CHAPTER ONE
_Introducing Mr. Tawnish, and what befell at "The Chequers"_
Myself and Bentley, who, though a good fellow in many ways, is yet afool in more (hence the prominence of the personal pronoun, for, asevery one knows, a fool should give place to his betters)--myself andBentley, then, were riding home from Hadlow, whither we had been towitness a dog-fight (and I may say a better fight I never saw, the dog Ihad backed disabling his opponent very effectively in something lessthan three-quarters of an hour--whereby Bentley owes me a hundredguineas)--we were riding home as I say, and were within a half-mile orso of Tonbridge, when young Harry Raikes came up behind us at his usualwild gallop, and passing with a curt nod, disappeared down the hill in acloud of dust.
"Were I but ten years younger," says I, looking after him, "TonbridgeTown would be too small to hold yonder fellow and myself--he is becominga positive pest."
"True," says Bentley, "he's forever embroiling some one or other."
"Only last week," says I, "while you were away in London, he ran youngRichards through the lungs over some triviality, and they say he liesa-dying."
"Poor lad! poor lad!" says Bentley. "I mind, too, there was TomAdams--shot dead in the Miller's Field not above a month ago; and beforethat, young Oatlands, and many others besides--"
"Egad," says I, "but I've a great mind to call 'out' the bully myself."
"Pooh!" says Bentley, "the fellow's a past master at either weapon."
"If you will remember, there was a time when I was accounted no meanperformer either, Bentley."
"Pooh!" says Bentley, "leave it to a younger man--myself, for instance."
"Why, there is but a month or two betwixt us," says I.
"Six months and four days," says he in his dogged fashion; "besides," hewent on, argumentatively, "should it come to small-swords, you are agood six inches shorter in the reach than Raikes; now as for me--"
"You!" says I, "Should it come to pistols you could not help but stop abullet with your vast bulk."
Hereupon Bentley must needs set himself to prove that a big man offeredno better target than a more diminutive one, all of which was of coursebut the purest folly, as I very plainly showed him, whereat he fella-whistling of the song "Lillibuleero" (as is his custom ever, when atall hipped or put out in any way). And so we presently came to thecross-roads. Now it has been our custom for the past twelve years tofinish the day with a game of picquet with our old friend Jack Chester,so that it had become quite an institution, so to speak. What was oursurprise then to see Jack himself upon his black mare, waiting for usbeneath the finger-post. That he was in one of his passions was evidentfrom the acute angle of his hat and wig, and as we approached we couldhear him swearing to himself.
"Bet you fifty it's his daughter," says Bentley.
"Done!" says I, promptly.
"How now, Jack?" says Bentley, as we shook hands.
"May the Devil anoint me!" growled Jack.
"Belike he will," says Bentley.
"Here's an infernal state of affairs!" says Jack, frowning up the road,his hat and wig very much over one eye.
"Why, what's to do?" says I.
"Do?" says he, rapping out three oaths in quick succession--"do?--thedevil and all's to do!"
"Make it a hundred?" says Bentley aside.
"Done!" says I.
"To think," groans Jack, blowing out his cheeks and striking himself aviolent blow in the chest, "to think of a pale-faced, pranked-out,spindle-shanked, mealy-mouthed popinjay like him!"
"Him?" says I, questioningly.
"Aye--him!" snaps Jack, with another oath.
"Make it a hundred and fifty, Bentley?" says I softly.
"Agreed!" says Bentley.
"To think," says Jack again, "of a prancing puppy-dog, a walkingclothes-pole like him--and she loves him, sir!"
"She?" repeated Bentley, and chuckled.
"Aye, she, sir," roared Jack; "to think after the way we have broughther up, after all our care of her, that she should go and fall in lovewith a dancing, dandified nincompoop, all powder and patches. Why damme!the wench is run stark, staring mad. Egad! a nice situation for a lovingand affectionate father to be placed in!"
"Father?" says I.
"Aye, father, sir," roars Jack again, "though I would to heaven Penelopehad some one else to father her--the jade!"
"What!" says I, unheeding Bentley's leering triumph (Bentley never winsbut he must needs show it) "what, is Penelope--fallen in love withsomebody?"
"Why don't I tell you?" cries Jack, "don't I tell you that I found a setof verses--actually poetry, that the jackanapes had written her?"
"Did you tax her with the discovery?" says I.
"To be sure I did, and the minx owned her love for him--vowed she'dnever wed another, and positively told me she liked the poetry stuff.After that, as you may suppose, I came away; had I stayed I won't answerfor it but that I might have boxed the jade's ears. Oh, egad, a prettybusiness!"
"And I thought we had settled she was to marry Bentley's nephew Horacesome day," says I, as we turned into the High Street.
"It seems she has determined otherwise--the vixen; and a likely lad,too, as I remember him," says Jack, shaking his head.
"Where is he now, Bentley?" says I.
"Humph!" says Bentley, thoughtfully. "His last letter was writ fromVenice."
"Aye, that's it," says Jack, "while he's gadding abroad, this mincing,languid ass, this--"
"What did you say was the fellow's name?" says I.
"Tawnish!" says Jack, making a wry face over it, "the Honourable HoratioTawnish. Come, Dick and Bentley, what shall we do in the matter?"
"Speaking for myself," I returned, "it's devilish hard to determine."
"And speaking for us all," says Bentley, "suppose we thrash out thequestion over a bottle of wine?" and swinging into the yard of "TheChequers" hard by, he dismounted and led the way to the sanded parlour.
We found it empty (as it usually is at this hour) save for a solitaryindividual who lounged upon one of the settles, staring into the fire.
He was a gentleman of middling height and very slenderly built, with apair of dreamy blue eyes set in the oval of a face whose pallor wasrendered more effective by a patch at the corner of his mouth. His coat,of a fine blue satin laced with silver, sat upon him with scarce awrinkle (the which especially recommended itself to me); white satinsmall-clothes and silk stockings of the same hue, with silver-buckled,red-heeled shoes, completed a costume of an elegance seldom seen out ofLondon. I noticed also that his wig, carefully powdered and ironed, wasof the very latest French mode (vastly different to the rough scratchwigs usually affected by the gentry hereabouts), while thethree-cornered hat upon the table at his elbow was edged with the veryfinest point. Altogether, there was about him a certain delicate airthat reminded me of my own vanished youth, and I sighed. As I took myseat, yet wondering who this fine gentleman might be, Jack seized mesuddenly by the arm.
"Look!" says he in my ear, "damme, there sits the fellow!"
Turning my head, I saw that the gentleman had risen, and he now trippedtowards us, his toes carefully pointed, while a small, gold-mountedwalking cane dangled from his wrist by a riband.
"I believe," says he, speaking in a soft, affected voice, "I believe Ihave the felicity of addressing Sir John Chester?"
"The same, sir," said Jack, rising, "and, sir, I wish a word with you."Here, however, remembering myself and Bentley, he introduced us--thoughin a very perfunctory fashion, to be sure.
"Sir John," says Mr. Tawnish, "your very obedient humble;gentlemen--yours," and he bowed deeply to each of us in turn, with aprodigious flourish of the laced hat.
"I believe I have the felicity of addressing Sir JohnChester?" _Page 12._]
"I repeat, sir," says Jack, returning his bow, very stiff in the back,"I repeat, I would have a word with you."
"On my soul, I protest you do me too
much honour!" he murmured--"shallwe sit?" Jack nodded, and Mr. Tawnish sank into a chair between myselfand Bentley.
"Delightful weather we are having," says he, breaking in upon a somewhatawkward pause, "though they do tell me the country needs rain mostdamnably!"
"Mr. Tawnish," says Jack, giving himself a sudden thump in the chest, "Ihave no mind to talk to you of the weather."
"No?" says Mr. Tawnish, with a tinge of surprise in his gentle voice,"why then, I'm not particular myself, Sir John--there are a host ofother matters--horses and dogs, for instance."
"The devil take your horses and dogs, sir!" cries Jack.
"Willingly," says Mr. Tawnish, "to speak the truth I grow somethingtired of them myself; there seems very little else talked ofhereabouts."
"Mr. Tawnish," says Jack, beginning to lose his temper despite myadmonitory frown, "the matter on which I would speak to you is mydaughter, sir, the Lady Penelope."
"What--here, Sir John?" cries Mr. Tawnish, in a horrified tone, "in thetap of an inn, with a--pink my immortal soul!--a sanded floor, and thevery air nauseous with the reek of filthy tobacco? No, no, Sir John,indeed, keep to horses and dogs, I beg of you; 'tis a subject more inharmony with such surroundings."
"Now look you, sir," says Jack, blowing out his cheeks, "'tis a goodenough place for what I have to say to you, sanded floor or no, and Ipromise it shall not detain you long."
Hereupon Jack rose with a snort of anger, and began pacing to and fro,striking himself most severely several times, while Mr. Tawnish, drawingout a very delicate, enamelled snuff-box, helped himself to a leisurelypinch, and regarded him with a mild astonishment.
"Sir," says Jack, turning suddenly with a click of spurred heels, "youare in the habit of writing poetry?"
The patch at the corner of the Honourable Horatio's mouth quivered fora moment. "Really, my dear Sir John--" he began.
"You sent a set of verses to my daughter, sir," Jack broke in, "well,damme, sir, I don't like poetry!"
"I do not doubt it for a moment, sir," says Mr. Tawnish, "but these werewritten, if you remember, to--the lady."
"Exactly," cries Jack, "and you will understand, sir, that I forbidpoetry, once and for all--curse me, sir, I'll not permit it!"
"This new French sauce that London is gone mad over is a thought toostrong of garlic, to my thinking," says Mr. Tawnish, flicking a straygrain of snuff from his cravat. "You will, I think, agree with me, SirJohn, that to a delicate palate--"
"The devil anoint your French sauce, sir," cries Jack, in a fury, "who'stalking of French sauces?"
"My very dear Sir John," says Mr. Tawnish, with an engaging smile, "whenone topic becomes at all--strained, shall we say?--I esteem it the wisercourse to change the subject, having frequently proved it to havecertain soothing and calming effects--hence my sauce."
Here Bentley sneezed and coughed both together and came nigh chokingoutright (a highly dangerous thing in one of his weight), whichnecessitated my loosening his steenkirk and thumping him betwixt theshoulder-blades, while Jack strode up and down, swearing under hisbreath, and Mr. Tawnish took another pinch of snuff.
"French sauce, by heaven!" cries Jack suddenly, "did any man ever hearthe like of it?--French sauce!" and herewith he snatched off his wig andtrampled upon it, and Bentley choked himself purple again. I will admitthat Jack's round bullet head, with its close-cropped, grizzled hairstanding on end, would have been a whimsical, not to say laughable sightin any other (Bentley for instance)--but Jack in a rage is no laughablematter.
"By the Lord, sir," cries he, turning upon Mr. Tawnish, who satcross-legged, regarding everything with the same mild wonderment--"bythe Lord! I'd call you out for that French sauce if I thought you were afighting man."
"Heaven forfend!" exclaimed Mr. Tawnish, with a gesture of horror,"violence of all kinds is abhorrent to my nature, and I have alwaysregarded the duello as a particularly clumsy and illogical method ofsettling a dispute."
Hereupon Jack looked about him in a helpless sort of fashion, as indeedwell he might, and catching sight of his wig lying in the middle of thefloor, promptly kicked it into a corner, which seemed to relieve himsomewhat, for he went to it and, picking it up again, knocked out thedust upon his knee, and setting it on very much over one eye, sathimself down again, flushed and panting, but calm.
"Mr. Tawnish," says he, "as regards my daughter, I must ask--naydemand--that you cease your persecution of her once and for all."
"Sir John," says Mr. Tawnish, bowing across the table, "allow me tosuggest in the most humble and submissive manner, that the word'persecution' is perhaps a trifle--I say just a trifle--unwarranted."
"Be that as it may, sir, I repeat it, nevertheless," says Jack, "andfurthermore I must insist that you communicate no more with the LadyPenelope either by poetry or--or any other means."
"Alas!" sighs Mr. Tawnish, "cheat myself as I may, the possibility willobtrude itself that you do not look upon my suit with quite the degreeof warmth I had hoped. Sir, I am not perfect, few of us are, but evenyou will grant that I am not altogether a savage?" As he ended, hehelped himself to another pinch of snuff with a pretty, delicate airsuch as a lady would use in taking a comfit; indeed his hand, small andelegantly shaped, whose whiteness was accentuated by the emerald andruby ring upon his finger, needed no very strong effort of fancy to betaken for a woman's outright. I saw Jack's lip curl and his nostrilsdilate at its very prettiness.
"There be worse things than savages, sir," says he, pointedly.
"Indeed, Sir John, you are very right--do but hearken to the brutes,"says Mr. Tawnish, with lifted finger, as from the floor above came aroar of voices singing a merry drinking-catch, with the ring of glassesand the stamping of spurred heels. "Hark to 'em," he repeated, with agesture of infinite disgust; "these are creatures the which, having allthe outward form and semblance of man, yet, being utterly devoid of allman's finer qualities, live but to quarrel and fight--to eat and drinkand beget their kind--in which they be vastly prolific, for the world isfull of such. To-night it would seem they are in a high good humour,wherefore they are a trifle more boisterous than usual, indulgingthemselves in these howlings and shoutings, and shall presently drinkthemselves out of what little wit Dame Nature hath bestowed upon 'em,and be carted home to bed by their lackeys--pah!"
"How--what?" gasps Jack, while I sat staring (very nearly open-mouthed)at the cool audacity of the fellow.
"Are you aware, sir," cries Jack, when at last he had regained hisbreath, "that the persons you have been decrying are friends of mine,gallant gentlemen all--aye, sir, damme, and men to boot!--hard-fighting,hard-riding, hard-drinking, six-bottle gentlemen, sir?"
"I fear me my ignorance of country ways hath led me into a grave error,"says Mr. Tawnish, with a scarce perceptible shrug of the shoulders;"upon second thoughts I grant there is about a man who can put down onethroat what should suffice for six, something great."
"Or roomy!" adds Bentley, in a strangling voice.
"We are at side issues," says Jack, very red in the face, "the pointbeing, that I forbid you my daughter once and for all."
"Might I enquire your very excellent reasons?"
"Plainly, then," returns Jack, hitting himself in the chest again, "theLady Penelope Chester must and shall marry a man, sir."
"Yes," nodded Mr. Tawnish, "a man is generally essential in such cases,I believe."
"I say a man, sir," roared Jack, "and, damme, I mean a man, and not aclothes-horse or a dancing master, or--or a French sauce, sir. One whowill not faint if a dog bark too loudly, nor shiver at sight of apistol, nor pick his way ever by smooth roads. He must be a man, I say,able to use a small-sword creditably, who knows one end of a horse fromanother, who can win well but lose better, who can follow the houndsover the roughest country and not fall sick for a trifle of mud, norfret a week over a splashed coat--in a word, he must be a man, sir."
"Alas, what a divine creature is man, after all!" sighs Mr. Tawnish,with a shake of the head, "small matter of
wonder if I cannot attainunto so high an estate; for I beg you to observe that though I amtolerably efficient in the use of my weapon" (here he laid his handlightly upon the silver hilt of his small-sword), "though I can tell aspavined horse from a sound one, and can lose a trifle without positivetears, yet--and I say it with a sense of my extreme unworthiness--I havean excessive and abiding horror of mud, or dirt in any shape or form.But is there no other way, Sir John? In remote times it was the customin such cases to set the lover some arduous task--some enterprise to tryhis worth. Come now, in justice do the same by me, I beg, and no matterhow difficult the undertaking, I promise you shall at least find mezealous."
"Come, Jack," cries Bentley, suddenly, "smite me, but that's very fairand sportsmanlike! How think you, Dick?"
"Why, for once I agree with you, Bentley," says I, "'tis an offer notdevoid of spirit, and should be accepted as such."
Jack sat down, took two gulps of wine, and rose again.
"Mr. Tawnish," says he, "since these gentlemen are in unison upon thematter, and further, knowing they have the good of the Lady Penelope atheart as much as I, I will accept your proposition, and we will, each ofus, set you a task. But, sir, I warn you, do not delude yourself withfalse hopes; you shall not find them over-easy, I'll warrant."
Mr. Tawnish bowed, with the very slightest shrug of his shoulders.
"Firstly, then," Jack began, "you must--er--must--" Here he paused torub his chin and stare at his boots. "Firstly," he began again, "if youshall succeed in doing--" Here his eyes wandered slowly up to therafters, and down again to me. "Curse it, Dick!" he broke off, "what thedevil must he do?"
"Firstly," I put in, "you must accomplish some feat the which each oneof us three shall avow to be beyond him."
"Good!" cries Jack, rubbing his hands, "excellent--so much for thefirst. Secondly--I say secondly--er--ha, yes--you must make a publiclaughing stock of that quarrelsome puppy, Sir Harry Raikes. Raikes is adangerous fellow and generally pinks his man, sir."
"So they tell me," nodded Mr. Tawnish, jotting down a few lines in hismemorandum.
"Thirdly," ended Bentley, "you must succeed in placing all three ofus--namely, Sir Richard Eden, Sir John Chester, and myself--together andat the same time, at a disadvantage."
"Now, sir," says Jack, complacently, "prove your manhood equal to thesethree tasks, and you shall be free to woo and wed the Lady Penelopewhenever you will. How say you, Dick and Bentley?"
"Agreed," we replied.
"Indeed, gentlemen," says Mr. Tawnish, glancing at his memoranda with aslight frown, "I think the labours of Hercules were scarce to becompared to these, yet I do not altogether despair, and to prove to youmy readiness in the matter, I will, with your permission, go and setabout the doing of them." With these words he rose, took up his hat, andwith a most profound obeisance turned to the door.
At this moment, however, there came a trampling of feet upon the stairs,another door was thrown open, and in walked Sir Harry Raikes himself,followed by D'Arcy and Hammersley, with three or four others whose faceswere familiar. They were all in boisterous spirits, Sir Harry's floridface being flushed more than ordinary with drinking, and there was anugly light in his prominent blue eyes.
Now, it so happened that to reach the street, Mr. Tawnish must passclose beside him, and noting this, Sir Harry very evidently placedhimself full in the way, so that Mr. Tawnish was obliged to step asideto avoid a collision; yet even then, Raikes thrust out an elbow in sucha fashion as to jostle him very unceremoniously. Never have I seen aninsult more wanton and altogether unprovoked, and we all of us, Ithink, ceased to breathe, waiting for the inevitable to follow.
Mr. Tawnish stopped and turned. I saw his delicate brows twitch suddenlytogether, and for a moment his chin seemed more than usuallyprominent--then all at once he smiled--positively smiled, and shruggedhis shoulders with his languid air.
"Sir," says he, with a flash of his white teeth, "it seems they makethese rooms uncommon small and narrow, for the likes of you and me--yourpardon." And so, with a tap, tap, of his high, red-heeled shoes, hecrossed to the door, descended the steps, turned up the street, and wasgone.
"He--he begged the fellow's pardon!" spluttered Jack, purple in theface.
"A more disgraceful exhibition was never seen," says I, "the fellow's arank coward!" As for Bentley, he only fumbled with his wine-glass andgrunted.
The departure of Mr. Tawnish had been the signal for a great burst oflaughter from the others, in the middle of which Sir Harry strolled upto our table, nodding in the insolent manner peculiar to him.
"They tell me," said he, leering round upon us, "they tell me yourpretty Penelope takes something more than a common interest in yonderfop; have a care, Sir John, she's a plaguey skittish filly by the looksof her, have a care, or like as not--"
But here his voice was drowned by the noise of our three chairs, as werose.
"Sir Harry Raikes," says I, being the first afoot, "be you drunk or no,I must ask you to be a little less personal in your remarks--d'ye takeme?"
"What?" cries Raikes, stepping up to me, "do you take it upon yourselfto teach me a lesson in manners?"
"Aye," says Bentley, edging his vast bulk between us, "a hard task, SirHarry, but you be in sad need of one."
"By God!" cries Raikes, clapping his hand to his small-sword, "is it aquarrel you are after? I say again that the wench--"
The table went over with a crash, and Raikes leaped aside only just intime, so that Jack's fist shot harmlessly past his temple. Yet so fiercehad been the blow, that Jack, carried by its very impetus, tripped,staggered, and fell heavily to the floor. In an instant myself andBentley were bending over him, and presently got him to his feet, butevery effort to stand served only to make him wince with pain; yetbalancing himself upon one leg, supported by our shoulders, he turnedupon Raikes with a snarl.
"Ha!" says he, "I've long known you for a drunken rascal--fitter for thestocks than the society of honest gentlemen, now I know you for a liarbesides; could I but stand, you should answer to me this very moment."
"Sir John, if you would indulge me with the pleasure," says I, puttingback the skirt of my coat from my sword-hilt, "you should find me nounworthy substitute, I promise."
"No, no," says Bentley, "being the younger man, I claim this privilegemyself."
"I thank you both," says Jack, stifling a groan, "but in this affairnone other can take my place."
Raikes laughed noisily, and crossing the room, fell to picking his teethand talking with his friend, Captain Hammersley, while the others stoodapart, plainly much perturbed, to judge from their gestures and solemnfaces. Presently Hammersley rose, and came over to where Jack satbetwixt us, swearing and groaning under his breath.
"My dear Sir John," says the Captain, bowing, "in thismuch-to-be-regretted, devilish unpleasant situation, you spoke certainwords in the heat of the moment which were a trifle--hasty, shall wesay? Sir Harry is naturally a little incensed, still, if upon calmerconsideration you can see your way to retract, I hope--"
"Retract!" roars Jack, "retract--not a word, not a syllable; I repeat,Sir Harry Raikes is a scoundrel and a liar--"
"Very good, my dear Sir John," says the Captain, with another bow; "itwill be small-swords, I presume?"
"They will serve," says Jack.
"And the time and place?"
"Just so soon as I can use this leg of mine," says Jack, "and I know ofno better place than this room. Any further communication you may haveto make, you will address to my friend here, Sir Richard Eden, who will,I think, act for me?"
"Act for you?" I repeated, in great distress, "yes, yes--assuredly."
"Then we will leave it thus for the present, Sir John," says theCaptain, bowing and turning away, "and I trust your foot will speedilybe well again."
"Which is as much as wishing me speedily dead!" says Jack, with a ruefulshake of the head. "Raikes is a devil of a fellow and generally pinkshis man--eh, Dick and Bentley?"
"Oh, my poor J
ack!" sighed Bentley, turning his broad back upon SirHarry, who, having bowed to us very formally, swaggered off with theothers at his heels.
"Man, Jack," says I, "you'll never fight--you cannot--you shall not!"
"Aye, but I shall!" says Jack, grimly.
"'Twill be plain murder!" says Bentley.
"And--think of Pen!" says I.
"Aye, Pen!" sighed Jack. "My pretty Pen! She'll be lonely awhile,methinks, but--thank God, she'll have you and Bentley still!"
And so, having presently summoned a coach (for Jack's foot was becometoo swollen for the stirrup), we all three of us got in and were drivento the Manor. And I must say, a gloomier trio never passed out ofTonbridge Town, for it was well known to us that there was no man in allthe South Country who could stand up to Sir Harry Raikes; and moreover,that unless some miracle chanced to stop the meeting, our old friend wasas surely a dead man as if he already lay in his coffin.