CHAPTER XVII.
IN WHICH FANNY ENGAGES A NEW MEDICAL MAN.
Could Helen have suspected that, with Pen's returning strength, hisunhappy partiality for little Fanny would also reawaken? Though shenever spoke a word regarding that young person, after her conversationwith the major, and though, to all appearance, she utterly ignoredFanny's existence, yet Mrs. Pendennis kept a particularly close watchupon all Master Arthur's actions; on the plea of ill-health, wouldscarcely let him out of her sight; and was especially anxious that heshould be spared the trouble of all correspondence for the present atleast. Very likely Arthur looked at his own letters with some tremor;very likely, as he received them at the family table, feeling hismother's watch upon him (though the good soul's eye seemed fixed uponher tea-cup or her book), he expected daily to see a littlehandwriting, which he would have known, though he had never seen ityet, and his heart beat as he received the letters to his address. Washe more pleased or annoyed, that, day after day, his expectations werenot realized; and was his mind relieved, that there came no letterfrom Fanny? Though, no doubt, in these matters, when Lovelace is tiredof Clarissa (or the contrary), it is best for both parties to break atonce, and each, after the failure of the attempt at union, to go hisown way, and pursue his course through life solitary; yet ourself-love, or our pity, or our sense of decency, does not like thatsudden bankruptcy. Before we announce to the world that our firm ofLovelace and Co. can't meet its engagements, we try to makecompromises: we have mournful meetings of partners: we delay theputting up of the shutters, and the dreary announcement of thefailure. It must come: but we pawn our jewels to keep things going alittle longer. On the whole, I dare say, Pen was rather annoyed thathe had no remonstrances from Fanny. What! could she part from him, andnever so much as once look round? could she sink, and never once holda little hand out, or cry, "Help, Arthur?" Well, well: they don't allgo down who venture on that voyage. Some few drown when the vesselfounders; but most are only ducked, and scramble to shore. And thereader's experience of A. Pendennis, Esquire, of the Upper Temple,will enable him to state whether that gentleman belonged to the classof persons who were likely to sink or to swim.
Though Pen was as yet too weak to walk half a mile; and might not, onaccount of his precious health, be trusted to take a drive in acarriage by himself, and without a nurse in attendance; yet Helencould not keep watch over Mr. Warrington too, and had no authority toprevent that gentleman from going to London if business called himthither. Indeed, if he had gone and staid, perhaps the widow, fromreasons of her own, would have been glad; but she checked theseselfish wishes as soon as she ascertained or owned them; and,remembering Warrington's great regard and services, and constantfriendship for her boy, received him as a member of her family almost,with her usual melancholy kindness and submissive acquiescence. Yetsomehow, one morning when his affairs called him to town, she divinedwhat Warrington's errand was, and that he was gone to London, to getnews about Fanny for Pen.
Indeed, Arthur had had some talk with his friend, and told him more atlarge what his adventures had been with Fanny (adventures which thereader knows already), and what were his feelings respecting her. Hewas very thankful that he had escaped the great danger, to whichWarrington said Amen heartily: that he had no great fault wherewith toreproach himself in regard of his behavior to her, but that if theyparted, as they must, he would be glad to say a God bless her, and tohope that she would remember him kindly. In his discourse withWarrington he spoke upon these matters with so much gravity, and somuch emotion, that George, who had pronounced himself most stronglyfor the separation too, began to fear that his friend was not so wellcured as he boasted of being; and that, if the two were to cometogether again, all the danger and the temptation might have to befought once more. And with what result? "It is hard to struggle,Arthur, and it is easy to fall," Warrington said: "and the bestcourage for us poor wretches is to fly from danger. I would not havebeen what I am now, had I practiced what I preach."
"And what did you practice, George?" Pen asked, eagerly. "I knew therewas something. Tell us about it, Warrington."
"There was something that can't be mended, and that shattered my wholefortunes early," Warrington answered, "I said I would tell you aboutit some day, Pen: and will, but not now. Take the moral without thefable now, Pen, my boy; and if you want to see a man whose whole lifehas been wrecked, by an unlucky rock against which he struck as aboy--here he is, Arthur: and so I warn you."
We have shown how Mr. Huxter, in writing home to his Claveringfriends, mentioned that there was a fashionable club in London ofwhich he was an attendant, and that he was there in the habit ofmeeting an Irish officer of distinction, who, among other news, hadgiven that intelligence regarding Pendennis, which the young surgeonhad transmitted to Clavering. This club was no other than the BackKitchen, where the disciple of Saint Bartholomew was accustomed tomeet the general, the peculiarities of whose brogue, appearance,disposition, and general conversation, greatly diverted many younggentlemen who used the Back Kitchen as a place of nightlyentertainment and refreshment. Huxter, who had a fine natural geniusfor mimicking every thing, whether it was a favorite tragic or comicactor, a cock on a dunghill, a corkscrew going into a bottle and acork issuing thence, or an Irish officer of genteel connections whooffered himself as an object of imitation with only too muchreadiness, talked his talk, and twanged his poor old long bow wheneverdrink, a hearer, and an opportunity occurred, studied our friend thegeneral with peculiar gusto, and drew the honest fellow out many anight. A bait, consisting of sixpenny-worth of brandy and water, theworthy old man was sure to swallow: and under the influence of thisliquor, who was more happy than he to tell his stories of hisdaughter's triumphs and his own, in love, war, drink, and politesociety? Thus Huxter was enabled to present to his friends manypictures of Costigan: of Costigan fighting a jewel in the Phaynix--ofCostigan and his interview with the Juke of York--of Costigan at hissonunlaw's teeble, surrounded by the nobilitee of his countree--ofCostigan, when crying drunk, at which time he was in the habit ofconfidentially lamenting his daughter's ingratichewd, and stating thathis gray hairs were hastening to a praymachure greeve, And thus ourfriend was the means of bringing a number of young fellows to the BackKitchen, who consumed the landlord's liquors while they relished thegeneral's peculiarities, so that mine host pardoned many of thelatter's foibles, in consideration of the good which they brought tohis house. Not the highest position in life was this certainly, or onewhich, if we had a reverence for an old man, we would be anxious thathe should occupy: but of this aged buffoon it may be mentioned that hehad no particular idea that his condition of life was not a high one,and that in his whiskied blood there was not a black drop, nor in hismuddled brains a bitter feeling, against any mortal being. Even hischild, his cruel Emily, he would have taken to his heart and forgivenwith tears; and what more can one say of the Christian charity of aman than that he is actually ready to forgive those who have done himevery kindness, and with whom he is wrong in a dispute?
There was some idea among the young men who frequented, the BackKitchen, and made themselves merry with the society of CaptainCostigan, that the captain made a mystery regarding his lodgings forfear of duns, or from a desire of privacy, and lived in some wonderfulplace. Nor would the landlord of the premises, when questioned uponthis subject, answer any inquiries; his maxim being that he only knewgentlemen who frequented that room, _in_ that room; that when theyquitted that room, having paid their scores as gentlemen, and behavedas gentlemen, his communication with them ceased; and that, as agentleman himself, he thought it was only impertinent curiosity to askwhere any other gentleman lived. Costigan, in his most intoxicated andconfidential moments, also evaded any replies to questions or hintsaddressed to him on this subject: there was no particular secret aboutit, as we have seen, who have had more than once the honor of enteringhis apartments, but in the vicissitudes of a long life he had beenpretty often in the habit of residing in houses where privacy wasnecessary to his co
mfort, and where the appearance of some visitorswould have brought him any thing but pleasure. Hence all sorts oflegends were formed by wags or credulous persons respecting his placeof abode. It was stated that he slept habitually in a watch-box in thecity; in a cab at a mews, where a cab proprietor gave him a shelter;in the Duke of York's Column, &c., the wildest of these theories beingput abroad by the facetious and imaginative Huxter. For Huxey, whennot silenced by the company of "swells," and when in the society ofhis own friends, was a very different fellow to the youth whom we haveseen cowed by Pen's impertinent airs; and, adored by his family athome, was the life and soul of the circle whom he met, either roundthe festive board or the dissecting table.
On one brilliant September morning, as Huxter was regaling himselfwith a cup of coffee at a stall in Covent Garden, having spent adelicious night dancing at Vauxhall, he spied the general reeling downHenrietta-street, with a crowd of hooting, blackguard boys at hisheels, who had left their beds under the arches of the river betimes,and were prowling about already for breakfast, and the strangelivelihood of the day. The poor old general was not in that conditionwhen the sneers and jokes of these young beggars had much effect uponhim: the cabmen and watermen at the cab-stand knew him, and passedtheir comments upon him: the policemen gazed after him, and warned theboys off him, with looks of scorn and pity; what did the scorn andpity of men, the jokes of ribald children, matter to the general? Hereeled along the street with glazed eyes, having just sense enough toknow whither he was bound, and to pursue his accustomed beat homeward.He went to bed not knowing how he had reached it, as often as any manin London. He woke and found himself there, and asked no questions,and he was tacking about on this daily though perilous voyage, when,from his station at the coffee-stall, Huxter spied him. To note hisfriend, to pay his twopence (indeed, he had but eightpence left, or hewould have had a cab from Vauxhall to take him home), was with theeager Huxter the work of an instant--Costigan dived down the alleys byDrury-lane Theater, where gin-shops, oyster-shops, and theatricalwardrobes abound, the proprietors of which were now asleep behindthe shutters, as the pink morning lighted up their chimneys; andthrough these courts Huxter followed the general, until he reachedOldcastle-street, in which is the gate of Shepherd's Inn.
Here, just as he was within sight of home, a luckless slice oforange-peel came between the general's heel and the pavement, andcaused the poor fellow to fall backward.
Huxter ran up to him instantly, and after a pause, during which theveteran, giddy with his fall and his previous whisky, gathered as hebest might, his dizzy brains together, the young surgeon lifted up thelimping general, and very kindly and good-naturedly offered to conducthim to his home. For some time, and in reply to the queries which thestudent of medicine put to him, the muzzy general refused to say wherehis lodgings were, and declared that they were hard by, and that hecould reach them without difficulty; and he disengaged himself fromHuxter's arm, and made a rush, as if to get to his own homeunattended: but he reeled and lurched so, that the young surgeoninsisted upon accompanying him, and, with many soothing expressionsand cheering and consolatory phrases, succeeded in getting thegeneral's dirty old hand under what he called his own fin, and led theold fellow, moaning piteously, across the street. He stopped when hecame to the ancient gate, ornamented with the armorial bearings ofthe venerable Shepherd. "Here 'tis," said he, drawing up at theportal, and he made a successful pull at the gatebell, which presentlybrought out old Mr. Bolton, the porter, scowling fiercely, andgrumbling as he was used to do every morning when it became his turnto let in that early bird.
Costigan tried to hold Bolton for a moment in genteel conversation,but the other surlily would not. "Don't bother me," he said; "go toyour hown bed, capting, and don't keep honest men out of theirs." Sothe captain tacked across the square and reached his own staircase, upwhich he stumbled with the worthy Huxter at his heels. Costigan had akey of his own, which Huxter inserted into the keyhole for him, sothat there was no need to call up little Mr. Bows from the sleep intowhich the old musician had not long since fallen, and Huxter havingaided to disrobe his tipsy patient, and ascertained that no bones werebroken, helped him to bed, and applied compresses and water to one ofhis knees and shins, which, with the pair of trowsers which encasedthem, Costigan had severely torn in his fall. At the general's age,and with his habit of body, such wounds as he had inflicted on himselfare slow to heal: a good deal of inflammation ensued, and the oldfellow lay ill for some days suffering both pain and fever.
Mr. Huxter undertook the case of his interesting patient with greatconfidence and alacrity, and conducted it with becoming skill. Hevisited his friend day after day, and consoled him with lively rattleand conversation, for the absence of the society which Costiganneeded, and of which he was an ornament; and he gave specialinstructions to the invalid's nurse about the quantity of whisky whichthe patient was to take--instructions which, as the poor old fellowcould not for many days get out of his bed or sofa himself, he couldnot by any means infringe. Bows, Mrs. Bolton, and our little friendFanny, when able to do so, officiated at the general's bedside, andthe old warrior was made as comfortable as possible underhis calamity.
Thus Huxter, whose affable manners and social turn made him quicklyintimate with persons in whose society he fell, and whoseover-refinement did not lead them to repulse the familiarities of thisyoung gentleman, became pretty soon intimate in Shepherd's Inn, bothwith our acquaintances in the garrets and those in the Porter's Lodge.He thought he had seen Fanny somewhere: he felt certain that he had:but it is no wonder that he should not accurately remember her, forthe poor little thing never chose to tell him where she had met him:he himself had seen her at a period, when his own views both ofpersons and of right and wrong were clouded by the excitement ofdrinking and dancing, and also little Fanny was very much changed andworn by the fever and agitation, and passion and despair, which thepast three weeks had poured upon the head of that little victim. Bornedown was the head now, and very pale and wan the face; and many andmany a time the sad eyes had looked into the postman's, as he came tothe Inn, and the sickened heart had sunk as he passed away. When Mr.Costigan's accident occurred, Fanny was rather glad to have anopportunity of being useful and doing something kind--something thatwould make her forget her own little sorrows perhaps: she felt shebore them better while she did her duty, though I dare say many a teardropped into the old Irishman's gruel. Ah, me! stir the gruel well,and have courage, little Fanny! If every body who has suffered fromyour complaint were to die of it straightway, what a fine year theundertakers would have!
Whether from compassion for his only patient, or delight in hissociety, Mr. Huxter found now occasion to visit Costigan two or threetimes in the day at least, and if any of the members of the Porter'sLodge family were not in attendance on the general, the young doctorwas sure to have some particular directions to address to those attheir own place of habitation. He was a kind fellow; he made orpurchased toys for the children; he brought them apples and brandyballs; he brought a mask and frightened them with it, and caused asmile upon the face of pale Fanny. He called Mrs. Bolton Mrs. B., andwas very intimate, familiar, and facetious with that lady, quitedifferent from that "aughty artless beast," as Mrs. Bolton nowdenominated a certain young gentleman of our acquaintance, and whomshe now vowed she never could abear.
It was from this lady, who was very free in her conversation, thatHuxter presently learned what was the illness which was evidentlypreying upon little Fan, and what had been Pen's behavior regardingher. Mrs. Bolton's account of the transaction was not, it may beimagined, entirely an impartial narrative. One would have thought fromher story that the young gentleman had employed a course of the mostpersevering and flagitious artifices to win the girl's heart, hadbroken the most solemn promises made to her, and was a wretch to behated and chastised by every champion of woman. Huxter, in his presentframe of mind respecting Arthur, and suffering under the latter'scontumely, was ready, of course, to take all for granted that was saidin the
disfavor of this unfortunate convalescent. But why did he notwrite home to Clavering, as he had done previously, giving an accountof Pen's misconduct, and of the particulars regarding it, which hadnow come to his knowledge? He once, in a letter to his brother-in-law,announced that that _nice young man_, Mr. Pendennis, had escapednarrowly from a fever, and that no doubt all Clavering, _where he wasso popular_, would be pleased at his recovery; and he mentioned thathe had an interesting case of compound fracture, an officer ofdistinction, which kept him in town; but as for Fanny Bolton, he madeno more mention of her in his letters--no more than Pen himself hadmade mention of her. O you mothers at home, how much do you think youknow about your lads? How much do you think you know?
But with Bows, there was no reason why Huxter should not speak hismind, and so, a very short time after his conversation with Mrs.Bolton. Mr. Sam talked to the musician about his early acquaintancewith Pendennis; described him as a confounded conceited blackguard,and expressed a determination to punch, his impudent head as soon asever he should be well enough to stand up like a man.
Then it was that Bows on his part spoke, and told _his_ version of thestory, whereof Arthur and little Fan were the hero and heroine; howthey had met by no contrivance of the former, but by a blunder of theold Irishman, now in bed with a broken shin--how Pen had acted withmanliness and self-control in the business--how Mrs. Bolton was anidiot; and he related the conversation which he, Bows, had had withPen, and the sentiments uttered by the young man. Perhaps Bows's storycaused some twinges of conscience in the breast of Pen's accuser, andthat gentleman frankly owned that he had been wrong with regard toArthur, and withdrew his project for punching Mr. Pendennis's head.
But the cessation of his hostility for Pen did not diminish Huxter'sattentions to Fanny, which unlucky Mr. Bows marked with his usualjealousy and bitterness of spirit. "I have but to like any body," theold fellow thought, "and somebody is sure to come and be preferred tome. It has been the same ill-luck with me since I was a lad, until nowthat I am sixty years old. What can such a man as I am expect betterthan to be laughed at? It is for the young to succeed, and to behappy, and not for old fools like me. I've played a second fiddle allthrough life," he said, with a bitter laugh; "how can I suppose theluck is to change after it has gone against me so long?" This was theselfish way in which Bows looked at the state of affairs: though fewpersons would have thought there was any cause for his jealousy, wholooked at the pale and grief-stricken countenance of the haplesslittle girl, its object. Fanny received Huxter's good-natured effortsat consolation and kind attentions kindly. She laughed now and againat his jokes and games with her little sisters, but relapsed quicklyinto a dejection which ought to have satisfied Mr. Bows that thenew-comer had no place in her heart as yet, had jealous Mr. Bows beenenabled to see with clear eyes.
But Bows did not. Fanny attributed Pen's silence somehow to Bows'sinterference. Fanny hated him. Fanny treated Bows with constantcruelty and injustice. She turned from him when he spoke--she loathedhis attempts at consolation. A hard life had Mr. Bows, and a cruelreturn for his regard.
* * * * *
When Warrington came to Shepherd's Inn as Pen's embassador, it was forMr. Bows's apartments he inquired (no doubt upon a previous agreementwith the principal for whom he acted in this delicate negotiation),and he did not so much as catch a glimpse of Miss Fanny when hestopped at the inn-gate and made his inquiry. Warrington was, ofcourse, directed to the musician's chambers, and found him tending thepatient there, from whose chamber he came out to wait upon his guest.We have said that they had been previously known to one another, andthe pair shook hands with sufficient cordiality. After a littlepreliminary talk, Warrington said that he had come from his friendArthur Pendennis, and from his family, to thank Bows for his attentionat the commencement of Pen's illness, and for his kindness inhastening into the country to fetch the major.
Bows replied that it was but his duty: he had never thought to haveseen the young gentleman alive again when he went in search of Pen'srelatives, and he was very glad of Mr. Pendennis's recovery, and thathe had his friends with him. "Lucky are they who have friends, Mr.Warrington," said the musician. "I might be up in this garret andnobody would care for me, or mind whether I was alive or dead."
"What! not the general, Mr. Bows?" Warrington asked.
"The general likes his whisky-bottle more than any thing in life," theother answered; "we live together from habit and convenience; and hecares for me no more than you do. What is it you want to ask me, Mr.Warrington? You ain't come to visit _me_, I know very well. Nobodycomes to visit me. It is about Fanny, the porter's daughter, you arecome--I see that very well. Is Mr. Pendennis, now he has got well,anxious to see her again? Does his lordship the Sultan propose tothrow his 'andkerchief to her? She has been very ill, sir, ever sincethe day when Mrs. Pendennis turned her out of doors--kind of a lady,wasn't it? The poor girl and myself found the young gentleman ravingin a fever, knowing nobody, with nobody to tend him but his drunkenlaundress--she watched day and night by him. I set off to fetch hisuncle. Mamma comes and turns Fanny to the right about. Uncle comes andleaves me to pay the cab. Carry my compliments to the ladies andgentleman, and say we are both very thankful, very. Why, a countesscouldn't have behaved better, and for an apothecary's lady, as I'mgiven to understand Mrs. Pendennis was--I'm sure her behavior is mostuncommon aristocratic and genteel. She ought to have a double giltpestle and mortar to her coach."
It was from Mr. Huxter that Bows had learned Pen's parentage, nodoubt, and if he took Pen's part against the young surgeon, andFanny's against Mr. Pendennis, it was because the old gentleman was inso savage a mood, that his humor was to contradict every body.
Warrington was curious, and not ill pleased at the musician's tauntsand irascibility. "I never heard of these transactions," he said, "orgot but a very imperfect account of them from Major Pendennis. Whatwas a lady to do? I think (I have never spoken with her on thesubject) she had some notion that the young woman and my friend Penwere on--on terms of--of an intimacy which Mrs. Pendennis could not,of course, recognize--"
"Oh, of course not, sir. Speak out, sir; say what you mean at once,that the young gentleman of the Temple had made a victim of the girlof Shepherd's Inn, eh? And so she was to be turned out of doors--orbrayed alive in the double gilt pestle and mortar, by Jove! No, Mr.Warrington, there was no such thing: there was no victimizing, or ifthere was, Mr. Arthur was the victim, not the girl. He is an honestfellow, he is, though he is conceited, and a puppy sometimes. He canfeel like a man, and run away from temptation like a man. I own it,though I suffer by it, I own it. He has a heart, he has: but the girlhasn't sir. That girl will do any thing to win a man, and fling himaway without a pang, sir. If she flung away herself, sir, she'll feelit and cry. She had a fever when Mrs. Pendennis turned her out ofdoors; and she made love to the doctor, Doctor Goodenough, who came tocure her. Now she has taken on with another chap--another sawbones ha,ha! d----it, sir, she likes the pestle and mortar, and hangs round thepill boxes, she's so fond of 'em, and she has got a fellow from SaintBartholomew's, who grins through a horse collar for her sisters, andcharms away her melancholy. Go and see, sir: very likely he's in thelodge now. If you want news about Miss Fanny, you must ask at thedoctor's shop, sir, not of an old fiddler like me--Good-by, sir.There's my patient calling."
And a voice was heard from the captain's bedroom, a well-known voice,which said, "I'd loike a dthrop of dthrink, Bows, I'm thirstee." Andnot sorry, perhaps, to hear that such was the state of things, andthat Pen's forsaken was consoling herself, Warrington took his leaveof the irascible musician.
As luck would have it, he passed the lodge door just as Mr. Huxter wasin the act of frightening the children with the mask whereof we havespoken, and Fanny was smiling languidly at his farces. Warringtonlaughed bitterly. "Are all women like that?" he thought. "I thinkthere's one that's not," he added, with a sigh.
At Piccadilly, waiting for the Richmond omnibus, George f
ell in withMajor Pendennis, bound in the same direction, and he told the oldgentleman of what he had seen and heard respecting Fanny.
Major Pendennis was highly delighted: and as might be expected of sucha philosopher, made precisely the same observation as that which hadescaped from Warrington. "All women are the same," he said. "_Lapetite se console_. Dayme, when I used to read 'Telemaque' at school,_Calypso ne pouvait se consoler_--you know the rest, Warrington--Iused to say it was absard. Absard, by Gad, and so it is. And so she'sgot a new _soupirant_ has she, the little porteress? Dayvlish nicelittle girl. How mad Pen will be--eh, Warrington? But we must break itto him gently, or he'll be in such a rage that he will be going afterher again. We must _menager_ the young fellow."
"I think Mrs. Pendennis ought to know that Pen acted very well in thebusiness. She evidently thinks him guilty, and according to Mr. Bows,Arthur behaved like a good fellow," Warrington said.
"My dear Warrington," said the major, with a look of some alarm. "InMrs. Pendennis's agitated state of health and that sort of thing, thebest way, I think, is not to say a single word about the subject--or,stay, leave it to me: and I'll talk to her--break it to her gently,you know, and that sort of a thing. I give you my word I will. And soCalypso's consoled, is she?" And he sniggered over this gratifyingtruth, happy in the corner of the omnibus during the rest ofthe journey.
Pen was very anxious to hear from his envoy what had been the resultof the latter's mission; and as soon as the two young men could bealone, the embassador spoke in reply to Arthur's eager queries.
"You remember your poem, Pen, of Ariadne in Naxos," Warrington said;"devilish bad poetry it was, to be sure."
"Apres?" asked Pen, in a great state of excitement.
"When Theseus left Ariadne, do you remember what happened to her,young fellow?"
"It's a lie, it's a lie! You don't mean that!" cried out Pen, startingup, his face turning red.
"Sit down, stoopid," Warrington said, and with two fingers pushed Penback into his seat again. "It's better for you as it is, young one;"he said sadly, in reply to the savage flush in Arthur's face.