CHAPTER II.
A KNOCK at the door, from Mrs. Theresa Tattle’s servant, recalledMarianne to the business of the day.
“There,” said Frederick, “we have sent no answer all this time. It’snecessary to think of that in a minute.”
The servant came with his mistress’ compliments, to let the young ladiesand Mr. Frederick know that she was waiting tea for them.
“Waiting! then we must go,” said Frederick.
The servant opened the door wider, to let him pass, and Marianne thoughtshe must follow her brother: so they went downstairs together, whileSophy gave her own message to the servant, and quietly stayed at herusual occupations.
Mrs. Tattle was seated at her tea-table, with a large plate of macaroonsbeside her when Frederick and Marianne entered. She was “delighted” theywere come, and “grieved” not to see Miss Sophy along with them. Mariannecoloured a little; for though she had precipitately followed her brother,and though he had quieted her conscience for a moment by saying “You knowpapa and mamma told us to do what we thought best,” yet she did not feelquite pleased with herself: and it was not till after Mrs. Theresa hadexhausted all her compliments, and half her macaroons, that she couldrestore her spirits to their usual height.
“Come, Mr. Frederick,” said she after tea, “you promised to make melaugh; and nobody can make me laugh so well as yourself.”
“Oh, brother,” said Marianne, “show Mrs. Theresa Dr. Carbuncle eating hisdinner; and I’ll be Mrs. Carbuncle.”
_Marianne_. Now, my dear, what shall I help you to?
_Frederick_. “My dear!” she never calls him my dear, you know, but alwaysDoctor.
_Mar._ Well then, doctor, what will you eat to-day?
_Fred._ Eat, madam! eat! nothing! nothing! I don’t see anything here Ican eat, ma’am.
_Mar._ Here’s eels, sir; let me help you to some eel—stewed eel;—youused to be fond of stewed eel.
_Fred._ Used, ma’am, used! But I’m sick of stewed eels. You would tireone of anything. Am I to see nothing but eels? And what’s this at thebottom?
_Mar._ Mutton, doctor, roast mutton; if you’ll be so good as to cut it.
_Fred._ Cut it, ma’am! I can’t cut it, I say; it’s as hard as a dealboard. You might as well tell me to cut the table, ma’am. Mutton,indeed! not a bit of fat. Roast mutton, indeed! not a drop of gravy.Mutton, truly! quite a cinder. I’ll have none of it. Here, take itaway; take it downstairs to the cook. It’s a very hard case, Mrs.Carbuncle, that I can never have a bit of anything that I can eat at myown table, Mrs. Carbuncle, since I was married, ma’am, I that am theeasiest man in the whole world to please about my dinner. It’s reallyvery extraordinary, Mrs. Carbuncle! What have you at that corner there,under the cover?
_Mar._ Patties, sir; oyster patties.
_Fred._ Patties, ma’am! kickshaws! I hate kickshaws. Not worth puttingunder a cover, ma’am. And why not have glass covers, that one may seeone’s dinner before one, before it grows cold with asking questions, Mrs.Carbuncle, and lifting up covers? But nobody has any sense: and I see nowater plates anywhere, lately.
_Mar._ Do, pray, doctor, let me help you to a bit of chicken before itgets cold, my dear.
_Fred._ (_aside_). “My dear,” again, Marianne!
_Mar._ Yes, brother, because she is frightened, you know, and Mrs.Carbuncle always says “my dear” to him when she’s frightened, and looksso pale from side to side; and sometimes she cries before dinner’s done,and then all the company are quite silent, and don’t know what to do.
“Oh, such a little creature; to have so much sense, too!” exclaimed Mrs.Theresa, with rapture. “Mr. Frederick, you’ll make me die with laughing!Pray go on, Dr. Carbuncle.”
Fred. Well, ma’am, then if I must eat something, send me a bit of fowl;a leg and wing, the liver wing, and a bit of the breast, oyster sauce,and a slice of that ham, if you please, ma’am.
(_Dr. Carbuncle eats voraciously_, _with his head down to his plate_, _and_, _dropping the sauce_, _he buttons up his coat tight across the breast_.)
_Fred._ Here; a plate, knife and fork, bit o’ bread, a glass ofDorchester ale!
“Oh, admirable!” exclaimed Mrs. Tattle, clapping her hands.
“Now, brother, suppose that it is after dinner,” said Marianne; “and showus how the doctor goes to sleep.”
Frederick threw himself back in an arm-chair, leaning his head back, withhis mouth open, snoring; nodded from time to time, crossed and uncrossedhis legs, tried to awake himself by twitching his wig, settling hiscollar, blowing his nose and rapping on the lid of his snuff-box.
All which infinitely diverted Mrs. Tattle, who, when she could stopherself from laughing, declared “It made her sigh, too, to think of thelife poor Mrs. Carbuncle led with that man, and all for nothing, too; forher jointure was nothing, next to nothing, though a great thing, to besure, her friends thought for her, when she was only Sally Ridgewaybefore she was married. Such a wife as she makes,” continued Mrs.Theresa, lifting up her hands and eyes to heaven, “and so much as she hasgone through, the brute ought to be ashamed of himself if he does notleave her something extraordinary in his will; for turn it which way shewill, she can never keep a carriage, or live like anybody else, on herjointure, after all, she tells me, poor soul! A sad prospect, after herhusband’s death, to look forward to, instead of being comfortable, as herfriends expected; and she, poor young thing! knowing no better when theymarried her! People should look into these things, beforehand, or nevermarry at all, I say, Miss Marianne.”
Miss Marianne, who did not clearly comprehend this affair of thejointure, or the reason why Mrs. Carbuncle would be so unhappy after herhusband’s death, turned to Frederick, who was at that instant studyingMrs. Theresa as a future character to mimic. “Brother,” said Marianne,“now sing an Italian song for us like Miss Croker. Pray, Miss Croker,favour us with a song. Mrs. Theresa Tattle has never had the pleasure ofhearing you sing; she’s quite impatient to hear you sing.”
“Yes, indeed, I am,” said Mrs. Theresa.
Frederick put his hands before him affectedly; “Oh, indeed, ma’am!indeed, ladies! I really am so hoarse, it distresses me so to be pressedto sing; besides, upon my word, I have quite left off singing. I’venever sung once, except for very particular people, this winter.”
_Mar._ But Mrs. Theresa Tattle is a very particular person. I’m sureyou’ll sing for her.
_Fred._ Certainly, ma’am, I allow that you use a powerful argument; butI assure you now, I would do my best to oblige you, but I absolutely haveforgotten all my English songs. Nobody hears anything but Italian now,and I have been so giddy as to leave my Italian music behind me.Besides, I make it a rule never to hazard myself without anaccompaniment.
_Mar._ Oh, try, Miss Croker, for once.
[_Frederick sings_, _after much preluding_.]
Violante in the pantry, Gnawing of a mutton-bone; How she gnawed it, How she claw’d it, When she found herself alone!
“Charming!” exclaimed Mrs. Tattle; “so like Miss Croker, I’m sure I shallthink of you, Mr. Frederick, when I hear her asked to sing again. Hervoice, however, introduces her to very pleasant parties, and she’s a girlthat’s very much taken notice of, and I don’t doubt will go off vastlywell. She’s a particular favourite of mine, you must know; and I mean todo her a piece of service the first opportunity, by saying something orother, that shall go round to her relations in Northumberland, and makethem do something for her; as well they may, for they are all rolling ingold, and won’t give her a penny.”
_Mar._ Now, brother, read the newspaper like Counsellor Puff.
“Oh, pray do, Mr. Frederick, for I declare I admire you of all things!You are quite yourself to-night. Here’s a newspaper, sir, pray let ushave Counsellor Puff. It’s not late.”
[_Frederick reads in a pomp
ous voice_.]
“As a delicate white hand has ever been deemed a distinguishing ornamentin either sex, Messrs. Valiant and Wise conceive it to be their duty totake the earliest opportunity to advertise the nobility and gentry ofGreat Britain in general, and their friends in particular, that they havenow ready for sale, as usual, at the Hippocrates’ Head, a freshassortment of new-invented, much admired, primrose soap. To preventimpositions and counterfeits, the public are requested to take notice,that the only genuine primrose soap is stamped on the outside, ‘Valiantand Wise.’”
“Oh, you most incomparable mimic! ’tis absolutely the counsellor himself.I absolutely must show you, some day, to my friend Lady Battersby; you’dabsolutely make her die with laughing; and she’d quite adore you,” saidMrs. Theresa, who was well aware that every pause must be filled withflattery. “Pray go on, pray go on. I shall never be tired, if I sitlooking at you these hundred years.”
Stimulated by these plaudits, Frederick proceeded to show how ColonelEpaulette blew his nose, flourished his cambric handkerchief, bowed toLady Diana Periwinkle, and admired her work, saying, “Done by no hands,as you may guess, but those of Fairly Fair.” Whilst Lady Diana, heobserved, simpered so prettily, and took herself so quietly for FairlyFair, not perceiving that the colonel was admiring his own nails all thewhile.
Next to Colonel Epaulette, Frederick, at Marianne’s particular desire,came into the room like Sir Charles Slang.
“Very well, brother,” cried she, “your hand down to the very bottom ofyour pocket, and your other shoulder up to your ear; but you are notquite wooden enough, and you should walk as if your hip were out ofjoint. There now, Mrs. Tattle, are not those good eyes? They stare solike his, without seeming to see anything all the while.”
“Excellent! admirable! Mr. Frederick. I must say that you are the bestmimic of your age I ever saw, and I’m sure Lady Battersby will think sotoo. That is Sir Charles to the very life. But with all that, you mustknow he’s a mighty pleasant, fashionable young man when you come to knowhim, and has a great deal of sense under all that, and is of a very goodfamily—the Slangs, you know. Sir Charles will come into a fine fortunehimself next year, if he can keep clear of gambling, which I hear is hisfoible, poor young man! Pray go on. I interrupt you, Mr. Frederick.”
“Now, brother,” said Marianne.
“No, Marianne, I can do no more. I’m quite tired, and I will do nomore,” said Frederick, stretching himself at full length upon a sofa.
Even in the midst of laughter, and whilst the voice of flattery yetsounded in his ear, Frederick felt sad, displeased with himself, anddisgusted with Mrs. Theresa.
“What a deep sigh was there!” said Mrs. Theresa; “what can make you sighso bitterly? You, who make everybody else laugh. Oh, such another sighagain!”
“Marianne,” cried Frederick, “do you remember the man in the mask?”
“What man in the mask, brother?”
“The man—the actor—the buffoon, that my father told us of, who used tocry behind the mask that made everybody else laugh.”
“Cry! bless me,” said Mrs. Theresa, “mighty odd! very extraordinary! butone can’t be surprised at meeting with extraordinary characters amongstthat race of people, actors by profession, you know; for they are broughtup from the egg to make their fortune, or at least their bread by theiroddities. But, my dear Mr. Frederick, you are quite pale, quiteexhausted; no wonder—what will you have? a glass of cowslip-wine?”
“Oh no, thank you, ma’am,” said Frederick.
“Oh yes; indeed you must not leave me without taking something; and MissMarianne must have another macaroon. I insist upon it,” said Mrs.Theresa, ringing the bell. “It is not late, and my man Christopher willbring up the cowslip-wine in a minute.”
“But, Sophy! and papa and mamma, you know, will come home presently,”said Marianne.
“Oh! Miss Sophy has her books and drawings. You know she’s never afraidof being alone. Besides, to-night it was her own choice. And as to yourpapa and mamma, they won’t be home to-night, I’m pretty sure; for agentleman, who had it from their own authority, told me where they weregoing, which is further off than they think; but they did not consult me;and I fancy they’ll be obliged to sleep out; so you need not be in ahurry about them. We’ll have candles.”
The door opened just as Mrs. Tattle was going to ring the bell again forcandles and the cowslip-wine. “Christopher! Christopher!” said Mrs.Theresa, who was standing at the fire, with her back to the door, when itopened, “Christopher! pray bring—Do you hear?” but no Christopheranswered; and, upon turning round, Mrs. Tattle, instead of Christopher,beheld two little black figures, which stood perfectly still and silent.It was so dark, that their forms could scarcely be discerned.
“In the name of heaven, who and what may you be? Speak, I conjure you!what are ye?”
“The chimney-sweepers, ma’am, an’ please your ladyship.”
“Chimney-sweepers!” repeated Frederick and Marianne, bursting outa-laughing.
“Chimney-sweepers!” repeated Mrs. Theresa, provoked at the recollectionof her late solemn address to them. “Chimney-sweepers! and could not yousay so a little sooner? Pray, what brings you here, gentlemen, at thistime of night?”
“The bell rang, ma’am,”, answered a squeaking voice.
“The bell rang! yes, for Christopher. The boy’s mad, or drunk.”
“Ma’am,” said the tallest of the chimney-sweepers, who had not yetspoken, and who now began in a very blunt manner; “ma’am, your brotherdesired us to come up when the bell rang; so we did.”
“My brother? I have no brother, dunce,” said Mrs. Theresa.
“Mr. Eden, madam.”
“Ho, ho!” said Mrs. Tattle, in a more complacent tone, “the boy takes mefor Miss Bertha Eden, I perceive”; and, flattered to be taken in the darkby a chimney-sweeper for a young and handsome lady, Mrs. Theresa laughed,and informed him “that they had mistaken the room; and they must go upanother pair of stairs, and turn to the left.”
The chimney-sweeper with the squeaking voice bowed, thanked her ladyshipfor this information, said, “Good night to ye, quality”; and they bothmoved towards the door.
“Stay,” said Mrs. Tattle, whose curiosity was excited; “what can theEdens want with chimney-sweepers at this time o’ night, I wonder?Christopher, did you hear anything about it?” said the lady to herfootman, who was now lighting the candles.
“Upon my word, ma’am,” said the servant, “I can’t say; but I’ll step downbelow and inquire. I heard them talking about it in the kitchen; but Ionly got a word here and there, for I was hunting for the snuff-dish, asI knew it must be for candles when I heard the bell ring, ma’am; so Ithought to find the snuff-dish before I answered the bell, for I knew itmust be for candles you rang. But, if you please, I’ll step down now,ma’am, and see about the chimney-sweepers.”
“Yes, step down, do; and, Christopher, bring up the cowslip-wine, andsome more macaroons for my little Marianne.”
Marianne withdrew rather coldly from a kiss which Mrs. Tattle was goingto give her; for she was somewhat surprised at the familiarity with whichthis lady talked to her footman. She had not been accustomed to thesefamiliarities in her father and mother, and she did not like them.
“Well,” said Mrs. Tattle to Christopher, who was now returned, “what isthe news?”
“Ma’am, the little fellow with the squeaking voice has been telling methe whole story. The other morning, ma’am, early, he and the other weredown the hill sweeping in Paradise Row. Those chimneys, they say, aredifficult; and the square fellow, ma’am, the biggest of the two boys, gotwedged in the chimney. The other little fellow was up at the top at thetime, and he heard the cry; but in his fright, and all, he did not knowwhat to do, ma’am; for he looked about from the top of the chimney, andnot a soul could he see stirring, but a few that he could not make attendto his screech; the boy within almost stifling too. So he screeched, andscreeched,
all he could; and by the greatest chance in life, ma’am, oldMr. Eden was just going down the hill to fetch his morning walk.”
“Ay,” interrupted Mrs. Theresa, “friend Ephraim is one of your earlyrisers.”
“Well,” said Marianne, impatiently.
“So, ma’am, hearing the screech, he turns and sees the sweep; and at oncehe understands the matter—”
“I’m sure he must have taken some time to understand it,” interposed Mrs.Tattle, “for he’s the slowest creature breathing, and the deafest incompany. Go on, Christopher. So the sweep did make him hear.”
“So he says, ma’am; and so the old gentleman went in and pulled the boyout of the chimney, with much ado, ma’am.”
“Bless me!” exclaimed Mrs. Theresa; “but did old Eden go up the chimneyhimself after the boy, wig and all?
“Why, ma’am,” said Christopher, with a look of great delight, “that wasall as one, as the very ’dentical words I put to the boy myself, when hetelled me his story. But, ma’am, that was what I couldn’t get out ofhim, neither, rightly, for he is a churl—the big boy that was stuck inthe chimney, I mean; for when I put the question to him about the wig,laughing like, he wouldn’t take it laughing like at all; but would onlymake answer to us like a bear, ‘He saved my life, that’s all I know’; andthis over again, ma’am, to all the kitchen round, that cross-questionedhim. But I finds him stupid and ill-mannered like, for I offered him ashilling, ma’am, myself, to tell about the wig; but he put it back in away that did not become such as he, to no lady’s butler, ma’am; whereuponI turns to the slim fellow (and he’s smarterer, and more mannerly, ma’am,with a tongue in his head for his betters), but he could not resolve memy question either; for he was up at the top of the chimney the best parto’ the time: and when he came down Mr. Eden had his wig on, but had hisarm all bare and bloody, ma’am.”
“Poor Mr. Eden!” exclaimed Marianne.
“Oh, miss,” continued the servant, “and the chimney-sweep himself was sobruised, and must have been killed.”
“Well, well! but he’s alive now; go on with your story, Christopher,”said Mrs. T. “Chimney-sweepers get wedged in chimneys every day; it’spart of their trade, and it’s a happy thing when they come off with a fewbruises. {236} To be sure,” added she, observing that both Frederick andMarianne looked displeased at this speech, “to be sure, if one maybelieve this story, there was some real danger.”
“Real danger! yes, indeed,” said Marianne; “and I’m sure I think Mr. Edenwas very good.”
“Certainly it was a most commendable action, and quite providential. SoI shall take an opportunity of saying, when I tell the story in allcompanies; and the boy may thank his kind stars, I’m sure, to the end ofhis days, for such an escape—But pray, Christopher,” said she, persistingin her conversation with Christopher, who was now laying the cloth forsupper, “pray, which house was it in Paradise Row? where the Eagles orthe Miss Ropers lodge? or which?”
“It was at my Lady Battersby’s, ma’am.”
“Ha! ha!” cried Mrs. Theresa, “I thought we should get to the bottom ofthe affair at last. This is excellent! This will make an admirablestory for my Lady Battersby the next time I see her. These Quakers areso sly! Old Eden, I know, has long wanted to obtain an introduction intothat house; and a charming charitable expedient hit upon! My LadyBattersby will enjoy this, of all things.”