mustachios: "but my brother had nothing to do with the quarrel, and very
rightly did not wish to engage in it. He has an eye to business, has
Master Hobson too," my friend continued: "for he brought me a cheque for
my private account, which of course, he said, could not remain after my
quarrel with Barnes. But the Indian bank account, which is pretty large,
he supposed need not be taken away? and indeed why should it? So that,
which is little business of mine, remains where it was; and brother
Hobson and I remain perfectly good friends.
"I think Clive is much better since he has been quite put out of his
suspense. He speaks with a great deal more kindness and good-nature about
the marriage than I am disposed to feel regarding it: and depend on it
has too high a spirit to show that he is beaten. But I know he is a good
deal cut up, though he says nothing; and he agreed willingly enough to
take a little journey, Arthur, and be out of the way when this business
takes place. We shall go to Paris: I don't know where else besides. These
misfortunes do good in one way, hard as they are to bear: they unite
people who love each other. It seems to me my boy has been nearer to me,
and likes his old father better than he has done of late." And very soon
after this talk our friends departed.
The Crimean minister having been recalled, and Lady Anne Newcome's house
in park Lane being vacant, her ladyship and her family came to occupy the
mansion for this eventful season, and sate once more in the dismal
dining-room under the picture of the defunct Sir Brian. A little of the
splendour and hospitality of old days was revived in the house:
entertainments were given by Lady Anne: and amongst other festivities a
fine ball took place, when pretty Miss Alice, Miss Ethel's younger
sister, made her first appearance in the world, to which she was
afterwards to be presented by the Marchioness of Farintosh. All the
little sisters were charmed, no doubt, that the beautiful Ethel was to
become a beautiful Marchioness, who, as they came up to womanhood one
after another, would introduce them severally to amiable young earls,
dukes, and marquises, when they would be married off and wear coronets
and diamonds of their own right. At Lady Anne's ball I saw my
acquaintance, young Mumford, who was going to Oxford next October, and
about to leave Rugby, where he was at the head of the school, looking
very dismal as Miss Alice whirled round the room dancing in Viscount
Bustington's arms;--Miss Alice, with whose mamma he used to take tea at
Rugby, and for whose pretty sake Mumford did Alfred Newcome's verses for
him and let him off his thrashings. Poor Mumford! he dismally went about
under the protection of young Alfred, a fourth-form boy--not one soul did
he know in that rattling London ballroom; his young face--as white as the
large white tie, donned two hours since at the Tavistock with such
nervousness and beating of heart!
With these lads, and decorated with a tie equally splendid, moved about
young Sam Newcome, who was shirking from his sister and his mamma. Mrs.
Hobson had actually assumed clean gloves for this festive occasion. Sam
stared at all the "Nobs:" and insisted upon being introduced to
"Farintosh," and congratulated his lordship with much graceful ease:
and then pushed about the rooms perseveringly hanging on to Alfred's
jacket. "I say, I wish you wouldn't call me Al'," I heard Mr. Alfred say
to his cousin. Seeing my face, Mr. Samuel ran up to claim acquaintance.
He was good enough to say he thought Farintosh seemed devilish haughty.
Even my wife could not help saying, that Mr. Sam was an odious little
creature.
So it was for young Alfred, and his brothers and sisters, who would want
help and protection in the world, that Ethel was about to give up her
independence, her inclination perhaps, and to bestow her life on yonder
young nobleman. Looking at her as a girl devoting herself to her family,
her sacrifice gave her a melancholy interest in our eyes. My wife and I
watched her, grave and beautiful, moving through the rooms, receiving and
returning a hundred greetings, bending to compliments, talking with this
friend and that, with my lord's lordly relations, with himself, to whom
she listened deferentially; faintly smiling as he spoke now and again;
doing the honours of her mother's house. Lady after lady of his
lordship's clan and kinsfolk complimented the girl and her pleased
mother. Old Lady Kew was radiant (if one can call radiance the glances of
those darkling old eyes). She sate in a little room apart, and thither
levee with my wife on my arm: Lady Kew scowled at me over her crutch, but
without a sign of recognition. "What an awful countenance that old woman
has!" Laura whispered as we retreated out of that gloomy presence.
And Doubt (as its wont is) whispered too a question in my ear, "Is it for
her brothers and sisters only that Miss Ethel is sacrificing herself? Is
it not for the coronet, and the triumph, and the fine houses?" "When two
motives may actuate a friend, we surely may try and believe in the good
one," says Laura. "But, but I am glad Clive does not marry her--poor
fellow--he would not have been happy with her. She belongs to this great
world: she has spent all her life in it: Clive would have entered into it
very likely in her train; and you know, sir, it is not good that we
should be our husbands' superiors," adds Mrs. Laura, with a curtsey.
She presently pronounced that the air was very hot in the rooms, and in
fact wanted to go home to see her child. As we passed out, we saw Sir
Barnes Newcome, eagerly smiling, smirking, bowing, and in the fondest
conversation with his sister and Lord Farintosh. By Sir Barnes presently
brushed Lieutenant-General Sir George Tufto, K.C.B., who, when he saw on
whose foot he had trodden, grunted out, "H'm, beg your pardon!" and
turning his back on Barnes, forthwith began complimenting Ethel and the
Marquis. "Served with your lordship's father in Spain; glad to make your
lordship's acquaintance," says Sir George. Ethel bows to us as we pass
out of the rooms, and we hear no more of Sir George's conversation.
In the cloak-room sits Lady Clara Newcome, with a gentleman bending over
her, just in such an attitude as the bride is in Hogarth's "Marriage a la
Mode" as the counsellor talks to her. Lady Clara starts up as a crowd of
blushes come into her wan face, and tries to smile, and rises to greet my
wife, and says something about its being so dreadfully hot in the upper
rooms, and so very tedious waiting for the carriages. The gentleman
advances towards me with a military stride, and says, "How do you do, Mr.
Pendennis? How's our young friend, the painter?" I answer Lord Highgate
civilly enough, whereas my wife will scarce speak a word in reply to Lady
Clara Newcome.
Lady Clara asked us to her ball, which my wife declined altogether to
attend. Sir Barnes published a series of quite splendid entertainments on
the happy occasion of his s
ister's betrothal. We read the names of all
the clan Farintosh in the Morning Post, as attending these banquets. Mr.
and Mrs. Hobson Newcome, in Bryanstone Square, gave also signs of
rejoicing at their niece's marriage. They had a grand banquet followed by
a tea, to which latter amusement the present biographer was invited. Lady
Anne, and Lady Kew and her granddaughter, and the Baronet and his wife,
and my Lord Highgate and Sir George Tufto attended the dinner; but it was
rather a damp entertainment. "Farintosh," whispers Sam Newcome, "sent
word just before dinner that he had a sore throat, and Barnes was as
sulky as possible. Sir George wouldn't speak to him, and the Dowager
wouldn't speak to Lord Highgate. Scarcely anything was drank," concluded
Mr. Sam, with a slight hiccup. "I say, Pendennis, how sold Clive will
be!" And the amiable youth went off to commune with others of his
parents' guests.
Thus the Newcomes entertained the Farintoshes, and the Farintoshes
entertained the Newcomes. And the Dowager Countess of Kew went from
assembly to assembly every evening, and to jewellers and upholsterers and
dressmakers every morning; and Lord Farintosh's town-house was splendidly
re-decorated in the newest fashion; and he seemed to grow more and more
attentive as the happy day approached, and he gave away all his cigars to
his brother Rob; and his sisters were delighted with Ethel, and
constantly in her company, and his mother was pleased with her, and
thought a girl of her spirit and resolution would make a good wife for
her son: and select crowds flocked to see the service of plate at
Handyman's, and the diamonds which were being set for the lady; and Smee,
R.A., painted her portrait, as a souvenir for mamma when Miss Newcome
should be Miss Newcome no more; and Lady Kew made a will leaving all she
could leave to her beloved granddaughter, Ethel, daughter of the late Sir
Brian Newcome, Baronet; and Lord Kew wrote an affectionate letter to his
cousin, congratulating her, and wishing her happiness with all his heart;
and I was glancing over The Times newspaper at breakfast one morning;
with surprise.
"What is it?" cries Laura, and I read as follows:--
"'Death of the Countess Dowager of Kew.--We regret to have to announce
the awfully sudden death of this venerable lady. Her ladyship, who had
been at several parties of the nobility the night before last, seemingly
in perfect health, was seized with a fit as she was waiting for her
carriage, and about to quit Lady Pallgrave's assembly. Immediate medical
assistance was procured, and her ladyship was carried to her own house,
in Queen Street, Mayfair. But she never rallied, or, we believe, spoke,
after the first fatal seizure, and sank at eleven o'clock last evening,
The deceased, Louisa Joanna Gaunt, widow of Frederic, first Earl of Kew,
was daughter of Charles, Earl of Gaunt, and sister of the late and aunt
of the present Marquis of Steyne. The present Earl of Kew is her
ladyship's grandson, his lordship's father, Lord Walham, having died
before his own father, the first earl. Many noble families are placed in
mourning by this sad event. Society has to deplore the death of a lady
who has been its ornament for more than half a century, and who was
known, we may say, throughout Europe for her remarkable sense,
extraordinary memory, and brilliant wit.'"
CHAPTER LV
Barnes's Skeleton Closet
The demise of Lady Kew of course put a stop for a while to the
matrimonial projects so interesting to the house of Newcome. Hymen blew
his torch out, put it into the cupboard for use on a future day, and
exchanged his garish saffron-coloured robe for decent temporary mourning.
Charles Honeyman improved the occasion at Lady Whittlesea's Chapel hard
by; and "Death at the Festival" was one of his most thrilling sermons;
reprinted at the request of some of the congregation. There were those of
his flock, especially a pair whose quarter of the fold was the
organ-loft, who were always charmed with the piping of that melodious
pastor.
Shall we too, while the coffin yet rests on the earth's outer surface,
enter the chapel whither these void remains of our dear sister departed
are borne by the smug undertaker's gentlemen, and pronounce an elegy over
that bedizened box of corruption? When the young are stricken down, and
their roses nipped in an hour by the destroying blight, even the stranger
can sympathise, who counts the scant years on the gravestone, or reads
the notice in the newspaper corner. The contrast forces itself on you. A
fair young creature, bright and blooming yesterday, distributing smiles,
levying homage, inspiring desire, conscious of her power to charm, and
gay with the natural enjoyment of her conquests--who in his walk through
the world has not looked on many such a one; and, at the notion of her
sudden call away from beauty, triumph, pleasure; her helpless outcries
during her short pain; her vain pleas for a little respite; her sentence,
and its execution; has not felt a shock of pity? When the days of a long
life come to its close, and a white head sinks to rise no more, we bow
our own with respect as the mourning train passes, and salute the
heraldry and devices of yonder pomp, as symbols of age, wisdom, deserved
respect and merited honour; long experience of suffering and action. The
wealth he may have achieved is the harvest which he sowed; the titles on
his hearse, fruits of the field he bravely and laboriously wrought in.
But to live to fourscore years, and be found dancing among the idle
virgins! to have had near a century of allotted time, and then be called
away from the giddy notes of a Mayfair fiddle! To have to yield your
roses too, and then drop out of the bony clutch of your old fingers a
wreath that came from a Parisian bandbox! One fancies around some graves
unseen troops of mourners waiting; many and many a poor pensioner
trooping to the place; many weeping charities; many kind actions; many
dear friends beloved and deplored, rising up at the toll of that bell to
follow the honoured hearse; dead parents waiting above, and calling,
"Come, daughter!" lost children, heaven's fondlings, hovering round like
cherubim, and whispering, "Welcome, mother!" Here is one who reposes
after a long feast where no love has been; after girlhood without kindly
maternal nurture; marriage without affection; matronhood without its
precious griefs and joys; after fourscore years of lonely vanity. Let us
take off our hats to that procession too as it passes, admiring the
different lots awarded to the children of men, and the various usages to
which Heaven puts its creatures.
Leave we yonder velvet-palled box, spangled with fantastic heraldry, and
containing within the aged slough and envelope of a soul gone to render
its account. Look rather at the living audience standing round the
shell;--the deep grief on Barnes Newcome's fine countenance; the sadness
depicted in the face of the most noble th
e Marquis of Farintosh; the
sympathy of her ladyship's medical man (who came in the third mourning
carriage); better than these, the awe, and reverence, and emotion,
exhibited in the kind face of one of the witnesses of this scene, as he
listens to those words which the priest rehearses over our dead. What
magnificent words! what a burning faith, what a glorious triumph; what a
heroic life, death, hope, they record! They are read over all of us
alike; as the sun shines on just and unjust. We have all of us heard
them; and I have fancied, for my part, that they fell and smote like the
sods on the coffin.
The ceremony over, the undertaker's gentlemen clamber on the roof of the
vacant hearse, into which palls, tressels, trays of feathers, are
inserted, and the horses break out into a trot, and the empty carriages,
expressing the deep grief of the deceased lady's friends, depart
homeward. It is remarked that Lord Kew hardly has any communication with
his cousin, Sir Barnes Newcome. His lordship jumps into a cab, and goes
to the railroad. Issuing from the cemetery, the Marquis of Farintosh
hastily orders that thing to be taken off his hat, and returns to town in
his brougham, smoking a cigar. Sir Barnes Newcome rides in the brougham
beside Lord Farintosh as far as Oxford Street, where he gets a cab, and
goes to the City. For business is business, and must be attended to,
though grief be ever so severe.
A very short time previous to her demise, Mr. Rood (that was Mr. Rood--
that other little gentleman in black, who shared the third mourning coach
along with her ladyship's medical man) had executed a will by which
almost all the Countess's property was devised to her granddaughter,
Ethel Newcome. Lady Kew's decease of course delayed the marriage projects
for a while. The young heiress returned to her mother's house in Park
Lane. I dare say the deep mourning habiliments in which the domestics of
that establishment appeared, were purchased out of the funds left in his
hands, which Ethel's banker and brother had at her disposal.
Sir Barnes Newcome, who was one of the trustees of his sister's property,
grumbled no doubt because his grandmother had bequeathed to him but a
paltry recompense of five hundred pounds for his pains and trouble of
trusteeship; but his manner to Ethel was extremely bland and respectful:
an heiress now, and to be a marchioness in a few months, Sir Barnes
treated her with a very different regard to that which he was accustomed
to show to other members of his family. For while this worthy Baronet
would contradict his mother at every word she uttered, and take no pains
to disguise his opinion that Lady Anne's intellect was of the very
poorest order, he would listen deferentially to Ethel's smallest
observations, exert himself to amuse her under her grief, which he chose
to take for granted was very severe, visit her constantly, and show the
most charming solicitude for her general comfort and welfare.
During this time my wife received constant notes from Ethel Newcome, and
the intimacy between the two ladies much increased. Laura was so unlike
the women of Ethel's circle, the young lady was pleased to say, that to
be with her was Ethel's greatest comfort. Miss Newcome was now her own
mistress, had her carriage, and would drive day after day to our cottage
at Richmond. The frigid society of Lord Farintosh's sisters, the
conversation of his mother, did not amuse Ethel, and she escaped from
both with her usual impatience of control. She was at home every day
dutifully to receive my lord's visits; but though she did not open her
mind to Laura as freely regarding the young gentleman as she did when the
character and disposition of her future mother and sisters-in-law was the
subject of their talk, I could see, from the grave look of commiseration
which my wife's face bore after her young friend's visits, that Mrs.