We went into the inn yard, which may have been once a stirring place, and then
sauntered up to the park gate, surmounted by the supporters and armorial
bearings of the Ringwoods. "I wonder whether my poor mother came out of that
gate when she eloped with my father?" said Philip. "Poor thing, poor thing!" The
great gates were shut. The westering sun cast shadows over the sward where here
and there the deer were browsing, and at some mile distance lay the house, with
its towers and porticos and vanes flaming in the sun. The smaller gate was open,
and a girl was standing by the lodge door. Was the house to be seen?
"Yes," says a little red-cheeked girl, with a curtsey.
"No!" calls out a harsh voice from within, and an old woman comes out from the
lodge and looks at us fiercely. "Nobody is to go to the house. The family is
a-coming."
That was provoking. Philip would have liked to behold the great house where his
mother and her ancestors were born.
"Marry, good dame," Philip's companion said to the old beldam, "this goodly
gentleman hath a right of entrance to yonder castle, which, I trow, ye wot not
of. Heard ye never tell of one Philip Ringwood, slain at Busaco's glorious fi��"
"Hold your tongue, and don't chaff her, Pen," growled Firmin.
"Nay, and she knows not Philip Ringwood's grandson," the other wag continued, in
a softened tone. "This will convince her of our right to enter. Canst recognize
this image of your queen?"
"Well, I suppose 'ee can go up," said the old woman, at the sight of this
talisman. "There's only two of them staying there, and they're out a-drivin."
Philip was bent on seeing the halls of his ancestors. Gray and huge, with
towers, and vanes, and porticos, they lay before us a mile off, separated from
us by a streak of glistening river. A great chestnut avenue led up to the river,
and in the dappled grass the deer were browsing.
You know the house, of course. There is a picture of it in Watts, bearing date
1783. A gentleman in a cocked hat and pigtail is rowing a lady in a boat on the
shining river. Another nobleman in a cocked hat is angling in the glistening
river from the bridge, over which a postchaise is passing.
"Yes, the place is like enough," said Philip; "but I miss the post-chaise going
over the bridge, and the lady in the punt with the tall parasol. Don't you
remember the print in our housekeeper's room in Old Parr Street? My poor mother
used to tell me about the house, and I imagined it grander than the palace of
Aladdin. It is a very handsome house," Philip went on. "'It extends two hundred
and sixty feet by seventy-five, and consists of a rustic basement and principal
story, with an attic in the centre, the whole executed in stone. The grand front
towards the park is adorned with a noble portico of the Corinthian order, and
may with propriety be considered one of the finest elevations in the��' I tell
you I am quoting out of Watts's Seats of the Nobility and Gentry, published by
John and Josiah Boydell, and lying in our drawing-room. Ah, dear me! I painted
the boat and the lady and gentleman in the drawing-room copy, and my father
boxed my ears, and my mother cried out, poor dear soul! And this is the river,
is it? And over this the postchaise went with the club-tailed horses, and here
was the pig-tailed gentleman fishing. It gives one a queer sensation," says
Philip, standing on the bridge, and stretching out his big arms. "Yes, there are
the two people in the punt by the rushes. I can see them, but you can't; and I
hope, sir, you will have good sport." And here he took off his hat to an
imaginary gentleman supposed to be angling from the balustrade for ghostly
gudgeon. We reach the house presently. We ring at a door in the basement under
the portico. The porter demurs, and says some of the family is down, but they
are out, to be sure. The same half-crown argument answers with him which
persuaded the keeper at the lodge. We go through the show-rooms of the stately
but somewhat faded and melancholy palace. In the cedar dining-room there hangs
the grim portrait of the late earl; and that fair-haired officer in red? that
must be Philip's grandfather. And those two slim girls embracing, surely those
are his mother and his aunt. Philip walks softly through the vacant rooms. He
gives the porter a gold piece ere he goes out of the great hall, forty feet
cube, ornamented with statues brought from Rome by John first Baron, namely,
Heliogabalus. Nero's mother, a priestess of Isis, and a river god; the pictures
over the doors by Pedimento; the ceiling by Leotardi, and in a window in the
great hall there is a table with a visitors' book, in which Philip writes his
name. As we went away, we met a carriage which drove rapidly towards the house,
and which no doubt contained the members of the Ringwood family, regarding whom
the porteress had spoken. After the family differences previously related, we
did not care to face these kinsfolks of Philip, and passed on quickly in
twilight beneath the rustling umbrage of the chestnuts. J. J. saw a hundred fine
pictorial effects as we walked; the palace reflected in the water; the dappled
deer under the chequered shadow of the trees. It was, "Oh, what a jolly bit of
colour!" and, "I say, look, how well that old woman's red cloak comes in!" and
so forth. Painters never seem tired of their work. At seventy they are students
still, patient, docile, happy. May we too, my good sir, live for fourscore
years, and never be too old to learn! The walk, the brisk accompanying
conversation, amid stately scenery around, brought us with good appetites and
spirits to our inn, where we were told that dinner would be served when the
omnibus arrived from the railway.
At a short distance from the Ringwood Arms, and on the opposite side of the
street, is the Ram Inn, neat postchaises and farmers' ordinary; a house, of
which the pretensions seemed less, though the trade was somewhat more lively.
When the tooting of the horn announced the arrival of the omnibus from the
railway, I should think a crowd of at least fifteen people assembled at various
doors of the High Street and Market. The half-pay captain and the curate came
out from the Ringwood Athen�um. The doctor's apprentice stood on the step of the
surgery door, and the surgeon's lady looked out from the first floor. We shared
the general curiosity. We and the waiter stood at the door of the Ringwood Arms.
We were mortified to see that of the five persons conveyed by the 'bus, one was
a tradesman, who descended at his door (Mr. Packwood, the saddler, so the waiter
informed us), three travellers were discharged at the Ram, and only one came to
us.
"Mostly bagmen goes to the Ram," the waiter said, with a scornful air; and these
bagmen, and their bags, quitted the omnibus.
Only one passenger remained for the Ringwood Arms Hotel, and he presently
descended under the porte coch�re; and the omnibus��I own, with regret, it was
but a one-horse machine��drove rattling into the court-yard, where the bells of
the "Star," the "George," the "Rodney," the "Dolphin," and so on, had once b
een
wont to jingle, and the court had echoed with the noise and clatter of hoofs and
ostlers, and the cries of "First and second, turn out."
Who was the merry-faced little gentleman in black, who got out of the omnibus,
and cried, when he saw us, "What, you here?" It was Mr. Bradgate, that lawyer of
Lord Ringwood's with whom we made a brief acquaintance just after his lordship's
death." "What, you here?" cries Bradgate, then, to Philip. Come down about this
business, of course? Very glad that you and��and certain parties have made it
up. Thought you weren't friends.
What business? What parties? We had not heard the news? We had only come over
from Periwinkle Bay by chance, in order to see the house.
"How very singular! Did you meet the��the people who were staying there?"
We said we had seen a carriage pass, but did not remark who was in it. What,
however, was the news? Well. It would be known immediately, and would appear in
Tuesday's Gazette. The news was that Sir John Ringwood was going to take a
peerage, and that the seat for Whipham would be vacant. And herewith our friend
produced from his travelling bag a proclamation, which he read to us, and which
was addressed��
"To the worthy and independent electors of the borough of Ringwood."
"London, Wednesday."
"Gentlemen,��A gracious Sovereign having been pleased to order that the family
of Ringwood should continue to be represented in the House of Peers, I take
leave of my friends and constituents who have given me their kind confidence
hitherto, and promise them that my regard for them will never cease, or my
interest in the town and neighbourhood where my family have dwelt for many
centuries. The late lamented Lord Ringwood's brother died in the service of his
Sovereign in Portugal, following the same flag under which his ancestors for
centuries have fought and bled. My own son serves the Crown in a civil capacity.
It was natural that one of our name and family should continue the relations
which so long have subsisted between us and this loyal, affectionate, but
independent borough. Mr. Ringwood's onerous duties in the office which he holds
are sufficient to occupy his time. A gentleman united to our family by the
closest ties will offer himself as a candidate for your suffrages��"
cousin?"
"No," says Mr. Bradgate.
"Well, bless my soul! he can't mean me," said Philip. "Who is the dark horse he
has in his stable!"
Then Mr. Bradgate laughed. "Dark horse you may call him. The new member is to be
Grenville Woolcomb, Esq., your West India relative, and no other."
Those who know the extreme energy of Mr. P. Firmin's language when he is
excited, may imagine the explosion of Philippine wrath which ensued as our
friend heard this name. "That miscreant: that skinflint: that wealthy
crossing-sweeper: that ignoramus who scarce could do more than sign his name!
Oh, it was horrible, shameful! Why, the man is on such ill terms with his wife
that they say he strikes her. When I see him I feel inclined to choke him, and
murder him. That brute going into Parliament, and the republican Sir John
Ringwood sending him there! It's monstrous!"
"Family arrangements. Sir John, or, I should say, my Lord Ringwood is one of the
most affectionate of parents," Mr. Bradgate remarked. "He has a large family by
his second marriage, and his estates go to his eldest son. We must not quarrel
with Lord Ringwood for wishing to provide for his young ones. I don't say that
he quite acts up to the extreme Liberal principle of which he was once rather
fond of boasting. But if you were offered a peerage, what would you do; what
would I do? If you wanted money for your young ones, and could get it, would you
not take it? Come, come, don't let us have too much of this Spartan virtue! If
we were tried, my good friend, we should not be much worse or better than our
neighbours. Is my fly coming, waiter?" We asked Mr. Bradgate to defer his
departure, and to share our dinner. But he declined, and said he must go up to
the great house, where he and his client had plenty of business to arrange, and
where no doubt he would stay for the night. He bade the inn servants put his
portmanteau into his carriage when it came. "The old lord had some famous port
wine," he said; "I hope my friends have the key of the cellar."
The waiter was just putting our meal on the table, as we stood in the bow-window
of the Ringwood Arms coffee-room, engaged in this colloquy. Hence we could see
the street, and the opposition inn of the Ram, where presently a great placard
was posted. At least a dozen street boys, shopmen, and rustics were quickly
gathered round this manifesto, and we ourselves went out to examine it. The Ram
placard denounced, in terms of unmeasured wrath, the impudent attempt from the
Castle to dictate to the free and independent electors of the borough. Freemen
were invited not to promise their votes; to show themselves worthy of their
name; to submit to no Castle dictation. A county gentleman of property, of
influence, of liberal principles��no West Indian, no Castle Flunkey, but a True
English Gentleman, would come forward to rescue them from the tyranny under
which they laboured. On this point the electors might rely on the word of A
Briton.
"This was brought down by the clerk from Bedloe's. He and a newspaper man came
down in the train with me; a Mr.��"
As he spoke, there came forth from the Ram the newspaper man of whom Mr.
Bradgate spoke��an old friend and comrade of Philip, that energetic man and able
reporter, Phipps of the Daily Intelligencer, who recognized Philip, and
cordially greeting him, asked what he did down here, and supposed he had come to
support his family.
Philip explained that we were strangers, had come from a neighbouring watering
place to see the home of Philip's ancestors, and was not even aware, until then,
that an electioneering contest was pending in the place, or that Sir John
Ringwood was about to be promoted to the peerage. Meanwhile, Mr. Bradgate's fly
had driven out of the hotel yard of the Ringwood Arms, and the lawyer running to
the house for a bag of papers, jumped into the carriage and called to the
coachman to drive to the castle.
"Bon app�tit!" says he, in a confident tone, and he was gone.
"Would Phipps dine with us?" Phipps whispered, "I am on the other side, and the
Ram is our house."
We, who were on no side, entered into the Ringwood Arms, and sat down to our
meal��to the mutton and the catsup, cauliflower and potatoes, the copper-edged
side dishes, and the watery melted butter, with which strangers are regaled in
inns in declining towns. The town badauds, who had read the placard at the Ram,
clinking boots stopped before the one window and the other, the while we ate
tough mutton and drank fiery sherry. And J. J., leaving his dinner, sketched
some of the figures of the townsfo
lk staring at the manifesto, with the
old-fashioned Ram Inn for a background��a picturesque gable enough.
Our meal was just over, when, somewhat to our surprise, our friend Mr. Bradgate
the lawyer returned to the Ringwood Arms. He wore a disturbed countenance He
asked what he could have for dinner? Mutton, neither hot nor cold. Hum! That
must do. So he had not been invited to dine at the Park? We rallied him with
much facetiousness on this disappointment.
Little Bradgate's eyes started with wrath. "What a churl the little black fellow
is!" he cried. "I took him his papers. I talked with him till dinner was laid in
the very room where we were. French beans and neck of venison��I saw the
housekeeper and his man bring them in!" And Mr. Woolcomb did not so much as ask
me to sit down to dinner��but told me to come again at nine o'clock! Confound
this mutton��it's neither hot nor cold! The little skinflint! The glasses of
fiery sherry which Bradgate now swallowed served rather to choke than appease
the lawyer. We laughed, and this jocularity angered him more. "Oh," said he, "I
am not the only person Woolcomb was rude to. He was in a dreadful ill-temper. He
abused his wife: and when he read somebody's name in the stranger's book, I
promise you, Firmin, he abused you. I had a mind to say to him, 'Sir, Mr. Firmin
is dining at the Ringwood Arms, and I will tell him what you say of him.' What
india rubber mutton this is! What villanous sherry! Go back to him at nine
o'clock, indeed! Be hanged to his impudence!"
"You must not abuse Woolcomb before Firmin," said one of our party. "Philip is
so fond of his cousin's husband, that he cannot bear to hear the black man
abused."
This was not a very brilliant joke, but Philip grinned at it with much savage
satisfaction.
"Hit Woolcomb as hard as you please, he has no friends here, Mr. Bradgate,"
growled Philip. "So he is rude to his lawyer, is he?"
"I tell you he is worse than the old earl," cried the indignant Bradgate. "At
least the old man was a peer of England, and could be a gentleman when he
wished. But to be bullied by a fellow who might be a black footman, or ought to
be sweeping a crossing! It's monstrous!"
"Don't speak ill of a man and a brother, Mr. Bradgate. Woolcomb can't help his
complexion."
"But he can help his confounded impudence, and shan't practise it on me!" the
attorney cried.
As Bradgate called out from his box, puffing and fuming, friend J. J. was
scribbling in the little sketchbook which he always carried. He smiled over his
work. "I know," he said, "the Black Prince well enough. I have often seen him
driving his chestnut mares in the Park, with that bewildered white wife by his
side. I am sure that woman is miserable, and poor thing��"
"Serve her right! What did an English lady mean by marrying such a fellow!"
cries Bradgate.
"A fellow who does not ask his lawyer to dinner!" remarks one of the company:
perhaps the reader's very humble servant. "But what an imprudent lawyer he has
chosen��a lawyer who speaks his mind."
"I have spoken my mind to his betters, and be hanged to him! Do you think I am
going to be afraid of him?" bawls the irascible solicitor.
"Contempsi Catilin� gladios��do you remember the old quotation at school,
Philip." And here there was a break in our conversation, for chancing to look at
friend J. J.'s sketch-book, we saw that he had made a wonderful little drawing,
representing Woolcomb and Woolcomb's wife, grooms, phaeton, and chestnut mares,
as they were to be seen any afternoon in Hyde Park, during the London season.
Admirable! Capital! Everybody at once knew the likeness of the dusky charioteer.
Iracundus himself smiled and sniggered over it. "Unless you behave yourself, Mr.
Bradgate, Ridley will make a picture of you," says Philip. Bradgate made a
comical face and retreated into his box, of which he pretended to draw the
curtain. But the sociable little man did not long remain in his retirement; he