CHAPTER XXII

IN WHICH THE DAUGHTERS OF THE GREAT MEL HAVE TO DIGEST HIM AT DINNER

You must know, if you would form an estimate of the Countess's heroic

impudence, that a rumour was current in Lymport that the fair and

well-developed Louisa Harrington, in her sixteenth year, did advisedly,

and with the intention of rendering the term indefinite, entrust her

guileless person to Mr. George Uplift's honourable charge. The rumour,

unflavoured by absolute malignity, was such; and it went on to say, that

the sublime Mel, alive to the honour of his family, followed the

fugitives with a pistol, and with a horsewhip, that he might chastise the

offender according to the degree of his offence. It was certain that he

had not used the pistol: it was said that he had used the whip. The

details of the interview between Mel and Mr. George were numerous, but at

the same time various. Some declared that he put a pistol to Mr. George's

ear, and under pressure of that persuader got him into the presence of a

clergyman, when he turned sulky; and when the pistol was again produced,

the ceremony would have been performed, had not the outraged Church cried

out for help. Some vowed that Mr. George had referred all questions

implying a difference between himself and Mel to their mutual fists for

decision. At any rate, Mr. George turned up in Fallow field subsequently;

the fair Louisa, unhurt and with a quiet mind, in Lymport; and this

amount of truth the rumours can be reduced to--that Louisa and Mr. George

had been acquainted. Rumour and gossip know how to build: they always

have some solid foundation, however small. Upwards of twelve years had

run since Louisa went to the wife of the brewer--a period quite long

enough for Mr. George to forget any one in; and she was altogether a

different creature; and, as it was true that Mr. George was a dull one,

she was, after the test she had put him to, justified in hoping that

Mel's progeny might pass unchallenged anywhere out of Lymport. So, with

Mr. George facing her at table, the Countess sat down, determined to eat

and be happy.

A man with the education and tastes of a young country squire is not

likely to know much of the character of women; and of the marvellous

power they have of throwing a veil of oblivion between themselves and

what they don't want to remember, few men know much. Mr. George had

thought, when he saw Mrs. Strike leaning to Evan, and heard she was a

Harrington, that she was rather like the Lymport family; but the

reappearance of Mrs. Strike, the attention of the Duke of Belfield to

her, and the splendid tactics of the Countess, which had extinguished

every thought in the thought of himself, drove Lymport out of his mind.

There were some dinner guests at the table-people of Fallow field,

Beckley, and Bodley. The Countess had the diplomatist on one side, the

Duke on the other. Caroline was under the charge of Sir Franks. The

Countess, almost revelling in her position opposite Mr. George, was

ambitious to lead the conversation, and commenced, smiling at Melville:

'We are to be spared politics to-day? I think politics and cookery do not

assimilate.'

'I'm afraid you won't teach the true Briton to agree with you,' said

Melville, shaking his head over the sums involved by this British

propensity.

'No,' said Seymour. 'Election dinners are a part of the Constitution':

and Andrew laughed: 'They make Radicals pay as well as Tories, so it's

pretty square.'

The topic was taken up, flagged, fell, and was taken up again. And then

Harry Jocelyn said:

'I say, have you worked the flags yet? The great Mel must have his

flags.'

The flags were in the hands of ladies, and ladies would look to the

rosettes, he was told.

Then a lady of the name of Barrington laughed lightly, and said:

'Only, pray, my dear Harry, don't call your uncle the "Great Mel" at the

election.'

'Oh! very well,' quoth Harry: 'why not?'

'You 'll get him laughed at--that 's all.'

'Oh! well, then, I won't,' said Harry, whose wits were attracted by the

Countess's visage.

Mrs. Barrington turned to Seymour, her neighbour, and resumed:

'He really would be laughed at. There was a tailor--he was called the

Great Mel--and he tried to stand for Fallow field once. I believe he had

the support of Squire Uplift--George's uncle--and others. They must have

done it for fun! Of course he did not get so far as the hustings; but I

believe he had flags, and principles, and all sorts of things worked

ready. He certainly canvassed.'

'A tailor--canvassed--for Parliament?' remarked an old Dowager, the

mother of Squire Copping. 'My what are we coming to next?'

'He deserved to get in,' quoth Aunt Bel: 'After having his principles

worked ready, to eject the man was infamous.'

Amazed at the mine she had sprung, the Countess sat through it, lamenting

the misery of owning a notorious father. Happily Evan was absent, on his

peaceful blessed bed!

Bowing over wine with the Duke, she tried another theme, while still,

like a pertinacious cracker, the Great Mel kept banging up and down the

table.

'We are to have a feast in the open air, I hear. What you call pic-nic.'

The Duke believed there was a project of the sort.

'How exquisitely they do those things in Portugal! I suppose there would

be no scandal in my telling something now. At least we are out of

Court-jurisdiction.'

'Scandal of the Court!' exclaimed his Grace, in mock horror.

'The option is yours to listen. The Queen, when young, was sweetly

pretty; a divine complexion; and a habit of smiling on everybody. I

presume that the young Habral, son of the first magistrate of Lisbon, was

also smiled on. Most innocently, I would swear! But it operated on the

wretched youth! He spent all his fortune in the purchase and decoration

of a fairy villa, bordering on the Val das Rosas, where the Court enjoyed

its rustic festivities, and one day a storm! all the ladies hurried their

young mistress to the house where the young Habral had been awaiting her

for ages. None so polished as he! Musicians started up, the floors were

ready, and torches beneath them!--there was a feast of exquisite wines

and viands sparkling. Quite enchantment. The girl-Queen was in ecstasies.

She deigned a dance with the young Habral, and then all sat down to

supper; and in the middle of it came the cry of Fire! The Queen shrieked;

the flames were seen all around; and if the arms of the young Habral were

opened to save her, or perish, could she cast a thought on Royalty, and

refuse? The Queen was saved the villa was burnt; the young Habral was

ruined, but, if I know a Portuguese, he was happy till he died, and well

remunerated! For he had held a Queen to his heart! So that was a

pic-nic!'

The Duke slightly inclined his head.

'Vrai Portughez derrendo,' he said. 'They tell a similar story in Spain,

of one of the Queens--I forget her name. The difference between us and

your Peninsular cavaliers is, that we would do as much for uncrowned

ladies.'

'Ah! your Grace!' The Countess swam in the pleasure of a nobleman's

compliment.

'What's the story?' interposed Aunt Bel.

An outline of it was given her. Thank heaven, the table was now rid of

the Great Mel. For how could he have any, the remotest relation with

Queens and Peninsular pic-nics? You shall hear.

Lady Jocelyn happened to catch a word or two of the story.

'Why,' said she, 'that's English! Franks, you remember the ballet

divertissement they improvised at the Bodley race-ball, when the

magnificent footman fired a curtain and caught up Lady Racial, and

carried her--'

'Heaven knows where!' cried Sir Franks. 'I remember it perfectly. It was

said that the magnificent footman did it on purpose to have that

pleasure.'

'Ay, of course,' Hamilton took him up. 'They talked of prosecuting the

magnificent footman.'

'Ay,' followed Seymour, 'and nobody could tell where the magnificent

footman bolted. He vanished into thin air.'

'Ay, of course,' Melville struck in; 'and the magic enveloped the lady

for some time.'

At this point Mr. George Uplift gave a horse-laugh. He jerked in his seat

excitedly.

'Bodley race-ball!' he cried; and looking at Lady Jocelyn: 'Was your

ladyship there, then? Why--ha! ha! why, you have seen the Great Mel,

then! That tremendous footman was old Mel himself!'

Lady Jocelyn struck both her hands on the table, and rested her large

grey eyes, full of humorous surprise, on Mr. George.

There was a pause, and then the ladies and gentlemen laughed.

'Yes,' Mr. George went on, 'that was old Mel. I'll swear to him.'

'And that's how it began?' murmured Lady Jocelyn.

Mr. George nodded at his plate discreetly.

'Well,' said Lady Jocelyn, leaning back, and lifting her face upward in

the discursive fulness of her fancy, 'I feel I am not robbed. 'Il y a des

miracles, et j'en ai vu'. One's life seems more perfect when one has seen

what nature can do. The fellow was stupendous! I conceive him present.

Who'll fire a house for me? Is it my deficiency of attraction, or a total

dearth of gallant snobs?'

The Countess was drowned. The muscles of her smiles were horribly stiff

and painful. Caroline was getting pale. Could it be accident that thus

resuscitated Mel, their father, and would not let the dead man die? Was

not malice at the bottom of it? The Countess, though she hated Mr. George

infinitely, was clear-headed enough to see that Providence alone was

trying her. No glances were exchanged between him and Laxley, or

Drummond.

Again Mel returned to his peace, and again he had to come forth.

'Who was this singular man you were speaking about just now?' Mrs.

Evremonde asked.

Lady Jocelyn answered her: 'The light of his age. The embodied protest

against our social prejudice. Combine--say, Mirabeau and Alcibiades, and

the result is the Lymport Tailor:--he measures your husband in the

morning: in the evening he makes love to you, through a series of

pantomimic transformations. He was a colossal Adonis, and I'm sorry he's

dead!'

'But did the man get into society?' said Mrs. Evremonde. 'How did he

manage that?'

'Yes, indeed! and what sort of a society!' the dowager Copping

interjected. 'None but bachelor-tables, I can assure you. Oh! I remember

him. They talked of fetching him to Dox Hall. I said, No, thank you, Tom;

this isn't your Vauxhall.'

'A sharp retort,' said Lady Jocelyn, 'a most conclusive rhyme; but you're

mistaken. Many families were glad to see him, I hear. And he only

consented to be treated like a footman when he dressed like one. The

fellow had some capital points. He fought two or three duels, and behaved

like a man. Franks wouldn't have him here, or I would have received him.

I hear that, as a conteur, he was inimitable. In short, he was a robust

Brummel, and the Regent of low life.'

This should have been Mel's final epitaph.

Unhappily, Mrs. Melville would remark, in her mincing manner, that the

idea of the admission of a tailor into society seemed very unnatural; and

Aunt Bel confessed that her experience did not comprehend it.

'As to that,' said Lady Jocelyn, 'phenomena are unnatural. The rules of

society are lightened by the exceptions. What I like in this Mel is, that

though he was a snob, and an impostor, he could still make himself

respected by his betters. He was honest, so far; he acknowledged his

tastes, which were those of Franks, Melville, Seymour, and George--the

tastes of a gentleman. I prefer him infinitely to your cowardly democrat,

who barks for what he can't get, and is generally beastly. In fact, I'm

not sure that I haven't a secret passion for the great tailor.'

'After all, old Mel wasn't so bad,' Mr. George Uplift chimed in.

'Granted a tailor--you didn't see a bit of it at table. I've known him

taken for a lord. And when he once got hold of you, you couldn't give him

up. The squire met him first in the coach, one winter. He took him for a

Russian nobleman--didn't find out what he was for a month or so. Says

Mel, "Yes, I make clothes. You find the notion unpleasant; guess how

disagreeable it is to me." The old squire laughed, and was glad to have

him at Croftlands as often as he chose to come. Old Mel and I used to

spar sometimes; but he's gone, and I should like to shake his fist

again.'

Then Mr. George told the 'Bath' story, and episodes in Mel's career as

Marquis; and while he held the ear of the table, Rose, who had not spoken

a word, and had scarcely eaten a morsel during dinner, studied the

sisters with serious eyes. Only when she turned them from the Countess to

Mrs. Strike, they were softened by a shadowy drooping of the eyelids, as

if for some reason she deeply pitied that lady.

Next to Rose sat Drummond, with a face expressive of cynical enjoyment.

He devoted uncommon attention to the Countess, whom he usually shunned

and overlooked. He invited her to exchange bows over wine, in the fashion

of that day, and the Countess went through the performance with finished

grace and ease. Poor Andrew had all the time been brushing back his hair,

and making strange deprecatory sounds in his throat, like a man who felt

bound to assure everybody at table he was perfectly happy and

comfortable.

'Material enough for a Sartoriad,' said Drummond to Lady Jocelyn.

'Excellent. Pray write it forthwith, Drummond', replied her ladyship; and

as they exchanged talk unintelligible to the Countess, this lady observed

to the Duke:

'It is a relief to have buried that subject.'

The Duke smiled, raising an eyebrow; but the persecuted Countess

perceived she had been much too hasty when Drummond added,

'I'll make a journey to Lymport in a day or two, and master his history.'

'Do,' said her ladyship; and flourishing her hand, '"I sing the Prince of

Snobs!"'

'Oh, if it's about old Mel, I 'll sing you material enough,' said Mr.

George. 'There! you talk of it's being unnatural, his dining out at

respectable tables. Why, I believe--upon my honour, I believe it's a

fact--he's supped and thrown dice with the Regent.'

Lady Jocelyn clapped her hands. 'A noble culmination, Drummond! The man's

an Epic!'

'Well, I think old Mel was equal to it,' Mr. George pursued. 'He gave me

pretty broad hints; and this is how it was, if it really happened, you

know. Old Mel had a friend; some say he was more. Well, that was a

fellow, a great gambler. I dare say you 've heard of him--Burley

Bennet--him that won Ryelands Park of one of the royal dukes--died worth

upwards of L100,000; and old Mel swore he ought to have had it, and would

if he hadn't somehow offended him. He left the money to Admiral

Harrington, and he was a relation of Mel's.'

'But are we then utterly mixed up with tailors?' exclaimed Mrs.

Barrington.

'Well, those are the facts,' said Mr. George.

The wine made the young squire talkative. It is my belief that his

suspicions were not awake at that moment, and that, like any other young

country squire, having got a subject he could talk on, he did not care to

discontinue it. The Countess was past the effort to attempt to stop him.

She had work enough to keep her smile in the right place.

Every dinner may be said to have its special topic, just as every age has

its marked reputation. They are put up twice or thrice, and have to

contend with minor lights, and to swallow them, and then they command the

tongues of men and flow uninterruptedly. So it was with the great Mel

upon this occasion. Curiosity was aroused about him. Aunt Bel agreed with

Lady Jocelyn that she would have liked to know the mighty tailor. Mrs.

Shorne but very imperceptibly protested against the notion, and from one

to another it ran. His Grace of Belfield expressed positive approval of

Mel as one of the old school.

'Si ce n'est pas le gentilhomme, au moins, c'est le gentilhomme manque,'

said Lady Jocelyn. 'He is to be regretted, Duke. You are right. The stuff

was in him, but the Fates were unkind. I stretch out my hand to the

pauvre diable.'

'I think one learns more from the mock magnifico than from anything

else,' observed his Grace.

'When the lion saw the donkey in his own royal skin, said Aunt Bel, 'add

the rhyme at your discretion--he was a wiser lion, that's all.'

'And the ape that strives to copy one--he's an animal of judgement,' said

Lady Jocelyn. 'We will be tolerant to the tailor, and the Countess must

not set us down as a nation of shopkeepers: philosophically tolerant.'

The Countess started, and ran a little broken 'Oh!' affably out of her

throat, dipped her lips to her tablenapkin, and resumed her smile.

'Yes,' pursued her ladyship; 'old Mel stamps the age gone by. The gallant

adventurer tied to his shop! Alternate footman and marquis, out of

intermediate tailor! Isn't there something fine in his buffoon imitation

of the real thing? I feel already that old Mel belongs to me. Where is

the great man buried? Where have they, set the funeral brass that holds

his mighty ashes?'

Lady Jocelyn's humour was fully entered into by the men. The women smiled

vacantly, and had a common thought that it was ill-bred of her to hold

forth in that way at table, and unfeminine of any woman to speak

continuously anywhere.

'Oh, come!' cried Mr. George, who saw his own subject snapped away from

him by sheer cleverness; 'old Mel wasn't only a buffoon, my lady, you

know. Old Mel had his qualities. He was as much a "no-nonsense" fellow,

in his way, as a magistrate, or a minister.'

'Or a king, or a constable,' Aunt Bel helped his illustration.

'Or a prince, a poll-parrot, a Perigord-pie,' added Drummond, whose

gravity did not prevent Mr. George from seeing that he was laughed at.

'Well, then, now, listen to this,' said Mr. George, leaning his two hands

on the table resolutely. Dessert was laid, and, with a full glass beside

him, and a pear to peel, he determined to be heard.

The Countess's eyes went mentally up to the vindictive heavens. She stole

a glance at Caroline, and was alarmed at her excessive pallor. Providence

had rescued Evan from this!

'Now, I know this to be true,' Mr. George began. 'When old Mel was alive,

he and I had plenty of sparring, and that--but he's dead, and I'll do him

justice. I spoke of Burley Bennet just now. Now, my lady, old Burley was,

I think, Mel's half-brother, and he came, I know, somewhere out of Drury

Lane-one of the courts near the theatre--I don't know much of London.

However, old Mel wouldn't have that. Nothing less than being born in St.

James's Square would content old Mel, and he must have a Marquis for his

father. I needn't be more particular. Before ladies--ahem! But Burley was

the shrewd hand of the two. Oh-h-h! such a card! He knew the way to get

into company without false pretences. Well, I told you, he had lots more

than L100,000--some said two--and he gave up Ryelands; never asked for

it, though he won it. Consequence was, he commanded the services of

somebody pretty high. And it was he got Admiral Harrington made a

captain, posted, commodore, admiral, and K.C.B., all in seven years! In

the Army it 'd have been half the time, for the H.R.H. was stronger in

that department. Now, I know old Burley promised Mel to leave him his

money, and called the Admiral an ungrateful dog. He didn't give Mel much

at a time--now and then a twenty-pounder or so--I saw the cheques. And

old Mel expected the money, and looked over his daughters like a

turkey-cock. Nobody good enough for them. Whacking handsome gals--three!

used to be called the Three Graces of Lymport. And one day Burley comes

and visits Mel, and sees the girls. And he puts his finger on the eldest,

I can tell you. She was a spanker! She was the handsomest gal, I think,

ever I saw. For the mother's a fine woman, and what with the mother, and

what with old Mel--'

'We won't enter into the mysteries of origin,' quoth Lady Jocelyn.

'Exactly, my lady. Oh, your servant, of course. Before ladies. A Burley

Bennet, I said. Long and short was, he wanted to take her up to London.

Says old Mel: "London 's a sad place."--"Place to make money," says

Burley. "That's not work for a young gal," says Mel. Long and short was,

Burley wanted to take her, and Mel wouldn't let her go.' Mr. George

lowered his tone, and mumbled, 'Don't know how to explain it very well

before ladies. What Burley wanted was--it wasn't quite honourable, you

know, though there was a good deal of spangles on it, and whether a real

H.R.H., or a Marquis, or a Viscount, I can't say, but--the offer was

tempting to a tradesman. "No," says Mel; like a chap planting his

flagstaff and sticking to it. I believe that to get her to go with him,

Burley offered to make a will on the spot, and to leave every farthing of

his money and property--upon my soul, I believe it to be true--to Mel and

his family, if he'd let the gal go. "No," says Mel. I like the old bird!

And Burley got in a rage, and said he'd leave every farthing to the

sailor. Says Mel: "I'm a poor tradesman; but I have and I always will

have the feelings of a gentleman, and they're more to me than hard cash,

and the honour of my daughter, sir, is dearer to me than my blood. Out of

the house!" cries Mel. And away old Burley went, and left every penny to

the sailor, Admiral Harrington, who never noticed 'em an inch. Now,

there!'

All had listened to Mr. George attentively, and he had slurred the

apologetic passages, and emphasized the propitiatory 'before ladies' in a

way to make himself well understood a generation back.

'Bravo, old Mel!' rang the voice of Lady Jocelyn, and a murmur ensued, in

the midst of which Rose stood up and hurried round the table to Mrs.

Strike, who was seen to rise from her chair; and as she did so, the

ill-arranged locks fell from their unnatural restraint down over her

shoulders; one great curl half forward to the bosom, and one behind her

right ear. Her eyes were wide, her whole face, neck, and fingers, white

as marble. The faintest tremor of a frown on her brows, and her shut

lips, marked the continuation of some internal struggle, as if with her

last conscious force she kept down a flood of tears and a wild outcry

which it was death to hold. Sir Franks felt his arm touched, and looked

up, and caught her, as Rose approached. The Duke and other gentlemen went

to his aid, and as the beautiful woman was borne out white and still as a

corpse, the Countess had this dagger plunged in her heart from the mouth

of Mr. George, addressing Miss Carrington:

'I swear I didn't do it on purpose. She 's Carry Harrington, old Mel's

daughter, as sure as she 's flesh and blood!'