The Complete Prose Works of Martin Farquhar Tupper

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This good son's new-born wealth, besides the now liberal paternal
largess (for his allowance grew larger in proportion as he might seem to
need it less), of course availed to introduce him to some fashionable
and estimable circles of society, whither it might not at all times be
discreet in us to follow him; amongst other places, whether or not the
Pandemonium in Jermyn street proved to him another gold mine, we have
not yet heard; but John Dillaway was often there, the intimate friend of
many splendid cavaliers who lived upon their industry, familiar with a
whole rookery of blacklegs, patron of two or three pigeonable city
sparks, and, on the whole, flusher of money than ever. His quiet mother,
if she cared about her son at all, and probably she did care when her
health permitted, might well be apprehensive on the score of that
increasing wealth which made the father's joy.

However, with all his prosperity Mr. John as yet professed himself by no
means satisfied; he was far too greedy of gain, and ever since he had
come to man's estate, had amiably longed to be an only child. Not that
he heeded a monopoly of the parental feelings and affections, nor even
that he meditated murdering Maria--oh dear, no: rather too troublesome
that, and quite unnecessary; it would be entirely sufficient if he could
manage so to influence his father as to cut that superfluous sister
Maria very short indeed in the matter of cash. With this generous and
amiable view, he now for a course of sundry years had whispered,
back-bitten, and lied; he had, as occasion offered, taken mean
advantages of Maria's outspeaking honesty, had set her warm-hearted
sayings and charitable doings in the falsest lights, and had entirely
"mildewed the ear" of her listening papa. The knight in truth listened
unreluctantly; it was consolation, if not happiness to him, if he could
make or find excuses for harshness to a being who would not worship
wealth; it would be joy and pride, and an honour to his idol, if he
should keep Maria pretty short of cash, and so make her own its
preciousness; triumphant would he feel, as a merely-moneyed man, to see
troublesome, obtrusive Heart, with all its win-ways, and whimperings,
and incomprehensible spirituality, with its sermons and its prayers,
bending before him "for a bit of bread." Yes, poor loving disinterested
Maria ran every chance of being disinherited, from the false witness of
her brother, simply because she gave him antecedent opportunities, by
her honest likings and dislikings, by her bold rebuke of wrong and open
zeal for right, by her scorn of hypocrisies as to what she did feel, or
did not feel, and by the unpopular fact that she wore a heart, and
refused to be the galley-slave of gold.

"Oh, ho, then!" said our crafty John, "we shall soon set this all right
with our governor; thank you for the chance, Miss Maria. If father
doesn't kick out this Clements, and cut you off with a shilling, he is
not Sir Thomas, and I am not his son."

CHAPTER VII.

PROVIDENCE SEES FIT TO HELP VILLANY.

"Now that's what I call bones."

It was a currish image, suggestive of the choicest satisfaction. Let us
try to discover what good news such an idiosyncrasy as that of John
Dillaway would be pleased to designate as "bones." He had forthwith gone
to his father's room as merry at the chance of ousting poor Maria, as
the heartlessness of avarice could make him; and omnipresent authorship
jotted down the dialogue that follows:

"So, governor, there's to be a wedding here, I find; when does it come
off?"

"Ey? what? a wedding? whose?"

"Oh, ho! you don't know, ey? I guessed as much: what do you think now of
our laughing, and crying, and kissing, and praying Miss Maria with--

"Not that beggar Clements? Ey? what? d----" &c., &c.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha! I thought so; why not, governor? Are you an old mole,
that you haven't seen it these six weeks? Are you stone deaf, that all
their pretty speeches have been wasted on you? All I can say is, that if
Mr. and Mrs. Clements an't spliced, it's pretty well time they should
be, and--

"Sir Thomas Dillaway rattled out so terrible an oath about Maria's
disinheritance if she ventured upon a marriage, that even John was
staggered at such a dreadful curse; nevertheless, an instantaneous
reflection soon caused that curse to be viewed metaphorically as a
"bone;" and the generous brother cautiously proceeded--

"Why, governor, all this is very odd, must say; when I caught 'em
kissing up there ten minutes ago, they were sharp enough to swear that
you knew all about it, and that you were so 'very, very kind.'"

How is it possible, intelligent reader, to avoid perpetual allusion to
an oath? We must not pare the lion's claws, and give bad men soft
speeches: pr'ythee, supply an occasional interjection, and believe that
in this place Sir Thomas swore most awfully; then, in a complete
phrensy, he vowed that he "would turn Maria out of house and home this
minute." This was another "bone," clearly.

But it was now becoming politic to calm him. Shrewd Jack was well aware
that Maria would relinquish all, and sacrifice, not merely her own
heart, but her Henry's too, rather than be guilty of filial
disobedience. All this storming, hopeful as it looked, might still be
premature, and do no substantial good; nay, if this wrath broke out too
soon, Maria would at once give way, become more dutiful than ever, and
his golden chance was gone. No: they were not married yet. Let the
wedding somehow first take place, and then--! and then!--for now he knew
which way the wind blew; so the scheming youth calmed his rising
triumphs, and counselled his progenitor as follows:

"Well, governor, I never saw so green a blade in all my born days. Can't
you see, now, that it's all cram this, just to put you in spirits, old
boy, in case of such things happening? It was wicked too of me to tease
you so--but I'm so jolly, governor; such luck in Jermyn street--I knew
you'd like a joke served up with such rich sauce as this is, ey? only
look!" It was half a hatful of bank notes raked up at the hazard table.

Sir Thomas's gray eyes darted swiftly at the spoil; often as he had
warned and scolded Jack about the matter of Jermyn street (for Jack was
bold enough never to conceal one of his little foibles), the father had
now nothing to object; for, in his philosophy, the end justified the
means. With most of this wise world, he looked upon success as in the
nature of virtue, and failure as the surest sign of vice; accordingly
his ire was diverted on the moment, and blazed in admiration of son
Jack: and that estimable creature immediately determined it was wise to
speak in tones of unwonted affection respecting his sister.

"Now, governor, I put it to you plump, isn't this hatful enough to make
a man beside himself, so as not to stick at a white lie or two? Dear
Maria there is no more going to become a Mrs. Clements than you are; she
cut the fellow dead long ago: so mind, that's a tough old bird, you
don't say one word to her about him; it would be just raking up the
cinders again, you know, and you might be fool enough to raise a flame.
No, governor, if it's any consolation to you, that pauper connection has
been all at an end this month; not but what the beggar's got my mother's
ear still, I fancy; but as to Maria, she detests him. So take my advice,
and don't tease the poor girl about the business. Now, then, that this
is all settled, and now that you 're the merrier for that silly bit of
storming at nothing, just listen: the wedding's my own! isn't Jack
Dillaway a clever fellow now, to have caught a Right Honourable
Ladyship, with a park in Yorkshire, a palace in Wales, and a mansion in
Grosvenor square?"

At this _extempore_ invention, the delighted parent rained so many
blessings on his progeny, that John knew the tide was turned at once.
Our ex-lord mayor had high ambitions, dating from the year of glory
onwards; so that nothing could be more prudent or well-timed that this
ideal aristocratic connection. Jack was a good fellow, a dear boy; and
he added to his apparent amiabilities now by reiterating counsels of
kindness and silence towards "poor dear sister Maria, whom he had been
making the scape-goat all this time;" after which done, our stock-jobber
feigned a pressing engagement with some fashionable friends, and left
his father to ruminate upon his worth in lonely admiration.

Well; if that clever and gratuitous lie was not another "bone," I am at
a loss to know what could be a "bone" to such a hound: therefore it
appears that Dillaway had three of them at least to gladden him in
solitude; and he went on revealing to wonder-stricken angels, and to us,
the secrets of his crafty soul, as he thus soliloquized:

"Yes, marry the fools first, and then for spoils at leisure; it won't be
easy though, she's so consummate filial, and he so bloated up with
honour. They'll never wed, I'm clear, unless the governor's by to bless
'em; and as to managing that, and the cutting-adrift scheme too, one
kills the other. How the deuce to do it? Eh--do I see a light?"

He did. A light lurid sulphurous gleam upon the midnight of his mind
seemed to show the way before him, as wisp-fire in a marsh. He did see a
light, and its character was this:

Quite aware of his mother's tranquil hopefulness, and that his kind good
sister was ingenuous as the day, he soon apprehended the state of
affairs; and, resolving to increase those misunderstandings on all
sides, he quickly perceived that he could triumph in the keen
Machiavellian policy, "_divide et impera_." The plan became more obvious
as he calmly thought it out. Evidently his first step must be to
ingratiate himself with both Henry and Maria, as the sympathizing
brother, a very easy task among such charitable fools: number two should
be to persuade them, as the mother did, that Sir Thomas, generally a
reserved unsocial man at home (and that in especial to Maria), was very
nervous at the thought of losing his dear daughter, and (while he
acquiesced in the common fate of parents and the usual way of the world)
begged that his coming bereavement might be obtruded on him as little as
possible--Mr. Clements always to avoid him, and Maria to hold her
tongue: number three, to amuse his father all the while by the prospect
of his own high alliance, so as effectually to hoodwink him from what
was going on: and, number four, to send him up to Yorkshire a week hence
(on some fool's errand to inquire after the imaginary countess's
imaginary mortgages), leaving behind him an autograph epistle (which our
John well knew how to write), recommending "that the ceremony be
performed immediately and in his absence, to spare his feelings on the
spot," mentioning "son John as his worthy substitute to give dear Maria
away," and enclosing them at once his "blessing and a hundred pound note
to help them on their honey-moon."

"John Dillaway, if craft be a virtue, thou art an archangel: but if
Heaven's chief requirement is the heart, thou art very like a
devil--very. If selfishness deserves the meed of praise, who more
honourable than thou art? But if a heartless man can never reach to
happiness, I know who will live to curse the hour of his birth, and is
doomed to perish miserably."

It was a clever scheme, and had unscrupulous hands to work it. Mystified
by quiet Lady Dillaway as our lovers had been from the first, entirely
unsuspicious of all guile, and rejoicing in their brother's marvellous
amiability, never surely were such happy days; always together while the
knight was at his counting-house, they gladly acquiesced in his
beautifully paternal nervousness; it was a delightful trait of character
in the dear old man; and a very respectable proof that love is keen-eyed
enough to believe what it wishes, but is stone-blind to any thing that
might possibly counteract its hopes. Then again, the mother was a close
ally; for having set her quiet heart upon the match, Lady Dillaway at
once encouraged all John's sympathetic scheme, on the prudent principle
of getting the young couple inextricably married first, and then
obliging her lord to be reconciled afterwards to what he could not help.
Sir Thomas himself, poor blinkered creature, was full of the most
aristocratical and wealthy fancies, and only yearned to inspect the
acres of his future honourable grand-children. He was, from these
fanciful causes, unusually affable and indulgent to Maria; spoke so
kindly always that she was all but dissolving thrice a-day; and, from
his constant reveries about the countess, appeared perpetually to be
brooding over dear Maria's soon approaching loss. Poor girl! more than
once she had determined to give it all up, and make her father happy by
serving him still in single blessedness: but then, how could she break
dear Henry's heart, as well as her own? No, no: they should live very
near to Finsbury square, and be in and out constantly, and papa should
never miss her: how delightful was all this!

As for John himself, (our heartless model-man, strange contrast to
Maria's perfect charity!) he chuckled hugely as his scheme now ripened
fast. He had long been putting all things in train for the wedding
to-morrow. Every body knew it except Sir Thomas who--what between Jack's
prudent watchfulness, his habitual counting-house hours, his usually
unsocial silence, and his now asserted wish for "not one word upon the
subject,"--was at once kept in total ignorance of all; and yet, as
ambassadorial John constantly gave out to Clements and Maria, in an
amiable nervous state of natural acquiescence. Next day, then, the
besotted father was about to be packed post for Yorkshire; the important
letter, with its enclosed bank note, was already written and sealed, as
like the governor's hand as possible; a license had been long ago
provided, and the clergyman bespoke, by the brotherly officiousness of
John; neither Henry Clements, who was too delicate, too unsuspecting for
prudent business-papers, nor Maria, whose heart was never likely to have
conceived the thought, had even once alluded to a settlement; Lady
Dillaway was lying, as her wont was, on her habitual sofa, in tranquil
ecstasy, at to-morrow morning's wedding: and Holy Providence, for wise
purposes no doubt, had seen fit to aid a villain in his deep-laid
treacherous designs.

The Wednesday dawned: Sir Thomas was to be off early, poor man, all agog
for right honourable acres; and Maria could no longer restrain the
expression of her glad and grateful feelings. Up she got by six, threw
herself in her kind dear father's way; and though, to spare his
feelings, she said not a word about the marriage, prayed him on her
knees for a blessing. The startled parent, believing all this frantic
show of feeling was sufficiently to be accounted for by his own long and
no doubt dangerous journey, blessed her as devoutly as ever he could;
and when the carriage drove away, left her in his study, overcome with
joy, affection, and admiration of his fine heart, exquisite
sensibilities, and generous feelings. Then, as a crowning-stone to all
the bliss, if any lingering doubt existed in the mind of Clements, who
had more than once expressed dislike at Sir Thomas's silent and
unsatisfying sympathy--the letter--the letter, whereof kind brother
John, secretly initiated, had some days forewarned them of its
probability--that letter, which explained at once all a father's kind
anxieties, and made up for all his cold reserve, was found on Sir
Thomas's own table! How amiable, how beautifully sensitive, how liberal
too! Lady Dillaway plumed herself in a whispering transport upon her
just appreciation of the father's better feelings; a kinder heart
manifestly never existed than her husband's, though he did take strange
methods of proving it: the bridesmaids, two daughters of a friend and
neighbour, privy to the coming mystery three days, approved highly of so
unobtrusive an old gentleman: Maria was all pantings, blushings,
weepings, and rejoicings; Henry Clements, handsome, pale, and agitated;
perhaps, misgiving too, and a little displeased at the father's absence;
however, Mr. John Dillaway gave away the bride with a most paternal air;
and, just as Sir Thomas was changing horses at Huntingdon, our innocent
lovers were indissolubly married.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE ROGUE'S TRIUMPH.

Never was there such a happy couple; nor a more auspicious day. Away
they went, in deep delight, too joyful to be merry, in a holy transport
of affection, and its dearest hope fulfilled. They seemed to be in love
with all the world, for every thing around them wore a lustre of
deliciousness: and when the smoking posters left them at Salt hill, and
that well-matched husband and wife sat down to their first boiled fowl,
it would probably be a bathos to allude to angelic bliss; but they
nevertheless were, and knew they were, the happiest of mortals. If any
thing could add to Henry's self-complacency at that moment, it was the
recollection of his own truly disinterested conduct; for only yesterday
he had transferred all his little property to that kind and brotherly
fellow John Dillaway, in trust for Maria Clements, should any possible
reverse of fortune affect her father's or his own prosperity. Yes; and
John had been so wise as to make the two hundred a-year already a third
more, by investing (as he said) what had been a few thousands of three
per cents. in some capital "independent" bank shares of
Australasia--safe as a mountain, and productive as a valley.

All this appeared very prosperous and pleasant: but we of the initiated
into the secrets of character, may reasonably apprehend that Henry's
little all would have been safer any where than in Dillaway's
possession: and "possession," I am sorry to declare, is a word used
advisedly; for Mr. John required a largish floating capital to enable
him to go to the desperate lengths he did at hazard and _rouge-et-noir_;
and I am afraid that if Mr. or Mrs. Clements were to receive any of
those so-called Austral dividends, they would only have been taking
three hundred pounds a-year out of their principal moneys in John's
immaculate keeping.

Leaving then those wedded lovers to their honey-moon of joy, and shrewd
Jack gloating not merely over the full success of his nefarious plan,
but also over this unexpected acquisition of poor Clement's few
thousands, let us return to Sir Thomas--or, to be quite accurate, let us
return with him.

In high dudgeon, full of fire and fury, back rushed the knight, sore
under the sense of having been made an April-fool of in July; for no one
in the place whereto he went, had ever heard of a widow'd Countess of
Lancing; and her ladyship's acres, if any where at all, were undoubtedly
not in the North Riding. But clever son John, meeting his indignant
father on the threshold, soon made all that right by a word.

"Well, if ever! why, stupid, I said Diddlington, not Darlington."

Into the accuracy of this distinction it is needless to inquire: and
then the ingenuous youth went on to observe--

"But all's right as it is now; you may as well not have seen the
property, and better, too, as things have turned out roughly, governor:
the match is off, and you may well congratulate me. Such an escape--I
just discovered it, and was barely in time: you hadn't been gone two
hours when I found it all out, through a clever devil of a lawyer, who
was hired by my father's son to look into incumbrances, and keep a sharp
look-out for a mutual settlement; that old harridan of a ladyship is
over head and ears in debt; and, it seems, I was to have paid all
straight, or _i. e._ you, governor, ey? As to the Yorkshire acres, the
old woman had but a life interest in the mere bit that wasn't deeply
mortgaged--and not a very long life either, seeing she is seventy. So,
bless your clever boy again, old governor, he's free."

The knight had nothing to object: Jack's ready lie had plenty of reasons
in it: and so he blessed his clever boy again.

"But I say, governor, I rather think that you've astonished us all: what
on earth made you turn so soft of a sudden, and write that letter?"

"What letter? ey? what?"--Sir Thomas might well inquire.

"That's a good joke, governor--you keep it up to the last, I see; what a
close old file it is! What letter? why, the letter you wrote to Maria
and her lord, telling them to marry."

"Marry? ey? what, Maria? what--what is it all?" The poor old man was
thoroughly bewildered.

"Well done, governor--bravo! you can carry it off as cleverly as if you
were an actor; do you mean to say now you didn't leave a letter behind
you here upon your table, bidding Maria marry in your absence to spare
your paternal feelings (kind old boy, it is, too!) and enclosing them
one hundred pounds for the honey-moon?"

The mystified father made some inarticulate expression of ignorant
amazement, and our stock-jobber went on:

"So of course they're married and off--Mr. and Mrs. Cle----"

A whirlwind of disastrous imprecations cut all short; and then in a
voice choked with passion he gasped out--

"But--but are they married--are they married? how do you know it? can't
we catch 'em first, ey? what!"

"How do I know it? that's a good un now, father, when I had it under
your hand to give the girl away myself instead of you. Do you mean to
say you didn't write that letter?"

"Boy, I tell you, I've written nothing--I know nothing; you speak in
riddles."

"Well then, governor, if I do, I'll to guess 'em: I begin to see how it
was all brought about--but they did it cleverly too, and were quite too
many for me. Only listen: that fellow Clements, ay, and Miss Maria too
(artful minx, I know her), must have forged a letter as if from you to
get poor fools, me and my mother, to see 'em spliced, while you were
tooling to Yorkshire."

"Impossible--ey? what? I'll--I'll--I'll--"

"Now, governor, don't stand there doing nothing but denying all I say;
only you go yourself, and ask my mother if she didn't see the letter--if
they didn't marry upon it, and if that precious sister of mine doesn't
richly deserve every thing she'll some day get from her affectionate,
her excellent, her ill-used father?"

Iago's self, or his master, smooth-tongued Belial, could not have
managed matters better.

The incredulous knight, scarcely able to discover how far it might not
still be all a joke, especially after his Yorkshire expedition, rushed
up to Lady Dillaway; on her usual sofa, quietly knitting, and thinking
of her Maria's second day of happiness.

"So, ma'am--ey? what? is it true? are they married? is it true?
married--ey? what?"

"Certainly, Thomas, they were only too glad, and I will add, so was I,
to get your kind--"

"Mine? I give leave? ey? what? Madam, we're cheated, fooled--I never
wrote any letter."

"Most astonishing; I saw it myself, Thomas, your own hand; and our dear
John too."

"Ay, ay--he sees through it all, and so do I now--ey? what? that
precious pair of rogues forged it! Now, ma'am, what don't they deserve,
I should like to know?"

It was quite a blow, and a very hard one, to the poor tranquil mother.
Could her dear Maria really have been so base, and that noble-looking
Henry too? how dreadfully deceived in them, if this proved true! And how
could she think it false? A letter contrived to expedite their marriage
in the father's casual absence, which no one could have thought of
writing but Sir Thomas himself, or the impatient lovers. So poor Lady
Dillaway could only fall a-crying very miserably; whereupon her husband
more than half suspected her of being an accomplice in the despicable
plot.

"Now then, ma'am, I'm determined: as they are married, the thing's at an
end; we can't untie that knot--but, once tied, I've done with the girl;
they may starve, for any help they'll get of me: and as for you, mum,
give 'em money at your peril; stay, to make sure of it, Lady Dillaway, I
shall stint you to whatever you choose to ask me for out of my own
pocket; never draw another cheque on Jones's, do you hear? ey? what? for
your cheques shall not be honoured, ma'am. And now, from this hour, you
and I have only one child, John."

"Oh, Thomas--Thomas! be merciful to poor Maria! indeed, she was
deceived; she believed it all--poor Maria!"

"Ma'am, never mention that woman again--ey? what? deceived? Yes, she
deceived you and me, and John, and all. Wicked wretch! and all to marry
a beggar! Well, ma'am, there's one comfort left; the fellow married her
for money, and he's caught in his own trap; never a penny of mine shall
either of them see. Henceforth, Lady Dillaway, we have no daughter; dear
John is the only child left us for old age."

In spite of himself, of wrath, and disappointment, the father spoke in a
moved and broken manner; and his weeping wife attempted to explain,
console, and soothe him; but all in vain--he was inexorable and
inveterate against those mean deceivers. To say truth, the poor mother
was staggered too, especially when her managing son set all the matter
in what he stated to be the right light; for he had, the whole business
through, whispered so separately to each, and had seemed to say so
little openly (making his mother believe that his sister told him of the
coming letter, and a choice variety of other embellishments), that he
was now looked upon as the very martyr to roguish plotting, in having
been induced to give away his sister. Excellent, mistaken John!