Page:ONCE A WEEK JUL TO DEC 1860.pdf/40

32 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“She’s [sic] 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 ’a got it from ’tother 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 ye 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 judgment.” (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 Old Tom 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 stilstill [sic] 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