CHAPTER XXVIII

TOM COGGLESEY'S PROPOSITION

The appearance of a curricle and a donkey-cart within the gates of

Beckley Court, produced a sensation among the men of the lower halls, and

a couple of them rushed out, with the left calf considerably in advance,

to defend the house from violation. Toward the curricle they directed

what should have been a bow, but was a nod. Their joint attention was

then given to the donkey-cart, in which old Tom Cogglesby sat alone,

bunchy in figure, bunched in face, his shrewd grey eyes twinkling under

the bush of his eyebrows.

'Oy, sir--you! my man!' exclaimed the tallest of the pair, resolutely.

'This won't do. Don't you know driving this sort of conveyance slap along

the gravel 'ere, up to the pillars, 's unparliamentary? Can't be allowed.

Now, right about!'

This address, accompanied by a commanding elevation of the dexter hand,

seemed to excite Mr. Raikes far more than Old Tom. He alighted from his

perch in haste, and was running up to the stalwart figure, crying,

'Fellow!' when, as you tell a dog to lie down, Old Tom called out, 'Be

quiet, Sir!' and Raikes halted with prompt military obedience.

The sight of the curricle acting satellite to the donkey-cart staggered

the two footmen.

'Are you lords?' sang out Old Tom.

A burst of laughter from the friends of Mr. Raikes, in the curricle,

helped to make the powdered gentlemen aware of a sarcasm, and one with no

little dignity replied that they were not lords.

'Oh! Then come and hold my donkey.'

Great irresolution was displayed at the injunction, but having consulted

the face of Mr. Raikes, one fellow, evidently half overcome by what was

put upon him, with the steps of Adam into exile, descended to the gravel,

and laid his hand on the donkey's head.

'Hold hard!' cried Old Tom. 'Whisper in his ear. He'll know your

language.'

'May I have the felicity of assisting you to terra firma?' interposed Mr.

Raikes, with the bow of deferential familiarity.

'Done that once too often,' returned Old Tom, jumping out. 'There. What's

the fee? There's a crown for you that ain't afraid of a live donkey; and

there 's a sixpenny bit for you that are--to keep up your courage; and

when he's dead you shall have his skin--to shave by.'

'Excellent!' shouted Raikes.

'Thomas!' he addressed a footman, 'hand in my card. Mr. John Feversham

Raikes.'

'And tell my lady, Tom Cogglesby's come,' added the owner of that name.

We will follow Tom Cogglesby, as he chooses to be called.

Lady Jocelyn rose on his entering the library, and walking up to him,

encountered him with a kindly full face.

'So I see you at last, Tom?' she said, without releasing his hand; and

Old Tom mounted patches of red in his wrinkled cheeks, and blinked, and

betrayed a singular antiquated bashfulness, which ended, after a mumble

of 'Yes, there he was, and he hoped her ladyship was well,' by his

seeking refuge in a chair, where he sat hard, and fixed his attention on

the leg of a table.

'Well, Tom, do you find much change in me?' she was woman enough to

continue.

He was obliged to look up.

'Can't say I do, my lady.'

'Don't you see the grey hairs, Tom?'

'Better than a wig,' rejoined he.

Was it true that her ladyship had behaved rather ill to Old Tom in her

youth? Excellent women have been naughty girls, and young Beauties will

have their train. It is also very possible that Old Tom had presumed upon

trifles, and found it difficult to forgive her his own folly.

'Preferable to a wig? Well, I would rather see you with your natural

thatch. You're bent, too. You look as if you had kept away from Beckley a

little too long.'

'Told you, my lady, I should come when your daughter was marriageable.'

'Oho! that's it? I thought it was the Election!

'Election be ------ hem!--beg pardon, my lady.'

'Swear, Tom, if it relieves you. I think it bad to check an oath or a

sneeze.'

'I 'm come to see you on business, my lady, or I shouldn't have troubled

you.'

'Malice?'

'You 'll see I don't bear any, my lady.'

'Ah! if you had only sworn roundly twenty-five years ago, what a much

younger man you would have been! and a brave capital old friend whom I

should not have missed all that time.'

'Come!' cried Old Tom, varying his eyes rapidly between her ladyship's

face and the floor, 'you acknowledge I had reason to.'

'Mais, cela va sans dire.'

'Cobblers' sons ain't scholars, my lady.'

'And are not all in the habit of throwing their fathers in our teeth, I

hope!'

Old Tom wriggled in his chair. 'Well, my lady, I'm not going to make a

fool of myself at my time o' life. Needn't be alarmed now. You've got the

bell-rope handy and a husband on the premises.'

Lady Jocelyn smiled, stood up, and went to him. 'I like an honest fist,'

she said, taking his. 'We 're not going to be doubtful friends, and we

won't snap and snarl. That's for people who're independent of wigs, Tom.

I find, for my part, that a little grey on the top of any head cools the

temper amazingly. I used to be rather hot once.'

'You could be peppery, my lady.'

'Now I'm cool, Tom, and so must you be; or, if you fight, it must be in

my cause, as you did when you thrashed that saucy young carter. Do you

remember?'

'If you'll sit ye down, my lady, I'll just tell you what I'm come for,'

said Old Tom, who plainly showed that he did remember, and was alarmingly

softened by her ladyship's retention of the incident.

Lady Jocelyn returned to her place.

'You've got a marriageable daughter, my lady?'

'I suppose we may call her so,' said Lady Jocelyn, with a composed glance

at the ceiling.

''Gaged to be married to any young chap?'

'You must put the question to her, Tom.'

'Ha! I don't want to see her.'

At this Lady Jocelyn looked slightly relieved. Old Tom continued.

'Happen to have got a little money--not so much as many a lord's got, I

dare say; such as 'tis, there 'tis. Young fellow I know wants a wife, and

he shall have best part of it. Will that suit ye, my lady?'

Lady Jocelyn folded her hands. 'Certainly; I've no objection. What it has

to do with me I can't perceive.'

'Ahem!' went Old Tom. 'It won't hurt your daughter to be married now,

will it?'

'Oh! my daughter is the destined bride of your "young fellow,"' said Lady

Jocelyn. 'Is that how it's to be?'

'She'--Old Tom cleared his throat 'she won't marry a lord, my lady; but

she--'hem--if she don't mind that--'ll have a deuced sight more hard cash

than many lord's son 'd give her, and a young fellow for a husband, sound

in wind and limb, good bone and muscle, speaks grammar and two or three

languages, and--'

'Stop!' cried Lady Jocelyn. 'I hope this is not a prize young man? If he

belongs, at his age, to the unco quid, I refuse to take him for a

son-in-law, and I think Rose will, too.'

Old Tom burst out vehemently: 'He's a damned good young fellow, though he

isn't a lord.'

'Well,' said Lady Jocelyn, 'I 've no doubt you're in earnest, Tom. It 's

curious, for this morning Rose has come to me and given me the first

chapter of a botheration, which she declares is to end in the common rash

experiment. What is your "young fellow's" name? Who is he? What is he?'

'Won't take my guarantee, my lady?'

'Rose--if she marries--must have a name, you know?'

Old Tom hit his knee. 'Then there's a pill for ye to swallow, for he

ain't the son of a lord.'

'That's swallowed, Tom. What is he?'

'He's the son of a tradesman, then, my lady.' And Old Tom watched her to

note the effect he had produced.

'More 's the pity,' was all she remarked.

'And he 'll have his thousand a year to start with; and he's a tailor, my

lady.'

Her ladyship opened her eyes.

'Harrington's his name, my lady. Don't know whether you ever heard of

it.'

Lady Jocelyn flung herself back in her chair. 'The queerest thing I ever

met!' said she.

'Thousand a year to start with,' Old Tom went on, 'and if she marries--I

mean if he marries her, I'll settle a thousand per ann. on the first

baby-boy or gal.'

'Hum! Is this gross collusion, Mr. Tom?' Lady Jocelyn inquired.

'What does that mean?'

'Have you spoken of this before to any one?'

'I haven't, my lady. Decided on it this morning. Hem! you got a son, too.

He's fond of a young gal, or he ought to be. I'll settle him when I've

settled the daughter.'

'Harry is strongly attached to a dozen, I believe,' said his mother.

'Well, Tom, we'll think of it. I may as well tell you: Rose has just been

here to inform me that this Mr. Harrington has turned her head, and that

she has given her troth, and all that sort of thing. I believe such was

not to be laid to my charge in my day.'

'You were open enough, my lady,' said Old Tom. 'She's fond of the young

fellow? She'll have a pill to swallow! poor young woman!'

Old Tom visibly chuckled. Lady Jocelyn had a momentary temptation to lead

him out, but she did not like the subject well enough to play with it.

'Apparently Rose has swallowed it,' she said.

'Goose, shears, cabbage, and all!' muttered Old Tom. 'Got a stomach!--she

knows he's a tailor, then? The young fellow told her? He hasn't been

playing the lord to her?'

'As far as he's concerned, I think he has been tolerably honest, Tom, for

a man and a lover.'

'And told her he was born and bound a tailor?'

'Rose certainly heard it from him.'

Slapping his knee, Old Tom cried: 'Bravo!' For though one part of his

nature was disappointed, and the best part of his plot disarranged, he

liked Evan's proceeding and felt warm at what seemed to him Rose's scorn

of rank.

'She must be a good gal, my lady. She couldn't have got it from t' other

side. Got it from you. Not that you--'

'No,' said Lady Jocelyn, apprehending him. 'I'm afraid I have no

Republican virtues. I 'm afraid I should have rejected the pill. Don't be

angry with me,' for Old Tom looked sour again; 'I like birth and

position, and worldly advantages, and, notwithstanding Rose's pledge of

the instrument she calls her heart, and in spite of your offer, I shall,

I tell you honestly, counsel her to have nothing to do with--'

'Anything less than lords,' Old Tom struck in. 'Very well. Are you going

to lock her up, my lady?'

'No. Nor shall I whip her with rods.'

'Leave her free to her choice?'

'She will have my advice. That I shall give her. And I shall take care

that before she makes a step she shall know exactly what it leads to. Her

father, of course, will exercise his judgement.' (Lady Jocelyn said this

to uphold the honour of Sir Franks, knowing at the same time perfectly

well that he would be wheedled by Rose.) 'I confess I like this Mr.

Harrington. But it's a great misfortune for him to have had a notorious

father. A tailor should certainly avoid fame, and this young man will

have to carry his father on his back. He 'll never throw the great Mel

off.'

Tom Cogglesby listened, and was really astonished at her ladyship's calm

reception of his proposal.

'Shameful of him! shameful!' he muttered perversely: for it would have

made him desolate to have had to change his opinion of her ladyship after

cherishing it, and consoling himself with it, five-and-twenty years.

Fearing the approach of softness, he prepared to take his leave.

'Now--your servant, my lady. I stick to my word, mind: and if your people

here are willing, I--I 've got a candidate up for Fall'field--I'll knock

him down, and you shall sneak in your Tory. Servant, my lady.'

Old Tom rose to go. Lady Jocelyn took his hand cordially, though she

could not help smiling at the humility of the cobbler's son in his manner

of speaking of the Tory candidate.

'Won't you stop with us a few days?'

'I 'd rather not, I thank ye.'

'Won't you see Rose?'

'I won't. Not till she's married.'

'Well, Tom, we're friends now?'

'Not aware I've ever done you any harm, my lady.'

'Look me in the face.'

The trial was hard for him. Though she had been five-and-twenty years a

wife, she was still very handsome: but he was not going to be melted, and

when the perverse old fellow obeyed her, it was with an aspect of

resolute disgust that would have made any other woman indignant. Lady

Jocelyn laughed.

'Why, Tom, your brother Andrew's here, and makes himself comfortable with

us. We rode by Brook's farm the other day. Do you remember Copping's

pond--how we dragged it that night? What days we had!'

Old Tom tugged once or twice at his imprisoned fist, while these youthful

frolics of his too stupid self and the wild and beautiful Miss Bonner

were being recalled.

'I remember!' he said savagely, and reaching the door hurled out: 'And I

remember the Bull-dogs, too! servant, my lady.' With which he effected a

retreat, to avoid a ringing laugh he heard in his ears.

Lady Jocelyn had not laughed. She had done no more than look and smile

kindly on the old boy. It was at the Bull-dogs, a fall of water on the

borders of the park, that Tom Cogglesby, then a hearty young man, had

been guilty of his folly: had mistaken her frank friendliness for a

return of his passion, and his stubborn vanity still attributed her

rejection of his suit to the fact of his descent from a cobbler, or, as

he put it, to her infernal worship of rank.

'Poor old Tom!' said her ladyship, when alone. 'He 's rough at the rind,

but sound at the core.' She had no idea of the long revenge Old Tom

cherished, and had just shaped into a plot to be equal with her for the

Bull-dogs.