General Bounce Part 11

Now, it fell out that Major D'Orville arrived in the nick of time to save Blanche from further embarra.s.sment, in consequence of his inability, in common with the rest of his fellow-creatures, "to know his own mind." The Major had got up the _fete_ entirely, as he imagined, with the idea of prosecuting his views against the heiress, and hardly allowed to himself that, in his innermost soul, there lurked a hope that Mrs. Delaval might accompany her former charge, and he might see her _just once more_. Had D'Orville been thoroughly _bad_, he would have been a successful man; as it was, there gleamed ever and anon upon his worldly heart a ray of that higher nature, that n.o.bler instinct, which spoils the villain, while it makes the hero.

Mary had pierced the coat-of-mail in which the _roue_ was encased; probably her very indifference was her most fatal weapon. D'Orville really loved her--yes, though he despised himself for the weakness (since weakness it is deemed in creeds such as his), though he would grind his teeth and stamp his foot in solitude, while he muttered, "Fool! fool! to bow down before a woman!" yet the spell was on him, and the chain was eating into his heart. In the watches of the night _her image_ sank into his brain and tortured him with its calm, indifferent smile. In his dreams _she_ bent over him, and her drooping hair swept across his forehead, till the strong man woke, and yearned like a child for a fellow-mortal's love. But not for him the childlike trust that can repose on human affection. Gaston had eaten of the tree of knowledge, the knowledge of good and evil; much did the evil predominate over the good, and still the galling thought goaded him almost to madness. "Suppose I should gain this woman's affections--suppose I should sacrifice my every hope to that sweet face, and find her, after all, like the rest of them! Suppose _I_, too, should weary, as I have wearied before of faces well-nigh as fair--hearts even far more kind--is there no green branch on earth? Am I to wander for ever seeking rest and finding none? Am I to be cursed, like a lost spirit, with longings for that happiness which my very nature will not permit me to enjoy? Oh that I were wholly good, or wholly bad! that I could loathe the false excitement and the dazzling charms of vice, or steep my better feelings in the petrifying waters of perdition! I _will_ conquer my weakness. What should I care for this stone-cold governess? I _will_ be free, and this Mrs. Delaval shall discover that _I_ too can be as careless, and as faithless, and as hard-hearted as--_a woman_!" With which laudable and manly resolution our dashing Major proceeded to make the agreeable to his guests, and to lose no opportunity of exchanging glances and mixing in conversation with the very lady he had sworn so stoutly to avoid. But with all his tactics, all his military proficiency in manuvring, he found it impossible to detach Mary from her party, or to engage her in a _tete-a-tete_ with himself. True-hearted and dignified, with her pure affection fixed upon another, she was not a person to descend to coquetry for the mere pleasure of a conquest, and she clung to the General for the purpose of avoiding the Major, till old Bounce became convinced that she was to add another name to the list of victims who had already succ.u.mbed before his many fascinations. The idea had been some time nascent in his mind, and as it now grew and spread, and developed itself into a certainty, his old heart warmed with a thrill he had not felt since the reign of the widow at Cheltenham, and he made the agreeable in his own way by pointing out to Mary all the peculiarities and arrangements of a barrack-yard, interspersed with many abrupt exclamations and voluminous personal anecdotes. Major D'Orville hovered round them the while, and perhaps the very difficulty of addressing his former love enhanced the charm of her presence and the fascination against which he struggled. It is amusing to see a thorough man of the world, one accustomed to conquer and enslave where he is himself indifferent, awkward as the veriest schoolboy, timid and hesitating as a girl, where he is _really_ touched--though woman--

"Born to be controlled, Stoop to the forward and the bold."

She thereby gauges with a false measure the devotion for which she pines. Would she know her real power, would she learn where she is truly loved, let her take note of the averted eye, the haunting step, ever hovering near, seldom daring to approach, the commonplace remark that shrinks from the one cherished topic, and above all the quivering voice, which, steady and commanding to the world beside, fails only when it speaks to her. Mary Delaval might have noted this had her heart not been in Kaffirland, or had the General allowed her leisure to attend to anything but himself. "Look ye, my dear Mrs. Delaval, our stables in India were ventilated quite differently. Climate? how d'ye mean? climate makes no difference--why, I've had the Kedjerees picketed in thousands round my tent. What? D'Orville, you've been on the Sutlej--'gad, sir, your fellows would have been astonished if I'd dropped among you there."

"And justly so," quietly remarked the Major; "if I remember right, you were in cantonments more than three thousand miles off."

"Well, at any rate, I taught those black fellows how to look after their nags," replied the General. "I left them the best-mounted corps in the Presidency, and six weeks after my back was turned they weren't _worth a row of pins_. Zounds, don't tell me!

jobbing--jobbing--nothing but jobbing! What? No _sore backs_ whilst I commanded them--at least among _the horses_," added our disciplinarian, reflectively; "can't say as much with regard to the _men_. But there is nothing like a big stick for a n.i.g.g.e.r--so let's go and see the riding-school."

"I have still got the grey charger, Mrs. Delaval," interposed the Major, wishing old Bounce and his Kedjerees in a hotter climate than India; "poor fellow, he's quite white now, but as great a favourite still as he was in 'the merry days,'" and the Major's voice shook a little. "Would you like to see him?"

Mary understood the allusion, but her calm affirmative was as indifferent as ever, and the trio were proceeding to the Major's stables, that officer going on before to find his groom, when he met Blanche, as we have already said, and divining intuitively what had taken place by her flushed countenance and embarra.s.sed manner, offered his arm to conduct her back to her party, thereby earning her eternal grat.i.tude, no less than that of Sir Ascot, who, as he afterwards confided to an intimate friend, "was _completely in the hole_, and didn't the least know what the devil to do next."

And now D'Orville practically demonstrated the advantage in the game of flirtation possessed by an untouched heart. With the governess he had been diffident, hesitating, almost awkward; with the pupil he was eloquent and winning as usual. His good taste told him it would be absurd to ignore Blanche's obvious trepidation, and his knowledge of the s.e.x taught him that the "soothing system," with a mixture of lover-like respect and paternal kindness, might produce important results. So he begged Blanche to lean on his arm and compose her nerves, and talked kindly to her in his soft, deep voice. "I can see you have been annoyed, Miss Kettering--you know the interest I take in you, and I trust you will not consider me presumptuous in wishing to extricate you from further embarra.s.sment. I am an old fellow now," and the Major smiled his own winning smile, "and therefore a fit chaperon for young ladies. I have n.o.body to care for" (D'Orville, D'Orville!

you would shoot a man who called you a liar), "and I have watched you as if you were a sister or a child of my own. Pray do not tell me more than if I can be of any service to you; and if I can, my dear Miss Kettering, command me to the utmost extent of my powers!" What could Blanche do but thank him warmly? and who shall blame the girl for feeling gratified by the interest of such a man, or for entertaining a vague sort of satisfaction that after all she was neither his sister nor his daughter. Had he been ten years older she would have thrown her arms round his neck, and kissed him in childlike confidence; as it was, she pressed closer to his side, and felt her heart warm to the kind, considerate protector. The Major saw his advantage, and proceeded--"I am alone in the world, you know, and seldom have an opportunity of doing any one a kindness. We soldiers lead a sadly unsatisfactory, desultory sort of life. Till you 'came out' this year, I had no one to care for, no one to interest myself about; but since I have seen you every day, and watched you enjoying yourself, and admired and sought after, I have felt like a different man. I have a great deal to thank you for, Miss Kettering; I was rapidly growing into a selfish, heartless old gentleman, but you have renewed my youthful feelings and freshened up my better nature, till I sometimes think I am almost happy. How can I repay you but by watching over your career, and should you ever require it, placing my whole existence at your disposal? It would break my heart to see you thrown away--no; believe me, Miss Kettering, you have no truer friend than myself, none that admires or loves you better than your old chaperon;" and as the Major spoke he looked so kindly and sincerely into the girl's face, that albeit his language might bear the interpretation of actual love, and was, as Hairblower would have said, "uncommon near the wind," it seemed the most natural thing in the world under the circ.u.mstances, and Blanche leaned on his arm, and talked and laughed, and told him to get the carriage, and otherwise ordered him about with a strangely-mixed feeling of childlike confidence and gratified vanity.

The party broke up at an early hour, many of them having dinner-engagements in London; and as D'Orville handed Blanche into her carriage, he felt that he had to-day made a prodigious stride towards the great object in view. He had gained the girl's confidence, no injudicious movement towards gaining her heart _and_ her fortune. He pressed her hand as she wished him good-bye; and while he did so, shuddered at the consciousness of his meanness. Too well he knew he loved another--a word, a look from Mary Delaval, would have saved him even now; but her farewell was cold and short as common courtesy would admit of, and he ground his teeth as he thought those feet would spurn him, at which he would give his very life to fall. The worst pa.s.sions of his nature were aroused. He swore, some day, to humble that proud heart in the dust, but the first step at all events must be to win the heiress. This morning he could have given up all for Mary, but _now_ he was himself again, and the Major walked moodily back to barracks, a wiser (as the world would opine), but certainly not a better man.

Care, however, although, as Horace tells us, "she sits behind the horseman," is a guest whose visits are but little encouraged by the light dragoon. Our gallant hussars were not inclined to mope down at Hounslow after their guests had returned to town, and the last carriage had scarcely driven off with its fair freight, ere phaeton, buggy, riding-horse, and curricle were put in requisition, to take their military owners back to the metropolis; that victim of discipline, the orderly officer, being alone left to console himself in his solitude, as he best might, with his own reflections and the society of a water-spaniel. To-morrow morning they must be again on the road, to reach head-quarters in time for parade; but to-morrow morning is a long way off from gentlemen who live every hour of their lives; so away they go, each on his own devices, but one and all resolved to make the most of the present, and glitter, whilst they may, in the sunshine of their too brief noon.

St. George's clock tolls one, and Blanche has been asleep for hours in her quiet room at the back of the house in Grosvenor Square. Pure thoughts and pleasant dreams have hovered round the young girl's pillow, and the last image present to her eyes has been the kind, handsome face of Major D'Orville--the hero who, commanding to all besides, is so gentle, so considerate, so tender with her alone.

"Perhaps," thought she, as the midnight rain beat against her window-panes, "he is even now going his bleak rounds at Hounslow"

(Blanche had a vague idea that the hussars spent the night in patrolling the heath), "wrapped in his cloak, on that dear white horse, very likely thinking of _me_. How such a man is thrown away, with his kindly feelings, and his n.o.ble mind, and his courageous heart. 'n.o.body to care for,' he said; 'alone in the world';" and little Blanche sighed a sigh of that pity which is akin to a softer feeling, and experienced for an instant that startling throb with which love knocks at the door, like some unwelcome visitor, ere habit has emboldened him to walk up-stairs, unbidden, and make himself at home.

Let us see how right the maiden was in her conjectures, and follow the Major through his bleak rounds, and his night of military hardships.

As we perambulate London at our loitering leisure, and stare about us in the desultory, wandering manner of those who have nothing to do, now admiring an edifice, now peeping into a print-shop, we are often brought up, "all standing," in one of the great thoroughfares, by the magnificent proportions, the architectural splendour, of a building which our peaceful calling debars us from entering. Nevertheless we may gaze and gape at the stately outside; we may admire the lofty windows, with their florid ornaments, and marvel for what purpose are intended the upper cas.e.m.e.nts, which seem to us like the bull's-eyes let into the deck of a three-decker, magnified to a gigantic uselessness; we may stare till the nape of our neck warns us to desist, at the cla.s.sic ornaments raised in high relief around the roof, where strange mythological devices, unknown to Lempriere, mystify alike the antiquarian and the naturalist,--centaurs, terminating in salmon-trout, career around the cornices, more grotesque than the mermaid, more inexplicable than the sphinx. In vain we cudgel our brains to ask of what faith, what principle these monsters may be the symbols. Can they represent the _insignia_ of that corps so strangely omitted in the _Army List_--known to a grateful country as the horse marines? Are they a glorious emanation of modern art? or are they, as the Irish gentleman suggested of our martello towers, only intended to puzzle posterity? Splendid, however, as may be the outward magnificence of this military palace, it is nothing compared with the luxury that reigns within, and the heroes of both services enjoy a delightful contrast to the hardships of war, in the s.p.a.cious saloons and exquisite repasts provided for its members by the "Peace and Plenty Club."

"Waiter--two large cigars and another sherry-cobbler," lisps a voice which, although somewhat thicker than usual, we have no difficulty in recognising as the property of Captain Lacquers. That officer has dined "severely," as he calls it, and is slightly inebriated. He is reclining on three chairs, in a large, lofty apartment, devoid of furniture, and surrounded by ottomans. From its airy situation, general appearance, and pervading odour, we have no difficulty in identifying it as the smoking-room of the establishment. At our friend's elbow stands a small table, with empty gla.s.ses, and opposite him, with his heels above the level of his head, and a cigar of "_sesquipedalian_" length in his mouth, sits Sir Ascot Uppercrust.

Gaston D'Orville is by his side, veiling his handsome face in clouds of smoke, and they are all three talking about the heiress. Yes; these are the Major's _rounds_, these are the hardships innocent Blanche sighed to think of. It is lucky that ladies can neither hear nor see us in our masculine retreats.

"So she refused you, Uppy; refused you point blank, did she? 'Gad, I like her for it," said Lacquers, the romance of whose disposition was much enhanced by his potations.

"Deuced impertinent, I call it," replied the repulsed; "won't have such a chance again. After all, she's not _half_ a nice girl."

"Don't say that," vociferated Lacquers, "don't say that. She's _perfect_, my dear boy; she's enchanting--she's got _mind_, and that--what's a woman without intellect?--without the what-d'ye-call-it spark?--a--a--you recollect the quotation."

"A pudding without plums," said Sir Ascot, who was a bit of a wag in a quiet way; and "A fiddle without strings," suggested the Major at the same moment.

"Exactly," replied Lacquers, quite satisfied; "well, my dear fellow, I'm a man that adores all that sort of thing. 'Gad, I can't do without talent, and music, and so on. Do I ever miss an opera? Didn't I half ruin myself for Pastorelli, because she could dance? Now, I'll tell you what"--and the speaker, lighting a fresh cigar, forgot what he was going to say.

"Then _you're_ rather smitten with Miss Kettering, too," observed D'Orville, who, as usual, was determined not to throw a chance away.

"I thought a man of your many successes was _blase_ with that sort of thing;" and the Major smiled at Sir Ascot, whilst Lacquers went off again at score.

"To be sure, I've gone very deep into the thing, old fellow, as you know; and I think I _understand_ women. You may depend upon it they like a fellow with brains. But I ought to settle; I 'flushed' a grey hair yesterday in my whiskers, and this is just the girl to suit. It's not her money I care for; I've got plenty--at least I can get plenty at seven per cent. No, it is her intellect, and her refusing Uppy, that I like. What did you say, my boy? how did you begin?" he added, thinking he might as well get a hint. "Did you tip her any poetry?

Tommy Moore, and that other fellow, little What's-his-name?" Lacquers was beginning to speak very thick, and did not wait for an answer.

"I'll show you how to settle these matters to-morrow after parade.

First I'll go to----Who's that fellow just come in? 'Gad, it's Clank--good fellow, Clank. I say, Clank, will you come to my wedding?

Recollect I asked you to-night; be very particular about the date. Let me see; to-morrow's the second Sunday after Ascot. I'll lay any man three to two the match comes off before Goodwood."

D'Orville smiles calmly. He hears the woman whom he intends to make his wife talked of thus lightly, yet no feeling of bitterness rises in his mind against the drunken dandy. Would he not resent such mention of another name? But his finances will not admit of such a chance as the present wager being neglected; so he draws out his betting-book, and turning over its well-filled leaves for a clear place, quietly observes, "I'll take it--three to two, what in?"

"Pounds, ponies, or hundreds," vociferates Lacquers, now decidedly uproarious; "thousands if you like. Fortune favours the brave. Vogue la thingumbob! Waiter! brandy-and-water! Clank, you're a trump: shake hands, Clank. We won't go home till morning. Yonder he goes: tally-ho!" And while the Major, who is a man of conscience, satisfies himself with betting his friend's bet in hundreds, Lacquers vainly endeavours to make a corresponding memorandum; and finding his fingers refuse their office, gives himself up to his fate, and with an abortive attempt to embrace the astonished Clank, subsides into a sitting posture on the floor.

The rest adjourn to whist in the drawing-room; and Gaston D'Orville concludes his rounds by losing three hundred to Sir Ascot; "Uppy"

congratulating himself on not having made such a bad day's work after all.

As the Major walks home to his lodgings in the first pure flush of the summer's morning, how he loathes that man whose fresh unsullied boyhood he remembers so well. What is he now?

Nothing to rest on; nothing to hope for--loving one--deceiving another. If he gain his object, what is it but a bitter perjury?

Gambler--traitor--profligate--turn which way he will, there is nothing but ruin, misery, and sin.

CHAPTER XIII

THE WORLD

SELLING THE COPYRIGHT--THE POLITICIAN'S DAY-DREAMS--TATTERSALL'S AT FLOOD--A DANDY'S DESTINY

"Can't do it, my lord--your lordship must consider--overwritten yourself sadly of late--your 'Broadsides from the Baltic' were excellent--telling, clever, and eloquent; but you'll excuse me--you were incorrect in your statistics and mistaken in your facts. Then your last novel, 'Captain Flash; or, the Modern Grandison,' was a dead loss to us--lively work--well reviewed--but it _didn't sell_. In these days people don't care to go behind the scenes for a peep at aristocratic ruffians and chivalrous black-legs--no, what we want is something original--hot and strong, my lord, and lots of nature. Now, these translations"--and the publisher, for a publisher it was who spoke, waved his sword of office, a huge ivory paper-cutter, towards a bundle of ma.n.u.scripts--"these translations from the 'Medea' are admirably done--elegant language--profound scholarship--great merit--but the public won't look at them; and even with your lordship's name to help them off, we cannot say more than three hundred--in point of fact, I think we are hardly justified in going as far as that;" and the publisher crossed his legs and sat back in his arm-chair, like a man who had made up his mind.

We have almost lost sight of Lord Mount Helicon since the Guyville ball, but he now turns up, attending to business, as he calls it, and is sitting in Mr. Bracketts' back-room, driving as hard a bargain as he can for the barter of his intellectual produce, and conducting the sale in his usual careless, good-humoured manner, although he has a bill coming due to-morrow, and ready money is a most important consideration. The little back-room is perfectly lined with newspapers, magazines, prospectuses, books, proof-sheets, and ma.n.u.scripts, whilst the aristocracy of talent frown in engravings from the walls--faces generally not so remarkable for their beauty as for a dishevelled, untidy expression, consequent on disordered hair pushed back from off the temples, and producing the unbecoming effect of having been recently exposed to a gale of wind; nevertheless, the illegible autographs beneath symbolise names which fill the world.

Mr. Bracketts, the presiding genius of the place, is a remarkable man; his broad, high brow and deep-set flashing eyes betray at once the man of intellect, the champion whose weapon is the brain, whilst his spare, bent frame is attenuated by that mental labour which produces results precisely the converse of healthy physical exertion. Mr.

Bracketts might have been a great poet, a successful author, or a scientific explorer; but, like the grocer's apprentice who is clogged with sweets till he loathes the very name of sugar, our publisher has been surfeited with talent till he almost pines to be a boor, to exchange the constant intellectual excitement which wears him to shreds for placid ignorance, a good appet.i.te, and fresh air. How can he find time to embody his own thoughts who is continually perusing, rejecting, perhaps licking into shape those of others? How can he but be disgusted with the puny efforts of the scribbler's wing, when he himself feels capable of flights that would soar far out of the ken of that every-day average authorship of which his soul is sick?--so beyond an occasional slashing review, written in no forbearing spirit, he seldom puts pen to paper, save to score and interline and correct; yet is he, with all his conscious superiority, not above our national prejudices in favour of what we playfully term _good_ society. We fear he had rather go to a "crush" at Lady Dinadam's than sup with Boz. He is an Englishman, and his heart warms to a peer--so he lets Lord Mount Helicon down very easy, and offers him three hundred for his ma.n.u.script.

"Hang it, Bracketts," said his lordship, "it's worth more than that--look what it cost me; if it hadn't been for that cursed 'Sea-breeze' chorus I should have been at Newmarket, when 'Bowse-and-Bit' won 'The Column'--and I should have landed '_a Thou_'

_at least_. But I was so busy at it I was late for the train. Come, Bracketts, spring a point, and I'll put you 'on' about 'Sennacherib'

for the Goodwood Cup."

"We should wish to be as liberal as possible, my lord," replied Mr.

Bracketts, shaking his head with a smile, "but we have other interests to consult--if I was the only person concerned it would be different--but, in short, I have already rather exceeded my powers, and I can go no farther!"

"Very well," said Lord Mount Helicon, looking at his watch, and seeing it was time for him to be at Tattersall's; "only if it goes through another edition, we'll have a fresh arrangement. It's time for me to be off. Any news among the fraternity? Anything _good_ coming out soon?"

"Nothing but a novel by a lady of rank," returned Mr. Bracketts, with a meaning smile; "and we all know what that is likely to be. Capital t.i.tle, though: 'Blue-bell; or, the Double Infidelity'--the name will sell it. Good-morning; good-morning, my lord. Pray look in again, when you are this way." And the publisher, having bowed out his n.o.ble guest, returned to his never-ending labours, whilst Lord Mount Helicon whisked into the street, with five hundred things to do, and, as usual, a dozen appointments to keep, all at the same time.

Let us follow him down to Tattersall's, whither, on the principle of "business first and pleasure afterwards," he betakes himself at once, treading as it were upon air, his busy imagination teeming with a thousand schemes, and his spirits rising with that self-distilled elixir which is only known to the poetic temperament, and which, though springing to a certain extent from const.i.tutional recklessness, owes its chief potency to the self-confidence of mental superiority--the reflection that, when all externals are swept away, when ruin and misfortune have done their wickedest, the productive treasure, the germ of future success, is still untouched within.

"If the worst comes to the worst," thinks his lordship, "if 'Sennacherib' breaks down, and Blanche Kettering fights shy, and the sons of Judah thunder at the door of the unG.o.dly, and 'the pot boils over,' and the world says 'it's all up with Mount,' have I not still got something to fall back upon? Shall not my very difficulties point the way to overcome them? and when I am driven into a corner, _won't_ I come out and astonish them all? I've got it _in_ me--I know I have.

And the reviewers--pshaw! I defy them! Let them but lay a finger on my 'Medea,' and I'll give them such a roasting as they haven't had since the days of the 'Dunciad.' Byron did it: why shouldn't I? If I could only settle down--and I _could_ settle down if I was regularly cleaned out--I think I am man enough to succeed. Bring out a work that would shake the Ministry, and scatter the moderate party--then for Progress, Improvement, Enfranchis.e.m.e.nt, and the March with the Times (rogue's march though it be), and Mount Helicon, at the head of an invincible phalanx, in the House, with unbounded popularity out of doors, an English peerage--fewer points to the coronet--a seat in the Cabinet--why not? But here we are at Tattersall's;" and the future statesman is infernally in want of a few hundreds, so now for "good information, long odds, a safe man, and a shot at the favourite!"

As he walked down the narrow pa.s.sage out of Grosvenor Place, now bowing to a peer, now nodding to a trainer, now indulging in quaint _badinage_, which the vulgar call "chaff," with a dog-stealer, who would have suspected the rattling, agreeable, off-hand Mount Helicon of deep-laid schemes and daring ambition? n.o.body saw through him but old Barabbas, the Leg; and he once confided to a confederate on Newmarket Heath, "There's not one of the young ones as knows his alphabet, 'cept the Lively Lord; and take my word for it, Plunder, he's a deep 'un."