Henrietta Temple: A Love Story
be adjourned. Indulge no hopes, for there are none.’
‘Then by every sacred power I revoke every blessing that since your
birth I have poured upon your head. I recall the prayers that every
night I have invoked upon your being. Great God! I cancel them. You have
betrayed your cousin; you have deserted your mother and myself; you have
first sullied the honour of our house, and now you have destroyed it.
Why were you born? What have we done that your mother’s womb should
produce such a curse? Sins of my father, they are visited upon me! And
Glastonbury, what will Glastonbury say? Glastonbury, who sacrificed his
fortune for you.’
‘Mr. Glastonbury knows all, sir, and has always been my confidant.’
‘Is he a traitor? For when a son deserts me, I know not whom to trust.’
‘He has no thoughts but for our welfare, sir. He will convince you, sir,
I cannot marry my cousin.’
‘Boy, boy! you know not what you say. Not marry your cousin! Then let us
die. It were better for us all to die.’
‘My father! Be calm, I beseech you; you have spoken harsh words; I
have not deserted you or my mother; I never will. If I have wronged my
cousin, I have severely suffered, and she has most freely forgiven me.
She is my dear friend. As for our house: tell me, would you have that
house preserved at the cost of my happiness? You are not the father I
supposed, if such indeed be your wish.’
‘Happiness! Fortune, family, beauty, youth, a sweet and charming spirit,
if these will not secure a man’s happiness, I know not what might. And
these I wished you to possess.’
‘Sir, it is in vain for us to converse upon this subject. See
Glastonbury, if you will. He can at least assure you that neither my
feelings are light nor my conduct hasty. I will leave you now.’
Ferdinand quitted the room; Sir Ratcliffe did not notice his departure,
although he was not unaware of it. He heaved a deep sigh, and was
apparently plunged in profound thought.
CHAPTER XVIII.
_Ferdinand Is Arrested by Messrs. Morris and Levison, and
Taken to a Spunging-House_.
IT MUST be confessed that the affairs of our friends were in a critical
state: everyone interested felt that something decisive in their
respective fortunes was at hand. And, yet, so vain are all human plans
and calculations, that the unavoidable crisis was brought about by
an incident which no one anticipated. It so happened that the stormy
interview between Sir Ratcliffe and his son was overheard by a servant.
This servant, who had been engaged by Miss Grandison in London, was a
member of a club to which a confidential clerk of Messrs. Morris and
Levison belonged. In the ensuing evening, when this worthy knight of
the shoulder-knot just dropped out for an hour to look in at this choice
society, smoke a pipe, and talk over the affairs of his mistress and
the nation, he announced the important fact that the match between Miss
Grandison and Captain Armine was ‘no go,’ which, for his part, he
did not regret, as he thought his mistress ought to look higher. The
confidential clerk of Messrs. Morris and Levison listened in silence to
this important intelligence, and communicated it the next morning to
his employers. And so it happened that a very few days afterwards,
as Ferdinand was lying in bed at his hotel, the door of his chamber
suddenly opened, and an individual, not of the most prepossessing
appearance, being much marked with smallpox, reeking with gin, and
wearing top-boots and a belcher handkerchief, rushed into his room and
enquired whether he were Captain Armine.
‘The same,’ said Ferdinand. ‘And pray, sir, who are you?’
‘Don’t wish to be unpleasant,’ was the answer, ‘but, sir, you are my
prisoner.’
There is something exceedingly ignoble in an arrest: Ferdinand felt that
sickness come over him which the uninitiated in such ceremonies must
experience. However, he rallied, and enquired at whose suit these
proceedings were taken.
‘Messrs. Morris and Levison, sir.’
‘Cannot I send for my lawyer and give bail?’
The bailiff shook his head. ‘You see, sir, you are taken in execution,
so it is impossible.’
‘And the amount of the debt?’
‘Is 2,800L., sir.’
‘Well, what am I to do?’
‘Why, sir, you must go along with us. We will do it very quietly. My
follower is in a hackney-coach at the door, sir. You can just step in
as pleasant as possible. I suppose you would like to go to a house, and
then you can send for your friends, you know.’
‘Well, if you will go down stairs, I will come to you.’
The bailiff grinned. ‘Can’t let you out of my sight, sir.’
‘Why, I cannot dress if you are here.’
The bailiff examined the room to see if there were any mode of escape;
there was no door but the entrance; the window offered no chance. ‘Well,
sir,’ he said, ‘I likes to do things pleasant. I can stand outside, sir;
but you must be quick.’
Ferdinand rang for his servant. When Louis clearly understood the state
of affairs, he was anxious to throw the bailiff out of the window, but
his master prevented him. Mr. Glastonbury had gone out some two hours;
Ferdinand sent Louis with a message to his family, to say he was about
leaving town for a few days; and impressing upon him to be careful not
to let them know in Brook-street what had occurred, he completed his
rapid toilet and accompanied the sheriff’s officer to the hackney-coach
that was prepared for him.
As they jogged on in silence, Ferdinand revolved in his mind how it
would be most advisable for him to act. Any application to his own
lawyer was out of the question. That had been tried before, and he
felt assured that there was not the slightest chance of that gentleman
discharging so large a sum, especially when he was aware that it was
only a portion of his client’s liabilities; he thought of applying for
advice to Count Mirabel or Lord Catchimwhocan, but with what view? He
would not borrow the money of them, even if they would lend it; and as
it was, he bitterly reproached himself for having availed himself so
easily of Mr. Bond Sharpe’s kind offices. At this moment, he could not
persuade himself that his conduct had been strictly honourable to that
gentleman. He had not been frank in the exposition of his situation.
The money had been advanced under a false impression, if not absolutely
borrowed under a false pretence. He cursed Catchimwhocan and his levity.
The honour of the Armines was gone, like everything else that once
belonged to them. The result of Ferdinand’s reflections was, that he
was utterly done up; that no hope or chance of succour remained for
him; that his career was closed; and not daring to contemplate what
the consequences might be to his miserable parents, he made a desperate
effort to command his feelings.
Here the coach turned up a dingy street, leading out of the lower end
of Oxford-street, and stopped before a large but gloomy dwelling, which
Ferdinand’s companion informed him was a spunging-house. ‘I suppose you
would like to have a private room, sir; you can have every accommodation
here, sir, and feel quite at home, I assure you.’
In pursuance of this suggestion, Captain Armine was ushered into
the best drawing-room, with barred windows, and treated in the most
aristocratic manner. It was evidently the chamber reserved only for
unfortunate gentlemen of the utmost distinction. It was amply furnished
with a mirror, a loo-table, and a very hard sofa. The walls were hung
with old-fashioned caricatures by Bunbury; the fire-irons were of
polished brass; over the mantel-piece was the portrait of the master of
the house, which was evidently a speaking likeness, and in which
Captain Armine fancied he traced no slight resemblance to his friend Mr.
Levison; and there were also some sources of literary amusement in the
room, in the shape of a Hebrew Bible and the Racing Calendar.
After walking up and down the room for an hour, meditating over the
past, for it seemed hopeless to trouble himself any further with the
future, Ferdinand began to feel faint, for it may be recollected that he
had not even breakfasted. So pulling the bell-rope with such force that
it fell to the ground, a funny little waiter immediately appeared, awed
by the sovereign ring, and having, indeed, received private intelligence
from the bailiff that the gentleman in the drawing-room was a regular
nob.
And here, perhaps, I should remind the reader, that of all the great
distinctions in life none perhaps is more important than that which
divides mankind into the two great sections of NOBS and SNOBS. It might
seem at the first glance, that if there were a place in the world which
should level all distinctions, it would be a debtors’ prison. But this
would be quite an error. Almost at the very moment that Captain Armine
arrived at his sorrowful hotel, a poor devil of a tradesman who had been
arrested for fifty pounds, and torn from his wife and family, had been
forced to repair to the same asylum. He was introduced into what is
styled the coffee-room, being a long, low, unfurnished sanded chamber,
with a table and benches; and being very anxious to communicate with
some friend, in order, if possible, to effect his release, and prevent
himself from being a bankrupt, he had continued meekly to ring at
intervals for the last half-hour in order that he might write and
forward his letter. The waiter heard the coffee-room bell ring, but
never dreamed of noticing it, though the moment the signal of the
private room sounded, and sounded with so much emphasis, he rushed
upstairs, three steps at a time, and instantly appeared before our hero:
and all this difference was occasioned by the simple circumstance, that
Captain Armine was a NOB, and the poor tradesman a SNOB.
‘I am hungry,’ said Ferdinand. ‘Can I get anything to eat at this damned
place?’
‘What would you like, sir? Anything you choose, sir. Mutton chop, rump
steak, weal cutlet? Do you a fowl in a quarter of an hour; roast or
boiled, sir?’
‘I have not breakfasted yet; bring me some breakfast.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the little waiter. ‘Tea, sir? Coffee, eggs, toast,
buttered toast, sir? Like any meat, sir? Ham, sir? Tongue, sir? Like a
devil, sir?’
‘Anything, everything, only be quick.’
‘Yes, sir,’ responded the waiter. ‘Beg pardon, sir. No offence, I hope,
but custom to pay here, sir. Shall be happy to accommodate you, sir.
Know what a gentleman is.’
‘Thank you, I will not trouble you,’ said Ferdinand; ‘get me that note
changed.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the little waiter, bowing very low as he
disappeared.
‘Gentleman in best drawing-room wants breakfast. Gentleman in best
drawing-room wants change for a ten-pound note. Breakfast immediately
for gentleman in best drawing-room. Tea, coffee, toast, ham, tongue, and
a devil. A regular nob!’
Ferdinand was so exhausted that he had postponed all deliberation as to
his situation until he had breakfasted; and when he had breakfasted,
he felt dull. It is the consequence of all meals. In whatever light
he viewed his affairs, they seemed inextricable. He was now in a
spunging-house; he could not long remain here, he must be soon in a
gaol. A gaol! What a bitter termination of all his great plans and
hopes! What a situation for one who had been betrothed to Henrietta
Temple! He thought of his cousin, he thought of her great fortune,
which might have been his. Perhaps at this moment they were all riding
together in the Park. In a few days all must be known to his father. He
did not doubt of the result. Armine would immediately be sold, and
his father and mother, with the wretched wreck of their fortune, would
retire to the Continent. What a sad vicissitude! And he had done it all;
he, their only child, their only hope, on whose image they had lived,