CHAPTER TWO
_Of the further astonishing conduct of the said Mr. Tawnish_
Myself and Bentley were engaged upon our usual morning game of chess,when there came a knocking at the door, and my man, Peter, entered.
"Checkmate!" says I.
"No!" says Bentley, castelling.
"Begging your pardon, Sir Richard," says Peter, "but here's a man with amessage."
"Oh, devil take your man with a message, Peter!--the game is mine in sixmoves," says I, bringing up my queen's knight.
"No," says Bentley, "steady up the bishop."
"From Sir John Chester," says Peter, holding the note under my nose.
"Oh! Sir John Chester--check!"
"What in the world can Jack want?" says Bentley, reaching for his wig.
"Check!" says I.
"Why, what can have put him out again?" says Bentley, pointing to theletter--"look at the blots."
Jack is a bad enough hand with the pen at all times, but when in apassion, his writing is always more or less illegible by reason of thenumerous blots and smudges; on the present occasion it was very evidentthat he was more put out than usual.
"Some new villainy of the fellow Raikes, you may depend," says I,breaking the seal.
"No," says Bentley, "I'll lay you twenty, it refers to young Tawnish."
"Done!" I nodded, and spreading out the paper I read (with no littledifficulty) as follows:
DEAR DICK AND BENTLEY,
Come round and see me at once, for the devil anoint me if I ever heard tell the like on't, and more especially after the exhibition of a week ago. To my mind, 'tis but a cloak to mask his cowardice, as you will both doubtless agree when you shall have read this note.
Yours,
JACK.
"Well, but where's his meaning? 'Tis ever Jack's way to forget the verykernel of news," grumbled Bentley.
"Pooh! 'tis plain enough," says I, "he means Raikes; any but a foolwould know that."
"Lay you fifty it's Tawnish," says Bentley, in his stubborn way.
"Done!" says I.
"Stay a moment, Dick," says Bentley, as I rose, "what of our Pen,--shehasn't asked you yet how Jack hurt his foot, has she?"
"Not a word."
"Ha!" says Bentley, with a ponderous nod, "which goes to prove she dothbut think the more, and we must keep the truth from her at all hazards,Dick--she'll know soon enough, poor, dear lass. Now, should she askus--as ask us she will, 'twere best to have something to tell her--let'ssay, he slipped somewhere!"
"Aye," I nodded, "we'll tell her he twisted his ankle coming down thestep at 'The Chequers'--would to God he had!" So saying, we clapped onour hats and sallied out together arm in arm. Jack and I are nearneighbours, so that a walk of some fifteen minutes brought us to theManor, and proceeding at once to the library, we found him with his legupon a cushion and a bottle of Oporto at his elbow--a-cursing mostlustily.
"Well, Jack," says Bentley, as he paused for breath, "and how is theleg?"
"Leg!" roars Jack, "leg, sir--look at it--useless as a log--as a cursedlog of wood, sir--snapped a tendon--so Purdy says, but Purdy's a damnedpessimistic fellow--the devil anoint all doctors, say I!"
"And pray, what might be the meaning of this note of yours?" and I heldit out towards him.
"Meaning," cries Jack, "can't you read--don't I tell you? Theinsufferable insolence of the fellow."
"Faith!" says I, "if it's Raikes you mean, anything is believable ofhim--"
"Raikes!" roars Jack, louder than ever, "fiddle-de-dee, sir! whomentioned that rascal--you got my note?"
"In which you carefully made mention of no one."
"Well, I meant to, and that's all the difference."
"To be sure," added Bentley,--"it's young Tawnish; anybody but a foolwould know that."
"To be sure," nodded Jack. "Dick," says he, turning upon me suddenly,"Dick, could you have passed over such an insult as we saw Raikes putupon him the other day?"
"No!" I answered, very short, "and you know it."
Jack turned to Bentley with a groan.
"And you, Bentley, come now," says he, "you could, eh!--come now?"
"Not unless I was asleep or stone blind, or deaf," says Bentley.
"Damme! and why not?" cries Jack, and then groaned again. "I was afraidso," says he, "I was afraid so."
"Jack, what the devil do you mean?" I exclaimed.
For answer he tossed a crumpled piece of paper across to me. "Readthat," says he, "I got it not an hour since--read it aloud." Hereupon,smoothing out the creases, I read the following:
TONBRIDGE, OCTR. 30th, 1740.
MY DEAR SIR JOHN,
Fortune, that charming though much vilified dame, hath for once proved kind, for the first, and believe me by far the most formidable of my three tasks, namely, to perform that which each one of you shall avow to be beyond him, is already accomplished, and I make bold to say, successfully.
To be particular, you could not but notice the very objectionable conduct, I might say, the wanton insolence of Sir Harry Raikes upon the occasion of our last interview. Now, Sir John, you, together with Sir Richard Eden and Mr. Bentley, will bear witness to the fact that I not only passed over the affront, but even went so far as to apologise to him myself, wherein I think I can lay claim to having achieved that which each one of you will admit to have been beyond his powers.
Having thus fulfilled the first undertaking assigned me, there remain but two, namely, to make a laughing stock of Sir Harry Raikes (which I purpose to do at the very first opportunity) and to place you three gentlemen at a disadvantage.
So, my dear Sir John, in hopes of soon gaining your esteem and blessing (above all), I rest your most devoted, humble, obedient,
HORATIO TAWNISH.
"This passes all bounds," says I, tossing the letter upon the table, "suchaudacity--such presumption is beyond all belief; the question is, whetherthe fellow is right in his head."
"No, Dick," says Bentley, helping himself to the Oporto, "the questionis rather--whether he is wrong in his assertion."
"Why, as to that--" I began, and paused, for look at it as I might'twas plain enough that Mr. Tawnish had certainly scored his firstpoint.
"We all agree," continued Bentley, "that we none of us could do thelike; it therefore follows that this Tawnish fellow wins the firsthand."
"Sheer trickery!" cries Jack, hurling his wig into the corner--"sheertrickery--damme!"
"Fore gad! Jack," says I, "this fellow's no fool, if he 'quits himselfof his other two tasks as featly as this, sink me! but I must needsbegin to love him, for look you, fair is fair all the world over and Iagree with Bentley, for once, that Mr. Tawnish wins the first hand."
"Ha!" cries Jack, "and because the rogue has tricked us once, would youhave us sit by and let Pen throw herself away upon a worthless,fortune-hunting fop--"
"Why, as to that, Jack," says Bentley, "a bargain's a bargain--"
"Pish!" roared Jack, fumbling in his pocket, "why only this very morningI came upon more of his poetry-stuff! Here," he continued, tossing afolded paper on the table in front of Bentley, "it seems the youngrascal's been meeting her--over the orchard wall. Read it, Bentley--readit, and see for yourself." Obediently Bentley took up the paper and readas here followeth:
"'Dear Heart--'"
"Bah!" snorted Jack.
"'Dear Heart!'" read Bentley again and with a certain unction:
"'DEAR HEART,
I send you these few lines, poor though they be, for since they were inspired by my great love for thee, that of itself, methinks, should make them more worthy,
Thine, as ever,
HORATIO.'"
r /> "You mark that?" cries Jack, excitedly, "'hers as ever,' and 'Horatio!'Horatio--faugh! I could ha' taken it kinder had he called himself Tom, orWill, or George, but 'Horatio'--oh, damme! And now comes the poetry-stuff."
Hereupon Bentley hummed and ha'd, and clearing his throat, read this:
"'When drowsy night with sombre wings O'er this world his shadow flings And thou, dear love, doth sleep, Then do I send my soul to thee Thy guardian till the dawn to be And thy sweet slumbers keep.'"
"'Slumbers keep,'" snorted Jack, "the insolence of the fellow! Now lookon t'other side."
"'I shall be in the orchard to-morrow at the usual hour, in the hope ofa word or a look from you.'"
Bentley read, and laid down the paper.
"At the usual hour--d'ye mark that!" cries Jack, thumping himself in thechest--"'tis become a habit with 'em, it seems--and there's for ye, anda nice kettle o' fish it is!"
"Ah, Bentley," says I, "if only your nephew, the young Viscount, werehere--"
"To the deuce with Bentley's nephew!" roars Jack. "I say he shouldn'tmarry her now, no--not if he were ten thousand times Bentley's nephew,sir--deuce take him!"
"So then," says I, "all our plans are gone astray, and she will have herway and wed this adventurer Tawnish, I suppose?"
"No, no, Dick!" cries Jack; "curse me, am I not her father?"
"And is she not--herself?" says I.
"True!" Jack nodded, "and as stubborn as--as--"
"Her father!" added Bentley. "Why, Jack--Dick--I tell you she's ruled usall with a rod of iron ever since she used to climb up our knees to pullat our wigs with her little, mischievous fingers!"
"Such very small, pink fingers!" says I, sighing. "Indeed we've spoiledher wofully betwixt us."
"Ha!" snorted Jack, "and who's responsible for all this, I say; who'spetted and pampered, and coddled and condoned her every fault? Why--you,Dick and Bentley. When I had occasion to scold or correct her, who wasit used to sneak behind my back with their pockets bulging with cakesand sticky messes? Why, you, Dick and Bentley!"
"You scold her, Jack?" says Bentley, "yes, egad! in a voice as mild as asucking dove! And when she wept, you'd frown tremendously to hide thineown tears, man, and end by smothering her with your kisses. And thus ithas ever been--for her dead mother's sake!"
"But now," says I after a while, "the time is come to be resolute, forher sake--and her mother's."
"Aye," cries Jack, "we must be firm with her, we must be resolute!Penelope's my daughter and shall obey us for once, if we have to lockher up for a week. I'll teach her that our will is law, for once!"
"You're in the right on 't, Jack," says I, "we must show her that shecan't ride rough-shod over us any longer. We must be stern to be kind."
"We must be adamant!" says Bentley, his eyes twinkling.
"We must be harsh," says I, "if need be and--"
But here, perceiving Bentley's face to be screwed up warningly,observing his ponderous wink and eloquent thumb, I glanced up and beheldPenelope herself regarding us from the doorway. And indeed, despite thepucker at her pretty brow, she looked as sweet and fresh and fair as anEnglish summer morning. But Jack, all innocent of her presence, hadcaught the word from me.
"Harsh!" cries he, thumping the table at his elbow, "I'll warrant meI'll be harsh enough--if 'twas only on account of the fellow'spoetry-stuff--the jade! We'll lock her up--aye, if need be, we'll starveher on bread and water, we'll--"
But he got no further, for Penelope had stolen up behind him and,throwing her arms round his neck, kissed him into staring silence.
"Uncle Bentley!" says she, giving him one white hand to kiss, "and you,dear uncle Dick!" and she gave me the other.
"What, my pretty lass!" cries Bentley, rising, and would have kissedthe red curve of her smiling lips, but she stayed him with anauthoritative finger.
"Nay, sir," says she, mighty demure, "you know my new rule,--from Mondayto Wednesday my hand; from Wednesday to Saturday, my cheek; and onSunday, my lips--and to-day is Tuesday, sir!"
"Drat my memory, so it is!" says Bentley, and kissed her slender fingersobediently, as I did likewise. Hereupon she turns, very high andhaughty, to eye Jack slowly from head to foot, and to shake her head athim in dignified rebuke.
"As for you, sir," says she, "you stole away my letter,--was thatgentle, was it loving, was it kind? Uncle Bentley--say 'No'!"
"Why--er--no," stammered Bentley, "but you see, Pen--"
"Then, Sir John," she continued, with her calm, reproving gaze stillfixed upon her father's face the while he fidgetted in his chair, "thenyesterday, Sir John, when I found you'd taken it, and came to demand itback again, you heard me coming and slipped out--through the window, andhid yourself--in the stables, and rode away without even stopping to puton your riding-boots, and--in that terrible old hat! Was that behavinglike a dignified, middle-aged gentleman and Justice of the Peace, sir?Uncle Richard, say 'Certainly not!'"
"Well, I--I suppose 'twas not," says I, "but under the circumstances--"
"And now I find you all with your heads very close together, hatchingdiabolical plots and conspiracies against poor little me--heigho!"
"Nay, Penelope," says Jack, beginning to bluster, "we--I say we aredetermined--"
"Oh, Sir John," she sighed, "oh, Sir John Chester, 'tis a shameful thingand most ungallant in a father to run off with his daughter'slove-letter. Prithee, where is her love-letter? Give her herlove-letter--this moment!"
Hereupon Jack must needs produce the letter from his pocket (where hehad hidden it) and she (naughty baggage) very ostentatiously set it'neath the tucker at her bosom. Which done, she nods at each one of usin turn, frowning a little the while.
"I vow," says she, tapping the floor with the toe of her satin shoe, "Icould find it in my heart to be very angry with you--all of you, if Ididn't--love you quite so well. So, needs must I forgive you. Sir Johndear, stoop down and let me straighten your wig--there! Now you may kissme, sir--an' you wish."
Hereupon Jack kissed her, of course, and thereafter catching sight ofus, frowned terrifically.
"Now, look'ee here, Pen--Penelope," says he, "I say, look'ee here!"
"Yes, Sir John dear."
"I--that is to say--we," began Jack, "for Dick and Bentley are one withme, I say that--that--er, I say that--what the devil do I mean to say,Dick?"
"Why, Pen," I explained, "'tis this stranger--this--er--"
"Tawnish!" says Bentley.
"Aye, Tawnish!" nodded Jack. "Now heark'ee, Pen, I repeat--I say, Irepeat--"
"Very frequently, dear," she sighed. "Well?"
"I say," continued Jack, "that I--we--utterly forbid you to see or hearfrom the fellow again."
"And pray, sir, what have you against him?" says she softly,--only herslender foot tapped a little faster.
"Everything!" says Jack.
"Which is as much as to say--nothing!" she retorted.
"I say," cried Jack, "the man you come to marry shall be a _man_ and nota mincing exquisite with no ideas beyond the cut of his coat."
"And," says I, "a man of position, and no led-captain with an eye toyour money, or needy adventurer hunting a dowry, Pen."
"Oh!" she sighed, "how cruelly you misjudge him! And you, Uncle Bentley,what have you to say?"
"That whoso he be, we would have him in all things worthy of thee, Pen."
"Aye!" nodded Jack, "so my lass, forego this whim--no more o' thisTawnish fellow--forget him."
"Forget!" says she, "how lightly you say it! Oh, prithee don't you seethat I am a child no longer--don't you understand?"
"Pooh!" cries Jack. "Fiddle-de-dee! What-a-plague! This fellow is nofit mate for our Pen, a stranger whom nobody knows! a languid fop! apranked-out, patched and powdered puppy-dog! So Penelope, let there bean end on't!"
Pen's little foot had ceased its tattoo, but her eyes were bright andher cheeks glowed when she spoke again.
"Oh!" says she, scornfully. "Oh, most noble, most fair-mindedgentlemen--
all three of you, to condemn thus, out of hand, one of whomyou know nothing, and without allowing him one word in his own behalf!Aye, hang your heads! Oh, 'tis most unworthy of you--you whom I haveever held to be in all things most just and honourable!"
And here she turned her back fairly upon us and crossed to the window,while we looked at one another but with never a word betwixt us;wherefore she presently went on again.
"And yet," says she, and now her voice was grown wonderfully tender,"you all loved the mother I never knew--loved her passing well, and, forher sake, have borne with my foolish whims all these years, and given mea place deep within your hearts. And because of this," says she, turningand coming back to us, "yes, because of this I love thee, Uncle Dick!"Here she stooped and kissed me (God bless her). "And you too, UncleBentley!" Here she kissed Bentley. "And you, dear, tender father!" Hereshe kissed Jack. "Indeed," she sighed, "methinks I love you all far morethan either of you, being only men, can ever understand. But because Iam a woman, needs must I do as my heart bids me in this matter, ordespise myself utterly. As for the worth of this gentleman, oh! thinkyou I am so little credit to your upbringing as not to know the realfrom the base? Ah! trust me! And indeed I know this for a very noblegentleman, and what's more, I will never--never--wed any other than thisgentleman!" So saying, she sobbed once, and turning about, sped from theroom, banging the door behind her.
Hereupon Jack sighed and ruffled up his wig, while Bentley, lying backin his chair, nodded up at the ceiling, and as for myself I stared downat the floor, lost in sombre thought.
"Well," exclaimed Jack at last, "what the devil are you shaking yourheads over? Had you aided me just now instead of sitting there mumchancelike two graven images--say like two accursed graven images--"
"Why," retorted Bentley, "didn't I say--"
"Say," cries Jack, "no sooner did you clap eyes on her than it's 'Mysweet lass!' 'My pretty maid!' and such toys! And after all your talk ofbeing 'harsh to be kind!' Oh, a cursed nice mess you've made on'tbetwixt you. Lord knows I tried to do my best--"
"To be sure," nodded Bentley, "'Come let me straighten your wig' saysshe, and there you sat like--egad, like a furious lamb!"
"Jack and Bentley," says I, "'tis time we realized that our Pen's awoman grown and we--old men, though it seems but yesterday we were boystogether at Charterhouse. But the years have slipped away, as yearswill, and everything is changed but our friendship. As we, in thoseearly days lived, and fought, and worked together, so we loved together,and she--chose Jack. And because of our love, her choice was ours also.And in a little while she died, but left us Pen--to comfort Jack if suchmight be, and to be our little maid. Each day she hath grown more liketo what her sweet mother was, and so we have loved her--very dearlyuntil--to-day we have waked to find our little maid a woman grown--tothink, and act, and choose for herself, and we--old men."
And so I sighed, and rising crossed to the window and stood thereawhile.
"Lord!" says Bentley at last, "how the years do gallop upon a man!"
"Aye!" sighed Jack, "I never felt my age till now."
"Nor I!" added Bentley.
"And now," says Jack, "what of Raikes; have you seen aught of himlately?"
"No, Jack."
"But I met Hammersley this morning," says Bentley, "and he was anxiousto know when the--the--"
"Meeting was likely to take place?" put in Jack, as he paused; "Purdytells me I shan't be able to use this foot of mine for a month ormore."
"That will put it near Christmas," added Bentley.
"Yes," nodded Jack, "I think we could do no better than Christmas Day."
"A devilish strange time for a duel," says Bentley, "peace on earth, andall that sort of thing, you know."
"Why, it's Pen," says Jack, staring hard into the fire, "she will be ather Aunt Sophia's then, which is fortunate on the whole. I shouldn'tcare for her to see me--when they bring me home."
For a long time it seemed to me none of us spoke. I fumbled through allmy pockets for my snuff-box without finding it (which was strange), andlooking up presently, I saw that Bentley had upset his wine, which wastrickling down his satin waistcoat all unnoticed.
"Jack," says I at last, "a Gad's name, lend me your snuff-box!"
"And now," says he, "suppose we have a hand at picquet."