ending in a roar of voices; and
then the whole business is over; at least, with the generality
of the visitors; but this day Mr. Flitter's was just commenc-
ing. Beginning with the light skirmishing of getting up
bets for gloves, and making small sweepstakes, in which Mr.
Spooner was singularly unfortunate, and Maitland got rid of
all his money, and then sending the champagne round so
rapidly, that the strongest brains in the world must have
quivered under its influence, he got his victims into pre-
cisely the state that he desired.
Philip had made great resolutions not to drink much; but
such cannot be kept at Epsom, on a hot afternoon after the
race. For everybody around is in such a state of wild hila-
rity; there reigns such a perfect thoughtlessness everywhere
with respect to any other world but that collected on the
Downs, or any future consequences dependent upon what-
ever may be done th^^re, that reflection is scared away as
intrusive and out of place. Mr. Wyndham Flitter was less
excited than the others, for it was not altogether such a new
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 351
scene to him, and he had much to attend to — constantly
whispering in Philip's ear how lovely Mrs. Wracketts looked,
calling attention to the object of admiration that she evidently
was, and finally getting Philip over to his way of thinking,
to the discomfort of Mr. Spooner, who was gradually ap-
proachfng the fever heat of winy jealousy.
Miss Courcy kept very quiet— so much so, indeed, that she
discouraged Mr. Spooner's advances, even under the influence
of race-course champagne. That is to say, she was not
proud, but she appeared frightened, in spite of all the excuses
that Mrs. Wracketts made for her; or that lady's endeavours
to draw her out. And once, when asked to take wine with
Mr. Spooner, she said, " No, thank you — I have just had
some;" and, at another time, he saw her put her knife to her
mouth in connexion with some gravy from a pigeon-pie.
But, in his state of mind, these observations were obliterated
the next instant by those which succeeded.
" At length the time came to be off. Amidst the confu-
sion attendant upon the breaking up of this mighty assembly
— the people looking after their carriages, and the carriages
looking after their company; with post-boys franticly per-
sisting in trying to get through impossible places, believing
that where their horses' heads could go the rest of the equi-
page could easily follow — amidst one thousand post-horns
blowing at once, to the utter bewilderment of those to whom
the note of some particular one was to be a signal — amidst
jibbing cattle and tipsy whips, and the roar of the brass
orchestra on the large show, combined with the score of
smaller bands about the Course; with splitting panels and
shivering poles, locked wheels, unworthy linch-pins, red-hot
axles, imbecile spokes, and dissipated felloes — amidst all this
whirl of wild recklessness did the journey home commence.
They were all ready for anything, and the larking began at
the very edge of the race- course. There were two large
vans there, advertising some cheap crockery ware, with spe-
cimens of the dishes and basins affixed, and placards of
" Halloo! look here! here's a dinner-set for ten shillings!!"
or, "What! only a pound for that service? it's impossible!"
This was too tempting a mark to be overlooked; and as the
landau came near, Mr. Spooner, who felt that it was time he
did something to keep up his reputation of being a fast man
352 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
before Mrs. Wracketts, took aim at it with a musical pear,
which he had brought down from one of the sticks, and
knocked off a devoted milk jug. Philip was not in the
humour to be behind him in anything, and threw a shell at
the sugar basin. The first blows had been struck, and the
war against china was determined on. From the masked
batteries of the carriages near them there came such a shower
of toys — such money-boxes, wooden apples and snakes — such
Jacks, pincushions, and lemons, that in two minutes every
vestige of the crockery was cleared away, a shout of triumph
shaking the air as each cheese-plate, pie-dish, and slop-basin
fell smashed upon the turf. In vain did the proprietor, mad
with rage, remonstrate — he was driven back by a discharge
of grape from a pea-shooter, at least a yard long; and, when
the ruin of his citadel was completed, he remained, as Mr.
Spooner observed, " Marius-like, amid the ruins." Mrs.
Wracketts did not clearly know who Marius was; if Mr.
Spooner had said Mario, she would have understood him
much better — but she smiled and squeezed in her eyes, and
showed her lovely teeth, and threw a tint over her face from
her parasol, which did just as well, and made Mr. Spooner
quite happy again.
And everybody else was the same. The remarkable idio-
syncrasy now most observable amongst the company was a
propensity to sit on the vehicles any how but in the proper
and appointed position. Those on the hind parts of the drags
preferred turning their backs to the horses, and lolling their
legs over the boot, as they blew a defiance at the throng fol-
lowing them from their post-horns and cornets-a-piston.
With the omnibuses the roof was the favourite perch; so it
was even with one or two Hansoms: and in the landau, Philip
and Mr. Spooner had scrambled into an insecure sitting on
the doubied-up head, in preference to the normal seat. In
the vans, of which there were many, the passengers sat over
the sides, turning the vehicle into a species of extended
jaunting-car.
But the philanthropist and well-wisher to his species might
have been chiefly delighted with the good-fellowship that
reigned amidst the masses. For gentlemen on drags chal-
lenged others on 'busses to take wine with them, whom they
Lad never met before, and whom the chances were, they
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY. 353
would never see again, nor, indeed, would wish to. And
stoppages at the turnpikes established temporary intimacies
of the most wonderful description, which usually commenced
in insult and speeches calculated to wound the feelings, and
ended in pledging one another. And as regarded the insults,Mr.
Sp_ooner was a frequent recipient of them, but, ever and anon,
when he began to be savage, the aggressor would pay him a
compliment by saying, " I say, old feller, you know — you're one
of the right sort; let's have some sherry together." Whereupon
Mr. Spooner's flushed and contracted brow would relax into
pleasantry, and he would incontinently abandon his inten-
tion of taking off his coat, even before Mrs. Wracketts, and
getting down " to fight the snob," which, terribly against his
will, even full as he was with champagne, he felt called upon
to do. And then he forgot all past grievances, even to
having been told " that his mother couldn't know he was
out, because he never had one," which otherwise might have
engendered great ire, and been considered, by touchy dispo-
sitions, a reflection on their pedigree; and drank with his
new acquaintance some " Derby sherry" (whicli is the race-
fCourse name for artificial cape) — the said new acquaint-
ance pledging him out of a mustard-pot, with every token of
warm-hearted friendship.
The fun was now at its full height, and Mr. Wyndham
Flitter was in his glory; for no matter what a man's social
j)osition is — like the grave, the return from the Derby levels
;dl distinctions. Philip was also ripe for anything, and Mr.
8pooner essayed imitations of the two — daringly feeble, but
which gave him great satisfaction when the ladies laughed.
"I say. Sir," cried Wyndham; "Yes, you on the grey
mare. Don't you think you'd be more comfortable if you
was to get inside and pull down the blinds."
The Gent on the grey mare, which, for this day at least,
was not the better horse, tried to look pleasant, but was ex-
ceedingly angry nevertheless, thinking he had not made the
hit that was intended.
"Now, then, you muff!" exclaimed Mr. Spooner, "just
make up your mind where you want to go — that's all !"
The " Muff" addressed, who had been trying to break
the line, got nervous, and backed half round against the off
A A
354 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
fore -wheel of a Whitechapel van. There was great recrimi-
nation, and then a tableau of general confusion.
" Halloo!" cried Philip ; « Sir! I say, Joseph Robins,
general salesman."
Joseph Robins, who was not aware that the person who
now addressed him had read off his name, calling, and ad-
dress, from the back of his cart, turned round, with a pleasant
face, as if to meet a friend.
" How dy'e do?" continued Philip. *• You may be a
devilish clever chap at 25, Handley-street, Commercial- road
East, but you don't come out strong at Sutton."
" Sir — if you please, sir," cried Wyndham, to another
victim, " whip behind!"
An old gentleman from Tooting, who was driving his
family nondescript at six miles an hour, believed that bad
boys were hanging on behind, and commenced flogging the
spikes at random, until the lash caught round one of them,
and he was obliged to dismount.
This is but a specimen of what was kept up the whole way,
and through it all the heat was tremendous. The very dust
was almost red hot; the ponds were smoking, to a degree
that would have parboiled the fish had they contained any,
and there was no shade anywhere. The sunbeams them-
selves appeared to have warped with their own heat: and
twisted under tilts and parasols, trees, marquees, and awn-
ings, and all sorts of usually impenetrable places. But still
the throng kept pouring, and shouting, and striving on — the
horses looking like zebras, with their stripes of dust and per-
spiration; and all the grass that could be seen seemed to be
making itself into hay. In fact, nothing was cool except an
ostler at one of the inns, who asked a shilling for a pail of
water. It was fortunate for the ice that it was all eaten.
What it would have come to, packed up in double blankets,
it is scarcely possible to think about. In fact, the races were
one grand heat, which lasted all day long.
All this went on; and at last they stopped at The Cock
at Sutton — who does not, under similar circumstances? And
here the Gordian knot of carriages was wonderful; and Mr.
Flitter and Mr. Wracketts appeared to know everybody upon
the imprisoned vehicles, many being without the slightest
chance of ever again getting out from the mass, with fresh
THE POTTLETON LEGACY* 355
ones stopping, until the very road was blocked up. It must
have been a wonderful harvest for the inn, had it only con-
sisted in the consumption of pale ale ; for everybody drank
it, and the landau party not having had enough, did like the
rest. And it must have been a harvest for the ostlers as
well; who ran about from one horse to another, with a whisp
of hay which lasted all day. Had it been alight, and they
had merely wished to singe the animal, they could not have
applied and taken it away more rapidly.
There are certain places which, from only being seen on
particular days of revelry, we do not believe to exist at any
other time. The Cock at Sutton is one of these; Sunning-
hill Wells is another, and Hampton Ferry is a third. With-
out doubt, they constantly exist where we see them at race-
times, enjoying a certain existence, independent of these
great days of the year; but we confess that we do not lend
our minds readily to this probability. We rather incline to
the opinion that the lives of the inhabitants must be a succes-
sion of Derby, Cup, and Plate days; and that when these are
over, they fall into a torpor only to awake again next May or
June.
The pale ale was finished, and, in the eyes of Mr. Spooner
and Philip, Mrs. Wracketts became more lovely at every sip.
It was a sad thing to think that Annie had been forgotten by
Philip nearly all day; but it was so. When they got away
from the ruck of carriages, the events of the road did not give
any more time for reflection; and "chaiF" was again in the
ascendant, promoted by all the readiness that pale ale upon
champagne dashed with cheap sherry, can institute.
Before long, they came up to three hack-cabs, each of
which had the name of Birch conspicuously printed on their
backs. Of course this was an opportunity not to be lost, and
Mr. Flitter began accordingly. "Now, then. Birch; hop
your twig!" An old gentleman inside, who was a man of
portly figure, looked cross, and was immediately saluted by
Philip with a wooden apple filled with tea-things, which broke
against him, scattering its contents like canister shot.
" Now, Birch," cried Mr. Spooner, in the pride of saying a
good thing, " Don't spare yourself, and spoil the old gentle*
man — flog him on."
Philip thought of a sum. " If five yards and a half make
A a2
356 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
one rod, pole, or Birch," he said, " what time do you expect
to get home?"
Just then four City men came up on a dog- cart, and con-
necting the name of Birch with something to eat, asked him
if he had got a ticket for soup? And next, the dog-cart
passed the Birches by turning one of them half round, upon
which the driver was recommended, the next time he came
out, to bring his other pair of hands with him that he had
left at home. And on they all went again.
And now there was more telegraphic health-drinking, more
chaff, and many more post-horns. But the post-horns were
getting uncertain in their notes; indeed the high C appeared to
be now beyond the reach of everybody, even "when other lips"
that had rested all the time, tried to bring it out. There was
another general pull up at the Buck's Head at Mitcham, after
they had passed the Red Lion, which appeared to be the rendez-
vous of all the vans; and the horses which had pulled all the
way thirty people from Shoreditch to the Downs, and were going
to take them back again, were having a bait as well as the
inmates, who, indeed, had been at it all day. For it is a
furious thing that the passengers of vans upon a trip are always
eating. They nibble all the way they are going — they lunch
directly they get to the Course — they dine after the Derby —
and they take every advantage all tlie way home, of picking
a bit, now and then, just to stay their stomachs till supper
time.
Off they went again, and the schools at Mitcham formed
fresh matter of fun; for Mitcham is the region, par excel-
lencey of academies. You will never see so many anywhere
as are gathered together in this village. All the same pupils
were still drawn up behind the walls, or stood upon benches
to look over the palings and see the company go by. It was,
nevertheless, a great holiday for them; and most especially
when Philip threw things at the usher, usually selected for
the target.
It was now getting dusk. Lights were beginning to ap-
pear in the road; and when they once more got to Clapham-
common, the whole place looked as twinkling as the area of
Buckingham Palace does from Piccadilly. Pots of grease had
been lighted on all the shows; and the illuminated lamps,
hung upon the roundabouts, were twirling about as if Vaux-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 357
hall was having a waltz all to itself. But still the road was
densely bordered with lookers-on. You might almost have
imagined that the Course, like one of the India-rubber bands,
had been stretched out the whole way from Epsom to Ken-
nington.
At last they came to the turnpike, and here, from the
ticket nuisance, the crowd of vehicles was tremendous. For
some little while Philip had noticed some men upon a four-
in-hand directing most especial attention to Mrs. Wracketts
and her cousin: and when they came up alongside, in the
stoppage, the driver flicked his whip at her parasol, accom-
panying the action with a peculiar noise, something like a
smack, from his lips.
" Do you know this lady?" cried Philip, going off like a
rocket, at the implied salute.
" Beg your pardon — wh-at?" drawled the dragsman, with
patrician unconcern.
" You are a blackguard !" continued the other, losing his
temper altogether, and springing up in the carriage to seize
the offender, as the vehicles were now close together.
A few violent blows were exchanged like lightning between
them, when the postilion of the Wracketts' equipage, seeing
the way clear through the gate, whipped on, to cut out the
other vehicles pressing towards it. Still Philip had clutched
the man on the drag, when one of the friends of the latter
aimed a sharp blow at the fingers of the aggressor, with a
post-horn, handed over from behind, which had the eflfect of
making him loose his hold. At that instant the horses sprung
forward, and the drag was left behind.
All was, however, not over, and there was still a chance of
the ladies fainting. For the tollman appeared bent upon
entertaining a different opinion to everybody who passed, as
to their having been through before: and Mr. Spooner, be-
lieving that he was still doing the fast thing, and excited by
the fracas just over, exclaimed, as he passed by,
"That's the ticket!"
But he soon found out that it was not, the voracious pike
requiring something either way.
" Oh! it's all right, stupid!" cried Philip, boiling over with
excitement. And then he continued to the postilion, " What
the devil are you stopping for — go on!"
358 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" No you don't," cried the man, running to the horses'
heads, and backing them.
" Leave the horses alone," cried Philip, " unless I am to
come and make you."
" Not till you have paid," said the man.
" Lend me your whip," cried Philip, to the driver of a tax-
cart at their side. The stranger was very glad to have the
chance of making a turnpike-keeper uncomfortable, so di-
rectly handed the whip to Philip, who climbed round to the
edge of the box, and commenced lashing the pikeman most
furiously, as though he wished to give him the full benefit of
the thrashing he had intended for the other adversary. The
man still kept hold of the horses, however: and Philip getting
more furious every minute, and heated with the liquor he
had been imbibing, disregarding the remonstrances of his
companions and the shrieks of the women, jumped down
and struck the other with his fist.
Philip was an admirable boxer, but he had found his
match. For powerful men are commissioned on Derby days
to look after turnpikes, in the anticipation of troublesome
customers; and the present occupant being a professed bruiser,
he struck at Philip in an instant, driving his hard sledge-
hammer fist full in his face. His adversary tried to follow-
up the attack, but he was overpowered, and in a few rounds
fell bleeding and almost senseless in the road.
A regular row was beginning generally amongst the
crowd; and Mr. Wyndham Flitter, seeing a body of police in
the offing, got out of the landau to his friend's assistance;
not to fight, however, but to pick him up, and, with Mr.
Wrackett's assistance, to lift him into a cab, in which, lying
along the seat almost like a corpse, he was rapidly driven
off, the second payment of the gate having been made, as
usual, by Mr. Spooner, who was generally appealed to under
similar circumstances.
■^
^
THE POTTLETON LEGACIT. 359
CHAPTER XXXII.
ANNIE GOES TO LADY FLOKES's.
As Miss Twinch had suspected, the visit paid by Annie,
when she left the house so suddenly on the evening of the
quarrel, was to Mr. Page. She had explained everything :
and the good young curate, who might now be considered her
only real protector, had promised at once to see about some-
thing for her. We have found out how the bad conduct of
Patience Stiles fortunately provided an opportunity : and,
within a day or two, Annie had left the Twinches, and was
installed in her new abode.
The apartment provided by Lady Flokes for her new com-
panion adjoined her own, and was not a very lively one. It
looked against the portion of the hill which had been cut
away for the house to be built on the slope, and which here
rose perpendicularly within a few feet of the window, so that
there was no look out, except upon the holes made by the
sand-martin, and a few hanging brambles from which de-
pended some melancholy reddened leaves that lasted through-
out the winter, and always had a drop of condensed damp at
their extremities. The room was wainscoted with oak,
which the taste of some former owner had whitewashed: and
there were great cracks all about it, which let in currents of
air in every direction, and served to ventilate the territory of
bricks and cobwebs behind. When rain was expected, huge
spiders made their appearance from these openings, crawling
along the wall with a noise perfectly audible: and at all times
the mice kept up great activity amongst themselves. Where
they got their food, in an establishment like that of old
Lady Flokes, was curious to consider: for nothing was ever
left about to nourish them, except the cheese-rind in the trap.
They were frequently heard grating away at the wainscot;
but this must have been from mere wilfulness and lack of
occupation. They had great commotions among themselves
though, nevertheless. Now and then one might hear them
360 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
all rush round the wainscot in a great body: after which
they would keep quite still for a minute, only to get ready
for another charge, or fall down apparently from the ceiling
to the skirting, making the very bell-wires rattle in their
course. This, at first, disturbed the rest of the occupants; but
it was so constant, that after a time they got used to it.
On the first night of Annie's arrival. Lady Flokes had
ordered a fire to be made in the old rusty grate, from some
damp green wood picked up in the park, and a few fir-applesf
to give it a start. This, at its outset, had choked every-
body with the smoke, which curled out in front of the man-
telpiece and pervaded the room instead of going up the chim-
ney: nor was it until Julius, the black servant, had probed
it with a clothes-prop, and brought down a conglomeration of
eoot and old bird-nests that a draft was established: and
a little pile of crackling sputtering fuel got up to welcome
the new inmate. Annie had secured the services of Whacky^
Clark and his barrow to transport her boxes: and Mr. Page
accompanied her — a proceeding upon his part not lost on the
Misses Twinch, who commented in severe terms on such
impropriety. The good curate had tea with the two ladies,
and then left them alone.
*•' Now Mr. Page is gone, my dear," said Lady Flokes,
when the young clergyman had departed, *' I've got a little
treat for us; but there was not enough for three. Ah! dear
me — where is it? Reach me down that roundabout thing."
This was one of the Patna boxes, which had been presented
to Lady Flokes by Mrs. Spink, of oriental celebrity in the
village. Its colours were bright red and yellow, and it
opened in half-a-dozen different places, so that everything in
it was sure to tumble out, without caution. But as Lady
Flokes gave it, in this case, Annie was successful in exposing
its treasures.
In the top division — for its compartments were arranged
like those of a conjuring toy, which shows eggs, and no eggs,
and black balls, and red ones, according to the solution of its
continuity fixed upon in opening it — in this top division were
only a few cloves, some tin tacks, and a hair pin. In the
next, which was deeper, were the kernels of all the wall-fruit
Lady Flokes had partaken of during the autumn, put by,
from some old domestic superstition that they contributed a-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
361
certain useless flavour to brandy: and from tlie lower and
larger compartments were turned out some little bundles of a
dry dingy material — some of which might have been taken
for very small cigars, an inch long; and others were screwed
up in knobs of paper of a yellowish hue, like large detonating
balls.
*' There!" said LadyFlokes: "those are parcels of the
finest tea known, and were given to ray dear lord by Sir
Poonah Bangles, when he dined at the India House. I will
tell you all about that some day. Ah! there is no such tea
now."
Annie thought them very curious. But there was a
withered bloomless look about them, which might have made
one pause to consider whether the last words of Lady Flokes
were matters of regret or congratulation.
" Now we will put two into this little teapot," said the, old
lady, reaching down another relic of antiquity from the mantel-
piece. " There! and now some water. Ah! the urn's got
quite cold."
There was no prospect of the iron becoming hot again in
the present fire, so the old housekeeper was rung up — or
rather a nervous tremor of the bell showed that she was
needed, more than its sound, as the wires had all loosened
into festoons.
" Margery," said Lady Flokes, as the old Avoman appeared,
** make the heater red again."
" There's no fire, my lady," replied the woman : " them
green boughs from the copse won't burn a bit. I'll take it
over to the blacksmith's."
This appeared to be the usual practice under such circum-
stances : so Julius was dispatched with the urn aud heater,
to Mr. Rung's, who kept the forge close to the gates, and had
been appealed to, before this, to cook, in the summer-time
when household fires were less necessary. As this took some
little time. Lady Flokes entertained Annie with anecdotes of
Bath in her young days, and stories about remote elections,
when Lord Flokes contested the county for a fortnight, and
his pretty nieces, the Honourable Miss Wellsbys, gave a kiss
a piece to all the young farmers who voted for their uncle,
or even brought up a plumper. And then, next, she hunted
in an old dingy pocket-book, that shut with a clasp instead of
362 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
a tuck, and produced a quantity of old squibs and paragraphs,
from the local papers of the time, which she read to Annie.
But they had a spirit diiRcult to enter into: for the allusions
referred to people and things long passed away, which even
personal explanation could not render clear. As well might
any one have endeavoured to have understood the cutting
sarcasms which some dirty little boy of Pompeii chalked on
its walls, to be discovered after a lapse of centuries, the in-
fluence of which nothing but the pickles in the Museum at
Portici has withstood.
At length the urn and its heater returned, steaming like a
plum-pudding in a pantomime, and it was placed on the table,
when Lady Flokes commenced the brewing. As soon as it
was supposed to have drawn enough, she poured out a
slightly tinged fluid, into two minute cups, and then invited
Annie to taste it.
" There :" said the old lady. " You must drink it as it is —
no sugar: that would ruin it: indeed, I never take sugar at all
with my tea; and I like it rather weak, or else it affects my
nerves. Don't you think so?"
Of course Annie did not entertain a contrary opinion, but
tasted the beverage. It was not very good — something like
an infusion of brown paper.
" I think the strength must have gone, by keeping," said
Lady Flokes; "but still it is a great curiosity, or else Sir
Poonah Bangles would never have given it to us. Margery I"
There was no reply to Lady Flokes, so she told Annie to
ring a small-hand-bell over the stairs, whilst she thumped on
the floor with a walking-stick, or crutch, at her side. These
combined signals had the effect of bringing the housekeeper
to her room.
" Margery," said the old lady, " don't throw away these
tea-leaves : they're very curious. Put the pot very carefully
by; that will do: and now, my dear, open that bureau top.
I can amuse you."
Annie did as she was commanded, and revealed a quantity
of dingy old letters, pocket-books, scent-bottles, and small
parcels thrust into the pigeon-holes of the piece of furniture.
" Ah, dear me!" said Lady Flokes. " I could tell you long
stories about everything there, and I will, some day. That
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 363
was my patch-box when I went to court with my dear lord:
and that — ah! never mind that; put it by."
It was a book of Chinese rouge, that looked green and
rubbed crimson, which Lady Flokes was anxious to put
aside.
There were next produced a quantity of old souvenirs —
double nuts, broken merrythoughts, and crooked coins, each
of which the old lady particularized; and at last Annie turned
out a gilt chatelaine, with an etui hanging to it, made of
china in the shape of a woman's leg.
"Ah!" said Lady Flokes: "now that is a curiosity. It
belonged to my grandmother. Lady Brankley, and was
given to her by the young Pretender. It isn't a story I could
tell everywhere, or before everybody, but I don't mind you."
Annie wondered what it could possibly be about, that the
old lady had put in so peculiar a light. But her speculations
were put a stop to by the commencement of
LADY FLOKES'S ANECDOTE.
My grandmother, Lady Brankley, whose picture you will
see on the staircase, was Miss Stuart, of Lauderby, and her
father lived in an old moated house, almost as large as a vil-
lage, on the border. There's a picture of it on a screen in the
library, just as it was a hundred j^ears ago, at the time of this
story.
It w^as after the battle of Culloden that a great price was
set upon Prince Charles Edward's head — I think it was as
much as thirty thousand pounds: and King George's troops
looked everywhere after him. Amongst other places they
came to my ancestor's, who, although a royalist, was suspected
to be a relation of the abdicated family: and so they left a
handful of soldiers there, to keep a look-out, commanded by
Captain— afterwards Sir Arthur — Brankley. He fell in love
with Caroline, and they were privately married one fine morn-
ing at Lauder Church: which, I think, was the best thing
they could have done, for the officers Avere just the same then
as they are now — ah! dear me: sad fellows!
Let me see — where was I? ah — to be sure: they were
married on the sly, and were obliged to keep their honeymoon
on the sly, too : for neither could leave the castle. But they
364 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
made a Romeo-and- Juliet affair of it; and Caroline was
always with her husband, for she could get to his apartments
by the terrace: and nobody but an old woman who had
nursed her father, as they said, was in the secret.
One night — and in the middle of the night, too — there was
a sudden uproar at the moat bridge-gate. Some silly report
had reached the head-quarters that the young Pretender had
come to Stuart's house, and was then concealed there: so
when the troops were admitted, under the command of Cap-
tain Edward Wuthering, there was a regular search. Brank-
ley, who had been called up on the first alarm, took them all
over the house (and even into the maids' rooms, about w^hich
there was terrible talk with the idle beaux at court) ; but of
course they found nobody. They could not, you know, be-
cause nobody was there. They went into the cellars, and
the wood-houses, and the entrance of some old passages which
were said to go under the moat, but were choked up with
rubbish after a little way: however it was all of no use.
At last Captain Wuthering said to Brankley, " Captain
Brankley, we are quite satisfied, and I am sorry that I have
disturbed you. Of course we have respected Miss Stuart's
chamber, but — only by way of form — I must walk round
yours, and then I will draw off with my men." Well — do you
know, this was terrible — the worst of anything that could
have happened: for the young bride was in his room — and, I
do believe, her father, who was a terrible temper would have
shot them both on the spot, had he known it.
As Wuthering said this to Brankley, he saw him start, and
his suspicions were directly excited.
" I think this is your room," he said, advancing to the
door, which was at the end of a long corridor.
" Captain Wuthering!" cried Brankley, nearly beside him-
self, " you must not go in there !"
You may suppose how dreadful the moment was: for
the other now made sure that the young Pretender was
there, and determined upon going in, and Brankley was as
determined to prevent him.
" I give you my word of honour, as an officer in the King's
service," he said, *' that there is no cause for suspicion in
that chamber."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 365
" "Will you give your word that there is no one there?"
asked the other, who saw that he was not speaking with a
straightforward meaning.
"No!" cried Brankley, out loud and at once, placing him-
self in the doorway, for he was a fine and bold young gentle-
man. " But you shall not go in." And, do you know, he
drew his sword.
Captain AVuthering drew back, and was silent for a mo-
ment or two; for Brankley 's behaviour quite astonished him;
and then he said, " Sir, let us understand one another: and,
for God's sake, do not mistake the spirit in which I address
you. It would embitter all my future life to know that I had
been the cause of the death of so gallant a gentleman as
Captain Arthur Brankley: but I must obey my orders. If
you will not let us pass by you. we must scramble over you."
" Stop!" cried Brankley: " one moment — and you shall
enter. You need not fear an escape: the window of the
room is thirty feet above three yards of walls, with goodness
knows how much mud below that. Captain Wuthering — by
the time you have counted out thirty sheep from this fold,
you shall enter."
The other put back his men, who were getting ready the
dreadful clattering guns they carried at that time, and Brank-
ley went into the room. It was lucky for him that the Laird
had over-toped that night, and was slow to be aroused. If
he had come down no one can tell what would have hap-
pened.
" Now, sir, you can come in," said Brankley, when he
appeared again at the door.
" Captain Wuthering entered, and ten or twelve of his
men with him, who formed, all in a line, along the wainscot
where the door was. He advanced first to the bed, and there
he saw, beyond all doubt, a human form lying on it, but
covered up like a corpse. He went towards it, to turn down
the sheet that was over the face, when Arthur Brankley
stopped him once more.
" You must not do that," he said. " On my honour, you
must not."
" Our notions of honour may be different, sir," replied the
other, with a half-sneer.
" You will not say that to-morrow, Captain Wuthering,"
366 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
exclaimed Arthur, almost trembling with rage, as he left the
bedside, and came to the foot. " Now, look here," he
added: " and respect me."
Well — do you know, he took the clothes at the foot of the
bed, and rolled them gradually back, and back, and back;
until he showed Captain Wuthering — and I have heard that
his heart beat like a gong as he did it — the most beautiful
pair of feet and ankles in the world; for they were — and
generally acknowledged to be so: and that is why all our
family have been just the same. There could be no doubt
on the matter: they were not tliose of Prince Charles Edward,
thorough-bred as he was.
" There!" said Arthur Brankley: "I think, sir, this does
not look much like the young Pretender."
Captain Wuthering saw how affairs were in a minute: for
I have heard, that he was a gay fellow in his day; but he was
an old, grey-headed gentleman when I knew him. He did not
press the investigation farther. He bowed, and said he was
perfectly satisfied; and then, as he had looked all over the
house, he withdrew his men.
After a time Caroline's father knew^ all about it. There
was a great to-do at first, for Arthur Brankley had no money;
and they say that people whose names are properly recollected
never have any. But when, in after times, he earned a
great name with Colonel Monckton, in America, — (where
indeed we were terribly beaten; and that is the truth, as my
dear lord often confessed, but a British defeat is always called
a negative victory) — when this came, Caroline's father
thought greatly of him; and, I am sure, he was exceedingly
proud at last of his son-in-law. Sir Arthur Brankley. But
there was a joke against Lady Brankley, about her beautiful
legs to her dying day.
Old Lady Flokes concluded her story to Annie's great ad-
miration. But she did not tell it exactly as we have written
it down. On the contrary, she made it six times the length,
not from any introduction of fresh points of interest, but from
frequent commentaries and links, with alien matters during its
progress, none of which ever came to a proper termination;
but, stopping suddenly, had to be retraced to the starting
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 367
place. In fact, her anecdote, as it was told, was very like a
labyrinth in its course: and its final point as troublesome to
reach as the trees or temple which form the paradise of such
arrangements.
*' I think we'll have just a little more fire," said the old
lady, " to last till bed-time. My dear, will you reach the
coals?"
Annie took up the small scuttle, and was going to throw
its contents upon the grate, in the usual way, when Lady
Flokes suddenly stopped her.
"No — no!" she cried; "not so. Bless me! you would
burn me out of house and home. This is the way I like my
fire made up."
The scuttle was placed before the fender, and then Lady
Flokes took an instrument which hung at her side, made in
silver, and very like the piece of parallel mechanism on which
soldiers and poultry are made to march out and draw up toge-
ther again, in the boxes of cheap toys. With these " lazy
tongs," as they were termed, she picked out six or seven
knobs of coal, about the size of walnuts, and placed them as
carefully on the fire as one would try to make a needle swim
on a tumbler of water.
" There!" she said: "now we shall have a nice fire; when
coals are crowded on, they put themselves out. The dust does
for Julius to make his puddings with, and they are excellent.*
Annie was, for a minute, entirely at a loss to compre^
hend the old lady's meaning. Some remote notion of black
men subsisting upon such diet crossed her mind, but this
was very fugitive. Lady Flokes, however, explained, that
to economize fuel, Julius would mix up the coal-dust with
clay, into spherical shapes, which burnt admirably when piled
together, and started by more ardent combustibles. The task
had formerly been given to Whacky Clark; but that idle lad
had been known, on occasions of village revelry, to make the
balls of clay merely rolled in the dust, that he might get
away soon ; and for this reason had been superseded.
" And now, my dear," said the old lady, " we will have a
little comfort. Ah! ah! you don't know what I've got. Go
to that wardrobe, and take out what I tell you."
Annie went to the wardrobe and opened it. She did not
find any clothes, as she had expected, with the exception of a
368 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
few dingy old robes, fashioned after the taste of the last cen-
tury, but an extraordinary collection of glass and crockery —
all having been the recipients of certain things sold in them:
such as marmalade, Dalby's carminative, rouge, anchovy
paste, pomade, medicine, salad oil, smelling salts, and pickles.
What they were hoarded for, it was difficult to tell — it was not
from their use, either present or probable, but rather from
an indisposition to throw away.
" There," said Lady Flokes: " that bottle with the long
neck. Bring it down." It was an eau de Cologne bottle,
and v/as half filled with some transparent fluid.
" Now, that is a great treasure," continued Lady Flokes.
" It is fine Hollands, and belonged to some given to my dear
lord at the time of the truce of Copenhagen. Ah! we had a
gay season then."
Two diminutive tumblers were next found, and some
sugar produced from an old Pope-Joan board, which formed
a species of cruet-stand, containing salt, pepper, and other
condiments in its compartments. Some hot water M^as next
poured out from a comical little kettle on the hob, and Lady
Flokes manufactured two glasses of beverage — for it could not
be called grog — one for herself, and the other for Annie. It was
not a more successful brew than the tea had been: the rins-
ings of a gin-bottle warmed up over a smoky wood-fire could
alone give a notion of its taste: but Annie drank it, and then
Margery was rung up, and Lady Flokes prepared to go to
bed, dismissing Annie to her own cheerless chamber. The
old housekeeper, who regarded her as a sort of interloper
likely to prove troublesome, had not made any special
preparations for her comfort; but Julius believed greatly
in Annie, from village report, and had filled the old closet
beside the fireplace with chips, and fir cones, and dead
branches, so that there was soon a brisk fire, which made the
wainscot crack again, with its warmth. And she was soon
in bed and asleep, a prey to winged dreams, which in the
course of the night troubled her exceedingly, as she more
than once imagined that royalist ofiicers, under the command
of Young Rasper and Jack Poole, formerly in the Seventh,
whom she had met at the Pottleton ball, were searching the
house for the Young Pretender, and insisted upon seeing her
legs, as coolly as though she had been one of Miss Twinch*&
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 369
nasty impudent creatures in pink tights, who thought no more
of their knees than properly brought up and well-conducted
people did of their elbows.
In this manner several days passed in the establishment
of Lady Flokes. The old gentlewoman always dined in her
bedroom — which, like the convenient abode of the cobler men-
tioned in a metrical ballad extant, served her for parlour and
kitchen and all — and the carfe was invariably furnished from
the products of the Monkscroft estate, inasmuch as she seldom
bought anything. And so, although March was gone and
past, hares were yet accounted good, and the aberration of
intellects popularly ascribed to them in that month, considered
no bar to their being jugged as in ordinary. The inscrutable
ponds in the garden furnished large carp — an admirable fish
well stuffed, and served with red wine gravy, which may be
considered in the same light as the brown bread and butter is
to whitebait, but less epicurean as Lady Flokes dressed it,
plainly boiled; and the hills above, and sunny banks, swarmed
with rabbits. The old lady also entertained great notions
of apples, throughout the year; and considered hard dump-
lings fine things, and very filling at the price. Pigs also
furnished many a hearty meal: and there was a story that she
never gave but one dinner party, which was upon the occa-
sion of having killed a pig. And then she treated her guests,
eight in number, to a roast griskin at top, and a boiled leg
of pork at bottom, with sausages and black puddings for side
dishes, and an omelette au jamhon, made from the same ani-
mal, as a conclusion. And this was told by a person of no
less veracity than good Mr. Page, who had been present, and
said grace upon the occasion.
Li the evening Annie had to listen to her stories, which
she was apt, from lack oi memory, to tell twice over, and
even more frequently than that: but as no great attention was
needed — a bow of comprehension, more or less feigned, being
all that was required occasionally— the listener could, all the
time, indulge in private meditations. Backgammon and
double patience required, to be sure, a little more attention;
but these games brought a certain degree of interest with
them, which relieves the monotony of the level existence.
And the volumes of the Pottleton book-club, to which Lady
Flokes subscribed, were forwarded on, with great regularity,
BB
370 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
hj Mr. WoUy, the retired grocer — who being a radical, and
believing that every snob had a right to sit down by him, as
a brother, yet kept a servant, in what the writers of his side
termed " the motley of degradation," (which was the virtuous
indignation for " livery,") and dehghted in sending him with
the books to Lady Flokes's, that she might haply observe how
much more expensively got up he was than her own Julius.
Thus, altogether, Annie felt tolerably comfortable — far more
so, indeed, than she had done amongst the squabbles and
jealousies of the sainted spinsters in the Twinch establish-
ment. As the fine weather came on, too, her small pleasures
increased: for Nature knew no distinction of position. The
scented violets that peeped from the sheltered patches of
mould, and the heavy lilacs that bent down their bloom-laden
stems, and heralded in the life and heat of summer, flung their
odours about as sweetly for her, when she passed, as they
would have done for the Queen herself. There was not a
bursting germ, or glowing petal, which did not seem to spring
into sunny existence for her alone as she regarded it.
And now the fine weather came upon Pottleton. The
fruit-trees showered their twinkling blossoms upon the turf
below; the furze covered the common with a film of gold;
and the chestnuts unfolded the glutinous buds that had shel-
tered their delicate leaflets from the by-gone frosts; and
these last stretched themselves out in the warm light, as did
the butterflies their powdered wings, when they had burst
their winter cerecloths. All was life and activity: men even
felt new blood within them, and, for a season, reversed the
wheels of their lives and became younger; and amidst this
general progress Mr. Wyndham Flitter came forth again,
with renewed force, and arrived at Pottleton.
It was silent sunny noon as he strolled into the village
from the station. Cows stood in ponds with their eyes half
shut, so still that all the circling ripples had died away; and
the horses mumbled hay under the tree in front of the Red
Lion, and now and then jangled their bells, as they winced
from the flies, or tossed their nosebags into the air, to get the
last grains they contained. Everything was very dreamy —
Tery still. One could almost have heard the beat of the
clock in the old Norman tower of the church, as he sat upon
the low tombs in the grave-yard.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 371
As Mr. "Wyndliam Flitter strolled along the road towards
Monkscroft, a noise broke the quietude that reigned, and
attracted his attention to the end of the village, which was
not a great way off; for a man might stand in the very centre
of its single street and call back another, with a shout, from
either extremity. He then perceived a small cavalcade cross-
ing the green, preceded and surrounded by boys labouring
under some excitement, which a sedan chair in the centre ap-
peared to have caused. And his supposition was right.
Old Lady Flokes had determined upon paying her usual visit
of state that day to the Brayboeufs, at Pottleton Court: and
with this view the sedan chair, employed on such occasions, had
been brought out and aired. Julius was to be one of the
bearers, and Whacky Clark, for lack of a better, was the
other. Whacky, however, although promised a shilling for
the job, still entertained feelings of rancour towards his
black companion : and as such had quietly informed one or
two ingenious boys of the start : hinting indirectly, that if
they chose to honour Julius with any attention, he should
not stand in their way. And thus, when Lady Flokes set
off, in company with Annie, who walked at the side of the
sedan, a handful of evil urchins were ready to form part of
the procession.
It had been an evil hour, as we have shown, for Julius,
when a party of wandering minstrels on their way to Dibble-
thorpe races rested at Pottleton, with sooted faces, to illus-
trate the music of Ethiopia. Hitherto the boys had been
content to ask him the latest news from the Prince of Dark-
ness, under his more plebeian and shorter title, with facetious
allusions to Day and Martin, and various witticisms, ac-
quired during the representation of * The Padlock,' in a barn
at Pottleton, from the character of Mungo, who, up to a certain
period, shared with Friday, in Robinson Crusoe, the honour
of promulgating all that was known about black men. But
when these sable troubadours arrived, the notions of the boys,
with respect to the aborigines of Eastern Africa, were gi'eatly
expanded. The old and touching picture of " Am I not a
man and a brother?" no longer affected anybody, beyond the
children of Miss Twinch's school. . They looked upon slaves
henceforth as anything but people constantly kept chained
and whipped with many-tailed cats. In them they saw only
bb2
372 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
rollicking holiday -keepers who invited girls out to dance by
moonlight — ^who revelled and rowed under similar pleasant
circumstances on the waters of the mighty Ohio — and who
performed curious dances, of a fashion that spoke as much for
their leisure to learn such steps, as it did for their physical
indefatigability, when acquired. So their respect for Julius
as a bonded child of the sun vanished altogether : and hence-
forth he was received with acclamations, more or less compli-
mentary, whenever he came abroad.
Accordingly Lady Flokes was accompanied by an escort
she never expected. The boys had waited at the lodge, and
as soon as the sedan had fairly emerged from the gates they
began their dance, headed by Mark Stiles — an evil fellow,
who considered the discharge of his sister. Patience, from
Monkscroft, a sufficient excuse for doing anything to the old
lady, short of murder, that might occur. He was naturally a
boy of an atrocious disposition. He always threw the first
lighted cracker into the shops on Guy Fawkes' night: and
whenever his nervous sister Harriet had been awed beyond
her natural endurance at the infant school, so sure was there
to be a runaway ring that evening at the Twinch's. And
when, on those not restless Sunday afternoons in church, be-
fore spoken of, the stick of ' Pickled Sam' the sexton, fell
with a thwack that echoed throughout the entire building
from the vestry to the belfry upon the shoulders of some ill-
regulated urchin; many knew that it was Mark Stiles thus
punished — most probably for making faces at the clerk, or
conversing, by signs, through the window with Tommy Col-
lier, who was performing gymnastics on the tombstones.
It was to no effect that Lady Flokes ordered the sedan to
stop, and told Whacky Clark and Julius to put the offenders
to flight. Although an excellent hard-working servant, the
latter individual was strangely deficient in antagonistic cou-
rage: and as for Whacky, when he told them to be off with
one expression of face, and winked at them with another, he
only encouraged the attack.
Getting bolder by degrees, the boys ran up and tapped at
the windows of the sedan, or hustled one another against
Julius, until, from his instability, there appeared to be a
great chance of the whole affair being toppled over. Annie
really became alarmed, not knowing what to do: and Whacky
.^
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 37$
Clark showed immense diplomatic tact, in blowing up the
boys on one side of the sedan, whilst Annie was looking on,
for their bad behaviour, and encouraging them, with a sly
wink, on the other, when she could not see him. Indeed, as
far as Lady Flokes's perfect balance was concerned, the affair
was becoming serious, when some doubtful genius brought Mr.
Wyndham Flitter to the rescue, and by the aid of his stick,
and imposing presence, he had, in twelve seconds, completely
routed the enemy.
" Be off! you young miscreants," he cried, as he dealt a
final blow to Mark Stiles, that made a fierce mark across
his blade-bone for a week afterwards. " Madam," he added
to Lady Flokes, " let me have the pleasure of being your
cavalier serventey as far as you may be going. Miss Mait-
land — I am too happy in having quelled this annoyance. The
young scamps! look at them scudding away."
Lady Flokes — ^who had not for the moment recognised
Wyndham, but perceived, as she afterwards told Annie,
*' that he was evidently a very superior person" — looked in-
quiringly towards him.
" Will you present me. Miss Maitland?" he said to Annie,
who immediately introduced him. " I had the honour of
meeting your ladyship at the Pottleton Ball. Let me com-
pliment you on looking so well."
The old lady bowed very graciously, as Wyndham went
on: —
" You are come out to enjoy this charming weather."
" I am going to call on the Brayboeufs, and the Court,"
returned Lady Flokes.
" Oh! indeed! the Brayboeufs," returned Wyndham, speak-
ing of them in as intimate a tone as though he had been con-
nected by various marriages with their family, and had
a knife and fork at their table every day. "Ah! the
Brayboeufs : I shall have the very great pleasure of accom-
panying you."
Now Wyndham knew no more of the Brayboeufs than he
did of the aristocracy of central Africa ; but he recollected
their names: for he always made a point of asking the history
of everybody he came in contact with, never knowing of
what use they might be to him afterwards. Lady Flokes
was quite at ease to find she had a further escort: and thea
374 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
ordering Julius to shut her up again in the sedan, they moved
off towards the court, Wyndham walking with Annie, and
pouring forth a stream of that pleasant unmeaning small-
talk, at the production of which he was so very clever.
When they arrived at the court they found all the family
at home; and the delivery of Lady Flokes from the sedan
was a proceeding of great importance, requiring several per-
sons before she was finally inducted into the arm-chair of the
library. In this affair Mr. Flitter came out uncommonly
well : and when the old lady was settled, he immediately be-
gan to chat with Constance Braybccuf, even to imperceptibly
luring her into the conservatory. Everybody, however,
thought it was all right. The family considered him to be
an intimate habitue of Monkscroft, and Lady Flokes supposed
that he was an old friend of the Brayboeufs, so that in ten
minutes he had all but realized their speculations.
"A fine fuchsia, indeed!" he observed to Miss Brayboeuf
and Annie: " a charming flower. My uncle, who was con-
sul at pshaw! I shall forget my own name directly —
brought a plant over, and gave it to a gardener at Chelsea. It
made his fortune: and this ver}^ ring, with the blue stone,
which I now wear, was given by the man to my uncle, in
acknowledgment."
The ring was duly admired, and Mr. Flitter went on.
" Ah! I see you have the Canariensis. How very like
the birds its flowers are. You should see them, though, in
the tropics; for there the most remarkable thing occurs con-
nected with the flower. When this little bird-shaped blos-
som, — which there grows to the size of a real canary, — is.
ripe enough, it flies off, to carry the seed to distant spots. At
this time you would think the air swarmed with birds, with,
the exception that it does not sing."
They went on to the end of the conservatory, where a
statue was standing in the midst of some evergreen shrubs.
" Venus — the immortal c^e/'<:?'cE^t^Te of Praxiteles!" conti-
nued Wyndham. "Ah! it is, indeed, beautiful. You have
been to Florence, Miss Brayboeuf?"
" I was there two winters," replied the young lady.
" Ah! then you know it well, Firenze la hel-la /" he went
on, pronouncing the words with a fair accent. " And that
glorious room, the Tribune, in which the original Venus
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 375
Stands; with the Apollino! — the dancing Faun ! ! — the Scy-
thian Slave ! ! !— and the Wrestlers ! ! ! !"
As he mentioned each of these, he increased his tone of
enthusiasm, as if he was reading the various characters sus-
tained by one actor, in a playbill, which always progress in
notes of admiration — or alarm — as the case may turn out.
" And the splendid cabinets of the different painting
schools," he went on: " all except the English. When I find
the high-art folks, at our academy, giving themselves absurd
airs, I think of this and laugh; oh — how I laugh!"
Annie was regarding Mr. Flitter with astonishment — he
appeared to know everything. They went round the conser-
vatory, and he kept on making remarks, in the same style,
about everything: and they then returned to the library.
Here he met Mr. Brayboeuf, with whom he directly began to
converse about deep draining, liquid manure, and subsoil
ploughs; meeting the old gentleman's views with respect to
the abolition of hedge -rows, and promising to come over the
next day, and see his new homestall. Then he talked to
Mrs. Brayboeuf, about the London season, and the drawing-
rooms: and, finally, kept up a conversation upon everything
with everybody at once; until when he departed, the family
at the Court hoped they should soon see him again, and agreed
that he was the most charming person they had met with for
a long time.
The visit over, Mr. Flitter returned to Monkscroft with
Lady Flokes, and when he got there, he was, of course, asked
in — a piece of hospitality only shown to visitor?, in summer,
when fires were not obliged to be kept in the rooms for their
reception; and Lady Flokes's own apartment was not exactly
the place to see everybody in.
Wyndham was as much at home in the old dingy rooms at
Monkscroft, as he had been in the elegant conservatory at
Pottleton Court: and met Lady Flokes upon all her subjects
of conversation, as well as listened to her anecdotes, with
consummate tact. He then admired the grounds from the
window. There was not a great deal to fall into raptures
about, in the rank lawn, and corroded images — of plaster of
Paris well painted, in the belief that they would look and
wear like stone — but Mr. Flitter had his object.
" You must let me see the park, Lady Flokes," he said.
375 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" But pray do not let me discompose you. Miss Maitland,
I am sure, will accompany me."
Annie readily acquiesced, and they started off together for
a walk round the grounds, which Mr. Flitter had kindly
called the park. And then, when they were alone, Wynd-
ham recommenced his game. It were tedious to recount all
that passed between them: its import, based on the conversa-
tion held with Sherrard on the racecourse, may readily be
guessed. But he so well managed his hints and bits of ad-
vice, his facts and indirect allusions, that when he departed
he left Annie very miserable, retiring to her melancholy
room to shut herself up alone with her tears, and a news-
paper given her by Flitter, in which appeared a police report
of the fracas between Philip and the man on the four-in-hand
coming home from the races. The day, with her, despite the
summer glory of its dying sunlight, closed sad and gloomily.
She did not appear to have one friend left in the world,
except her somewhat new acquaintance, Mr. Wyndham
Flitter.
But there was one, besides him, still watching her for-
tunes; quietly enough to be sure, but still very narrowly.
Good Mr. Page, ever mindful of the information he had re-
ceived from Sherrard's wife at the Union, was constantly at
Monkscroft: so frequently, indeed, that the Miss Twinches,
by no means satisfied at the attention, promulgated evil
things whenever they had a chance at a suitable tea-table.
And this they were all doing at Miss Medlar's academy, a
few evenings after Wyndham had met Annie.
The Miss Twinches loved to take tea with the Misses
Medlars, (as they were called in the prospectus,) inasmuch as
they, the former, felt that they kept their school merely as
amateurs, whilst the latter did so from compulsion: and we
all like to feel ourselves leaders, if possible. On the present
evening the Misses Medlars had prepared a little treat, the
exciting cause being the reception of a tin of clotted cream
and two half pounds of white fresh butter, from the parents
of one of their young ladies in the West of England. To
these they added some strawberries; and then invited the
Miss Twinches to come and partake of them, extending their
hospitality also to the pupil in question, the French gover-
ness, and Mr. Augustus Medlar, from the brewery, who
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 377
brouglit his flute. So that, altogether, it was a nice little
party, and not an expensive one.
For, generally speaking, an edible gift entails a serious
outlay of money in the wish to do honour to it, and astonish
your friends. We have before dwelt on the cruel sufferings
you inflict upon a happy family to whom you send a barrel
of unopened oysters ; these are bodily ; but you put them to
similar pain mentally, if you present them with a haunch of
venison; for they must ask people to eat it, which they some-
times cannot afford to do ; and so they had better have kept
to the domestic leg and themselves. We once knew a family
who went into the Gazette from having won a large twelfth-
cake in a rafiie ; their friends were asked; wine was had in ;
the consumption of candles, supper, and the hire of rout fur-
niture was as the last ounce of gold that broke the back of
their credit, and in another fortnight they were ruined; and
less than the sum alluded to would have kept the most im-
portunate creditor quiet.
The young lady, to return to the Medlar festivities, whose
parents had sent the cream, was the pretty pupil of the
school. It was supposed to be more especially towards her that
young Grant allowed his eyes and thoughts to wander when he
sat opposite to them at church; although the French teacher
would never allow this, even whilst she deprecated the be-
haviour of the gentleman. She had soft brown chesnut hair,
and deep dark dreamy eyes; and her sweet figure — in her
high dress, that only allowed space for a narrow black velvet
band round her curving neck, and tight sleeves, that set off,
whilst they concealed, her rounded arms — was the cause of
many jealousies, not to say cruelties, on the part of the
teachers, including the Misses Medlar themselves. For the
pretty pupil was a half-boarder, and they domineered, for
that reason, in a small way, over her: but, make her dress as
they would, they could not render her otherwise than very
attractive, and so they took to calling her forward and im-
pudent, because people looked at her. Mr. Augustus Medlar
was, truth to tell, very much struck — "hit hard under the
wing and crippled for flying," as young Grant said — but as
they, in a degree, supported their brother, and thought what
a fine thing it would be if he could contrive to marry one of
the Bulliams, they set their faces decidedly against it.
378 THE FOTTLETON LEGACY.
The Miss Twinches, understanding that it was to be quite
a homely evening, brought a little work with them — a collec-
tion of small mathematical figures cut out in linen, which
they sewed together after various fashions, to contribute, as
they said, to the wardrobes of Jane Collier and Harriet
Stiles, whose parents were in difficulties. Mr. Augustus
came with his flute — people who play that sad instrument,
indeed, never being without it — and last of all, Mr. Checks,
of the new railway hotel, arrived. But he had not been
mentioned, as about to form one of the party, for it was quite
a secret at present that he was paying his addresses to Miss
Amelia Medlar. The intimacy had commenced in the advent
of Mr. Checks' daughter — he was a widower, be it under-
stood, to clear his character from any imputation — to the
academy, upon terms of mutual accommodation, the same
being full permission for Miss Checks to imbibe as much
French and English grammar, reading, writing, arithmetic,
and the use of the globes, as her head was capable of hold-
ing, in return for the equivalent amount of table-beer con-
sumed by the pupils generally. And when he came, ruddy,
good-hearted gentleman as he was, he put a square plait-
covered flask on the table, and told Miss Amelia that it was
only " Ody Colone," at which she blushed and laughed; but,
after investigation, proved it to be Maraschino. Miss Checks
was not of the party, of course; under such a position of
parties, it was not proper that she should be. The parent and
the teacher might both have sunk in authority by her presence.
Mr. Augustus Medlar, being the only single gentleman of
the party — for Mr. Checks didn't count — was uncommonly
funny; and the repartees he made were things to recollect.
At the end of each the Miss Twinches said, "You droll crea-
ture I" For he told all the little scandal of the village — how
the schoolmaster's son had married his housemaid, which
rather detracted from the glory of the family, who had some
other connexion with a broken-down Irish peerage, of which
they constantly talked, and so had perpetually fought up at
Pottleton to be considered amongst " the families," under all
the antithesis of so much per quarter, spoon, fork, and six
towels; and how old Mrs. Must, at her last party, had not
plates enough, but was obliged to have them perpetually
washed, out of the room- and how, at her ball, she made
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 6i9
the negus in the tea-urn, hid the fifteen shilling wine until
supper under the still-room tea-table, and had a cheap
band of a fiddle and harp, that was well known on the
Gravesend steam-boats in summer, and before the London
gin-shops in winter, for her distinguished guests to dance to;
and how she had been to town to have a tooth out, without
pain, by the new discovery, and that when the gentleman
who operated put a damp cloth over her face to bring her
round, he brought all her rouge off as well — a frightful thing
— the old lady being of Lady Flokes's class, and presumed
never to wash; or if she did, to spend a more frightful sum
in face-plaster and red ochre generally, than would have re-
paired and arabesqued her tumble-down conservatory, to the
delight of all beholders. And then he diverted them with an
account of all those who were doing well in the village, and
those who were pushed for ready money, (for it is a blessing
that these things are always known in a small country place,
whereby a just estimate of position is the more readily
formed;) and by the time he had told them who was going
to be married, and vv^ho was not — where the new people who
had taken Shiner's cottage meant to deal, and why the Shiners
themselves ran away in the middle of the night — how Mr.
Wolly meant to vote at the next election, and where young
Grant's sheep went to market, that were slaughtered one
evening for fear they should die before the sun got up again
— by this time, the tea, and strawberries, and cream were all
gone; and that awful time commenced — with people not ac-
customed to give parties — when they feel that the occupation
of fancied refreshment no longer offers an excuse for the lack
of other amusement. So after a small pause, Miss Amelia
Medlar said to the pretty pupil —
" Miss Lechmere, will vou play that fantasia from
I Grabati?"
Miss Lechmere immediately went to the piano, for the
request was an order, and commenced the fantasia, which was
**on themes" from the above celebrated work, and lasted
twenty minutes.
Fair reader, allow us to pause and profter one small piece of
advice; it is this — if ever you see a piece of music announced
as a " fantasia on themes" from some popular opera, never buy
it, no matter who may be the composer, or however his nam©
380 THE POTTLETON LEGACY,
may be celebrated, in getting over more miles of keys in six-
teen pages than any other of his kind can accomplish. You
will not find the favourite airs of your beloved opera ready
to your hand — no bouquet of the choicest melodies in their
simple beauty — nothing but a wearying series of scampers
and variations, in the highest style of musical snufF-box com-
position, in which your well-remembered movements are
altogether lost sight of for the composer's offensive commen-
taries thereon. But you will find that the names appended
to these twiddling catchpennies have, with few exceptions,
never originated anything of their own that has caught the
public ear; and you will judge of them accordingly. They
are as poor cooks, who, procuring a basin of good consommey
dilute it forthwith into trash, to raise money thereon.
Miss Lechmere finished, and Mr. Augustus would have
complimented her, but he feared his sisters, who were looking.
Just then, Mr. Checks cried "Bravo!" as he would have done
to any other clever accomplishment; for not being a high -art
musician, he looked upon all piano performances as on a level
with those of equally clever people at the Circus, who spin
basins, toss knives, and catch balls, or do anything else
simply requiring hard mechanical practice to accomplish.
And then the Miss Twinches requested Mr. Augustus to play
the flute, which he forthwith prepared to do, after tasting
the ends of the joints, stretching out his arms, apparently to
see if he had room enough for his exertions, and being unable
to reconcile his own music with the piano accompaniment — a
grief that flute-players invariably arrive at. But just as he
was at the height of his performance, who should come in but
Mr. Page. The pretty pupil, who was accompanying him,
stopped; so did Mr. Augustus, and the company generally
rose to receive the good young curate. Even the Miss
Twinches regarded him with a fond greeting; and Miss
Martha even pushed a chair for him to sit down upon. But
he did not take the hint; on the contrary, he sat down by
the pretty pupil, and begged he might not disturb the music,
upon which the duet went on, but what between some slight
nervousness, and a little excitement at the attentions paid
by Mr. Page to the young lady, Mr. Augustus could not
tootle so well as he was wont to do. He pressed wrong keys,
and did not cover the right holes, so that he brought his per-
formance to a premature conclusion. The Miss Twinches,
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 381
however, admired it very much — now that Mr. Page had
seated himself by the pretty pupil — and told him, very
quietly, a short time afterwards, that they wondered how he
got through it at all with such an accompaniment.
" We did not expect to have the honour of seeing you this
evening, Mr. Page," said Miss Medlar: " or we would have
kept back our little banquet."
" To tell you the truth, I have been taking tea with Mr.
Twinch," replied Mr. Page. " I found he was alone, and so
I dropped in."
The Miss T winches scarcely knew how to take this — whe-
ther it was a compliment to the terms of familiarity upon
which he stood with the establishment, or a painful reminder
that he had purposely called in their absence. It is supposed
that the latter feeling was uppermost, for they simultaneously
turned away from Mr. Page, towards Mr. Augustus Medlar.
But, most unfortunately, just at that moment, the Curate
addressed the latter gentleman.
"Rather a nice day, Mr. Augustus," he said; "the corn
looks well."
" Yes, sir," replied Mr. Medlar, who was a small domestic
wag in his way, " but mine don't feel very well. Ha! ha!
new boot — excuse me, — yes."
"Very clever I" said Mr. Page, "not a bad play upon
words. Oh! I understand it — excellent!"
And good Mr. Page laughed approvingly, and looked round
at the ladies, who smiled as well. But the Miss Twinches
drew down their lips demurely at the same time, as though
they thought the subject was questionable, inasmuch as Mr.
Augustus Medlar's funniment treated of things they ought to
know nothing about.
" How is poor Mrs. Millard?" asked Miss Medlar of the
curate. " What a shocking thing it was — to think of her
husband being taken up for beating the tax-gatherer on his
wedding day. Well, it was wrong, to be sure, but I do think
the man might have takien some other time to call."
Mr. Millard was a restless spirit in the village, who believed
(from reading radical prints, and the works of talented wan-
dering tinkers, cobblers, and other artizans, whom ambition
on their own parts, and credulity on the side of the people
generally, had led from their honest callings,) that he was as
good as anybody else, even with an uneducated mind and dirty
382 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
hands. And for this reason he made a noise at all the vestries,
and opposed all the rates; insulted the collectors, and was, in
all respects — in common with his class — not an overgood
paymaster; and he especially hated "parsons," as he termed
the clergy generally; so that Mr. Page, cautious always of
ofiending, did not in this instance speak much in his favour.
So Miss Medlar opened the conversation upon another tack.
" I don't think the hooping-cough is so bad in church, Mr.
Page, as it was a few Sundays ago. Really, at one time I
thought the children would never have ceased."
" One afflicted little pupil of mine," observed Miss Twinch,
" Jane Collier, has been ill with the hooping-cough for
several years; or, if it is not the hooping-cough, I don't know
what it is, but it is exceedingly annoying."
" I think your parish might be called Barking, instead of
Pottleton, Mr. Page," observed Mr. Medlar.
"Indeed! and why, Mr. Augustus?" asked Mr. Page, with
serious interest.
" Don't you see?" asked the other. " Barking, you know
— * coughing' — the same thing."
" Ah! very clever, indeed!" returned the good curate, with
another smile. On this, Miss Medlar looked at her brother,
and said, "Now, Augustus!" And then she hoped Mr. Page
would excuse him.
" Jane Collier has improved, though," said Miss Twinch,
who did not like that the subject of the infant schools should
be dropped; for through all, she still felt that it was a tie in
common, between her and the Reverend Mr. Page, of her
former autumn. " You have not heard her lately, Mr. Page.
I believe really that much of her influenza was owing to the
pence table. She could not compass it for months, and her
constant crying always merged into a cold in the head. But
she is now perfect."
" Owing to your kind endeavours, I am sure," observed
Mr. Page, bowang, with another smile.
All Miss Twinch's change of feeling towards the curate at
once turned back to its old state. She almost fancied him
again as she had known him, when she thought that he had
a heart which gushed towards her. The little compliment had
reassured her, and she resolved not to lose the chance of
again enlisting his attention. So she went on.
* I often think it was a blessing that Humphries was sent
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 383
to gaol for poaching in Mr. Bulliam's river. The children,
now that they are not kept entirely on fish, look quite healthy.
Before, they really were so — so — I scarcely know what they
were."
" Scaly," suggested Mr. Augustus.
" Now, Augustus !" observed Miss Medlar.
]Mr. Page began to find the Avaggery somewhat oppressive
— not in itself, but because he could not always understand
it at once. So he started another subject — the one he had
called in upon.
" Do you know anything of the tramps that have pitched
their cart in the lane beside your brewery, IVIr. Au-
gustus?" he asked.
" Only that I believe them to be a bad set," replied the
young gentleman. " They tried our hen-house the other
night. They didn't get in, but they spoilt the lock."
" I expected as much," said Mr. Page.
" I was obliged to lecture our servant," chimed in Miss
Medlar, "for having dared to bring one of the women,
dressed up like a gipsey, to the school. And what do you
think for? To tell the fortunes of my little ladies! The
hussey! filling their heads with dark men, and fair men, and
presents, and journeys, and other ribaldry, instead of their
studies. What right have girls, indeed, to think of such
trash?"
And here Miss Medlar looked at the pretty pupil, as she
called to mind the bad behaviour of young Grant. But the
allusion was not taken by anybody, and Mr. Page went on.
" I am anxious, Mr. Augustus, that any man you have in
your employ, sleeping in the brewery, should watch these
people. My reasons are these. I have gone home rather
later than usual, for two evenings, on my way from the Union;
and each night I have seen Mr. Flitter — that gentleman I
met at your brother's. Miss Twinch — apparently in commu-
nication with them. Last night he was at the corner of the
road that runs up to Monkscroft, with that man, Sherrard, (of
whom I have my own opinion,) and he goes in daily to call
on Lady Flokes."
" He does not go to see the old lady, surely?" said Miss
Twinch, indulging in flinging a pepper-corn at Annie.
" I can't tell any of his motives," answered Mr. Page;
"but it is a fact; and Mrs. Baker at the Red Lion, says he
384 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
is out every evening to smoke a cigar. But he must smoke
a great many, by the time he stays, and he knows nobody in
the village, except your brother, that I am aware of."
" It is very strange!" observed Miss Medlar.
"Quite a romance," said Miss Martha Twinch, who recol-
lected the attention that Mr. Wyndham Flitter now paid to
her at the Pottleton ball, and almost fancied herself a gitana
already.
The company began to speculate upon the subject of Mr.
Page's communication, after the provincial fashion generally,
until they had indirectly implicated everybody in the village
in the business, whatever it was. Then there was a little more
music, and Mr. Augustus played, " We're a' noddin," with
variations, until the air nearly bore out its claim to the title.
Afterwards some mixed biscuits and grape-wine were intro-
duced, the pretty pupil having a glass filled for her by Miss
Medlar, (which it was supposed would constitute her portion,
but which Mr. Page caused to be repeated on his own
invitation ;) and then the party broke up. Mr. Augustus of-
fered to escort the Miss Twinches home, and afterwards stayed
gallantly under their window, until he saw a light in it, when
he played them, " Wake, dearest, wake." But this delicate
attention was somewhat roughly crippled, by his discovering
it was the housemaid going to turn down the beds that he
was serenading, almost at the same instant that Mr. Twinch
threw open his ofiice window, and, not knowing who the mu-
sician was, cried somewhat sharply,
" I wish you'd be off with your confounded noise :" which
forced Mr. Augustus to an explanation unbefitting the mys-
tery of romance.
Mr. Page returned home by himself, notwithstanding
various manoeuvres on the part of either Miss Twinch to get
the offer of an escort. But as he passed the spot he had
alluded to, where the bright fire of the tramp encampment
was flashing its rays upon the under part of the sycamore
leaves that waved above it, he again saw Mr. Wyndham Flitter,
at a little distance from the circle, in conversation. As they
were conscious of his approach, they separated, and Mr. Wynd-
ham Flitter, passing by the curate, said, " Good night, good
night, Mr. Page," with a light ofi'-hand air, and was soon
lost in the gloom of the evening.
-r 385
CHAPTER XXXin.
MR. SPOONER's unexpected VISITOR.
** It don't strike me that I shall make much of a parson, after
all," observed Mr. Spooner to Willy Sprott, as they had
brought the pillows from the bed, and having placed them on
the window-sills, were leaning upon them, and looking at the
people in the street.
" Then I'll be shot if I would be," replied his friend. Being
away from home, Sprott had recommenced his bubble-blowing:
and filling the soap balloons with smoke from his cigar, as was
his custom, was sending them off by dozens about the street,
to a large audience of admiring idlers, who cheered as the
shining globes sailed away over the house-tops, in the after-
noon sunlight, or burst into a small cloud of vapour against
the chimneys. " Then I'll be shot if I would be."
" But I rather funk the governor," replied, in turn, Mr
Spooner.
It was not without reason he did so, for he was an austere
gentleman — this governor of Mr. Spooner, by which term he
designated his father. He had always stood in exceeding awe
of him, and, consequently, corresponded almost entirely with
his mother, to whom he was really very much attached. Mr.
Spooner, sen., w^as a clergyman, with a fine living in a rich
old monastic tract of land, where the grass grew thick and
deeply green, and the sheep on the hill-sides looked like so
much of the bodies of full-grown silk-worms as a comparing
mind might portion off, so fat and white were they. It had
always been the gentleman's wish that his son should succeed
him, with the same honours, presence, and religious politics:
and to this end had all Tidd's education been directed. But
up to the present period he had betrayed no great liking for
the path appointed — his uncle's bequest having still further
alienated him from serious thoughts: and his father would
long ago have seen this, and brought things to an explana-
tion, but that, as usual, his mother made the best of it.
C! c
386 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" I feel I could never make a parson," Mr. Spooner went
on. "It isn't in me. First of ail, I hate white neckcloths:
and, you see, you must wear them. It wouldn't do to go into
the pulpit with a single-tied Joinville on."
" Kot exactly," observed Willy.
"No — and then they don't like a parson to hunt, now: or,
if he did, not in scarlet. And he mustn't run a horse, nor
cut about on a dog-cart, nor do anything fast and proper. Oh,
bother! blow it!"
" It is blown," said Willy, launching a large soap bubble
into the air. " Half-a-crown, it goes out of sight."
" Done !" said Mr. Spooner, quite forgetting his last sub-
ject of conversation.
" There!" cried Willy, as the bubble sailed against a bird-
cage hung from a third-floor window, and, after terrifying
the bird out of half his feathers, burst, and half choked it
with the smoke it contained. "Now, then, Tiddy: half-a-
crown."
"' Oh, nonsense! you said it would go out of sight."
"Well, and so it has. Your eyes are better than mine if
you can see it. Come, Tiddy: you always try to get off your
bets. Cash up. I should have paid you directly, if I had
lost."
Mr. Spooner paid Sprott the half-crown, being perfectly
used to such a proceeding: and then the latter, thinking he
ought to humour his friend, in consequence, said —
" Oh — youll never make a parson, Tiddy: you're too good
for it. We couldn't spare you."
" But what am I to do? you see — that's it," replied the
other. " I have been getting rid of such a devil of a lot of
money: and that, in some degree, keeps me quiet. It wont
do to be out with the governor. For instance: it wouldn't
do for him to see such a scene as this, just at present."
Perhaps, looking to his father's peculiar notion of things,
Mr. Spooner was right: for something of an extraordinary
kind was evidently intended. The room was covered with
fancy costumes, refulgent with the slightly-tarnished bril-
liancy of a masquerade warehouse: wigs, of various tints and
fashions, were hung on the clothes-hooks; false noses were
lying about on the table and mantelpiece; and all round the
looking-glass were large tickets, of different tints, purporting
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 387
to admit the bearer to a Bal Masque, at the theatre that
evening. On a side table were bundles of cigars, tall Rhenish-
looking bottles, soda water, and a troop of decanters and
glasses, promising also festivity of another kind: and on Mr.
Spooner's toilet table — we should not have betrayed the se-
cret, were it not absolutely necessary — were quantities of
black hair pins, packets of white gloves, labelled from six and
three-quarters to seven and a-half : and three or four bouquets,
fresh from Covent-garden, and all in handsome Bohemian
glasses, full of water, awaiting their fair owners.
A masked ball had been announced, and Mr. Spooner had
been prevailed upon to make up a party — that is to say, to
do it well: not to push in with the crowd, and have nowhere
to sit down between the dances, with nothing to eat but the
half-guinea glue jellies, and moist-sugar cliampagne, of a
masquerade supper; but to take abox,Avith an ante-room, their
own servants, and refreshments sent from Gunter's in a
proper manner. Everybody said to Spooner, " Look here,
old fellow: you manage these things better than we do, and
had better settle for everything, and then we'll pay you
again:" and Mr. Spooner, proud of the position, undertook to
do so, and to give everybody coffee at his house, before they
started.
But there was one thing, from the first announcement of
the ball, that had been uppermost in his mind — it was the
possibility of getting Mrs. Wracketts to accompany him thi-
ther. To be there with her — to watch her bright eyes scin-
tillating through the holes of the mask, whereby eyes of any
kind always acquire such marvellous expression — to hear soft
words murmured through the black lace fall: and all this in
the midst of the music, the lights, and the whirl of a Bal
Masque, was worth ten years off his life. And so, as soon
as the party was decided on, Mr. Spooner began to put his
scheme into operation. There was not a great deal of real
difficulty in carrying it out, even from the first flat refusal,
and surprise at his thinking of such a thing, to the ibllowing
milder objections, and final acceding to his request. It was
fortunate, too, that Mr. Wracketts would be from London,
Leonie at length said, but that IMr. Spooner was the only one
in the world she would trust herself with, because she knew
his honour and discretion: at the same time her cousin, Miss
c c 2
388 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Courcy, must accompany her, for propriety. Of course, Mr.
Spooner swore the most inviolable secrecy: which meant,
that he privately told every one of his friends — too proud, of
course, about the matter to keep it to himself — saying, " I
don't mind telling you, old fellow, but you must not breathe
it to a soul, or the consequences would be frightful." And
as these, in turn, imparted the intelligence to their immediate
acquaintances, under a like charge, all the world was soon ac-
quainted with it: which, after all, perhaps, did not greatly
matter.
" I wont have that young Hammond," said Mr, Spooner,
as he was arranging the party with Sprott. " He's a pushing
fellow, and is always boring Leonie. No — let us have only
our own party."
This was agreed to; and at last the party was arranged.
Some half-dozen pearls of the ballet, delighted to put on fancy
dresses, really for the fun of the thing, and, " in private," as
they called it, readily accepted Mr. Spooner's invitation: and
for these young ladies the hair-pins and gloves were in readi-
ness. Otherwise they were to come dressed — the last finish
being all that was required to put in their appearance, in his
rooms. Willy Sprott hunted up the cavaliers of the party, he
himself settling to go as a footman, with a monkey's face; and
the others chose such costumes of Pierrots, charity boys, Don
Caesars, and foreign aristocracies generally, as best became
them, or as they fancied did. Leonie and her cousin did not
like, of course, to mix with this party, but were to meet Mr.
Spooner, in black dominos, under the orchestra, after the third
quadrille: and Mr. Wyndham Flitter had sent up a note, to
say he would come if he could; but that he feared important
business would take him some way into the country on that
very evening.
The party was not without its expenses, to be sure, apart
from those actually inevitable. Cabs had to be sent to all the
young ladies, at a tariff of payment, which settles that a mile
in plain clothes is equal to three in costume; and a brougham
was despatched for Mrs. Wracketts, her own having gone, as
she said, to be new lined. Some of the young ladies — nay,
nearly all — lived in the wilds of London; remote spots, where
omnibuses turn round at the end of their journey; and none
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. S89
of them were ready when sent for. However, they all con-
trived, somehow or another, to get to Mr. Spooner's by eleven:
and then West had something more than enough to do to at-
tend to all the wants of the company. He was a handy fellow
in his way, and had the power of producing nearly everything
that was asked for, but he was not quite supernatural. Hence,
as far as pins, buttons, needles, and thread went, he was avail-
able; but when it came \o fixature, and such like, he was not
so entirely to be depended on.
The noise was at its utmost. The masks were in high
spirits, laughing at one other's appearance, attitudinizing
about the room, drinking, complimenting, and flourishing
generally: and Mr. Spooner was sitting on the ground, having
succeeded in getting into an elaborate copy of the costume
vulgarly assigned to the devil, on the authority of the old le-
gend in the magic lanterns which points so grave a moral to
dishonest bakers; w^hen a rattle of wheels was heard, and a
cab stopped.
*' Here's Wyndham, I'll be bound, after all," said Mr.
Spooner. "Hurrah!"
" Hurrah !" repeated the entire company, in the enthusiasm
of the moment.
" Let's throw things at him, as he comes up stairs. Coals?"
suggested Willy Sprott.
" No, no — don't," said Mr. Spooner. " They make such a
mess on the white drugget. Try biscuits — shy an Abernethy
at him."
But the young ladies had eaten every crumb available.
Pearls of the ballet, far from being of that ethereal nature, all
wreaths and tarlatan e, with which the world invests them,
are great consumers.
" Put the sofa-squab over the door, to tumble on his head,"
added another.
" Squirt some scent in his eyes from this tube," said a
fourth, "just as he comes in."
" Stop!" cried Mr. Spooner: *• don't begin yet. "Wait till
I am ready to see it."
It was lucky that some trifling hitch in Mr. Spooner's cos-
tume, as he sat on the floor, delayed the intended comicality.
For whilst they were awaiting his being in perfect readiness,
390 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
the door opened, and an old gentleman, of a clerical appear-
ance, made his entrance, with a look of the most intense asto-
nishment at the scene before him.
" He's been gone away ever so long, sir," cried Willy
Sprott, whose first impression was, that some stranger had
mistaken the rooms.
The look of wild bewilderment which the old man as-
sumed, might have led all the company to suppose that he
had come to the wrong establishment, as Sprott had suggested.
But this idea vanished when the stranger exclaimed,
"I beg all your pardons; but does Mr. Tidd Spooner re-
side here."
Willy Sprott, whose notions of visits from people one did
not know were confined to tradesmen having large sums to
make up on the ensuing Saturday, was about to return an-
other impertinent answer, accompanied by an absurd direction
as to Mr. Spooner's whereabouts, when a movement on the
part of that gentleman restrained him. For, had Mr. Spooner
been, in reality, the personage he was now representing in
masquerade, and the old gentleman St. Michael, his discom-
fiture could not have been greater. He started from the floor,
upon which he was sitting, and, to all appearance, taking off
his head, pitched it behind a sofa as he went to meet the
visitor, whom he had at once recognised to be his father.
"How d'ye do, sir?" he said, with a great mixture of fear
and familiarity — the first, on account of consequences; the
latter, to appear in a brave light before his friends.
" How do I do?" asked the old gentleman. " How do you
do, sir? and what is all this tomfoolery? What is it, I say?"
He did not evidently mean to be trifled with. He spoke
as severely as only grey hairs and black eyebrows can speak;
and Mr. Spooner wished he had kept his mask on. He was
not the irrascible old man of a play, who abuses his son for
falling in love, all through the piece, and at last says, " Tiiere,
Jack, you dog, you've fairly got over me — take her and be
happy; but mind, not a penny till I die;" but a regular, se-
vere governor, who evidently stood no nonsense.
".We are a few friends," observed Willy Sprott, coming in
to the rescue — " you see, sir, who — "
" When you are addressed, sir," said Mr. Spooner, senior,
looking at Willy in his costume with an air of the most su-
Ni
THE FOTTLETON LEGACY. 391
preme contempt, "perhaps you will have the kindness to tell
tne who you are; but, until then, I am by no means curious
to know."
Willy made a face at the old gentleman, which, being be-
hind his mask, lost much of its purpose; and retired.
" Well," continued Mr. Spooner, senior, looking round,
"this is a pretty scene. And you call yourself a rational
human being — do you? You apes!"
" Apes!" faltered Tidd, thinking he would be lowered for
ever before his acquaintances, if he did not make some little
show of self-possession.
" Yes, sir — apes !" thundered the old gentleman in reply.
" What is the mission of an ape, but to put on an absurd
dress and jig to tom-fool music. Oh! you are here, West —
are you?"
The man servant addressed came forward.
" Pack up everything belonging to Mr. Tidd, immediately,"
continued Mr. Spooner, senior, "and take it down to the
Spread Eagle, in Gracechurch-street."
"Hang it!" thought his Sbn, "he might have been at a
West End hotel, any how;" and then he continued aloud,
*'but my friends?"
" Oh, friends!" replied his father. " Well, I am glad you
told me what they were. Is that a friend?"
He directed his son's attention to a little coryphee, who
was frightened to death at the interruption to their festivity;
and was crouching down to make her sylph's muslin petti-
coats as long as might well be, in the eyes of so anti-
Terpsichorean an old gentleman.
" Come, old gentleman," cried Willy Sprott — for the little
coryphee was an especial favourite of his own whom he
would not see made uncomfortable — " none of that."
" Sprott," said Mr. Spooner, " don't."
"Now, sir," continued his father, "you come with me.
You've chosen to rig yourself out like a mountebank, so of
course you do not object to the dress. West, call a cab."
" But, sir — "
" Silence !" cried the old gentleman.
" I don't care who or what you are," exclaimed Willy
Sprott, coming forward; "but I won't see Tiddy bullied in
this way. You may be a parson, and I dare say you are —
392 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
you look like one — and an uncommon great man in your own
parish, but you're nobody here. Tiddy's a good fellow; and
if you want to pitch into anybody, pitch into me; don't be
afraid, I can bear it well enough."
"Mr. William Sprott," said Mr. Spooner, with gravity,
** you must respect my father."
Willy retired at the reproof; but as he disappeared amongst
a cloud of muslin and ribbons, the expression of his features
and gestures plainly showed that he did not altogether respect
the cloth when he considered it in the wrong.
" Now, sir," said Mr. Spooner, senior, " you will follow
me. West — you will do as I have told you. Look after
these persons; and as soon as they have gone — which, if they
do not do within a quarter of an hour, must be intimated to
the police — as soon as they have gone, I say, pack up the
things and follow me. Now, sir — go on."
The last words were addressed to Mr. Spooner, who there-
upon essayed a final remonstrance, but it was of no avail.
" You put this dress on for your own whim, sir," said his
father; "and you shall keep it on for mine. I can assure
you that it amuses me very much. Now, if you are quite
ready."
With a parting look at his friends, at whom he winked
with would-be comicality — ^but it was a failure — Mr. Spooner
preceded his enraged father down stairs. A cab was in
waiting, into which they directly got; but of all the sad
devils ever known, since the day when the good St. Anthony
first defied them, Mr. Spooner was perhaps the most melan-
choly type of a crestfallen spirit of evil ever imagined. The
cab drove off to the Spread Eagle; and we grieve for the
heartlessness of human nature to record, that in a few minutes
after, several other cabs drove off also, with Mr. Spooner s
late companions, to the halls of dazzling light then glittering
for them at the Bal Masqu6.
That very afternoon, Philip had called on Mrs. Wracketts,
and finding her from home, had returned to a solitary dinner
at his lo(Jgings. He was debating with himself, whether he
should make use of some tickets for the ball which Mr. Scute
had forwarded to him, when a pencilled note was brought to
him, which ran thus: —
" Come to the ball this evening. You will find me in a
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 393
rose domino, under the orchestra, after every dance. Not a
word of this, I implore yon. I have something of the utmost
consequence to tell you. Soyez sage et discret.
" Leonie."
The bearer did not wait for an answer. Philip, however,
determined to go at once; and, merely disguising himself with
a mask, about twelve o'clock, he entered the boarded area of
the theatre. It was a very gay sight: one that, ten years ago,
no one would ever have expected to see in steady-going England.
It was not, to be sure, the masquerade of the old school, such
as we read of in by-gone theatrical works, where the prin-
cipal business consisted in drinking bad champagne — the
true nectar of the gents; and the chief fun was to shout and
scream, in the spirit of illustrations still extant, where many
are drunk, and more are noisy, and huntsmen are whipping
clowns across the supper-table, with similar pleasantries. At
all events, there was some degree of order. The costumes
were effective — the reign of the clowns, and Irishmen, and
huntsmen, had terminated — the music was such as Almack's
might have coveted; and the gents would have been kicked
and turned out, had they given any of their snobbish pro-
pensities full play.
A waltz was going on as Philip entered. In a large circle,
the inner boundary of which was formed by the wands of the
masters of the ceremonies, making a ring-fence, shoals of
masks were hurrying on, and whirling round and round.
There was not that assemblage which the conventional
writers of la vielle presse aifect to see in masquerades, when
they think it a piece of humour — and it is astonishing how
they cling to it year after year — to say, that <' Turks who had
foresworn wine might be seen indulging in the juice of the
ruby grape; that Quakers and nuns "poussetted" (there is
already an inquiry as to what "poussette" means) together;
that barristers who never had a brief, sailors who never saw
the sea, and Don Giovannis, to whom the Spanish, in any
sense, was unknown, attempted intrigues." All this was
*' smart writing" once, but it is no longer funny nor true. For
none of the above types were present; possibly they never
were, but existed only in the imagination of some inventive
artist, who drew a picture of a masquerade without ever
having been to one. But there were debardeurs and vivau-
394 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
dieres — characters which our old press friends did not know-
in their own fast days, and are therefore slow to acknowledge
— sylphs, Pierrots, and Normandy peasants — seigneurs of the
moyen age — foreign postilions and Robespierres, or rather
those of his time; and all these were whirling round, and
round, and round, in a gay human kaleidescope, that formed
as pretty a sight as any one might care to witness. And
when the wonderful band poured forth all its strength, and
the pealing cornet, that Belgravia might have diplomacized
to have possessed, made the very chandeliers quiver again with
its resonance; and all the lamps, and lights, and heads, and
colours, in the house appeared to be whirling round as well —
any one who did not feel thankful that at all events some
little relief was afforded from the mill-horse routine of every-
day matter-of-fact life, must have been either a misanthrope,
a parvenu, or a lover of high art.
With some difficulty Philip contrived to get past the be-
wildering throng, and, by the time the waltz was concluded,
reached the orchestra. He had not remained there more
than a few minutes, when a rose domino also came to the
trysting place, after some little difficulty in getting rid of
a Don Caesar de Bazan (formerly Kochester), who was some-
what persecuting in his attentions. " Philip stemmed the cur-
rent that was rushing towards the refreshment -room, and
found himself at the side of the mask.
"Leonie?"
"Philip?"
The countersign was sufficient. They recognised each
other, and at once glided from the throng of people, and took
possession of one of the most remote tables, to which a con-
fused waiter immediately brought two sherry cobblers, in-
tended for somebody else.
" I am so glad you are here," said Leonie, after she had
looked half-timidly around, to see that they were beyond ear-
shot; "and yet I scarcely know what I ought to say, or how
to act, in this affair. Oh, Philip — ^you would pity me, in-
deed, if you knew all: and, perhaps, respect me."
Deeply masked as she was, the tones of her voice were
sufficient to show that she was suffering from extreme agitation
■ — in fact, affected even to tears. Before Philip could reply
she clutched his arm earnestly, and continued:—
THE rOTTLP:TON LEGACY. . 395
" If I am mistaken in you, the punishment — the heavy
punishment — will be my own; but I trust in your own fine
nature. Can you believe, in turn, that anything so fallen as
myself can still have some redeeming point — that I am not
altogether sunk beyond all hope of sympathy or kindness?"
Philip was amazed at this burst of excitement. Perfectly
unable to imagine what Leonie was about to confide to him,
he could only return some commonplace answer.
" I have been used," she continued, " to ruin you. I have
been made the bait to destroy you — to blast all your pros
pects; and not yours alone, but those of some one who ought
to be very dear to you. And I have been bitterly punished.
You have made me love you; and I know that it is without
hope: but I do love you — madly, devotedly. Every other
feeling has been some idle passion — madness — call it what
you will: but now, every thought — every action of my life-
tends towards you."
She spoke this in a low, quick tone, tremulous with agita-
tion; and Philip saw that the tears were falling quickly from
beneath her mask, which she had slightly raised from her
face, upon the table. He scarcely knew how to reply.
" You may be sure, Leonie," he said, " that I shall never
entertain other than the kindest feelings towards you."
"Oh — thanks, thanks — a thousand times!" she continued:
"it is too good of you — if you knew all; and I have not
deserved it. Only let me know that you do not despise
me."
"Despise you, Leonie! I have told you that I have the
deepest regard for you."
vShe clasped his hand as though it had been in a vice, as
she replied:
"You should not judge of those in my own Avretched
position, only when you see them in a whirl of false pleasure
and excitement. Oh, believe me, that every minute of what
appears to be happiness is bitterly paid for by hours of
misery and lonely remorse — as, step by step, the darkening
future comes nearer and nearer. But it is not yet too late.
They tried to make me ruin you — to drag you with me beyond
the stern barrier of society; and they have only made me love
you. All I can now do in atonement, I will. I do it from my
heart. I require no return, but to see its end achieved. I
396 THE POTTLETON LEGACY
never even wish to meet you again. I only shall entreat of
you to feel, that even in a social outcast like myself, gratitude,
honour, and some slight traces of affection may still exist.
Now, listen."
In a voice broken by hysterical sobs, and betraying intense
emotion, Leonie then proceeded to explain to Philip the schemes
that had been woven about him by Wyndham Flitter, Wrack-
etts, and the man Sherrard. Nothing was concealed. As she
went on, and the circumstances kept opening before Philip's
eyes, each instant in a clearer liglit, his excitement almost
equalled her own, and an almost sickening feeling took pos-
session of him, as he saw the dupe he had become, in every
instance, in their hands — the follies he had been drawn into,
and the cruel manner in which he had wronged his cousin.
The spot, the lights, the music, and the whirl of masks, had
faded away. His whole being was absorbed in the confession
which Leonie was making.
*' And now," she continued, "you must not lose an instant
in going down to Pottleton, for they are about to play their
largest stake. Your cousin Annie is living with an old lady
whose house Sherrard is about to rob; and the others,
although they will not appear in the matter, are accomplices.
She will be made use of as well; and Flitter is already on
visiting terms at the house. I know nothing more, for they
have been more than usually cautious — but of this be sure —
that something terrible is brooding."
" We shall be glad of the table, sir, if you have finished,"
said one of the waiters.
Philip started at the fresh voice, and somewhat recalled,
saw that they had ordered nothing : whilst crowds of thirsty
masks were standing about them. He rose directly, and
taking Leonie's arm, plunged once more into the throng,
which was the best plan to avoid further observation. Not
that any recognition could have been possible, albeit he felt
that the whole of the vast crowd had singled out Leonie and
himself, as the especial objects of their attention. Wild as
the galoppe was, in which hundreds of masks were now
tearing onward, tumbling, jostling, and almost madly flying,
round the area, it was nothing compared to the whirl of
thoughts that were occupying Philip's brains. He deter-
mined at once to start for Pottleton, by the very earliest
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. . 397
train : and as soon as he had decided upon this he parted
from Leonie, who was really very ill, and hung heavily on
his arm, trembling from the excitement of their late con-
versation. He saw her into a cab at the door of the theatre —
having promised inviolable secrecy as regarded her name,
and a report of what had occurred at the first available op-
portunity, and then left the house, feeling little inclination,
as may be conceived, to keep with the revellers, who were
by this time beginning to get rather noisy
To make out the time, until the hour came for the first
train to start, he entered a coffee-house in Bow-street — a
low place where the friends of prisoners, at the adjoining
police office, were accustomed to await their acquittal or com-
mitment ; preferring to sit there by the fire — for the early
morning, although a summer one, was cold and chilly — than
to go home just then for his things, and stand the chance of
falling asleep in his own solitary room. Still confused and
oppressed by what he had just heard, he was gazing vacantly
round the room, when his eye fell upon a figure with which
bethought he was acquainted. A more observant glance
assured him that it was the Ganger, who was engaged in
subdued talk with a couple of as ill-looking fellows as any
one might have met during a summer amongst the rookeries
of London. Philip directly changed his place, and cautiously
took possession of the next box, where, whilst he appeared
to be studying a begrimed and greasy periodical, he could
contrive to catch a few words of their conversation. They
spoke with caution, but from what he could understand, it
appeared that some appointment was about to be made for
the next evening ; and in the country, After a while they
got up and departed : and then Philip going back to his
lodgings, changed his clothes, packed up hurriedly a few
things for his journey; and leaving a note on the staircase
to say that he might not return for a day or two, went at
once to the terminus. A train of those airy conveyances,
which the liberality of the directors, and the thoughtfulness
of government allows for the lower orders — who must not be
" fast " in anything upon limited means — was about to start:
and by the time that the sun had got through half his work,
he found himself, pale and jaded, at the Pottleton station*
Young Grant, whom he met in the train, took his luggage
898 . THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
on to the farm, saying, that he must make that his quar-
ters : and Philip himself at once directed his steps to Mr.
Twinch's.
CHAPTER XXXIY.
THE ROBBERY AT MONKSCROFTS.
All this time of gaiety and excitement in London — whilst
the West -end, towards afternoon, became a perfect whirl of
carriages, and the heart of mighty London was throbbing at
more than feverish rate — whilst the early sunrise caught the
latest revellers returning home, with split gloves and blinking
eyes, from parties, and the latest twilight half concealed their
starting forth again — all this time Annie was living the same
quiet life with Lady Flokes, at Monkscrofts. " The season" there
was ordained by nature rather than fashion. Had the whole
world been submerged in one universal deluge of bankruptcy,
and rendered totally unable to give parties, go to operas, or
patronise wonderful exhibitions, yet the time of year would
still have been shown by the thick-leaved trees, now waving
their deeply -green summer foliage in the warm wind — by the
tall meadow-grass, that would soon be cut, powdered with
daisies and buttercups — by the blue forget-me-nots, that trem-
bled in the clear, pebbly watercourse which glanced by them:
and, above all, by the blue sky, from which the glorious sun
brought Heaven to the world, and drew forth the gorgeous
children of the ground to raise their glowing petals to his
light, in the gardens and hedgerows; or ring their scented
bells upon the heaths and hills, in his life-swarming glory.
The goodly earth was bursting with its beauty. Far away in
the deep woods and copses the tall foxgloves kept their honey- ^
laden, pendulous flowers for the bees, and the wild convolvulus
clung to the young trees, and marked them by its close em-
brace. Now and then the sunbeams broke through the canopy^
of twinkling leaves, and where they shot down upon the turf
in a bright ray, myriads of insects, in goodly armour of gold
and sapphire, danced and floated, or spread their filmy wings
THE POTTLETON LEGACY, 899
as they bent down the blade of grass towards the crystal
water that collected in a little pool, on a level, from the tum-
bling rill. Beautiful, indeed, the world was: but this beauty
could not be perceived in London — either in its choking,
blazing streets by day, or its stifling, glittering rooms by
night. It could only be found amidst the scarlet poppies and
purple corn-flowers of the fields — the wildly -tossing hops iu
the hedges — the "lords and ladies "of the shady lanes; or
the delicate lilies of the valley and timid violets that grew
from the mossy ground of the thick coppice.
With Annie the days passed on with little excitement.
One was so like the other, that Robinson Crusoe's post would
not have been out of the way to have marked their course.
She had learned, mechanically, to bow in the proper place at
all the anecdotes, whether she listened to them or no: she
was also inured to the distress of Backgammon and Double
Patience, or Dummy, as the case might be: and she had, in
her own quiet, unobtrusive manner, contrived to work a few
reforms in Lady Flokes's style of cookery. Indeed, altoge-
ther, and as things went, she was tolerably comfortable.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter was constantly at Pottleton, and in
great feather, in spite of the decidedly uncomfortable manner
in which Mr. Page always treated him when they met. He
did not, at the same time, often trouble Mr. Twinch with his
company. IVIiss Martha had fought up greatly for him, upon
the recollection of his attention to her at the Pottleton Ball,
until she found his admiration of Annie become too palpable,
when she went as powerfully against him; and, as her brother
had always entertained misgivings as to the exact steadiness
of Flitter's position, his fall in the household estimation was
soon accomplished. But he visited at Pottleton Court, and
got young Brayboeuf, who was reading for the bar in London,
orders for the Opera; and, lastly, was considered, by old Lady
Flokes, to be a very agreeable gentleman. But when JMr.
Wyndham Flitter was admiring the curiosities in old jewellery
and plate, which Lady Flokes at times unfolded to his gaze,
each with a corresponding history attached to it, the interest
with which he regarded them was of an entirely different
character to what she supposed. He could, at last, have writ-
ten an inventory of anything worth possessing in the house;
and all this information was regularly conveyed to the Ganger,
400 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
in those interviews, during one of which Mr. Page had in
a measure surprised him.
The evening had closed in, dark and stormy for a summer
night, and few people were about in the village, for a heavy
rain, with thunder and lightning, had driven the majority
within doors. Annie had been in attendance, throughout the
evening, upon Lady Flokes, to whom a thunder-storm was a
matter of serious alarm. On its first approach, the old lady had
moved to the middle of the room, having sent all the fire-irons
into the cellar, to get rid of them as conductors, no less than
to place them across the tub of feeble beer, which she feared
might be turned by the elements; and, indeed, despite this pre-
caution, such was eventually found to be the case. Next, she
had stuffed her ears with cotton, that she might not hear the
thunder; after this, enveloping her head in the lined green
bag, used to preserve the tea-boards, to exclude the lightning,
and then sending for Julius to sit in the room (regarding him
in some degree as an antidote to electric fluid generally) — she
had at last felt perfectly safe, as much so as does the ostrich,
when he hides his head in the sand, against his pursuers. In
this state she had kept, under the surveillance of Annie and
the black servant, until the storm had passed away, when,
being gradually unpacked, by a mummy -like process, she had
consented to go to bed, having partaken of a little supper, but
with a silver spoon and fork — fearing that the steel knives
might still retain a portion of electricity, and go off by them-
selves, in some alarming manner, in her hands.
Annie also retired to bed, and had been asleep an hour
or two, when she was roused by a noise outside her window,
and a fitful flash of hght plainly visible, now and then, upon
the chalk cliff, which, we have said, rose up opposite her
apartment. No other window looked against this cutting,
except one below, from a room used as a dairy; and believing
that some of the tramps who had been loitering about the
neighbourhood had come to steal the fowls in the outbuilding,
she quietly approached the window, and putting aside the
blind, looked out. She now distinctly saw the figure of a
man letting himself down by a knotted rope, already near the
ground, and carrying a small lantern with him, and she
also found, one of her windows broken — the noise of which
had possibly awakened liei% The next instant, the form
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 401
reached the ground, and then she could hear a signal
exchanged, in a low tone, with some one over-head, most
probably amongst the foliage that edged the top of the chalk
wall, along which a bridle-path, open to the public, also
ran. Scarcely breathing, she listened to catch every
sound. Before long, the peculiar, sustained grating of a
centre-bit at work was plainly audible — the broken window,
in this case, assisting her; and then she heard the shutters of
the dairy scroop on their hinges, as they were put back against
the wall. Throwing a cloak hurriedly about her, she ran to
Lady Flokes's room to arouse her; for the servants were alto-
gether in another part of the house. She was a minute or
two shaking the old lady, and endeavouring to make her
understand what appeared to be taking place; and when such
was effected, her alarm appeared to render her as helpless as
her slumbers. One thing, however, Lady Flokes retained pos-
session of her senses sufficiently to effect — and this was, to tell
Annie to hide her keys in the teapot, which was still half full
of the evening's brewing.
" Mercy preserve us!" exclaimed the old lady, " what can
we do? We shall all be murdered! Call out from the win-
dow. No, don't do that — nobody can hear you, and you may
be shot dead. Dear me! there is no bolt to my door."
The old lady had removed her bolt when she was in the
habit of ringing Patience Stiles up at all hours of the night;
and the room in which the bell was hung was now empty.
At this moment, there was the sound of a heavy fall below,
as though some one had knocked over a piece of furniture in
the dark.
*' They are in the parlour!" exclaimed Annie. " What can
we do?"
" Murdered — murdered in our beds!" cried the old lady,
rocking herself backwards and forwards, as she sat upright.
At the same time, there was something in her appearance,
packed up as she w;is in all sorts of lappets, and bands, and
old shawls, to have frightened anybody from the room, arriv-
ing under ordinary circumstances, at first sight.
" Hush!" replied Annie. " Stop one minute, and I will
ring the turret-bell. It can be heard all over the village, and,
at all events, it will frighten them."
D D
40S^ THE POTTLETON LEGACY,
" Don't leave me to be murdered!" Lady Flokes again ex-
claimed. " Help! — Julius! Margery."
Annie did not attend to the old lady any longer, but left
her room, and ran to the end of the gallery to a closet through
which the rope of the bell passed on its way from the kitchen
to the turret, and where it was rung every day at luncheon-
time, in the facetious pretence that numbers of guests were
strolling about the grounds, awaiting the summons to a fine
collation. As she flew along the gallery, some one was
visible by the moonlight in the passage below. The stronger
gleam from a lantern was now turned full upon her, and a
harsh voice called upon her to stop, or she would be shot.
To this command she paid no attention, but as she crouched
down, still moving on, a pistol was discharged at her, and the
ball struck the w^ainscot above her. On gaining the end of
the passage, she opened the closet and felt for the rope — but it
was not there!
With a cry of alarm, she flew up a narrow flight of stairs,
which led to the lofts of the house, and from which there was
an egress on to the leads, whereon the bell-turret rose. To
reach it was a matter of exceeding danger — a false step would
have precipitated her down upon the stones of the stable-yard;
but it Avas the only chance. In her night-dress, and lighted
only by the moon, the brave girl clung, rather than Avalked,
along the gutter of the roof, and gained the wooden turret.
She seized the wheel of the bell, and rang it violently, cry-
ing as loud as she was able at the same time, that she might
arouse the servants. She had scarcely done this Avhen a figure
appeared at the loft-door, which was somewhat below her.
" Keep away!" she cried. " If you come near me, I will
throw these at you, and you will be killed."
The bricks upon which the turret stood were loose, and
easily to be pulled away; Annie seized one with one hand,
and kept working the bell-wheel with the other.
The man, whom she now plainly recognised to be the
Ganger, was emerging from the loft, when he was suddenly
pulled back, and disappeared. There was a struggle and a
fall; and next a noise of several persons shouting, as she saw
more people run round the stable-yard.
"Annie — my own Annie!" cried another voice, well
remembered, even without Philip's appearance at the loft
THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
door. " For God's sake be careful; you are within an inch
of the parapet. Wait until I come."
The girl shrieked with delight as her cousin crept out upon
the roof, and giving her his hand, brought her back through
the door. As she gained the loft, she found eight or ten
persons there, some of whom had lights, and in the centre of
them Sherrard was struggling upon the ground, held down
by a few of the most stalwart, directed by Farmer Grant.
" What does this mean?" she cried, as she saw the assem-
blage.
" Here is your cloak, Annie," said Philip, as he picked up
her mantle from the ground, and put it over her shoulders.
She had forgotten her appearance; but now, with an excla-
mation of confusion and fright, she gathered it closely round
her, and crouched into a corner of the loft.
" No harm, Miss," said Farmer Grant, as he saw the move-
ment; "we wasn't thinking about that. Ah, would you?
Lay down!"
The last words were addressed to Sherrard, who was still
kicking desperately in the grasp of his captors. The Farmer
shouted to him in a harsh imposing tone of voice, such as he
would have used to a large troublesome dog.
"Philip," continued Annie, " pray tell me, what is all this
about?"
" Directly, Annie: let us first see this gentlem^an in
safety. Hold away, boys. He's a nimble one, if he gets the
chance."
"Has anybody thought of the poor old lady?" asked
Annie.
Nobody evidently had, for there was no reply. In the
hurry and scuffle, Lady Flokes had been entirely overlooked.
Philip, his cousin, and one or two of the people directly
started for the room; when they got to the door, it was fast
closed — evidently by something heavy against it: and not a
word of reply was made to their cries and knocking.
" Round by my room," said Annie; " you can get in by
the other door."
They directly followed her directions, and on entering the
old lady's chamber found her, with Julius and Margery,
sitting, scared to death, upon a bureau, which, somehow or
another their united efforts had contrived to push against the
dd2
404 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
door. The two of the weaker sex screamed as the other*
entered, and Julius shut his eyes, and put his hands before
his face, expecting to be immediately massacred.
A word, however, reassured them, and then Philip ob-
served: —
**It is all over. Pheugh! It was a tough job, though,
whilst it lasted. There is no more danger. Captain Whacky
Clark has got the charge of two of our friends in the large
corn-bin: and you may all go to bed again."
" But, Philip," said Annie, who, now that the danger wa»
all past, was quite trembling with the fright, and completely
bewildered: "pray explain ."
"Everything to-morrow, Annie. Come, boys; who's for
knocking up Mrs. Baker, at the Red Lion, and telling her
all about it?"
There was a ready acquiescence to the proposal.
"I shall take the blackguard upstairs under my own
wing," said Farmer Grant. " Pve been looking out for him
this ever-so-long.
" Won't you put him in the round-house ?" asked a man.
" The round-house ! " replied the farmer, with contempt.
" Why, young Humphreys got through its roof, when he
was only in for dragging the court ponds, as easy as if it had
been the open door: and this fellow could shake it down
altogether with his feet on one side, and his back agen the
other. No, no: bring him round to me."
" Now, if you don't go and get into bed directly, Annie,
ril never speak to you again," said Philip; " and look, your
foot is bleeding. My good woman," he continued to Mar-
gery, "will you see to Miss Maitland?"
The old housekeeper vaguely understood Philip's request.
All her senses had been scared away, like birds from an ivy-
bush, and had not yet returned. But she, half mechanically,
followed Annie to her room.
" You can rest in perfect safety, madam," said Philip, ad-
dressing old Lady Flokes: not without a smile at her comical
appearance. " All danger is over, and, if you please, some of
these good folks shall watch the house until morning. For
the present, we will wish you good night."
And so speaking, he collected his companions, and they
were shown down to the door by Julius, who, however, took
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 405
care to interpose as many of them between the Ganger and
himself as was practicable.
Rapid, and perfectly astounding to the inmates of Monks-
croft, as the whole affair had been, it had been very simply
arranged. Philip had told Grant of his suspicions immediately
upon arriving at Pottleton; and the worthy fiirmer, who had
been burning to get some of the tramps into his hands, went
heart and soul into the business. For some years past, he
had rented the stabling and outhouses at Monkscroft, using
them as store-rooms, and having his own entrance from the
mill; and here, as soon as it was dusk, he had quietly am-
bushed all those fellows upon his farm that he could best
depend on, taking up his own place, with Philip, in the con-
servatory, of which he also possessed a key, and wherein, for
another small consideration, the trumpet-fuchsias, and giant
cactus, and tree geraniums hybernated, that made the glory
of Farmer Grant's garden in the summer, and caused passen-
gers to stop and admire, as they crossed the mill-bridge on
the public road, which overlooked it. Lady Flokes, with her
limited income, turned everything to account about her estate.
She would have allowed the very roof of her house to have
been covered with mould, for mustard and cress to grow
upon, if she could have made anything by it. In this light
she was by no means proud.
None of the servants at Monkscroft had been told of their
intention, for the farmer was afraid that the business would
get whispered about, and their ends defeated, although Philip
was anxious to put the inmates on their guard, which indeed
was not without reason, as has been shown. And no beer
was to be allowed to the watchers, inasmuch as Farmer
Grant knew that as soon as it began to take effect, the con-
vivial propensities of the British peasantry would lead them
first to harmony, and then to fighting, both of which demon-
strations were hurtful to secret watches. As it was. they
had all been true to themselves, and to one another, and the
result has been seen.
But all this time there was one especial gentleman who
had, in a degree, known of the intended robbery, and watched
its progress, without in any degree compromising his own
high position, up to the very moment of its failure. He had,
under pretence of admiring the lovely country from the roof
406 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
of the house, that very morning cut the bell-rope with his
pearl-handled pen-knii'e; he had, with a curious interest,
become acquainted with all the rooms of the mansion, and
the disposition of their inmates: he had been charmed with
the dairy, as he saw that a thin shutter only closed it in;
and he had thought the chalk clifi decidedly the most pic-
turesque thing he had ever seen in his life, as he found out how
it joined the public road, and withal came close to the house.
And looking to all this interest taken in Monkscroft gener-
ally, it is not to be wondered at that, if any inquisitive per-
son had poked through all the thickets that edged the cliff,
he might have found, amongst the broad fern, no less a per-
son than the ingenious Mr. Wyndham Fhtter.
So it, indeed, was. That gifted gentleman had been lying
amidst the foliage for several hours, with a patience that,
exerted in deer-stalking, wild-duck shooting, chamois hunt-
ing, or debtor-catching, would have been truly exemplary.
He had not been ignorant of the ill success of the attempt,
for from his eyrie he could command a view of all the out-
buildings: and at the first revelation of the ambuscade he
had endeavoured to withdraw himself from the scene of the
adventure. But the road, which the belt of fern and coppice
bordered, just at the edge of the chalk pit, was otherwise
broad and open, and the moon was sufficiently bright for him
to have been seen a quarter of a mile off. So he preferred
lying still, until the excitement was over, and he could quietly
Steal off unperceived.
The party, under the Farmer's direction, having trussed,
rather than pinioned, the Ganger, were now proceeding back
to the village, no longer silent, but indulging in all the noise
and excitement that such an affair, successfully terminated,
might be supposed to have given rise to. Each, in his own
opinion, had brought things to their present auspicious con-
clusion; and all were talkers, except Sherrard, who was
walking sullenly amongst them, with two clothes props under
his arms, by which he was hoisted up and hurried forward by
his active captors whenever he evinced any disposition to lag
behind.
" Hold hard, boys!" cried Philip, as they came to that part
of the road on the top of the cliff. " This is where the black-
guards let themselves down. I dare say we shall find some-
thing left."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 407
The throng pulled up, and Philip dashed amongst the fern,
to see if there remained any traces of the thieves.
" Steady! Master Hammond," cried Farmer Grant. " You'll
go down forty or fifty feet all at once, if you get beyond the
edge."
" All right !" was the reply.
Just as Philip was speaking, he started back, having trod
upon something that had palpably moved beneath his foot.
And the same instant a form rose from the fern, and almost
before the others could observe what had happened, darted
across the road, into a hollow surrounded by firs that grew
together thickly enough to exclude the moonlight entirely.
" Gone away !" cried Farmer Grant, with a sporting whoop
that rang again through the coppice. "After him, lads."
Philip had caught but a glimpse of the figure, but he
could not be deceived. At all events, to make sure of it, he
dashed through the hedge, and was the next minute going
helter-skelter down the hollow, along with the other pur-
suers. Meanwhile the object of their chase had crossed the
shaw and gained a gravel-pit, which was on the other side of
it, some twenty feet steep. With astonishing alacrity, as-
sisted by the holes which the martins had made in its side
for their nests, he gained the top of this, which formed a
sort of cornice from being undermined, and skirted another
thicket. This he forced his way through, breaking down
the nut trees, and pulling away the long ten feet brambles of
the blackberries, which clung round his legs, and then gained
the open country.
The party, headed by Philip, tried to follow; and with
some trouble contrived to scramble up the pit, not without
the infliction of sundry injuries upon the head, arms, and
legs of their fellows. But when they gained the ledge, their
combined weight was too heavy for it, and the cornice gave
way altogether, precipitating eight or ten of them to the
bottom, surrounded by an avalanche of clattering pebbles
loosened by the fall. Philip had reached firm ground, how-
ever, and now started ofiT again with one or two of those
nearest to him, as they could see their game crossing a large
corn-field on the slope of the hill.
Wyndham Flitter — for, as may have been imagined, it
was that personage — was hard put to it. He calculated, how-
408 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
ever, that his identity might not have been clearly esta-
blished, and so was the more anxious to get away. Moreover,
he knew he was a good runner; he had put his legs to the
proof on previous occasions, and they had ne^^er failed him;
and therefore away he went, in the moonlight, across the
corn.
By degrees his pursuers gave up, for the agricultural
frame is rather adapted to slow continuous labour than con-
densed energy; and their "wind" was no match for that of
the well trained man about town. One by one they tailed
off, and at last Philip found that he was left with a represen-
tative of the Stiles' family — a brother of the Patience who
had lately quitted Lady Flokes's service, and who possessed
lighter limbs and tougher lungs than his fellows.
" Dang un — he can run like a ferrut," gasped the young
peasant, as he kept even with Philip. " I wonders if he can
leap."
"Why?" asked the other.
" Because he'll come to the bourne directly, and that's a
goodish seven foot."
" Never mind," replied Philip: " don't flag."
They were not in a condition to waste more breath in
talking than was necessary, so they kept on, in the wake of
the other, through the corn, vaulting over the rail at the
bottom of the field, and then crossing the gardens of some
cottagers, at one of which an awkward check took place.
Flitter had found that he had met his match in point of speed
— in fact, that they were gaining on him, and hit upon a bold
stratagem to detain them. There were some bee-hives in the
last garden he passed through to get to the bit of meadow
that skirted the bourne. Turning round for an instant, after
he had cleared the low turf-wall, he took up a large clod, and
hurled it at the nearest hive, with so true an aim, that he
immediately upset it. And then, without pausing the frac-
tion of a moment to see what effect the shock would have
upon the enraged inmates, he darted off again towards the
.stream
"Don't'ee go there!" cried Mr. Stiles, as Philip was rush-
ing on CO the very spot. " You'll be stoong to death. Round
by the ditch — that's it."
It was not the path, or rather the water-course, one would
THE POTTLETON LEGACY, 409
liave taken by choice, but there was no time to hesitate.
They skirted the garden, and came into the pasture, just as
Mr. Flitter, with a run and a leap, cleared the brook, in most
steeple-chace fashion, and was off again across another mea-
dow. His pursuers were less fortunate. Philip, to be sure,
got over, but the other trusted to a soft bit of ground to spring
from, and so fell short of his mark, and came plump into the
middle of the stream, with a splash that sent the water flying
up all round him in the moonlight. What he could not leap,
however, he waded through; and was soon by "Philip's side
again.
But now another object attracted their attention. Far
away on the common they perceived a bright red light: and
the noise of an approaching train was next audible. Flitter
saw it, too; and directly changing his course, made at once
for the point where the lamps betokened the Pottleton sta-
tion — knowing that the up-mail train, now coming on, would
stop there, and he, perhaps, might get off by it. Collecting
all his energy for this last push, he doubled his speed. The
train came screaming on, and the bell at the station an-
nounced its near approach. Then it slackened, and as its
gleaming lamp was hidden by the house, Wyndham rushed
into the office, took a ticket, and, without waiting for his
change even, bolted into one of the carriages. The letter-
bags were pitched up — the engine whistled — and the train
moved on again, just as Philip and Stiles got to the line.
There was but one chance left — it was a desperate one, to
be sure, but it would not do to be foiled in this manner.
Running to the end of the palings that began at the station,
and were continued a little way on each side of it, Philip
vaulted over the rails, and gained the line. The carriages
were still moving slowly, and, clutching at a piece of the
iron-work of the last one, which was a horse-box, he con-
trived to perch himself, although in a frightfully insecure
manner, upon the buffer at the side of the rear light.
The porters at the station shouted to him, but it was of no
avail; and he was borne away, leaving the panting Stiles
aghast at the perilous feat, which, coupled with his exertions,
entirely took away what little breath remained in his body.
And now they were off, humming and screeching along,
with a ricketty-racketty noise, as the glowing cinders flew
410 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
about in all directions, lighting up their course. Philip held
on with the grasp of a drowning man — more, however, to
keep along with his object than from terror of falling, since,
had he done so, the train would only have gone away from
him, instead of running him down. In three or four minutes
they were approaching the Dibblethorpe station.
Philip now debated whether he should take his place in
the carriages, or remain where he was; but he perceived the
train wns not going to stop, as it shot past the building, in-
geniously hooking the mail-bags from a post as it passed.
Suddenly, however, he found the speed diminish, and about
fifty yards beyond the station he came to a dead stop — very
easily, and without any of the scrooping or vibrating that
usually accompanies a pull-up. Looking round the side of
the carriage he perceived tlie cause in an instant to his dis-
may. The horse-box had been dropped from the train, by
the guard on the carriage before it, to be left at Dibblethorpe,
and he also was left with it!
As the men came up to "sliunt" it, Philip hurriedly explained
what had happened; and, being known to one of them, met
with immediate attention. Fortunately there was a tele-
graph station at Dibblethorpe; and the clerk was immediately
roused, to send word up to town that Mr. Wyndham Flitter
might be expected, and to beg that every care might be taken
of hini on his arrival. This was done; and before the object
had passed half-a-dozen lengths of the wires along which the
message flew, the answer came back that it was understood,
and should be attended to.
" So," thought Philip, " that is one comfort; and now I'll
just lie dowm in the empty horse-box till the morning train
starts, for I am dead beat. However, w^e've nailed him."
But they had not; for the weasel-like nature of Mr. Wynd-
ham Flitter kept him always very wide awake, and, therefore,
the first notion that had struck him w^as the possibility of his
being telegraphed upon the strength of a supposed recogni-
tion ; acting upon which he preferred getting out at the last
station before he came to London, rather than trusting him-
self to the observant eyes of the officials on the platform.
So that at the time Philip imagined he was in their hands,
he was quietly progressing, in a carrier's cart, to his own
lodgings.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 411
CHAPTER XXXV.
SOME FAMILY MATTERS.
There was grand excitement at Potileton on the morning after
these events. Never since the railway opened had the people-
so neglected their own business to go about commenting upon
that of somebody else.
The attempted robbery at Monkscrofts was the all-absorbing
topic; and from the barber's shop up to Pottleton Court the
folks thought of nothing else.
Whacky Clark, who was released from his guard in the
morning, when his two prisoners were removed from the
corn-bin to the round-house, was the head authority at the
Red Lion. Seated on a pail in the stable-yard, he went on
with his descriptions, over and over again to iresh audiences,
like an attendant at a panorama. And as his listeners suc-
cessively asked him to drink, and Whacky never refused, and
as his imagination took bolder flights with each half-pint,
towards afternoon his story of the attack became perfectly
marvellous; until at last, just as he was about to fight the
ostler, who appeared inclined to doubt portions of his narra-
tive — having taken his coat off for the sixth time to do so —
he tripped himself up by his own energy, and was borne off'
to the hay -loft, where, in a heavy beery sleep, he concluded
the evening.
It was a good thing, upon the whole, for Mr. Blandy, the
surgeon; he had not booked so much in one day since the in-
fluenza. For, having been sent for, at early morning, to old Lady
Flokes, whose nerves required steadying afterthe shock, he had
called afterwards upon all his patients successively, to tell
them about it; and artfully turning the conversation from
this subject to their own domestic state of health, had con-
trived to send something, on his return, to everybody. How
he proceeded may be understood by a few examples.
For instance: he first went to Mrs. Spink's, and told her
and her tall nieces all about it, with such mild heightening
as he thought proper, for the effect of the thing. And thea
Mrs. Spink observeil —
412 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" How dreadfully frightened the poor lady must have
been."
" You can imagine so," said Mr. Blandy; " and her in-
quietude was not diminished at hearing that the rascals be-
longed to the tramps, amongst whom the small-pox is raging
so furiously in the lane."
" Indeed!" cried all the ladies.
" Oh! perfectly frightful, even to me," answered Mr.
Blandy. " I cannot vaccinate everybody quickly enough. I
have only six ivory points left here" — and as he spoke he
took a small glass tube from his pocket — " and these are be-
token over and over again."
" We have all been vaccinated," observed Mrs. Spink.
" Within seven years?" asked Mr. Blandy.
" Oh, no! — I should say not."
" Ah, then, my dear lady, I fear you are not altogether
safe. Now, if you like to undergo the little operation, I will
make some story to my other patients. The points are
charged from as fine an arm as you ever saw. But you must
not say a word about it, or I should get into a sad scrape.
Ah ! here is a beautiful lancet — quite new !"
Mrs. Spink thought this so kind of Mr. Blandy, that she
seized the golden opportunity, and the gentleman, on his re-
turn, booked three guineas in consequence.
Mr. Blandy then went on to the establishment of the
Misses Medlar, and all the story was told over again; at the
€nd of which Miss Medlar remarked, " Poor old Lady Flokes!
It was enough to have been her death."
" Very nearly so, I can assure you," replied Mr. Blandy.
" For, independently of the fright, she is suffering, as all
the world is, from the hay fever."
" Oh," said Miss Medlar, " I did not know that."
" I fear you will," replied Mr. Blandy. " The prostration
it induces is most extraordinary. I cannot mention names;
but I have at present an entire family laid up with it, even
to the servant. They would not take my advice, and — so —
there it is."
Mr. Blandy shrugged up his shoulders, with an expression
that meant, " their obstinacy serves them right."
Miss Medlar was alarmed. She did not exactly un-
derstand what the "hay fever" was; but she knew that a
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 41S
fever of any kind, reported in a school, was enough to
ruin it, and so she directly begged Mr. Blandy to take such
measures as he thought proper, to combat its invasion.
Whereupon the three dozen draught bottles (which Mr.
Blandy's assistant had purchased of an old tramp, and washed
clean that morning, with shot and potash) were all refilled,
capped, directed, and sent to Pottleton House Establishment
that evening. And here the assistant indulged in a delicate
little attention. He tied over the corks of the pretty pupil's
phials with rose-coloured paper, whilst the rest had only the
ordinary white demy of common life. The talk this made
in the bedrooms was tremendous, until the teacher came up,
after supper; and then all were as still as mice.
In this manner Mr. Blandy went on from house to house j
and at last he came to the Twinches. He did not, to be
sure, do a great deal here, in the way of business. The
old man never took any physic at ail, and never allowed
his sisters, if he could help it; and the medicines which
they were accustomed to distribute in great plenty, to the
infant school, were all paid for by contract, so that Mr.
Blandy was rather averse than otherwise to their exhibition.
The Misses Twinch, however, although they worried him
to no small extent, after the usual fashion of rustic religious
spinsters, still were accustomed, on the other hand, to laud
his talent and attention at their various small parties —
" tea-fights," as young Grant called them — so that it was
as well to keep in with them.
" Well, Mr. Blandy," said Miss Martha, eagerly, as the
gentleman called in, on this same morning; "here is a pretty
to-do, indeed!"
" And that Lady Flokes's house should be so singularly
fixed upon for a robbery I" observed Miss Letitia.
"I have no doubt you have had strange suspicions,
Mr. Blandy," continued Miss Martha, with excitement.
" But it certainly is remarkable," added Miss Twinch, quickly.
« Don't you think so?"
" Why — I don't exactly know, ladies," replied Mr. Blandy,
not feeling clearly in what light he was to meet these ob-
servations; "you see the old lady lived by herself — Miss
Maitland to be sure "
" Well?" anxiously asked both the ladies at once, with a
Buddenness that almost made Mr. Blandy start.
■414 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.'
" I was going to sav that Miss Maitland could hardly be
•considered a protection."
" No, scarcely!" replied the ladies bridling up, and looking
at each other.
Mr. Blandy, with professional tact, saw that he wp.s
ifloundering in the dark about some conversational swamp,
the bottom of which he was unacquainted with; and there-
fore thought it would be best to hold his tongue. But this
the ladies would not allow.
" Some persons have told us," said Miss Twinch, " they
think it very strange that the house should never have been
attempted until Miss Maitland went there to live."
" It is a startling and dangerous thing to say," Miss Martha
went on; "that Mr. Flickers, or whatever his name is, was
constantly there. In f\ict. Miss Maitland encouraged him."
"Hey-dey!" cried Mr. Twinch, who came into the room
just at the moment, and caught up the last words. " What !
at it again? What's the matter with Miss Maitland now?
Has slie been murdering anybody, or turned Chartist?"
" Not exactly," answered Miss Twinch, with a sneer.
*' Well, how near has she come to it, then?" continued their
hard brother, not to be daunted. " Eh? I suppose she let
in the robbers, at Monkscroft last night. I shouldn't wonder
— loaded their pistols, too, I dare say; and held old Lady
Fiokes upon the fire until she gave up all her money."
" Brother," said Miss Letitia, " many a word spoken in
jest finds "
" Now don't preach," answered Mr. Twinch. " Keep all
that for your infants, and old women. Well, what is it?"
'•' Did it never strike you, Septimus," asked his sister, "that
the cause which withdrew Miss Maitland from our roof
might have something to do with this robbery!"
*' What?" cried Mr. Twinch, so loudly and suddenly, that
the girls were both frightened. " The cause, as you call it,
was this: she was seen meeting a man one evening, after
dusk. I have no doubt you would have done the same, if
Tovi could; but there is not much chance of that."
"Septimus!" they both exclaimed; "pray do not be so
•coarse."
"Coarse! what do you mean? It's the truth," continued
their indomitable brother, as his spectacles, pushed up to the
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 415
top of his head, looked like another pair of eyes gazing at the
ceiling. -'You sent the girl away. She was a very good
girl, and might have stopped here always, if you had left her
alone."
" The contamination was too painful to anticipate," re-
marked Miss Twincli; and Miss Martha shrugged her shoul-
ders, in approval of her sister's sentiments.
"Contamination, indeed!" continued Mr. Twinch: "so it
would have been, if you had turned her into a crawler like
yourself. Contamination! Why, you are old enougli to take
care of yourselves, I should think. The youngest of you
might have been her mother."
" Come, Mr. Twinch," said poor Mr. Blandy, mildly, not
having known what to do during this uncomfortable con-
versation. "I think you have allowed a little tco mnch
licence in that respect."
" Not a bit, sir," replid Mr. Twinch: " not a bit. There's
the Bible, sir; and all our ages are down there on the fly-
leaf. And if you look, you'll find that, if Ti shy's a day old,
she's forty. You are, you know. Now, am I wrong?"
Fond as Mr. Twinch was of crossing his sisters, whenever
they fussed and fidgetted, or annoyed him with their spinsterial
propensities, yet he was not often so rude, before others, as up-
on this occasion. He had been, however, much put out that
morning at breakfast, by the arrival of a heavy bill, from the
Committee of the Pongo Enlightenment Mission, for tracts and
reports ordered by theMissTwinches, during a recent May visit
to London, at the time when Exeter Hall becomes, as it were,
the mifijhty reservoir for distributing gold to all parts of the
uncivilized globe. They had sweltered amidst the enthusiastic
friends of distant cannibals, to the utter oblivion of their own
neglected native destitution; they had rallied round all those
clever schemers who so craftily turn our pure and holy reli-
gion into a matter of snug situations and lucrative popularity;
and they had turned out, all heat and piety, into the bustling
Strand, in the stream of hard-featured, umbrella-loving;
queerly dressed, usually crafty, double-dealing, joy-hating
individuals who at such seasons block up the pavement. And
in their ecstasy they had ordered bales of tracts, not only for
the use of the two million savages in the Pongo islands (who
were gradually being reclaimed, according to the reports^
^416 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
•from eating every missionary upon his arrival, and now only
devoured them when their own hunting grounds failed), but
also, " at fourpence a dozen, for distribution" amongst the
Stiles, and Colliers, and Humphreys of their own infant aca-
demy. Had they possessed clear matter-of-fact observation,
and followed many of their companions in charity to their
homes, they would have found them to be persons who neg-
lected their children, and were dead to kindly domestic
feelings — who covered their own inferior intellect by a saintly
coat, as a doubtful tongue is made saleable by the glaze — and
who were, now and then, frightfully unveiled. But they did
not wish to be undeceived; for, as their brother had once
told them, it was not religion that allured them — it was only
recognised excitement, in the absence of other sympathies, or
the chance of inducing them. They were rapidly approach-
ing that state of old maids who vacillate between cats and
tracts, and adopt the latter.
Hence was Mr. T winch unusually angry; and hence,
as he saw Mr. Page approaching, to join the party, he
maliciously said:
" There! here comes another of your late friends. Now,
you shall tell him what you think of Annie Maitland.
And mind, I have always said she was a good girl."
" Now, Septimus: let me entreat of you not to expose
yourself in this manner," said Miss Twinch.
"Expose wiyself!" replied their brother. "Well, I have
a different notion of it altogether. Now, hold your tongue;
for here he comes."
Good Mr. Page entered, all blushes and benignity, as
usual, having called in reality to see Mr. Blandy, whose
little terrier, waiting at the street door, was as good an ad-
vertisement as a gig would have been, as to the extent of
his practice. But before he had well seated himself, Mr.
Twinch exclaimed to the girls:
" Now, perhaps you would like to give Mr, Page your
opinion upon Miss Maitland."
Neither of the ladies replied for several seconds. At length,
Miss Twinch mustered up courage to say:
" Septimus, do not be so absurd."
" Oh," returned her brother: " you want to shy over the
winker, do you? What do you think they have been say-
ing, Mr. Page?"
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 417
The young curate could not possibly tell.
" They have been doing their best to make people believe
that Miss Maitland was the robber, last night, at Lady
Flokes's. Yes — you have: so don't contradict it."
" I am sure you are jesting, Mr. Twinch/' replied Mr.
Page, with a good-natured laugh.
"Did you ever know me joke, sir?" asked Mr. Twinch,
severely.
Certainly Mr. Page never had ; but it seemed an ill com-
pliment to say so; so he held his tongue awhile — at last
observing —
" I do not think Miss Maitland will have much difficulty
in finding a champion, if she needs one. Besides, in a very
short time, she will, in all probability, be entirely her own
mistress." *
This was altogether such a settler to the question, and said
in such a firm, although mild, manner, that nobody felt in-
clined to follow up the conversation; and the girls were
heartily glad of an opportunity to slip out of the room, leav-
ing their brother, the clergyman, and the doctor, to settle
what little business they had amongst them. And this related
to a poor person, on the point of death, in the workhouse,
about whom Mr. Page appeared to be more than usually
anxious.
In the meantime, the Ganger had been kept all day in
Farmer Grant's strong room, which had formerly been the
counting-house, attached to his mill. Savage and sullen, he
had not opened his lips to a soul: and had refused all the re-
freshment which the farmer had offered to him, even going
so far as a horn of beer. Two or three of the men guarded
him in the passage; having little fear of his escaping by the
high window, which looked down on the mill-tail, foaming
and roaring sufficiently to deter any one from wishing to drop
into it upon an ordinary occasion.
Indeed, the mill altogether was a trial to common nerves;
and when young Grant sometimes took ladies over it, they
were usually in such a fright all the time, that fe^v were en-
abled to describe it, when, to their joy, they got out again.
Independently of the violent noise and vibration, which gave
one an idea that the whole place was being knocked down
ubout their ears — the huge wheals and cogs, and grindstones^
E E
418 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
and driving-bands, and fljing ropes, and revolving barrels —
there were gaping holes in the floor, through which could be
seen the lashing headstrong water, tearing along the mill-race
with a deafening roar, to move the mighty wheel that checked
it. On Farmer Grant and his family all this had little effect:
indeed, the only restless nights they had, were those when
the mill was stopped: its noise had become essential to their
rest.
The Ganger had been drinking heavily before the robbery:
and when he was put into the room, he had thrown himself
upon some sacks, and there, in a state of scowling stupor,
had remained until the next day w^as far advanced. Not so
the rustic constables outside. Promoted from their ordinary-
occupation of beggar-driving to a post of some importance,
they had made merry on their position ; and, visited by many
of tlieir friends, had got through the afternoon somewhat in
the same style as Whacky Clark, with the exception that they
were a little more careful of their heads, and what with al-
lowing the superior sort of village idlers to peep through a
little sliding wicket in the door, upon the chance of being pe-
cuniarily recollected, they had contrived, one way and another,
to make a good thing of it.
At last, the sun went down behind the hills, and the purple
twilight once more gloomed up the valley after him. The
constables were relieved by two other men, and a rude bed
of sacks was made for them in the passage, so that, had the
Ganger tried to escape that way, he would infallibly have
tumbled over them in the dark. He had, however, a different
plan in view. He found, as soon as it got dark, that, by dint
of some squeezing, he could pull himself through the window
towards a stout gutter running under the eaves of the roof,
directly below wdiich the window w^as placed. This gutter,
after going some little distance, joined a pipe fixed against
the side of the mill — which was, as usual, boarded —
emptying itself into the water, close to the wheel. He could
not, however, see its termination from the window.
Knowing that if he could once get free, his late associates
would shelter him, or join him in flight altogether to some
remote part of the country, he determined to run the risk of
an endeavour to escape. He knew, from the enormous power
of his hands and wrists, he could hang by them for any
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 419
reasonable time, and that the jolting of the mill would cover
any noise he might make in the attempt. As soon, therefore,
as he conceived that his guardians had made their last visit,
he forced up the window, leant out of it backwards, and,
clutching the gutter, drew himself througli the opening. In
another minute he was sustained by his hands only, above the
mill-race. With a grasp of iron, he contrived to shift him-
self cautiously along the gutter until he got to the pipe, and
to descend this was an easier task; for, as it was placed
against the boards, and these overlapped one another, there
was beneath the lower edge of each a space left behind the
pipe, in which he could fix his fingers. Lower and lower —
every change of hands brought him nearer the level of the.
ground, when he found his feet suddenly touch the water as
it rushed violently past him, instead of some sort of landing,
as he had anticipated. He had not expected this difficulty,
and, drawing up his feet, he fixed them upon the lower fas-
tening of the pipe and looked round. Had he been a swim-
mer he might have dropped into the stream, and made his
way on well enough to where it ran through the meadows;
but this he could not do. One only way presented itself to
him — desperate enough to be sure, but it was not a time to
measure chances. The huge wheel was turning slowly round
close to him; and lie conceived that if he caught hold of one
of its beams as it revolved, he could be borne for a third of
its revolution to where a plank, or bridge of the rudest des-
cription, crossed the stream, close to the outside edge of the
paddles. Once here he was free. Fixing his foot on the
fastening of the pipe, and leaning away from it, he caught
hold of one of the enormous spokes as it passed. His grasp
Avas, however, scarcely firm enough, and he would have let
go but for his other arm, which he twisted round the beam,
and held tight to one of the floats. In his hurry he missed
the plank, and the next moment was borne high in the air,
to be plunged, with a half-turn, once more into the boiling
water.
It was all over with him; he knew it at the instant. The
headlong current swung him amidst the float-boards, as he
was forced from his hold; and then, whirling him round,
caused his head to strike against some of the fixed wood-work.
Entangled in the wheel, again he was carried round, and
E E 2
420 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
again hurled, like a bunch of weed, against the piles. Hit
clothes got caught by the corroded iron of the floats, so that
he could not free himself; and then, as his position changed
on each revolution, he was grated and crushed along the
bottom of the race, or beaten against the other timbers. Hq
was soon dead; but the mill-wheel still kept on, raising his
body in the air to drag it again through the water; and so it
continued until the earliest workpeople in the morning per-
ceived it, frightfully mangled, still going round and round, and
alarmed the constables, who had fuddled and smoked them-
selves into an almost apoplectic sleep. The ghastly corpse
betrayed no sign of blood, although it was completely blanched,
for all had been washed away. But it was nearly denuded of
it clothes; itg very flesh had been torn away in strips; and
itself had been forced and jammed between the float-boards
and the spokes so firmly, that when the mill w^as stopped it
was Avith the greatest diflSculty the people could get it away.
And then it was put into a cart, and taken up to an out-
house of the Red Lion, to await an inquest, where the coun-
try people flocked all day to see it, and, in most cases, had its
ghastly image before their eyes — not only that night, in
their dark beds, but for lono; afterwards.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
MR. FLITTEr's dilemma.
Although Mr. Wyndham Flitter had " bilked the battery,"
as he termed it, when he escaped from the clutches of that
common inform.er, the Electric Telegraph, yet he was any-
thing but easy in his mind upon arriving in London. For he
still had some idea that he was w^ell known — and by Philip,
too — and when he got to his lodgings, his first business was
to collect his thoughts, somew'hat scared by his journey, and
to decide upon the best method of proceeding.
, But it will be necessary to show where Mr. Flitter's present
lodgings were — his home being a locality nobody could make
sure of beyond a day. Out and away over the bridges, on a
^
..^^ 7 V ^zr^i^f ^r ^^ ^ ^
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 421
large thoroughfare that terminates on Kennington Common,
the observant traveller will see a pair of small lodge gates,
such as he might not look for now within twenty miles of
London. Once, without doubt, these were led up to by hedges
or parkish palings; but now, the ground on each side having
been disposed of for building leases, formal " Terraces" and
prim "Places" have encroached to their very gate-posts,
which look as harshly in contrast as the entrance to an old
galleried inn in the Borough between two railway omnibuses.
On going through these gates you find a few detached cot-
tages, as primitive in their fashion as though they had been
on the outskirts of a village — not hovels, be it understood,
but small houses, such as, in the country, might be inhabited
by moderate annuitants and middling London tradesmen.
They have little dingy gardens about them, bounded by stag-
nant ditches. Beyond these there are large plots of nursery
ground, with their greens all in regular and diagonal rows, as
if they were going to play German tactics; and, finally, are
the backs of tall houses, which, from the plenitude of lights
towards evening in their windows, both high and low, betoken
that they are let in lodgings.
It is curious to speculate upon the prospects of the proprie-
tors of these plots of nursery ground; for everything that
comes up is a miniature copy of the production commonly
known by the same name. The cabbages are like Brussels
sprouts; the asparagus resembles hop-tops; the potatoes
always appear new; and a mind led away by first impressions
would take the carrots to be radishes. The only thing that
flourishes is the smallest salad; and then, looking to the
quantity offered on the stall for a penny, the return of capital
appears questionable. Long reflection on the subject has in
duced the opinion, that the owner once found this to be prolific
land, and that he still clings to the same belief, from habitu-
ated conventionality, despite the total change of circumstances
that has been steadily operating — as other individuals, who
have let time run by them, yet believe in Daffy's Elixir,
stage-coaches, high-art plays, Bath gaiety, and the Ancient
Concerts.
Certainly Mr. Wyndham Flitter did not trouble his head
much about these things. He chose the situation because it
was cheap and retired, with the advantage of a bedroom open-
4^ THE POTTLETON LEGACY,
ing by a French window into the nursery plot. And here
he arrived, very early in the morning, after his escape from
Pottleton.
" Well, Mrs. Pittlestun," he said, as he came up to the
door, and found his landlady watering a black geranium
without flowers. " Well, Mrs. Pittlestun, here we are,
again: how are you?"
And upon this Mr. Flitter stood like a clown, and made a
face, on which Mrs. Pittlestun put down the water-pot, and
screamed with laughter.
"Lor! Mr. Flitter," she said; "you are such an odd gen-
tleman! And where Aa?;e you been?"
His landlady might well have asked the question, looking
to his appearance. For his hat was crushed, his boots were
split, and covered with clay, and his coat torn and dusty.
" Hush!" said Mr. Flitter. " Hush! Mrs. Pittlestun. It's
a secret. A little raking, Vm afraid; but I can't help it:
until you make me a happy man, I cannot keep at home."
" Well — I never did!" said Mrs. Pittlestun, with a simper.
" No — but I wish you would," replied Mr. Flitter. " By
Jove! any joking apart, I really do. Has anybody been for
me, in my absence?"
" Nobody, at all, sir."
" Very good," said Wyndham. " And now^, Mrs. Pittle-
stun, I want breakfast — strong coffee, to keep me awake, and
settle my nerves. Yaw — w — ugh ! 1 shall go tremendously
to bed, to-night."
Mr. Flitter went into his room, and soon heard his land-
lady bustling about the house, after his breakfast. She was
a smart little woman enough, and hitherto had not worried
Mr. Flitter for any money, being simply content with his ex-
treme attentions, and such orders for the play as Mr. Scute
afforded him.
" How are haddocks, this morning, Mrs. Pittlestun?" asked
Mr. Flitter.
" Very fine ones for threepence, up the road," replied the
hostess.
" Ah!" rejoined the other. " Um — yes — no. Mrs. Flitter
— bless me! what am I about? Mrs. Pitt, what is your opi-
nion of bloaters?"
" Oh! they're very beautiful, sir."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 423
**As beautiful as you are, Mrs. Pittlestun? Would your
roe was as soft ! — I beg your pardon — I mean your heart.
Heigho! never mind: get me a bloater. I suppose you can't
change me this chequer"
" Never mind, sir — I will pay," replied his hostess.
Close inspection would have shown the cheque which Mr.
Flitter pulled from his pocket to have been the copy of a writ.
This, Mi*s. Pittlestun did not perceive.
" How are eggs?" he inquired. "Have those fowls laid,
which were given to me by the Marchioness of Flokes, of
Pottleton Castle?"
In effect, the old lady thus nobly alluded to, had presented
Mr. Flitter with some bantams — they being a race of fowls
everybody is glad to get rid of — who had since struggled for
a melancholy and precarious living amongst the nursery
plots.
" Yes, sir; but do you know all the eggs are soft."
"Ah! give them some chalk, Mrs. Pittlestun, that will
make them shell out — eh? Come, that's not a bad specimen,
after sitting up all night. Never mind, Mrs. Pitt, go to the
shops; only don't get any over sixteen a shilling. I mistrust
the twenty-fours."
And with this commission his landlady departed.
As soon as she w^as gone Wyndhara went into his bed-
room, and changed his dress. A clean shave, a thorougk
wash, and, indeed, a careful toilette generally, as far as the
capabilities allowed, completely brought him round; and he
was once more the man-about-town usually recognised. He
next wrote a hurried note on the back of another he had in
his pocket, turning the envelope inside out to form a fresh
one, and walking down to the gate, caught a boy, and pro-
mised him sixpence, on his return, to take it to its destination.
This done, he came back again, and quietly awaited his
breakfast. But the minute of its being ready also brought
Mr. Wracketts, to whom he had written; and who, from
being compelled just at present to live within a certain
limit imposed by the laws of the Queen's Bench, was easily
sent for.
"Well, Wyndham?" asked the latter gentleman, as soon
as they were alone — " how is it?"
"Blown— sold— U. P.," replied his friend. " I cant tell
424 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
how, beyond knowing that young Hammond had something
to do with it. But I had to run for it, and I expect Sherrard
is nabbed."
In a brief manner — which, nevertheless, would have been
a lesson to those magnifiers of simple adventures who occupy
attention and generate yawns for prolonged periods in social
life — Wyndham proceeded to inform his fellow scamp of the
affair at Monkscroft, detailing it down to his very arrival in
London and the precautions he had taken.
" What you must do is this," he continued. " Hammond
will be up in town, beyond all doubt, by the next train, and
he will also, in all probability, come to you first. Now, you
must tell him that I am over at Boulogne — that I shall be
back in a day or two, and that then I shall be s^^aying with
you. You understand?"
" All right," replied Wracketts, with a wink. " He doesn't
know you are here, then?"
"Not a soul does but the landlady; and she — ha! ha! —
she's in love with me, or something very like it. Where's
Leonie?"
" Ah-h-h!" replied Mr. Wracketts, with a long expiration.
** Where's Leonie, indeed; I wish I knew. I believe the
day before yesterday witnessed the break up of our marriage."
" Cut?" asked Wyndham, briefly.
"No! don't say 'cut,'" returned the other. "I don't like
it. But I do not know where she is; and that's the truth of
it, entre nousJ'^
Mr. Flitter gave a peculiar whistle of mingled surprise and
embarrassment.
" Stay !" he exclaimed directly, " I've an idea. W^is she
really spoony at all upon Hammond. Such always struck
me to be the case."
" Well, I suppose she was," said Mr. Wracketts.
"Very good," replied Wyndham; "I shall run the risk,
and go back to Pottleton. I was a fool to bolt at all. How
do they know that I was not looking out for the robbers as
well as they were? Besides, how can they tell that I was
not with you all night — at billiards, or hazard, or something
or another?"
" Yes; but you cannot be both," observed Wracketts :.
** you must either be there or here, you see."
I
I THE POTTLETON LEGACY, 425"
" All, to be sure: so I must," returned Wyndham.
Like all scamps, if allowed plenty of rope, he was begin-
ning to get entangled in knots of his own making.
" I tell you what I'll do," he added, after a moment's re-
flection. " The game is too nearly won to be lost. I'll go
down. It's mere heads and tails; and they can't hang me."
" Hang you. Flitter! No, no: that day hasn't come yet, old
man. You're quite right; go down, and settle it by a coup-
d'etat:'
There was an unusual heartiness in Mr. Wrackett's man-
ner, induced by the fact, that he knew he should get nothing
if Wyndham gave up the business altogether, and therefore
preferred the chance. If Flitter failed, he was only in the
same position.
" Quite right," he went on: "and I would not lose any
time. By the way, before you go, how are the funds?"
" Just what I was going to allude to," returned Wynd-
ham. " Well, I think we can transfer a little — ^just a trifle."
" That will do," said Wracketts. " What can you let me
have?"
" Let you have," exclaimed Flitter. " My boy, I thought
you were going to offer me a trifle. I haven't a rap, except
an old half-franc; and that won't pass."
"*Nor have I. What can we do?"
The position was very uncomfortable, for each had reckoned
on the other. Mr. Wracketts had hurried to see his associate,
indeed, principally upon this account; thinking, without doubt,
that affairs were flourishing at Pottleton. And they sat for
some minutes gazing intently upon two plaster stags that
adorned the mantel-piece.
" I tell you what," said Flitter, " this won't do. We shan't
find money here. You might rub that old solar lamp, to be
sure; but I expect it would be long enough before any geni
answered your summons."
"Isn't the landlady game?" asked Mr. Wracketts.
" Not for anything above five shillings," replied Wynd-
ham. " Hush — here she is!"
And as the hostess entered with some eggs, Mr. Flitter
thus addressed Mr. Wracketts —
"Lord Edward — there's a woman! Did you ever see any-
thing like her?"
vTHE POTTLETON LEGACY.
"Lor, now, Mr. Flitter! — there you are again."
" But never too often, Mrs. Pittlestun," said Wynclham,
with mock tenderness. " I cut, it is true, occasionally, but I
-always come again. Mrs. Pitt, are you going near Herries,
Farquhar, Davidson, Chapman, and Co. to- day."
"Why, sir!" asked the landlady, with a stare, wondering
what she could be expected to have to do with such an elabo-
xate morning call.
" Pshaw! the bankers, I mean, in St. James's-street,"
Mr. Flitter replied.
" No, sir; anything Brixton way I can do for you."
" Thank you, Mrs. Pitt — never mind. Lord Edward will
take me round in his bruffum; only I haven't a farthing to
bless myself with — that's all. Stop: Mrs. Pittlestun, I want
you to be witness to a wager."
The landlady, all astonishment, stopped as Mr. Flitter had
requested.
" Now, look here, Mrs. Pitt — * Pitt' is a term of affectionate
brevity, my lord; don't mind it — we don't."
" I never did see such a gentleman in all my life," observed
the landlady.
" No, nor you never will again, Mrs. Pitt," continued
Wyndham, " until the patent for making anything like me
expires, which will not be for several thousand years. But,
look here. That small piece of money is a French coin — a
half franc, worth fivepence. Some day, Mrs. Pitt, you shall
see la belle France. Oh! I've promised it,"
" Come, the wager, Wyndham — the wager," said Mr.
Wracketts.
" To be sure — the wager," replied the other. " Reach me
that wine-glass, Mrs. Pitt. Thank you. Now, my lord —
two half crowns."
" I have nothing but sovereigns," said Mr. Wracketts,
feeling in his pockets.
" Mrs. Pittlestun," continued Wyndham, " have you two
half crowns? — new ones, if anything."
Tlie landlady produced two from a select party of some
halfpence, keys, and a thimble, in her pocket.
" Now, look here," Wyndham went on. " I put these half
<Towns on the table-cloth, so that the wine-glass may stand
upon them, upside down; and under it, and between them, I
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 427
put the half-franc. Now, I have bet Lord Edward a pony,
that I can remove the half-franc without touching either the
glass or the money."
Mrs. Pittlestun, who took the wager literally, wondered
where the pony was to come from.
, '* You will get me to lift up the glass," observed Mr.
Wracketts.
" No — honour! — no!" replied Wyndham.
" Well, I can't think how that is done at all, sir," said the
landlady.
" Now observe, Mrs. Pittlestun, the bet is made. You
shall have a dress for being a witness. Look here, my lord!'*
Mr. Flitter commenced scratching the tablecloth with his
nail in a line with the coin, which gradually jogged itself
from under the glass."
" Well — I never did!" observed the landlady.
" You have done me," said Wracketts.
" Not ' done ' you, Lord Edward," replied Wyndham. " It
was a fair bet. But we must show it also at the Horse
Guards. Mrs. Pitt — ^you will trust us with these half-
crowns?"
"To be sure, sir."
" Then on we goes again," said Mr. Flitter, in playful
badinage. " We will walk up there, if you please, my lord.
It is a fine morning, and I want a little fresh air and exer-
cise."
In all truth he had had enough of those advantages but a
few hours previously. He did not, however, think proper to
allude to this: and starting off with Wracketts, with five
shillings between them, they threw themselves on the world
of London, to see what chance would turn up of improving
their finances.
"Well!" said Mr. Flitter, as they emerged from the gate.
" We have five shillings, and the world of London is all before
us. Not so bad: and now for Spooner's. Cab!"
A Hansom was called, and they rattled away to Mr.
Spooner's late abode, where they were shocked at hearing of
the rapid act by which the young gentleman's fast career had
been closed. A bill was up in the window, and the servant
was packing up his things.
" West," said Mr. Flitter, " was there no message left?"
4^28 THE rOTTLETON LEGACY.
"None, sir," replied the man. " You see he had no time;
the old gentleman was in such a way."
" It's very awkward," continued "Wyndham. " The wino
account for the Derby has been sent in to me; and we have
all paid our shares except your master. The man says he
shall send it down to his father — which had better be avoided.
I would pay it to-morrow, when the West India mail arrives,
myself; but as you know, West, I am usually hard up just
before it comes in."
He said this with a jaunty smile, to show West that he was
a good fellow, and not proud. The man did not like the in-
telligence; for as much of the wine had been left, he had
made away with it; selling some, giving more, and drinking
the remainder himself. And, therefore, he dreaded the old
gentleman's investigation, should the bill arrive.
" How much is master's share, sir?" he asked.
" Five pounds," said Mr. Flitter, as decidedly as though it
had been.
" Because I was thinking, sir, Mr. Tidd would rather have
me pay it, than his governor know about it, you see; and he
would pay me again."
" Oh, that will do— perfectly," replied Flitter. " Where's
a bit of paper? I will give you a receipt."
" Yes, sir: but " said the man hesitating.
"But what, West?"
" I haven't got so much money, sir."
"Dear me! that's awkward. Deuced unlucky — isn't it.
How much have you got?"
" Two sovereigns and some silver, sir, beyond what I
want to take me back with the things," said West.
" Very well/' observed Wyndham: " that must do. I will
try and make up the other. I dare say Mr. Sprott will be
at home. Stop — let me give you the acknowledgment: there
— make our best regards to Mr. Tidd, West; and tell him
you know" — and he began to speak confidentially — " if he
has any little private business he wants arranged in London,
to let me know, and I'll do it for him." .
" Thank'ee, sir," said the man. " I'm sure Mr. Tidd will
be obliged to you."
" Oh — no more than I ought to do!" replied Mr. Flitter.
" Good-bye, West."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 429
And rushing down stairs again, he got into the cab and
told the man to go to some theatre, the name of which he
mentioned.
" Do you know Shem, the manager," he said to Wracketts,
as they went along.
" No — never saw him in my life."
" Then I dare say he don't know you," said Wyndham:
" so much the better. You can speak like an American —
can't you?"
" I rayther calc'Iate I can," replied "VYracketts.
" Very -well," said Flitter: "mind, you've got a wonderful
dwarf with you — that's all. Do you see?"
" Quite fly," replied Wracketts. He was like his class,
very perceptive: the slightest hint was sufficient to show
him what role he had to play.
Leaving them for the present, we will return to Philip
Hammond. He arrived in London, by the first morning
train, and discovered, to his disappointment, that nothing had
been seen of his suspected object. He made the most minute
inquiries — found that the faithful wires had sent their mes-
sage direct to the terminus, and that the officials had been
put upon the alert to detect the individual described; but
that nobody like him, in any way, had appeared upon the
platform. And therefore, not knowing in any way what to
do, he had loitered about until the next opportunity arrived
of returning to Pottleton.
The tall shadows of the trees were slanting across the road
when he got there; and the village had resumed its usual
tranquillity. For now the railway had ceased to be matter of
bustle. The villagers no longer made festival on Sunday
afternoon to see the trains come up; nor did the boys, through-
out the week generally, hurrah the carriages and their in-
mates as they passed under the Dibblethorpe Road bridge.
Even the cattle, that for months after the opening had been
scared by the passing trains, no longer cocked up their tails,
and scampered off in all sorts of directions, but quietly kept
on their grazing as the engine went by, minding its sharp
yell no more than if it had been the lowing of a cow in an-
other field.
Philip proceeded directly to Monk scrofts, where Lady Flokes
had held great state all day long, as every body of position ia
430 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
the village, and even near it, liad called upon her to know
how she was after the terrible events of the night. The old
lady was still receiving friends; and Annie, glad to escape
from the task of being compelled to repeat the same story-
over and over again, to people who did not care a straw about
her, and, in the same spirit, complimented her presence or
mind — had retired to an old summer-house in the grounds,
one of those tumble-down temples which our forefathers
thought picturesque in ornamental gardening, and display no-
thing within but a damp-stained ceiling, a bare floor, two or
three skinny chairs, and a tarnished mirror.
Philip was not sorry to find his cousin alone. As he came
to the glass door of the pavilion, he called her by her name.
" Philip!" she cried; and on tlie first impulse was going to
rush towards him. But, as if suddenly recollectiiig herself,
she drew back, and the greeting sank into a few somewhat
cold words of recognition.
" This is not the welcome I looked for, Annie,'' said Phihp,
as he noticed the sudden change in her manner; "and after
all that has passed!"
" After all that has passed," she said, " I do not see what
you could have looked for otherwise. Oh, Philip, how I have
loved you! how little I found you cared for me!"
She burst into tears as she spoke; for the suddenness of
the meeting, and her own pent-up emotion, had overcome
her.
" My own dear Annie!" he exclaimed, as he flew towards
her, and seized her hand, " I deserve it all — everything that
you can do to make me wretched. I was a fool, an idiot, not
to have seen all this before — to have known how entirely I
had neglected you. But I have not been my own master. I
have been played the fool with, duped, and made a toy for
others. You must hear me."
" NoV she said, " it is better not — better for both of us;
for I cannot see what good would come of it. Oh, Philip, a
very little of your time given to me would have made me so
happy. If it had only been one line a week to tell me you
were getting on, and well, as you used to do, when you were
in France. Besides, there are other and more serious reasons
that we should part."
"What do you mean, Annie?'"
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 431
" I should be to blame," slie answered, " if I concealed
anything from you that I have heard. I know, Philip, that
you have a iixed, and to say the least of it, not a very honour-
able attachment in London.
" Who has told you that?" asked her cousin eagerly.
*' I am not at liberty to say," she replied. " I do not,
however, make this of the first importance. Of course, if
you saw any one whom you thought you sliould like better
than myself, you were free to do so. You never wrote a line
to me; and I, long ago, considered our engagement — if such
it was — entirely at an end?"
" I never wrote to you Annie!" exclaimed Philip, with an
expression of inquiring astonishment. " There is some ter-
rible mistake here."
" I fear not," replied the girl. " At first, I used to look
forward for the letters, and watch the postman from house to
house, as he went along the village, like a child who ex-
pected a fairing. I had no one else in the world, you know„
Philip, to look to: and at last I grew sick with finding you.
had forgotten me altogether."
" Will you hear me?" asked her cousin, as Annie had gone
on speaking rapidly. "I was going to tell you that you have
been deceived — I do not know who by, although I can well
imagine. I own, when I first went to London, dazzled by a
new life, harassed by work, and led away by the thousand
temptations that lure a young man at every step of his
career, I did not write to you so often as I ought to have
done. But I never forgot you, Annie; when 1 neglected
you in this way, I was always bitterly punished by my own
reproaches. And then, when I saw my way a little more
clearly, I never let a week pass without sending you a letter
— whether you wrote to me or not."
*' What does this mean?" exclaimed the girl, confused and
tearful.
" It means that we have both been duped," replied Philip,
earnestly — " that the letters have been kept back by some
one interested in nourishing a bad feeling between us: and
that you ought not to have been so led away."
There was a trace of bitterness in his last words: for he
perceived that the scale was slightl}'- turning in his favour.
" I could not help it, Philip," she replied. " If I had
482 THE FOTTLETON LEGACY.
been left to myself I might never have allowed the good
opinion I always had of you to change. I see now I should
have been guided only by my own impulses."
"Who dared to influence them, Annie?" asked Philip,
" Pshaw ! I see it all — Wyndham Flitter."
"No, Philip: he has been everything that was kind and
attentive to me."
"He is a scoundrel, Annie! He has been using us all for
his own ends; and it is not my fault that he is not now in
custody, as being concerned in this affair last night. I know
everything. He. has been paying you attention, to get hold
of whatever you may come to own. He had tried in every
way to bring about my utter ruin in London and elsewhere;
and he was about to play his last stake, in which you were to
be the victim."
" Can I believe this, Philip?"
" You shall believe it, Annie. You shall find everything
I have stated clearly proved, and before this week is over.
You shall know that, thoughtless as I have been, I still love
you beyond everything else in the world. My own dear
Annie, will you forgive me?"
He threw his arms round her as he spoke, and looked at
her with such an earnest, beseeching expression, that every
doubt vanished in that instant. She bent her sweet face to-
wards him — her bright chestnut hair brushed his cheek ; and
the most perfect reconciliation ever made was accomplished
in a moment.
And now that the state of excitement in which they had
just conversed was calmed down, long explanations took place
on either side. Time was altogether forgotten; and it was
only when they found that, during their long talk, the twi-
light had come on, and they were almost in the dark, they
returned to the house, where Lady Flokes received Philip
with great honour; and, timid at being left alone, begged he
would stay at Monkscrofts that night: to which end, Mrs. Mar-
gery had orders immediately to prepare a room for his recep-
tion, which, although not an example of what the homes of
the aristocracy might be supposed to furnish, was delightful
from association, and, practically, much better than the empty
horse-box which had furnished Philip with a resting-place on
the preceding evening.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 433
CHAPTER XXXVII.
AN UNFORESEEN NIGHT'S JOURNEY.
We left Mr. "Wyndham Flitter and Mr. Wracketts, on their
way to the theatre, in a cab.
They drew up at the stage door, and went to Mr. Shem's
private room, where he was engaged, as usual, in getting into
frantic passions with all the subordinates of the theatre.
"Veil, vot is it now?" he asked, not perceiving their en-
trance in his rage, of a small pale girl who was standing at
the door.
" If you please, sir, the droppings from the tallow torches
spoil all the dresses, and the ladies want to know if they can't
have wax?"
" Oh! they vant vax, do they? Veil, who finds the dresses
— the vardrobe or the ladies, eh?"
*' Please, sir, we do ourselves."
" Oh, veil, then, they shan't have vax. I don't know vot
they'd have — it's the best of tallow. There, go along, go
along. Ha! Vyndham, how d'ye do? Here, look here; vot
do you think of this?"
Mr. Shem took up a MS. lying by him, and continued —
" You know Brown, that writes the newspapers? He
abused me the other day for my management; but I've been
down upon him. I offered a guinea for a song upon him;
and Scum wrote one. I did him too."
Wyndham never doubted it.
" Vot do you think I did? I put my copyist behind a
screen, and he took it down as Scum read it. Then I said
it was all bosh, and I vouldn't have it; so I got it for no-
thing, eh?"
And here Mr. Shem winked first at Wyndham, then at
Wracketts, and then several times successively at himself;
concluding —
" Veil, and vot's the matter now?"
" This gentleman has just landed from New York, and has
a wonderful dwarf at Liverpool," said Wyndham. " If you
engage him, you won't know where to put the people."
F F
434 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
« Vot'shelike-eh?"
" First-rate stuff," said Mr. Wracketts, with an American
twang, " and a regular screamer."
" Ah! veil — I'll come down and see him," replied Mr.
Shem. " Vere is he? — Liverpool, eh? Veil, I suppose
you'll pay my fare there and back?"
This was not altogether what Mr. Flitter intended to do.
" Vorth your vhiles," continued Mr. Shem. " I go third
class, and my servant goes as he can. Last time he went in
the calf-pen. They didn't charge him nothing for that, and
gave him two shillings into the bargain, for looking after the
animals. Not bad, that — eh?"
" I'm downright sure he'd be a go," said "Wracketts, " and
burst up all the other houses."
" I don't see it," replied Mr. Shem. '' Vot's he to play in?
There's no dwarf in Siiakspeare's plays."
" But he's not obliged to appear in one of those," said
Wyndham.
" Yes, he must," the other went on. " I want to revive
the drama. Nobody like Shakspeare — ^noble man! never
comes to the treasury on Saturday."
"I don't know much about him," said Wracketts; *'but
my dwarf will knock creation into a pint pot, and beat the
solar system in a canter."
*' Veil — if you'll pay my fare, I tell you, I'll go and see
him; and if he's worth anything, I'll let him come out here
for a week, and charge you nothing for him. Eh?"
" Wont do, governor," said Wyndham, rising. " You've
missed your chance — never mind, it's not our fault."
And getting up he left the room, as if to take high ground,
with Wracketts. But Mr. Shem did not call them back. On
the contrary, he was very glad to get rid of them; and as
soon as he thought they were well oif, sent a message to the
stage-doorkeeper not to let them through again.
" No go, there," said Wyndham, as they went down stairs.
" I wanted to have got a small sum down, to have clinched
an engagement, and we could soon have found a dwarf — I
know a dozen. What shall we do now?"
Mr. Wracketts couldn't tell at all.
"Stop a minute," said Flitter, suddenly, as they passed
through the porter's hall; " here's somebody I know."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 435
A friend of the departed Mr. Spooner — for he might now
be considered in a measure dead to London life — was waiting
at the door. Mr. Flitter immediately recognised him, having
met him now and then at the rooms of his former acquaint-
ance, and immediately went up and spoke to him.
" Mr. Sprott, I believe?" he said.
" No, Morley," replied the young fellow.
" To be sure; Mr. Morley: I meant to say Morley," ob-
served Wyndham; " but we had just been talking of Sprott.
But what brings you in the regions of the drama, Mr. Mor-
ley? A play?"
Wyndham saw the gentleman had got a roll of MS. in his
hand, and guessed what it was. He was right.
" To tell you the truth, I have written a play," he said, in
a low mysterious tone; " and I am going to send it in to Mr.
Shem. They say he'll play anything, he can get for nothing."
"Stop, stop — not so fast! For nothing! pshaw! Why
should you use your brains in that way. Don't be in a hurry.
If you have five minutes to spare, I should like to have a bit
of talk with you."
" You are the very person I wanted to see," replied Mr.
Morley. " I called at your old lodgings, but you had left.
Where shall we go?"
** Oh, anywhere, for a little time; we can't talk here. Let
me present my friend, Mr. Wracketts to you. A man of
great influence," he whispered, " in the dramatic world. Stop,
we can turn in here."
They entered the handsome coffee-room of a tavern in the
neighbourhood, and so contrived that Mr. Morley ordered
luncheon — chops, stout, and sherry. And then Mr. Flitter
began to talk about the play.
" Let me look at it," he said. And glancing at it, he
added, "Ah! five acts — a work of mind! But it wants
putting ship-shape."
"What's that?" asked Mr. Morley. "It isn't a nautical
drama."
"Ha! ha! * ship-shape;' very good!" laughed Wyndham.
" Not a bad play on the word," added Mr. Wracketts.
" At any rate," said Mr. Morley, pleased, " it's better than
a bad word on the play."
And then they all laughed again.
F F 2
436 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" No," said Wyndham, in continuation. " What I meant
by * ship-shape' was, that it had not a technical appearance.
Now, for instance: it should be written on one side only of
the paper; and these speeches of four pages are too long.
They should be divided by exclamations of the other charac-
ters, such as ' Go on,' or ' Proceed,' or * Your story interests
me.' And it has no stage directions. Oh! all this may be
immensely improved, and you may get money for it."
*' Do you mean that?" asked Mr. Morley. " How much?"
" Two or three hundred pounds," replied Wyndham.
The young author was quite aghast.
" Now, look here," said Wyndham, after a moment's pause.
*' With my experience as an author, and the influence of Mr.
Wracketts with all the managers, what you were going to
give away may become a valuable property: don't you see?"
" Oh, of course," replied Mr. Morley.
"I am a man of business," Wyndham went on; "and I
am sure you are. If you were not, you could not write a
five-act play. Short reckonings make long friends, and a
labourer is worthy of his hire. You shall, if you please, give
me ten pounds for my time (of which, I need not tell you,
every minute has its value); and I will undertake to have
the piece properly arranged, well cast, and brought out; and
— well paid for."
" Certainly," said Mr. Morley, beaming with a notion of
being called for, and bowing from a private box.
*' Of course, if these conditions are not fulfilled, the money
wiU be returned, or you shall give a dinner with it. Is it a
bargain?"
" I am perfectly satisfied," replied the other. " I will write
you a cheque now."
*' Oh, never mind the money! If you please, though, I will
take it — perhaps it will settle the affair at once."
Mr. Morley called for a pen and ink, and wrote a cheque.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter took it and put it into his waistcoat
pocket: after which, he rolled up the MS., and placed it in
his hat.
" It is odd we should be talking about plays," he continued,
after another glass of wine. " This ring was given to me by
a great author of the day, on the hundredth night of a play
I got in order for him. I hope I may some day have an-
other."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 437
. And here Mr. Wyndham Flitter bowed courteously, and
with a pleasant smile, to Mr. Morley.
" I should be too happy," said Mr. Morley, in reply. " How
very fortunate that we chanced to meet to-day."
" Very," said Mr. Flitter. " And now you really must
let me pay for another pint of wine."
Mr. Morley had, in effect, said nothing about paying for
the first: but the offer was so adroitly made by Wyndham,
that he contrived to fix the young gentleman with the lunch,
even under the guise of generosity on his own part. The
wine was ordered: some more pleasant chat took place: and
when at length they parted, Mr. Morley was absolutely en-
chanted with his new friends and prospects.
" And now," said Mr. Wyndham Flitter, " we'll make a
night of it. Let us be boys again. Fortune evidently smiles
upon us. I shall go to Pottleton to-morrow."
" You will?" asked Wracketts, somewhat surprised.
" Most certainly I shall. You'll see it will be all right.
I've thought the matter over: what can they say against me?
— nothing! I wasn't found in the house. I had heard of
the robbery, and was watching to protect the inmates.
Don't you see?"
" Not very clearly. How about your running away?"
" Oh — that's soon got over. How was I to know it was
not the gang in pursuit, to break my head? I shall do well
enough. Now, where shall we go?"
" The play," suggested Mr. Wracketts.
" No — I can't stand plays — nothing bores me so much. It's
always the same story. Mediocrity, a soporific, in five acts:
or Polished Feebleness, an adaptation from the French, in
two. I wish it was opera-night."
Mr. Flitter could always get into the opera. Nobody knew
how; it was a question that the director himself might have
been puzzled to have replied to.
" Vauxhall," again suggested Mr. Wracketts. " There s
something new there: 'great improvements."
" Too early," answered Wyndham. " Besides — I know
what ' great improvements ' are at Vauxhall. The orchestra
fresh painted; a view on the Rhine stuck up somewhere; and
bad singing. The enterprise of the lessees consists in, season
After season, seeing that what amused people thirty years ago
doesn't do so now. They are remarkable men, sir."
438 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
Here Mr. Wracketts had exhausted his invention, when,
by chance, they saw a bill, something about Cremorne Gar-
dens and a balloon ascent, and this decided them. They
would go there and dine, said Mr. Flitter, and see it all out.
It was a holiday afternoon — that is to say, it was Monday,
when The People, according to philanthropical imagery, go
forth rejoicing to breathe the pure air and expand their
minds; and when, according to common-place observation,
they return tipsy, to squabble in gin-shops and abuse their
wives. The river was alive with boats — the steam piers
were crowded with passengers; and there was such a coming
and going, such scuffling and bumping, and heaving a-head,
and turning astern amongst the steamers, that if anybody
eventually got to where they intended to go, they were for-
tunate. But this chance did not deter them from clustering
about every available corner of the boats like bees: and
amongst a dense mass of these holiday-makers Wyndham and
Wracketts soon found themselves hopelessly wedged. At
length, they landed safely, and then plunged amongst the
waving foliage of Cremorne.
It is a very comical place. The traces of its former aris-
tocratic existence jumble up oddly with the arrangements
for its present festivities. It reminds one of a reduced noble-
man compelled to turn clown for his livelihood — of a feudal
baron retailing brandy-and-water to the Gents, instead of
carving for his retainers. One takes refreshments there with
awe; and you would not be surprised if the ghost of some
former proprietor were to rise up out of the ground, and
order you off his premises.
Mr. Flitter and his companion dined in the mansion, and
were introduced to Mr. Speck, the aeronaut, whose balloon
was the great object of attraction, as it swayed backwards
and forwards, looking like the dome of St. Paul's standing
on its head to those who were immediately beneath it, and
ran away in a mass when it inclined towards them.
Mr. Speck was a very remarkable man; like the chame-
leon, he might be said to live upon air, passing the greater
part of his life, which was nothing but a series of ups and
downs, in it. His importance was large: he had been so
long accustomed to regard men as dots, that it was impossible
to tell how far his own sense of greatness went. His views-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 439
of things generally were grandly comprehensive: and he was
upon unexpected visiting terms with all the country-houses
within sixty miles of London. He had a wife and family,
and they were all as flighty as himself. Master Lunardi
Speck, Master Garnerin Speck, and Miss Rosiere Speck,
(aged four,) had all been up in his balloon, upon great occa-
sions, whenever the Licensed Victuallers, or Floriculturists
wished extra excitement. Mrs. Speck herself was a daring
aeronaut, whenever maternal duties permitted; and bad her-
self been up with fireworks: and every living thing in their
establishment was similarly experienced. The cats had all
been sent down in parachutes from enormous heights, and
forwarded back from Essex, Kent, or Surrey, as the case
might be; and the very pony that drew the Speck family
about, had been up for their annual benefit, when Mr. Speck
dimbed up outside the netting of the balloon, at an elevation
of seven thousand and fifty feet, and on arriving at the top
drank a bumper of champagne to the health of his patrons.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter, Mr. Wracketts, and Mr. Speck
had a glass together, and were at once excellent friends: in-
deed, the aeronaut offered them seats in his car that evening,
for which the fashionable world would have had to have paid
large sums. But Mr. Wracketts positively declined: and
Mr. Flitter would have liked it, but — " hang it — ^no," as he
observed, " he would rather look at the fireworks from the
ground." They, however, obtained permission to be within
the ropes, when the machine ascended; and then the party
divided, Mr. Speck to look after his balloon, and the others
to disport in the grounds.
The usual routine of entertainments went on, and Mr,
Flitter was enjoying the gyrations of the dancers, when Mr,
Wracketts suddenly observed, in a tone of alarm:
" I say, Wyndham: look there!"
"Where?"
" The other side of the platform — isn't it Levi?"
" Not a doubt about it," replied Flitter. " He can't be
after me."
" I don't know," observed Mr. Wracketts. " Perhaps it'»
me.
T^ere was cause enough for fear with both of them.
Writs perpetually floated before their eyes; like spectral
motes after looking at the sun.
440 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" I think we had better go," said Mr. Wracketts.
" Nonsense. I tell you we have luck with us to day.
" We will be valiant."
" The better part of valour is discretion," replied Mr.
Wracketts, as he pulled Flitter away, rather than took his
arm. " It is best to be safe."
They went towards the gate: when, just as they were
approaching it, Mr. Flitter perceived some one else, with
whom he was acquainted, in the light of the gas-illuminations
that decorated the entrance.
"Then this is not the way to be so," he answered.
" That's one of Levi's men: and I'll be bound there's another
at the other end. Something's up."
" We are done," murmured Mr. Wracketts.
"What a pump you are," replied his friend; "throwing
cold water on everything in this way. Let's go back and
enjoy ourselves."
And, with a melancholy resignation, Mr. Wracketts
allowed himself to be led back again.
It was now dusk: and the pfeople were crowding round the
space roped off for filling the balloon. Mr. Wyndham Flit-
ter and his friend joined the party, and were admitted into
the circle where Mr. Speck was all important^ directing the
movements of a quantity of men who were holding on to the
car, and allowing the balloon to carry them here and there
a little distance, to the terror of the beholders.
The hour arrived for the departure. The band came to
play " Off she goes." Mr. Speck saw that his fireworks
were all properly arranged upon the drum-like frame that
was to hang from his car: and was giving his last directions
as to letting go, when a scuffle took place between some of
the attendants who were keeping the ring and a person who
wished to break through it. The latter, however, gained his
point, and walking up to Mr. Wracketts, immediately arrested
him. By his own good luck, Mr. Flitter was amongst the
men on the other side of the car, or he would, without doubt,
have shared the same fate. But he saw it, and just as the
intruder appeared to be beckoning to some of his fellows, he
exclaimed:
" Hang it — never mind. One can but die once. Mr,
Speck, I'll go with you."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 441
" Bravo ! '* cried Mr. Speck, who was already in the car.
"Jump in: that's it. Stop — we must throw out a sand bag.
Stand clear, all."
The sheriff's officers were advancing to the car, but Mr.
Speck's caution restrained them. They fell back, as the
daring aeronaut pulled the releasing trigger. The band
struck up: the people shouted, and Mr. Flitter was borne
upwards and away, when within the very grasp of the
bailiffs !
His first feeling was that of wild exultation — his next,
one of deep awe as the view below opened upon him. Hun-
dreds of thousands of lamps were visible, marking all the
localities of London, as though one had pricked out the lines
of a map and put a light behind it. In the obscurity and
distance, all traces of the houses and enclosures were lost
sight of: and as the balloon still kept ascending, the position
could be compared to nothing else than floating over a dark
and boundless sea, spangled with countless myriads of points
of light. They could be seen stretching over the river at
the bridges, edging its banks, forming squares and long
parallel lines of light in the streets, and solitary sparks —
further and further apart until they were altogether lost in
the suburbs. Above, the sky was deeply blue, studded with
innumerable stars: in fact, above, below, and around they
appeared sailing through a galaxy of twinkling diamonds, in-
calculable and interminable.
" By Jove, this is fine!" observed Mr. Wyndham Flitter,
as soon as his excitement allowed him to speak.
"Ah!" said Mr. Speck, "it's nothing to the fireworks.
Look here."
And lighting the quick-match, which ran down to the
frame some twenty feet below them, the cases began to throw
out coloured fires, with a strange noise in the vast space.
Good as the effect was, it was not to be mentioned in the same
breath with the view. But Mr. Speck evidently was of a
different opinion. Like all people connected with theatres
or exhibitions, he believed greatly in the superiority of art
over nature.
"It's getting devilish cold!" observed Mr. Flitter to Mr.
Speck, who hung over the car watching his fireworks with
the intentness of an angler looking from a bridge at a fish
stream. " I shall have a cisrar."
442 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
" Goodness me — don't do that," cried Mr. Speck, recalled
by the light of the match, which Wyndham had rubbed
against his boot. " It's destruction!'*
" How so?"
"Carburetted hydrogen gas is inflammable,*' replied the
daring aeronaut. " The whole balloon would go off with a
bang if it caught. Throw it away!"
" Not until I have lighted my cigar," observed Mr. Flit-
ter, coolly pulling at the match.
"Indeed — indeed you must not," said the other: "the
cigar is just as dangerous- Pray throw it away."
" Oh! very well," answered Wyndham. " It's all the same
to me."
. He pitched his cigar over quite composedly: it really ap-
peared to make little matter to him whether the balloon
burst or not. And then the view faded away into a haze of
light, and he and his companion found themselves sailing on
tke wind, in the dead silence of night and the heavens.
CHAPTER XXXVIIL
THE LEGACY.
At iast the eventful day arrived — the year baving elapsed
\v ^v^ since the broiling July morning on which the railway engine
^if^' <j ^ first screamed into Pottleton — when the treasures of the
^'^ W ^ cabinet were to be unfolded. The breakfast had scarcely
V ^^'^ finished (and it was remarkable that very little was eaten by
[^' anybody except Mr. Twinch, upon whose nature the excite-
ment did not make the least impression) when Mr. Page
arrived to give up his trust, with the old key. The Misses
Twinch intended it should be a day of great ceremony, for,
of course, every body in the village knew what was going on
as well as they did themselves — and had put the parlour into
fine order for the occasion: whilst Whacky Clark had so
rubbed the furniture, and supported himself inwardly during
his labour, that the consumption of oil and table-beer, bees'-
•wax and cjheeae, mechanically and physiologically, was dilfi-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 443
xjnlt to be believed. "When this task was concluded, he was
put outside the door; and there employed in a constant con-
flict with the boys, who, hearing something was going on,
kept climbing upon one another's shoulders to look in at the
window. There was no infant-school that. day. Miss
Twinch gave all the children a holiday, with permission to
those who liked, to weed the garden and pick snails at a
half-penny a quart. And those who did not avail themselves
of this privilege, joined the group at the door, and jostled
and squabbled with the rest — all sympathy with the senti-
ments of " Let dogs delight " vanishing when they left the
school-room.
Miss Twinch would have been deeply grieved had she
known this, for that excellent moral song was always sung
once a-day by her flock. Hence it spread in the village, and
hence Whacky Clark had got hold of it. But his knowledge
of its beauty, vaguely picked up, was very limited. He had,
somehow or the other, confused it with another popular
lyric, and was accustomed to hum it to himself after this
fashion: —
" Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For 'tis tbeir nature to do so.
But he had a man Friday to keep his house tidy,
A treasure for Robinson Crusoe.
Oh! poor Robinson Crusoe !
Oh! poor Robinson Crusoe I
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
With a ring-a-ding Robinson Crusoe ! "
And in this version he persisted under all circumstances and
in spite of all corrections. He even sang it in the intervals
of his conflicts with the children, on the eventful morning in
question.
" Get down. Bill Simmuns!" cried Whacky, stopping his
lay, and advancing with his broom towards an urchin who
was climbing up the iron rails.
The youthful Simmonds hastened to obey, but, in his flurry,
he caught a part of his dilapidated costume on a palisade,
and there hung, in great distress, whilst Whacky adminis-
tered a few corrections, which he defined by the somewhat
antithetical name of "socks on the head." This over. Master
Simmonds was released, and deposited in grief on the foot-
path, after threatening Whacky with a mother's retribution.
444 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
which, however, did not deter the other chiidren from link-
ing hands in a ferocious dance round the weeping culprit,
and singing: —
" Oh, fie ; fie for shame,
Every body knows your name,"
to a nursery air, and with a great enthusiasm of tyranny,
until Mr. Page was seen in the offing, when they were, for
the time, quiet; or rather, they expended their energies in
making him low bows.
Mr. Page went first of all into Mr. Twinch's office, with
whom he had a little conversation: and before he had finished,
a sedan chair was observed coming up the village, which
immediately created a diversion of the popular attention. For
never having seen any one but old Lady Flokes in it, the
boys directly conceived that Julius must be one of the bear-
ers, and they, accordingly, all started off, with warlike shout,
to meet the cortege, and resume their wonted pleasantries
whenever the black servant came abroad. They were, how-
ever, doomed to disappointment. Neither Lady Flokes nor
Julius were there; that is to say, the absence of the latter
was sufficient to prove that of the former: but the bearers
were two able-bodied, out-door relief paupers, who walked
with a grave, determined air, that quite subdued any tendency
to rebellion on the part of the boys, and went straight up to
Mr. Twinch's. The sedan was admitted by the garden gate,
and went round to the back of the house: and then the boys
lost sight of it altogether.
The cabinet had been moved on the preceding evening into
Mr. Twinch's company parlour: and there the inmates were
now assembled, Mr. Page joining them, and giving up the
key just as twelve o'clock at noon sounded from the old Nor-
man tower. Then Mr. Twinch read some papers, and various
people acknowledged signatures to be their own — as if there
was any doubt about what they had palpably written before
everybody just that minute — and Mr. Page now proceeded to
open the cabinet.
Some ancient stuffs — faded with time — fell out as the door
was unlocked: and then Mr. Page was enabled to take down
its contents more carefully, after being covered with dust,
and surrounded by moths, as the old things tumbled over
him. A wonderful collection of treasures it contained. Yards
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 445
of old point lace, and stiff rustling brocades — that would have
done for the dress of the gentleman who married the ghostly
lady, and one day found her clothes aU standing up by them-
selves, after having some words with her, that drove her back
to the grave he had wedded her from; boxes of antique jewels,
rare beads, and embossed chatelaines. There were, also, old
silver drinking cups and flagons, with many other articles of
plate — peg-tankards, with Queen Anne crown-pieces let into
the lids, and ladles similarly ornamented with ancient money,
quaint sugar-basins, salt cellars, and waiters — ^but all dull and
black with age. Then Mr. Page produced, with great care,
several rare old drinking glasses, carefully swathed in more old
stuffs, with stems of wondrous workmanship, within which
other old coins had been blown, and rattled loosely about:
and one which had been broken, contained a ring with a sig-
net on it, which Annie, laughingly, put on her finger; but it
would have gone over two of them.
" I will give you that, Philip," she said, with an arch look,
to her cousin. " It will fit you better. Besides, I don't wear
rings."
" "Wouldn't you wear one, Annie?" asked her cousin, slily.
Here Annie saw the Miss Twinches making uninteresting
faces at each other, as they turned their attention, for a
minute, from the articles that Mr. Page was giving out.
There appeared to be no end to the contents of the cabinet.
Next they found many pieces of money, of reigns long gone
by, tied up in folded scraps of silk and mouldy bags; and at
the back of the shelves some bundles of parchment, the ink
of which was pale, and the skin mouldy, from damp and time.
The assembled party held their breath, with surprise and ex-
pectation, as the wonders, one after another, again came to
light and air. How on earth old Mrs. Maitland had contrived
to collect such treasures, was beyond the powers of every-
body to conceive.
"There is not much more," said Mr. Page, " except some
old books. What is this one, tied round with ribbon?"
" I know it," said Philip, as he saw it. " It is the PilgrinCs
Progress — one we used to read in when children."
" To be sure it is," said Annie: "give it to me. Oh! how
long since I have seen the dear, old book."
" It is, indeed!" observed Philip, half to himself, and some"
446 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
what seriously, as a rapid review of intervening years shot,
for an instant only — but intense and comprehensive — through
his mind. In a minute all the treasures about the room were
forgotten, as he looi^ed upon his old friend of childhood.
" To be sure," he repeated after Annie, as the struggle be-
tween them for it made the Miss Twinches wonder, such a
dirty, aged thing as it was. '* To be sure — how well I re-
collect the old woodcuts! There's Christian climbing up the
hill, after he dropped his roll — "
" And we used to think, at first, it meant a roll from the
baker's. And — oh, see — there's Pliable and Christian at the
Slough of Despond."
"Don't you remember, Annie, when we thought the Slough
of Despond was that bad bit on Dibblethorpe Common? and
how we started off, once, with bundles, like Christian, and
frightened poor aunt?"
" And there's — stop — what's this, Philip?'*
As she spoke, she drew a folded paper from the book, on
which Annie immediately recognised her aunt's handwriting.
She handed it over to Mr. Twinch, who began to read it. It
set forth that the treasures had belonged to the family who
had brought her up, and with whom she Hved when quite
young: and that, at the time of the riots of '80, the heir to
the property had been executed, under an assumed name, as
one of the most violent of the rebels. He was the last of his
race; but the family, to avoid the confiscation of the goods,
had, after much secret legal proceedings, made everything
over to her, thinking her comparative humble station in life
would be a protection against suspicion. They never reco-
vered the blow they had received. The chief members of the
family went abroad, broken-hearted, and there, one after
the other, died, until the house was extinct. Both the bro-
ther and sister of the old woman were aware that she was in
possession of some property of considerable value; but all
their efforts to induce her to part with it had been in vain:
and the subsequent death of Maitland, in Southern Africa,
and evil career and unknown end of old Hammond's wife, left
her almost alone in the world. She had first bequeathed the
treasures equally between Annie and Philip: but this had
been erased; and some little time before her death, the will
that placed everything in the girl's hands had been made.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 447
The entire party were listening to these disclosures, with
breathless and trembling interest, when a double knock at the
street door, sudden and violent, made their hearts jump into
their mouths; and the next moment, to the astonishment of
everybody, Mr. Wyndham Flitter entered the room!
To account for the appearance of this ingenious gentleman,
it is necessary tliat we sliould go back to where we last left
him — very high up in the dark night air, with Mr. Speck
and his fireworks. With sandwiches, brandy, and great coat^,
they had contrived to keep themselves tolerably comfortable,
until the first red blush of dawn peeped from the eastern hori-
zon: for it had been impracticable to descend before, the
chance of coming down upon a windmill, steeple, or poplar,
not being altogether desirable. And then, seeing afar off, a
desirable-looking country-seat (which it is the aeronaut's first
care to select, in order that he may be hospitably entertained),
with a large park surrounding it, Mr. Speck prepared his
apparatus for descending.
" I wonder where the devil we are," he observed, as he
looked abroad for some landmark.
"I don't know," replied Mr. Speck, "but west from town.
Halloo-o-o-o ! "
This cry was addressed to two men, who were about in
the fields thus soon. Bat they did not reply to it: on the
contrary, as soon as they looked up, and saw the balloon,
they ran away as fast as their legs would carry them.
" After no good," observed ]\ii*. Speck. " Poachers.
Hold hard: the grapnel will catch directly."
And as he spoke, the anchor which had been leaping along
the ground after the balloon, giving it a jerk and a tug every
minute, not remarkably pleasant, laid firmly hold of a gate.
"Halloo-o-o-o!" cried Mr. Speck, again, and this time
with better .succes'^, as two or three people came from the
farm, and caught hold of a line which Mr. Speck dropped.
"Now we shall do," he said: " and we are sure of breakfast
at the house. Steady, men — clear the brook — all right."
The balloon touched the ground, and the two voyagers
once more stood upon the earth. By this time, more people
had come up; and the gas being liberated, Mr. Speck
directed the packing up of the machine; saw it safely into a
car, and then went towards the house. The family were
448 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
soon assembled at breakfast, for the bustle of the arrival had
called everybody up; and in another half hour Mr. Wyndham
Flitter was talking upon everything to everybody, whilst
Mr. Speck was deeply in conversation with the master of
the house — ^who fortunately, for once, chanced to be a philo-
sopher—upon gas and barometers. The ring and the watch
had new legends attached to them — the former having been
worn by the unfortunate Pilatre de Rosiere when he fell from
the Montgolfier Balloon, near Boulogne, and the latter
having been presented to Mr. Flitter's grandfather by the
great Guy Lussac, who went higher than anybody else had
ever been — except the daring Mr. Speck, as he thought
proper to add. All this quite deHghted the ladies of the
family: and the old gentleman would have his horses out to
take them — balloon and all — over to the nearest railway sta-
tion, distant some ten miles.
"Furzely!" said Mr. Flitter, as he heard the name.
«Wliy— that's on the Pottleton line."
" To be sure it is."
" The very thing," he went on. " Oddly enough, I was
most anxious to get there. This is capital.
" You know Pottleton, sir?" asked the eldest son.
« Oh— well," replied Mr. Flitter. " The Brayboeufs and
Lady Flokes — in fact, every body. I have some property
there, which I want to see my agent, Twinch, about."
" You know Constance Brayboeuf, then?" asked the young
man, with animation, but in a subdued tone.
Mr. FHtter saw the state of things immediately, and
replied: —
"Most intimately — ever since she was a little girl. A
charming person. I shall see her to-night: and be too happy
to undertake any little commission you may have."
"Hush!" said the young gentleman, cautiously; and then
he added, " Let me show you our fuchsias."
Mr. Wyndham Flitter was an invaluable visitor to country
people: for he was always ready to look at flowers he didn't
care about — admire poultry in which he felt no interest —
walk over land that could possibly be of no earthly avail to
him — or hear plans of improvement that he could not under-
stand; and, in fact, do anything else essential to keep in with
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 449
provincial friends. So he started off, with the young gentle-
man, through the French window, into the garden.
" I am going to take a great liberty with you, as a stran-
ger," said the son; " but I hope you will excuse me."
" Oh, certainly — pray don't mention it," said Wyndham.
" I think you said you should see Constance Brayboeuf to-
night. The fact is — but it is a great secret — we are engaged;
only neither of our fathers and mothers will consent to it;
so we are not allowed to correspond."
" I see," said Wyndham, in an instant. " You want me
to take a letter."
" If you would be so kind," said the young gentleman, " I
should never be able to thank you enough."
" Not another word," answered Wyndham. " Let me have
the note, and Miss Brayboeuf shall get it this afternoon."
" But nobody must know it."
" Did you ever catch a weasel asleep, and shave his eye-
brow?" asked Wyndham. "Rely upon me. And now I am
going, in turn, to take a great liberty with you — I was about
to say, as a stranger; but I hope we are not strangers now."
" Oh, no — I am sure we cannot be," replied the son, enthu-
siastically.
" The truth is," said Mr. Flitter, " this foolish balloon ex-
cursion was a mere freak, last night — a whim that seized me
in the gardens, immediately before the ascent; and I came
away without any money; little expecting to be so far away
from friends and home in the morning."
"From home — not from friends, I hope," observed the
young man. "There is my purse — pray take what you
wish."
Mr. Flitter felt that such frank generosity was quite re-
freshing. He had hitherto believed that purses were only
proffered in this manner by people in plays.
" If you can spare five pounds," he said, " I shall be "
" Pray take it," interrupted the other.
" And how can I return it?"
" Don't return it at all," replied the young man. " Further
oblige me by buying a ring with it — I leave it to your taste
— and give it to Constance Brayboeuf from me."
Mr. Flitter promised to do so, and they went back to the
house. In a short time all was ready for their departure.
G G
450 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
The old gentleman rode over with them to the station, and
here they parted — the latter individual returning to his home,
Mr. Speck going to London, and Mr. Wyndham Flitter, by
the down train, to Pottleton, where he arrived, as we have
shown, at Mr. Twinch's, shortly after noon.
It required all his consummate impudence to face the com-
pany in the lawyer's parlour. But things had arrived at a
neck-or-nothing state, and he felt that the time for throwing
the last stake had come. And, therefore, to the astonish-
ment of Philip, who for the instant was staggered at his
coolness, he walked into the room, and, crossing over to
Annie, said, "Well, I am here, you see." After which he
recognised the other persons present, in an off-hand manner,
and then swept the appearance of the room with a quick but
searching glance, and perceived the state of things in an
instant.
" Leave Miss Maitland's hand alone," cried Philip, as
Wyndham had ventured to take it, at the same time putting
Annie's hand forcibly back.
"Why, Philip, old fellow! what's all this about?" asked
Flitter. " There must be some mistake here. I don't think
you exactly understand the state of affairs."
" There is no mistake, and I understand everything," re-
plied Philip. " You are a liar, a thief, and a scoundrel."
Mr. Twinch got all his pens and ink in readiness, and
looked from one to the other in rapid alternation.
" These are strange words, Mr. Maitland," answered Flit-
ter, pale as death, and speaking with a slightly tremulous
voice. " I do not understand you. You must be mad. For-
tunately we are in the presence of one gentleman who always
has his senses with him."
This was meant as a compliment to Mr. Twinch; but it
did not have the desired effect.
" If you have any regard for your own life or freedom
leave this room directly, sir, or you will be kicked out of it,"
shouted Philip, making a step towards him, and being imme-
diately pulled back again by Annie. " Leave the room," he
cried, in a still louder tone.
" Pshaw !" answered Wyndham, trying to smile derisively,
but he had a hard matter to get his quivering lip into duty:
" Pshaw ! I tell you, you are mad. My business is not with
you, it is with Miss Maitland."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 451
" You! you cur!" responded Philip.
" Hear me," cried Wyndham; "hear me all. I come to
denounce this man as a ruined profligate; as the plotter of a
deep scheme to get all this property into his own hands; as
the associate of all that is dark and infamous in London; as
a mercenary trifler with the affections of that young lady!
Now, who is the liar and the scoundrel?"
Again Philip would have sprung across the room to get to
him, had not Mr. Page interposed.
"One minute, my dear sir," said the good curate: "pray
restrain yourself. I think we shall be able to explain things
without violence."
As the others looked in wonderment at each other as to
Mr. Page's intentions, that gentleman went into the next
room, and presently returned, wheeling in a castor chair, in
which a female was reclining — apparently suffering from
extreme illness. A glance assured Wyndham that it was
Margaret Sherrard: to the others she was unknown.
" Do not be alarmed, my good woman," said Mr. Page:
" you are with friends here. You know that person, I think?"
he continued, pointing to Wyndham. The woman shook her
head — not in the negative, but with an air of mistrust and
sorrow.
" Mr. Page tells me you know Pottleton," observed Mr.
Twinch: " or rather you did formerly?"
" I was born here," the woman replied, speaking in a
faint, laboured manner. " You may remember my husband:
his real name was not Sherrard — it was Martin. He was to
have married Emma Maitland — his mother."
She pointed towards Philip as she spoke.
" But she broke off the match, and he married me out of
spite. God knows he repented it, often and often, and yet I
did all I could to serve him."
" We do not question that, my good woman," said Mr.
Twinch. " But to our more immediate business. I am given
to understand that you know something of an arrangement,
or a scheme, or a plot, in fact — in which some of these per-
sons have been concerned."
" I heard it all," replied the woman, " but it was not in-
tended that I should do so. It is nearly a year back now —
one terrible night that they met at our lodgings. I will tell
G g2
452 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
everything. I may not have much longer to live, and it will
ease my mind, now he is gone."
With a faltering voice, but yet in a collected and straight-
forward manner, in spite of the repeated interruptions and
violent outbursts of Mr. Wyndham Flitter, Mrs. Sherrard
then proceeded to detail the whole of the conversation she
had heard on the evening in question, when, with her ear
against the wainscot, she had listened, in the next room, to
every word that had passed between Flitter and her husband
relative to Annie and her property. And then Mr. Page
joined in the revelation, and showed how he had known all
this for some time, but a solemn promise had sealed his lips,
from which he was now released; and how his suspicions of
Mr. Flitter's hand in the robbery at Monkscroft were more
than slight: all which together was pretty well as much as
he could face. He contrived to do it though, and preserved
an expression of calm contempt upon his face that was per-
fectly marvellous.
Not so with Philip. In spite of all Annie's intreaties, his
blood had been rising, far above fever heat, during these dis-
closures: and now he fairly boiled over. One after another,
he brought forward the most palpable proofs of the secret
villany w^hich Mr. Wyndham Flitter had so long been en-
gaged in perfecting: and which had now been fortunately
thwarted, just as the end was attained. With a strange elo-
quence, which only his highly-wrought and half-maddened
feelings could have endowed him with, he pointed out to the
company present how Annie had been deceived throughout,
and he himself betrayed: how the acquisition of everything
he could get was all that Mr. Flitter had in view: and how,
if his intentions with regard to Annie had been carried out,
she would have been deserted, and most probably left in ab-
solute want the instant he had obtained possession of her
property. In fact, he brought forward so many desperate
charges against him, that, at last, Wyndham, who had been
almost taken aback by the sudden attack, rushed towards
Philip, and aimed a heavy blow at him. Philip stooped to
avoid it; and it fell, with all its force, upon the hard but un-
offending head of Mr. Twinch. Had they been practising
for a pantomime, and the latter gentleman had been cast for
Pantaloon, he could not have received the blow more
plumply.
THE FOTTLETON LEGACT. 453
A terrible scene ensued. Amidst the screams of the wo-
men, and the cries of Mr. Twinch for a constable, Philip flew
at Wyndham. With the feeling of right on his side, and the
force which a hearty disposal of all his pent-up rage endowed
him with, he seized the other by the throat, twisting his gaudy
satin scarf until he almost choked him, as he shook him like
a rat, and ending by hurling him against Mr. Twinch, over
whom, chair and all, he fell heavily, in a second unintended
assault. This was amidst the renewed shrieks of the women
— Miss Martha striving to faint in Mr. Page's arms, until
violently shaken back to consciousness by her sister, and the
cheers of the boys outside, who, with Whacky Clark, forget-
ting all order in the excitement of the scene, formed one
general audience as they swarmed about the window.
But their astonishment and excitement, great as it was,
was increased tenfold when the street-door opened, after
much noisy and convulsive shuddering of the knocker, as if
disturbed by a great conflict and divided intention within—
and Mr. Wyndham Flitter, with a bleeding face and torn
apparel, was ejected by some one whose leg could only be
seen, half across the road, followed by Toby of the Red
Lion, who always made a point of being present at any com-
motion in the village, yelping and snapping at his heels with
the most intense ferocity.
Mr. Flitter's pluck had failed him. He would have stood
up to the most diabolical charges before an audience of the
world, or even faced an adversary's pistol, with, at all events,
an appearance of calm composure; but the outbreak of Phi-
lip's direct physical violence was too much for him, and he
had ignobly cowered before it.
He turned round for an instant, and looked towards the
door; which, however, had closed upon him the minute he
was clear of its posts. He then shook his fists, with terrible
intent, at INIr. Twinch's spectacles, which could alone be seen
staring through the window after him — and a moment after
knocked down several of the boys who were within his range.
He next kicked the unlucky Toby, as though he had been a
football, on to the top of a shed adjoining the road; and,
finally, with a loud promise that they should hear from him
again, he bolted away along the village as fast as his legs
could carry him.
454 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
The boys, with a cheer, started after him at full cry, but
he soon distanced them, and was last seen under the arch of
the railway, as he turned round its corner to make for the
station.
The only trace of his departure thus left was a manuscript
five-act play lying in the road, which Tommy Clark picked
np and sold for threepence to the man at the shop to wrap up
his wares in; whereby its ultimate purpose was far more
useful than if it had been represented, to send an audience
away cross and gaping, after the manner cf the " legitimate "
drama generally, as at present represented. And in this
manner did Mr. Wyndham Flitter make his last appearance
at Pottleton.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
all's well that ends well.
And now all was explained and all forgiven on every side:
and Philip started off to London, with a heart so light that
the novelty of the feeling was almost too much for him — to
arrange his affairs before he came back to Pottleton to turn
countryman, and take the management of the land (which
Mr. Twinch's investigation discovered some of the old papers
put into Annie's possession) into his own hands.
Leaving Annie to be the sole topic of conversation in the
village; and doing no more than just alluding to how the
Miss T winches strove to outvie each other in offering her
their room; how Mr. Bulliam swore and condemned his
own eyes, and those of all his sons in succession, in the most
dreadful fashion, because they had let Annie slip through
their fingers, and then drank two bottles of port, and was
obliged to ring up Mr. Blandy to bleed him in the night —
how Mrs. Spink and her half-cast nieces sent a hideous, nod-
ding, tongue-lolling, squatting figure, from the temple at
Jaggerbedam Ghaut, upon the Muckaraboo river, with their
kind love to Miss Maitland, and would be glad to know how-
she was — how Jack Poole, formerly in the 9th, when the
Brayboeufs told him about it one night at the opera, thought
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 455
he had missed a chance, because young Rasper had informed
him, at the ball, that Annie was "slow and provincial;" and
drowned his remorse by supping with a coryphee afterwards
off lobster salad and champagne, — all this, and much more, in
detail, would occupy more room than we can at present afford.
So, only observing that Annie preferred going back, for the
present, to stay with old Lady Flokes, to whom she showed
many of the old curiosities from the cabinet, and started the
^ged gentlewoman upon all sorts of recollections and legends
thereby, we will follow Philip to town.
He had not a great deal to arrange. His prutlence,
through everything, had kept him from running into debt;
and, when uninfluenced, his expenses were very moderate.
His chief business was to see Mr. Scute, and endeavour to
make some arrangement, by which he could write anything
for "The Cracker," without being in London; and so, in
some measure, add to his income. For this purpose, he
first called at his lodgings, but found that he had left them
some weeks, and that the people did not know where he
had gone. Then he went on to Brainer and Clinch's print-
ing-office, where he was distressed to bear that poor Mr.
Scute's irregularities had led to his final dismissal, although
every chance had been given him, and every allowance
made, as long as it was possible; and that they could not exactly
tell where he was likely to be found, but probably the fore-
man knew something about it. From him Philip learned the
likeliest spot to meet him, and he went on thither immediately,
chiefly taken by a feeling of compassion for the poor little
child.
It was a small public-house, in a dingy court, close to one
of the great theatres; and behind the bar there was a sort of
parlour into which some murky light contrived to force its
way through a clouded window that looked against a grimy
wall. Low actors — whiskerless men, with no shirt collars,
who were all remarkable for that state of mouldy dirt which
characterizes those who are perpetually in theatres, and
know no other life — loitered about the bar. Playbills, an-
nouncing benefits of unknown performers were hung up at
its side; and there were two or three fly-spotted pictures, at
the back, of professionals striving to get into notice, by having
their portraits taken and published. It was, in addition^
456 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
a sort of inferior house of call for clowns, and before panto-
mime time, one or two could always be found loitering about
here. They were sad, wan-looking men, and were all known
by abbreviations of either their Christian or surnames. No one
of the external world could have recognised in them the funny
personages who announced their own presence once more, to
the delight of the gallery, at the commencement of a
harlequinade.
Philip found Mr. Scute in the parlour, sitting at the table,
— it was still morning, — with an empty glass and a small
pewter measure before him; and perceived, at once, how
matters stood. His hair was uncombed and straggling — his
fihirt-coUar dirty and ragged, and his eyes bloodshot and dull:
and when he stretched his hand out to Philip, after a linger-
ing recognition, it vibrated as though from palsy. When he
was spoken to, he passed his hand over his forehead, whilst he
tried to catch the sense of the words addressed to him; and
then scarcely answered. He was evidently approaching a state
of imbecility.
" Here! wai'er!" he cried, " what's your name? — bring
another go. You'll have some, too?" he added to his com-
panion.
Philip declined, and, under pretence of choosing some other
refreshment, went to the bar.
" Mr. Scute seems in a very bad way," he said to the land-
lord.
" Yes; he wont last much longer," replied the man. '? He's
worse of a morning, though; if you saw him at twelve o'clock
to-night, he'd be quite another person. He lives entirely on
gin — never eats a crumb. But that's of no consequence, for
all his inside's clean gone."
" How do you suppose he subsists?" asked Philip.
" That's what 1 was saying, sir — gin," answered the land-
lord,
*' No; I mean, how does he pay for what he has?"
" Well, he don't, sir. Most of the bar customers know
him, and they stand treat. They need: yesterday, he drank
thirty glasses of gin and water !"
Philip went back, and tried to persuade Scute to eat some-
thing; but this was useless. Drink — drink! that was all he
wanted; and as measure after measure was ordered, his faculties
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 457
appeared gradually to return. He then told Philip that he
had quarrelled with Brainer and Clinch, but he did not say that
they had discharged him; but that he was doing much better,
with more work than he could get through. Poor creature!
that was little enough. An occasional address, or low song
for a small actor, repaid in more gin; or a theatrical para-
graph, or scraps of dramatic intelligence, picked up from the
frequenters of the bar, and sent to a Sunday paper, made up
the sum of his work in question.
He had sunk so irretrievably low, that Philip saw it was
useless proposing any plan that might put him in the way of
earning a trifle. He was, however, glad to make out from
his rambling account of himself, that the poor little child had
been taken care of by some charitable person. Where Scute
himself now lived no one could tell. He always remained
until the last at the public house, which, being theatrical,
kept late hours, and then would turn out into the streets,
sometimes to walk about all night, sometimes to go into a
coffee-shop, and doze in a box until morning came, and the
public house once more opened its doors. After he had left
Brainer and Clinch, he would, now and then, in cold weather,
steal into the engine-room, when night-work was going on,
and crouch down near the furnace; but this chance was
uncertain.
He asked Philip to lend him a small sum, which the other
directly did, although he knew it would all be swallowed up
within an hour of that time. And then, in the hopelessness
of being able to accomplish anything for him, he left, some-
what depressed by the sad spectacle: and convinced that in a
few weeks' time the closing scene would be found in a hospital
dissecting-room — for nobody would be likely to claim his
"body — and perhaps, after that, a workhouse funeral. But
even this latter was a chance, depending more or less upon
the honesty of the students.
He was gazing for an instant, after he had left the tavern,
at a flaring bill, announcing some new speculation in a
neighbouring theatre, when a voice at his side exclaimed —
" Fiddleshtickl ! all ver goot; but vare ish Mr. Shtau-
digl? zo."
There was no mistake — ^there could be none — as to the
owner of the voice. Philip turned round, and immediately
458 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
recognised Mr. Stoff. But he had not his ordinary shabby
genteel appearance; on the contrary, his clothes were of
radiant continental cloth, which always looks as if it had just
been revived — probably it might have been in this case.
"Ha! ya! zo!" exclaimed the Herr. ** Mr. Phillips, vot
he vos. Wie befinden Sie sich?"
" Very well," replied Philip; " and you? But I need not
ask. And what are you doing, Stoff?"
" Oh, dere ish singers, zo, in costumes — ya, pewtiful.
Mr. Shtaudigl vos heard them at Innspruck."
"Indeed!" observed Philip, not having the slightest no-
tion of Stoff's meaning.
" Ya!" resumed the other, nodding. " Secretary, zo. Mr.
Punn vos vot he vos, he vos; and Gather beebles vos tolked
to him. Fiddleshtickle! eh?"
*' Certainly," said Philip; and then he shook hands with
his old acquaintance, and left him; not understanding, even
to this day, what it was all about, beyond the haziest notion
that Mr. Stoff was secretary to some Tyrolese singers, re-
commended to him by Mr. Staudigl, and somehow or another
wound up with jVIr. Bunn; which two personages appeared
to exert, together, some dimly defined but powerful influence
over every thought and action of Mr. Stoff's existence.
Philip's next visit was to Mr. Polpette. He found that
ingenious foreigner at his usual post— the kitchen on the
housetop, in conclave with several other foreign gentlemen-
members of the family of the great unshaved — all in a high
state of ferment at some news from abroad, which they had
been reading from the Constitutionnel, borrowed at the
neighbouring hotel, and each laying down some plan for
what they called the " regeneration of their country." This
curious epidemic, so prevalent amongst foreign gentlemen of
dirty aspect residing in London, has of late been remarkably
prevalent. With them " regeneration of a country" appears
to be ruining its commerce, blowing up its houses, shooting
its inhabitants, scaring away its visitors, hanging its authori-
ties, and committing all those atrocities generally, which
combined, form what they call " a struggle for liberty."
The notion of this had so completely turned the heads of
M. Polpette and his friends that Philip could not get a word
in edgeways; and so leaving them to regenerate their coun-
THE POTTLETON LEGACT. 459
try at the earliest possible opportunity, lie wished the party
good day, and thought what a comfort it was that " struggles
for liberty " in England were all confined to pot-house par-
lours; or if, indeed, brought forward publicly, rapidly ended
in a consummation entirely different to that which they were
expected to achieve, the " struggles " simply taking place
with intelligent and decisive policemen, well termed
" crushers " by the people, as far as their aspirations were
concerned.
Finally, he returned to confer with Messrs. Brainer and
Clinch, and was fortunate enough to get a regular engage-
ment to write for them, at a higher salary than he had yet
received — poor Mr. Scute having been kept on, even up to
the very latest week, more from compassion than the services
he rendered to the " Cracker," which was gradually making
its way, thanks to the railways and steamboats.
Philip left the office with a light heart, for he felt that he
should now be able, on his part, to command a certain income,
and not appear, or indeed consider himself to be, entirely de-
pendent on his cousin. At the same time, he had seen
enough, even in his short experience, to feel that it would not
do to trust to writing alone for his subsistence. He knew
the terrible uncertainty of literary popularity — how like the
life of an author was to a firework, which sparkled and burnt
itself away amidst the applause of the multitude, and then
tumbled into obscurity, a worn-out, useless case. And so
he was not carried away by any of those dreams of success to
the end which dazzle most young writers; but determined to
use his abilities prudently, and only as an auxiliary to some
more substantial and steady occupation that might arise here-
after.
A day served to arrange what other affairs he had to settle;
and then he returned to the village. Let us pass over a few
intervening weeks, and walk up the road together on a lovely
September morning. Something is evidently going on, for
Pottle ton is all alive, and there is great bustle about the
church. All the old village loiterers who attend the christen-
ings, marriages, and deaths are there; so also are all the
children, tumbling heels over head in the long grass, and
cheering every body who arrives with much hilarity, from
Mr. Mousel, whose red plush is perfectly dazzling in the
460 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
bright morning sun, to old Master Harris, the pieman, who
has come out with a large stock of cunning confectionary,
and his spinning arrow, which he assures the young crowed,
for this day alone, is only to point to prizes.
At the Red Lion there is also much bustle. Two or three
flys are drawn up in the yard — the two grandest, which are
regular glass coaches, have come over from Dibblethorpe;
and two pair of post-horses have been sent up to Pottleton
Court, to bring dowTi the Brayboeufs' carriage. Mrs. Baker
had found these the most difficult things to get; for since the
railway opened nobody had ever wanted any; but young
Grant and his friend Dick Finch had sent their hacks, which
were both used to the collar; and some trademen in the town
supplied the off-horses, from their tax-carts. The team might
have been better matched to be sure, but what else could be
done?
Perhaps it is at Mr, Twinch's, both in and about his house,
that the greatest excitement is going on. From an early
hour the children of the Infant School have been assembling,
in white dresses; and are now in the parlour, partaking of
some tough cake and milk and water, which, however, they
find most delicious. Last night Mr. Twinch had a round or
two of verbal combat with his sisters; and it was upon this
account. "We suppose it is useless to disguise the fact any
longer, nor do we see why we should — that all the bustle
in Pottleton this morning arises from the day being fixed for
the wedding of Philip and Annie; and it had been arranged
by Mr. Page, Mr. Twinch, and indeed Philip himself, that it
would be best for Annie to go from the hard, but really well-
meaning, old lawyer's house, as he was to give her away.
The choice of bridesmaids had been the next matter of con-
sequence, and here the Miss Twinches, who had forgotten
all their old animosities and jealousies, now proffered their
claims— not to Annie herself, but, by suggestion, to their
brother.
" Pooh! stuff!" said Mr. Twinch: " what do you mean?"
*' Our meaning is not difficult to understand," observed
Miss Martha. " There must be some bridesmaids."
" And so there will be," answered Mr. Twinch. " There's
Miss Brayboeuf — and very kind of her, too — and her two
little sisters; and that good-looking girl at the Medlars,
that Mr. Page wished to be of the party."
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 461
" It would be as well, for our own position, to form part of
the ceremony."
" So you can," said Mr. Twinch. " Go as friends; but,
bridesmaids — pshaw! look at your age. I won't have it.
The boys would huzzah you."
This was dreadful; for the Misses Twinch had been all
along intending to appear as such, and provided their dresses
accordingly, having in a measure arranged it with Annie,
who, in extreme good temper, fell into everything. But they
knew their brother's decision, and were directly quiet.
" You will have enough to do with all the children.
Besides, our position is quite good enough; and if it wasn't,
this wedding would not alter it. It don't move the world,
though you think it does. I have no doubt, if we took the
trouble to go after them, there are one or two persons at
New Zealand or Kamtschatka, or the place where they toast
your friends, the May-meeting missionaries, who will not
have heard of it. No; be friends — not bridesmaids — and
talk to old Lady Spokes, or Blokes, or whatever her name is.
Then, perhaps, I shall get her affairs to transact, instead of
Clutchit's people, at Dibblethorpe. That will give us posi-
tion, if you please."
The ladies did not dare to reply; but they went sorrow-
fully and looked at their bonnets, which they had ordered to
be made precisely like those of the little Misses Brayboeuf,
aged seven and nine; and hoped after all they might be taken
for an official portion of the ceremony.
Philip, and indeed Annie, had not wished for any pub-
licity in this marriage. They would have preferred going
with a very few friends to some quiet village-church, where
they were all unknown, and there having the service tran-
quilly performed, to all the Pottleton excitement. For it is
a bold thing to say — there is something inexpressibly dreary
and absurd in a conventional wedding. The evident assump-
tion of some vague feeling, not knowing whether to feel sad,
or convivial, or bold, or ashamed, which characterizes every-
body; the palpable struggle there has been to scrape to-
gether the most imposing carriage-connexions of either
family; the twaddle talked at the breakfast, and the slightly-*
more-wine-than-usual eye-piping of the Peebles, at the touch-
ing bits in the speeches; above. all, the dismal reaction after'
462 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
tlie "bride and bridegroom have departed, and the people are
sent about their business, in broad afternoon sunlight, — all
this makes a wedding very unpleasant.
Let us return to Pottleton. The crowd is increasing, and
presently old Lady Flokes arrives in her sedan, from which she
is deposited in a pew near the chancel. Mrs. Sj)ink and her
nieces are in the organ-loft, peeping between the curtains;
and all the young ladies from Miss Medlars are in their
accustomed pew, intensely anxious, and wondering how Miss
Lechmere will look in her bonnet; whilst "that Mr. Finch"
is opposite, and staring wickedly at them, whenever Miss
Medlar turns round to speak to Mr. Blandy, whose profes-
sional skill would be good-for-nothing that day, in the
opinion of his patients, if he could not tell them all about the
wedding. Old Mousel is fully occupied dodging the boys,
who have stolen in, amongst the free seats, and routing them
out from under the pulpit; and Whacky Clark is putting
down some of the matting which he has been beating, for a
small consideration, in the churchyard.
Presently Mr. Page arrives, and soon after him, Philip,
with young Grant. The latter hurry into the vestry im-
mediately, not that there is anything there requiring their
presence just yet, but to get away from the gapers. Then
comes the bride and Mr. Twinch, got up so gay, and with
such a new wig, that he is scarcely recognised — followed by
the blushing, pretty, half-frightened bridesmaids: and they all
go into the vestry, too: whilst the Miss Twinches follow, and
still hope they may be taken for bridesmaids also. By this
time, Mr. Blandy has left the gallery, and comes down and
takes his place by old Lady Flokes, who inquires about every-
body, and will have all their names, and who they are, ex-
plained to her aloud.
The parties return from the vestry, and the ceremony
commences. The sun streams through the eastern window
above the altar, and throws its tints upon the different objects
below, making Mr. Page's head look blue, and dyeing JVIi*.
Twinch's white waistcoat all sorts of colours; but one especial
ray bathes Annie's head in gold, gleaming through her soft
tresses, which are seen trembling in the light — for she is all
emotion. The window is open at one of its casements, and a
butterfly is fluttering over her in the sunbeam.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 463^
During the ceremony, which good Mr. Page is performing
admirably, Miss Twinch gradually leaves the altar, and edges
away towards one of the side windows, through which she
looks with an expression of some anxiety. After a while
the cheers of the boys are somewhat too audible, upon which
Miss Twinch nods to her sister, as much as to say that all
is right, and returns to her place much relieved in her mind.
The service concludes and the whole party bustle back to
the vestry again, which is a dreadful poking little place, like
a cell in the Tower of London with the advantage of a win-
dow. Old Mousel pulls a bell, that rings in the belfry, and
such a peal immediately strikes up, that the old Norman
tower rocks again. Then Whacky Clark, according to orders,
begins to thrash the boys outside, into forming a lane from
the porch to the lych gate; and on each side of the former
are ranged the children of Miss Twinch's infant-school, in
their white frocks, with baskets of flowers — being punnets
borrowed from the market-garden, and trimmed for the occa-
sion with ribbon.
It was to see if they had arrived that Miss Twinch cast
the anxious glances through the window. All the wedding
party go back to the vestry, and something is written in a
book; then they leave the church, walking in different order,
and Annie and Philip are married.
And now it is that the pageant commences. The children
throw flowers on the path along which the young couple
pass, and their blue, and scarlet, and yellow petals cover the
half shuflled-out inscriptions on the grave-stones that pave
the walk. The boys scramble along the church-yard, and
tumble over one another in their anxiety to get to the lych-
gate, where the carriages are in waiting, cheering all the time;
and the old people say, " God bless her!" as Annie passes.
The distance to Mr. Twinch's is not so great but that
Whacky Clark, standing at the porch, could break a window
at the lawyer's with a stone, if he chose; but they must go
in the carriages, or else what was the use of hiring them.
The boys still keep cheering, most especially excited by
the white bows of the post-boys; and some run behind the
flies, whilst others remain to scramble after the flowers, and
fight generally, to the great terror of old Lady Flokes, who
emerges last of all, in her sedan, protected by Mr. Blaudy.
464 THE POTTLETON LEGACY*
Next to Mr. Page, the boys stand in great awe of Mr. Blandy,
as they reflect that he can physic them, or draw their teeth,
or take fish-hooks out of their fingers; and so they allow
Julius to pass by unmolested.
It is a great day for Mr. Twinch's establishment. Philip
has arranged the breakfast: and they have had all sorts of
presents towards it. Young Grant has sent them lots of
birds, and his father contributed the poultry: Whacky, with
his little brother, collected nearly a hatful of plover's eggs;
and whilst the Brayboeufs sent the wine, Mr. Augustus
Medlar begged their acceptance of a four-and-a-half-gallon
of fine humming ale, which did not find least favour with
the guests, we can assure you. Even old Lady Flokes sent
a pine-apple, which had been forwarded to her by the Flokes
Witherbys, of Tringham Park — distant relations: and, in-
deed, altogether an elegant repast has been achieved. The
rooms, however, are not large enough for the guests, and so
the club-booth from the Red Lion has been built over the
grass-plat, and forms a perfect bower, with the beautiful
flowers that have come in from all quarters: so grand, in-
deed, that the village people have been admitted all the
morning to look at it.
The party is a large one for Pottleton, and Mr. Page is at
the head of the table. Mr. Twinch does nothing but draw
corks, and get apoplectic; and the Miss Twinches simper,
and look juvenile, and hope that all the village knows who
is at the table, and that their family can visit wherever they
please.
Anon the club-band arrives, and strikes up " Haste to the
wedding," of which little is heard, through the conversation
and canvas, but the trombone and drum, who both play with
great spirit. After that come the set speeches, which being
as empty and hour-serving as set speeches always are, need
not be alluded to; and finally the carriage-and-four is drawn
up at the garden gate. Annie has quietly slipped away to
change her dress, and now is handed by Philip into the
barouche; the children and guests set up a shout; Miss
Twinch girlishly throws a slipper after the happy couple, and
the carriage starts off for the Dibblethorpe station on the
railway, at a tearing gallop, with the groom and lady's-maid,
i'rom Pottleton Court, in the rumble*
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 465
There is no occasion to go to Dibblethorpe, for the train
will stop at Pottleton some minutes sooner; and there is no
necessity for taking the two servants, as they will both re-
turn again, and the porters could look after all the luggage
quite as well. But as all this is part of the conventional
fiddle-faddle 'pertaining to weddings, there is no avoiding it;
and so Philip and Annie mildly resign themselves to their
fate. But they are much happier when they get rid of every-
body, and find themselves the next day steaming across the
bright and dancing sea, to visit some of Philip's old haunts,
and admire the fine old cities and lovely tracts of the sunny
Normandy, together and alone.
CHAPTER XL.
WHICH DISPOSES OF EVERYBODY.
We cannot expect that the reader would think well of us, if
we did not give some information as to the destinies of the
other personages who have, from time to time, figured in our
story. And, therefore, begging our friends to suppose that
a year or two has elapsed, let us see what the remainder of
our dramatis personcB are now doing.
We will commence with the Misses Twinch.
The elder of these two ladies is still living in single blessed-
ness, and devoting all her attention to the infant-school.
The nervous Harriett Stiles, and the constantly-influenzaed
Jane Collier have outgrown her domination, and gone to
service: so she has been driven to find fresh objects whereon
to exercise her severity. And this she has done by the for-
tunate discovery of the youngest Humphreys, who is never
without chilblains, even in the dog-days; and a small pro-
duction named Patty Clark — a sister of Whacky of that
family — who never can recollect anything beyond five
minutes.
JVIiss Martha is now Mrs. Grant. The farmer paid her
such great attention, that she was at last prevailed upon to
accept him, and then had no idea that he was such an im-
provement upon what she had always supposed him to be.
H H
466 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
She is very liappy; visits the poor as formerly, and is greatly
beloved by them; because, instead of only calling, as hereto-
fore, to lend them the small tracts (at fourpence a dozen for
distribution) she gives them small comforts, from a fbnd
which she has instituted herself, and to which she contributes
greatly, in company with the charitable well-fo-do folks of
the village. Young Grant is going to be married himself,
so he does not interfere much with the domestic arrange-
ments of his mother-in-law.
Mr. Page, a short time since, married the young lady who
had been the pretty pupil at the Misses Medlars' establish-
ment: and this was to the intense disgust of every spinster
in the village. To be sure they were not all found dead in
their beds, with disappointment, after the fashion of the
catastrophe which is reported to have followed the wedding
of Mahomed: but they were terribly cut up. And many
indeed went to meeting instead of church, out of pure spite:
until the new organ and the better accommodation for dis-
playing the fashions, in the latter building, brought them
back to their allegiance. Good Mr. Page has now a house
of his own — a little building that looks exactly as if it had
been made for a dwarf to live in, and thrust his arms and
legs through the drawing-room and ground-floor w^indows,
as he would do outside a show. But it is quite large enough
for them, and condenses their happiness.
Old Lady Flokes is still very wonderful. Every year, with
the first approach of autumn, she goes into her kybernaculum
(which is a curious fire-side hovel of old green baize, bed-
curtains, and unpicked articles of by-gone apparel, somewhat
resembling the nest of the Long-pot, so snug is it, and so small
its aperture), and there she rem.ains until the chesnuts blos-
som; when Mr. Blandy is consulted as to the propriety of her
coming out. Then, before the world sees her, many myste-
rious preparations go on, but these are only known to Margery,
who is now her sole attendant. For as increasing years bring
with them increasing infirmity, even Patience and Double-
dummy lose their charm; although Annie oftentimes goes up
to the old lady to pass the evening with her, and tell her the
little news of the village, and even play with her if she wished
it. She is very fond of Annie, and has quietly confided to
Mr. Blandy, that Philip's pretty, gentle wife will have most
of her property.
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 467
Poor M. Polpette has come to a sad end. Taking advan-
tage of one of those scampish ebullitions which The People of
all countries are apt occasionally to give way to, and call the
formation of a young republic, he went abroad to swell the
popular demonstration. But a difference of opinion as to the
manner in which the country was to be regenerated, ending in
the victory of the opposite party, placed him in more than un-
pleasant circumstances: and he was condemned to imprison-
ment, in common with many other foreign gentlemen, whose
bosoms were constantly agitated, because, being born to no-
thing, they were not elected kings and emperors whenever
impending bankruptcy or approaching ruin in general made
such an appointment desirable.
Mr. Wolly, the retired grocer, cannot attain the position
he desires; and the more he fights for it the more he is left
behind. Indeed, he is so disgusted at the want of respect
shown to him in the village, that he talks about going away
from his own country to some other, where he may have a
better chance of becoming a prophet.
Mr. Wracketts is yet upon town, and figures at races,
billiard-rooms, and sometimes at questionable public meet-
ings. His " receptions " on Sunday evenings are no longer
held, for there is no mistress of his establishment. Leonie
disappeared shortly after her last interview with Philip, and
left no clue to- her destination — at least to Mr. Wracketts.
When we last saw her, it was by mere chance, whilst paying
a visit to a distant relation, in the parlour of the Convent of
the Ursulines, at Boulogne.
Mr. Wyndham Flitter, under all sorts of names and occu-
pations, is still about the world. Now he is heard of at
Havre, and anon at Baden; at one time opening some hope-
less theatre, and never paying his company, at another im-
porting some wonderful sight, or batch of marvellous pro- ,
lessors of anything, from foreign parts, in the hope of gulling
the public. His schemes are, also, still abundant. Whether
they be for establishing a new club or founding a new weekly
paper, boring for coal in Madagascar, or working a vein of
silver in Ireland, he has always something ready that will pay
ten thousand pounds down on the nail, and many more per
annum afterwards. We have only just heard, however, that
a circumstance has been made known to the police, which in
468 THE POTTLETON LEGACY
all likelihood will bring about a rapid termination to his
career in his native land. We forbear from entering into
particulars, as by so doing we might defeat the ends of jus-
tice; but some awkward transactions, in which gambling and
forgery are concerned, have come to light; and if Mr. Wynd-
ham Flitter has not already left England of his own accord,
the chances are, that he will be, before long, compelled to do
so by the order of others.
But there is yet one name, amongst those of our story, which
the readers may possibly have recalled from time to time,
with a painful incertitude as to the fate of its OAvner. We
must hasten to relieve their anxiety: and to do this we must
beg them once more to accompany us to the village.
It was on a bright sunny afternoon, at the commencement of
the golden autumn, that two jfigures, (reader, let us remind
you that we are concluding a story, not commencing one;
and, therefore, acquit us from the charge of plagiarism,) that
two figures entered Pottleton by the Court Green. One of
them carried a Punch's show, the other bore the deal home
of the puppets, and was followed by the meek and degraded
Toby of that popular domestic-drama establishment. They
came up the village, after halting for some beer at the
" Fox under the Hill," and pitched their show opposite Mr.
Twinch's.
It would have done you good, if you had been always pent
up in a great populous city, to have seen Pottleton that after-
noon: how the trees, with their heavy August foliage did
not move a leaf in the golden sunlight — ^how the clear sky,
that looked like a mighty dome of blue glass covering in the
world, threw up the outline of the hills bounding the valley,
and came in such pleasant contrast with their green summits
— how Tommy Collier coming up the straggling street (and
yet it was not a street, for Pottleton never possessed one, but
the village thoroughfare generally) how that little lad, going
after Farmer Grant's cows, saw his shadow before him, pro-
gressing up the road in giant proportions, raising his wonder
as to what it would be like if it stood upright, quite able to
look down the cowl of the malthouse. Just as Tommy got
to where the show halted, and the pandsean pipes struck up —
which was, altogether, a fatal thing for Farmer Grant's cows,
especially if they were impatient — Miss Twinch's school con-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 46&
eluded for the day, and the children came buzzing and hurry-
ing out like bees. In a minute the showman had an audi-
ence; other idlers joined the group; shopmen came to their
doors, and branches of families, who looked good for two-
pence twisted up in paper, appeared at the windows. It was
all right.
The early scenes of the drama pasiied with their usual suc-
cess. Mr. Punch, before he appeared, had amused the com-
pany with the progress of his toilet — betraying such aberra-
tion of a naturally acute intellect, in putting on his shoes
before his stockings, and superimposing his shirt upon his
coat and braces, as must have acquitted him of the murder
of his wife and child before any intelligent jury at the pre-
sent day: all the opening had been enacted to a delighted
crowd, w^hen Toby was suddenly pushed up on the ledge to
take his part in the action. He was a small dog, and he
exhibited to a great degree that peculiar feeling of self-con-
tempt which his race inclines to, when attired in a costume
intended to designate a festive and waggish disposition. - But
scarcely had he yelled the first reply to some thoughtless
question put by Mr. Punch, when Whacky Clark, who, being
amongst the audience, had laboured under great excitement
from the instant he appeared, exclaimed: —
" I kno^v'd it was ! Tip I "
As he called the name, the dog suddenly turned round.
He looked down, for an instant, timidly at the showman,
who held his tail to give him the cues for his answers; then
he gazed with an imploring air at the face of Mr. Punch,
who had obtained some supernatural influence over him;
and lastly, with a bold leap, cleared the heads of the first row
of audience, and came whining and fondling at Whacky 's
feet. The surmise was correct — it was, indeed, the long-
lost original Tip! There was a hurried difference of opinion
as to ownership with the man; a threat of the constable; a
rush across the road, and in another minute Miss Twinch
had burst into a flood of tears over her long-lost favourite.
This is the last event that we shall chronicle. Since that
time Pottleton has improved daily. The houses are letting
all about, and new ones are being built. Smart shops are
here and there appearing; a large assembly-room is talked of,
to join the Red Lion; and Fai-mer Grant is red-hot about
470 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
a cattle -market, close to the railway, on his five acres. In-
deed, altogether, the folks at Dibblethorpe are getting jealous
of the rising village, which will before long, we expect, have
a market on a Wednesday.
But with all this its beauty is not destroyed. The sua
still shines all day on the valley; the bourne still babbles on,
between the pollards to the canal, und the water-lilies still
tremble on its surface; and, although the loiterer on the hilla
can hear the humming vibration of the train passing far under
ground, yet it has not disturbed the broad ferns and glancing
shrubs, the smooth, almost polished, grass, scented fir-woods,
and nut copses on the summit. The harebells and lilies of
the valley throw their slight and quivering shadows on the
moss; and the children find plenty of tall foxgloves, from
the honey-tipped flowers of which they make thimbles and
helmets for their fingers, now as formerly.
Even on the unromantic railway, which people said would
spoil the country, there is something to admire; for the cut-
tings are now slopes of larches, heaths, and sycamores, look-
ing at the curves like some small leafy gorge; and round about
the pretty Swiss -looking chalet, which forms the station, there
is such a fine garden, that it is quite a sight on the line, to
be looked for as the Man-in-chains and Vale of the White
Horse were, in bygone travels. About the house are roses,
always in bloom, and porches of clematis; the very signal-
mast rises from a bed of fuchsias; and the telegraph-posts
have their bases hidden by American plants. When the vine
grows along the luggage shed, and the gleaming acacias rise
above the rails, it will be almost like a scene in a play.
A few of the old inhabitants are grumbling, but this is
always the case under similar circumstances. Mr. Eweman,
the butcher (who, being the only one, charged eightpence
for mutton), has been terribly discomfited by a spirited
fellow from Dibblethorpe, who brings over a cart-load of
prime meat twice-a-week by the rail, and sells everything a
penny a pound under his rival. So also Mr. Durham, the
coal-merchant (who used to have his stock down by the canal,
and make his customers pay what he chose), is violent against
young Grant, who has built a shed close to the line, with a
private tramway, and finds a fair market-price amply remu-
nerate him. So also the man at " the shop" hates the Lon-
THE POTTLETON LEGACY. 471
don traders who send down coffee in tins at one-and-four,
just as good as he got two shillings for. But all this benefits
the community at large, and brings little monopolists to their
senses. At the same time, an increased facility of inter-
course with the metropolis and the large county towns; and
the early arrival of the newspapers in the reading-room,
which the Rev. Mr. Page has been instrumental in starting,
expands the minds of the Pottletonians, and furnishes them
with better subjects for conversation than the miserable
twaddle, and concoctions, and surmises, with respect to the
affairs of their neighbours, which have hitherto formed, in
common with most country tea-tables, the staple topics.
Only one failure has to be recorded, in the aspirations of
Pottleton, and that has been — also in common with other
places — the Literary Institution, which several ardent youths
founded over the carpenters' shop, for the purpose of playing
at committee, giving lectures, and reading dreary periodicals
about "progress," and general equality; by the constant
study of which young Snobson, Mr. Grub's apprentice, who
had dirty nails, and dropped his A's, thought himself as good
as Clarence Brayboeuf, because decomposition would bring
their material to the same ultimate particles. So it would the
Venus de Medici, and the puffy cherubim on a country
church monument. Young Snobson was only a type of the
members, who believed much in the poetry of gaunt, unfe-
minine women, and scared anxious-looking men, always in
difficulties; and wrote verses, such as " Come, sit down by
me, thou art my brother," supposed to be addressed by a
philanthropist in high life to a Monday mechanic, coveting
his society. The institution struggled on for a while, and at
last ended in a species of convivial meeting, for songs, recita-
tions, and the flowing bowl; under which form, should the
early-closing movement be carried, it bids fair to prosper.
All the improvements have, however, only affected the
main thoroughfare of the village. One has but to turn down
any of the lanes, and he is at once in the Pottleton of the
dark ages, before the railway was even thought about. The
f.ne old oak, mentioned in Doomsday, throws its deep, noon-
tide shadow^s over the saw-pit, near the wheelwright's; and
passengers by the public path through the farm -yard are just
as much awed as ever they were by the ill-tempered old
472 THE POTTLETON LEGACY.
turkey-cock, and occasional bull, that dispute their right of
way. Once in the fields, nothing has altered. The old loot-
path to Dibblethorpe passes under the same trees, and is
accompanied all the way by the gurgling water-course: the
stiles are as unpleasantly dreadful as formerly, to the laugh-
ing girls with nice ankles: and the cowslips and buttercups
in the bright spring grass, the primroses on the warm banks,
and the wild hops and blackberries of the hedgerows render
the way as flowery and life-teeming as ever it was.
Philip and Annie have, for a comparatively small sum,
bought back the Grange from the parish, and also, through
Mr. Twinch, reclaimed some of the land once surrounding
and belonging to it. They are gradually putting it in order;
taking one room at a time, and commencing with the hall.
The partitions have been knocked down, the old broad stair-
case brought into use again; the brick-work that blocked
up the different door-ways and passages cleared away; and
it promises, in a year or two's time, to be once more a fine
old mansion. Now and then, an artist is seen taking a sketch
of it. and upon inquiry, he is found to be from London; so
that it is possible that, before long, reproduced in some way
or other, the public at large will become acquainted with
the village; and look with some degree of interest upon the
old grey building, which, acquired by the property left,
formed in some measure a portion of The Pottleton
Legacy.
THE END.
Saviil & Edwards, Printers, <, Cli-indos Street, Coveut Garden.
14 DAY USE
RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWS
LOAN DEPT.
RENEWALS ONLY — ^TEL. NO. 642-3405
This book is due on the last date stamped below, or
on the date to which renewed.
Renewed books are subject to immediate recall.
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