The Castle Inn

  CHAPTER III

  TUTOR AND PUPILS--OLD STYLE

  Doctor Samuel Johnson, of Johnson's Court, Fleet Street, had at thistime some name in the world; but not to the pitch that persons enteringPembroke College hastened to pay reverence to the second floor over thegateway, which he had vacated thirty years earlier--as persons do now.Their gaze, as a rule, rose no higher than the first-floor oriel, wherethe shapely white shoulder of a Parian statue, enhanced by a backgroundof dark-blue silken hanging, caught the wandering eye. What this lackedof luxury and mystery was made up--almost to the Medmenham point in theeyes of the city--by the gleam of girandoles, and the glow, rather feltthan seen, of Titian-copies in Florence frames. Sir George, borne alongin his chair, peered up at this well-known window--well-known, since inthe Oxford of 1767 a man's rooms were furnished if he had tables andchairs, store of beef and October, an apple-pie and Common Roomport--and seeing the casement brilliantly lighted, smiled a triflecontemptuously.

  'The Reverend Frederick is not much changed,' he muttered. 'Lord, what abeast it was! And how we hazed him! Ah! At home, is he?'--this to theservant, as the man lifted the head of the chair. 'Yes, I will go up.'

  To tell the truth, the Reverend Frederick Thomasson had so keen a scentfor Gold Tufts or aught akin to them, that it would have been strangeif the instinct had not kept him at home; as a magnet, though unseen,attracts the needle. The same prepossession brought him, as soon as heheard of his visitor's approach, hurrying to the head of the stairs;where, if he had had his way, he would have clasped the baronet in hisarms, slobbered over him, after the mode of Paris--for that was a trickof his--and perhaps even wept on his shoulder. But Soane, who knew hisways, coolly defeated the manoeuvre by fending him off with his cane;and the Reverend Frederick was reduced to raising his eyes and hands toheaven in token of the joy which filled him at the sight of hisold pupil.

  'Lord! Sir George, I am inexpressibly happy!' he cried. 'My dear sir, myvery dear sir, welcome to my poor rooms! This is joy indeed! Gaudeamus!Gaudeamus! To see you once more, fresh from the groves of Arthur's andthe scenes of your triumphs! Pardon me, my dear sir, I must and willshake you by the hand again!' And succeeding at last in seizing SirGeorge's hand, he fondled and patted it in both of his--which were fatand white--the while with every mark of emotion he led him intothe room.

  'Gad!' said Sir George, standing and looking round. 'And where is she,Tommy?'

  'That old name! What a pleasure it is to hear it!' cried the tutor,affecting to touch his eyes with the corner of a dainty handkerchief; asif the gratification he mentioned were too much for his feelings.

  'But, seriously, Tommy, where is she?' Soane persisted, still lookinground with a grin.

  'My dear Sir George! My honoured friend! But you would always have yourjoke.'

  'And, plainly, Tommy, is all this frippery yours?'

  'Tut, tut!' Mr. Thomasson remonstrated. 'And no man with a finer taste.I have heard Mr. Walpole say that with a little training no man wouldexcel Sir George Soane as a connoisseur. An exquisite eye! A nicediscrimination! A--'

  'Now, Tommy, to how many people have you said that?' Sir Georgeretorted, dropping into a chair, and coolly staring about him. 'But,there, have done, and tell me about yourself. Who is the last sprig ofnobility you have been training in the way it should grow?'

  'The last pupil who honoured me,' the Reverend Frederick answered, 'asyou are so kind as to ask after my poor concerns, Sir George, was myLord E----'s son. We went to Paris, Marseilles, Genoa, Florence; visitedthe mighty monuments of Rome, and came home by way of Venice, Milan, andTurin. I treasure the copy of Tintoretto which you see there, and thesebronzes, as memorials of my lord's munificence. I brought them backwith me.'

  'And what did my lord's son bring back?' Sir George asked, cruelly. 'AMidianitish woman?'

  'My honoured friend!' Mr. Thomasson remonstrated. 'But your wit wasalways mordant--mordant! Too keen for us poor folk!'

  'D'ye remember the inn at Cologne, Tommy?' Sir George continued,mischievously reminiscent. 'And Lord Tony arriving with his charmer? Andyou giving up your room to her? And the trick we played you at Calais,where we passed the little French dancer on you for Madame la Marquisede Personne?'

  Mr. Thomasson winced, and a tinge of colour rose in his fat pale face.'Boys, boys!' he said, with an airy gesture. 'You had an uncommon fancyeven then, Sir George, though you were but a year from school! Ah, thosewere charming days! Great days!'

  'And nights!' said Sir George, lying back in his chair and looking atthe other with eyes half shut, and insolence half veiled. 'Do youremember the faro bank at Florence, Tommy, and the three hundred livresyou lost to that old harridan, Lady Harrington? Pearls cast before swineyou styled them, I remember.'

  'Lord, Sir George!' Mr. Thomasson cried, vastly horrified. 'How can yousay such a thing? Your excellent memory plays you false.'

  'It does,' Soane answered, smiling sardonically. 'I remember. It wasseed sown for the harvest, you called it--in your liquor. And thattouches me. Do you mind the night Fitzhugh made you so prodigiouslydrunk at Bonn, Tommy? And we put you in the kneading-trough, and theservants found you and shifted you to the horse-trough? Gad! you wouldhave died of laughter if you could have seen yourself when we rescuedyou, lank and dripping, with your wig like a sponge!'

  'It must have been--uncommonly diverting!' the Reverend Frederickstammered; and he smiled widely, but with a lack of heart. This timethere could be no doubt of the pinkness that overspread his face.

  'Diverting? I tell you it would have made old Dartmouth laugh!' SirGeorge said, bluntly.

  'Ha, ha! Perhaps it would. Perhaps it would. Not that I have the honourof his lordship's acquaintance.'

  'No? Well, he would not suit you, Tommy. I would not seek it.'

  The Reverend Frederick looked doubtful, as weighing the possibility ofanything that bore the name of lord being alien from him. From thisreflection, however, he was roused by a new sally on Soane's part. 'But,crib me! you are very fine to-night, Mr. Thomasson,' he said, staringabout him afresh. 'Ten o'clock, and you are lighted as for a drum! Whatis afoot?'

  The tutor smirked and rubbed his hands. 'Well, I--I was expecting avisitor, Sir George.'

  'Ah, you dog! She is not here, but you are expecting her.'

  Mr. Thomasson grinned; the jest flattered him. Nevertheless he hastenedto exonerate himself. 'It is not Venus I am expecting, but Mars,' hesaid with a simper. 'The Honourable Mr. Dunborough, son to my LordDunborough, and the same whose meritorious services at the Havanna you,my dear friend, doubtless remember. He is now cultivating in peace thegifts which in war--'

  'Sufficed to keep him out of danger!' Sir George said bluntly. 'So he isyour last sprig, is he? He should be well seasoned.'

  'He is four-and-twenty,' Mr. Thomasson answered, pluming himself andspeaking in his softest tones. 'And the most charming, I assure you, themost debonair of men. But do I hear a noise?'

  'Yes,' said Sir George, listening. 'I hear something.'

  Mr. Thomasson rose. 'What--what is it, I wonder?' he said, a triflenervously. A dull sound, as of a hive of bees stirred to anger, wasbecoming audible.

  'Devil if I know!' Sir George answered. 'Open the window.'

  But the Reverend Frederick, after approaching the window with theintention of doing so, seemed disinclined to go nearer, and hoveredabout it. 'Really,' he said, no longer hiding his discomposure. 'I fearthat it is something--something in the nature of a riot. I fear thatthat which I anticipated has happened. If my honourable friend had onlytaken my advice and remained here!' And he wrung his handswithout disguise.

  'Why, what has he to do with it?' Soane asked, curiously.

  'He--he had an accident the other night,' Mr. Thomasson answered. 'Amonstrous nuisance for him. He and his noble friend, Lord AlmericDoyley, played a little trick on a--on one of the College servants. Theclumsy fellow--it is marvellous how awkward that class of personsis--fell down the stairs and hurt himself.'

  'Seriously?' r />
  'Somewhat. Indeed--in fact he is dead. And now there is a kind offeeling about it in the town. I persuaded Mr. Dunborough to take up hisquarters here for the night, but he is so spirited he would dine abroad.Now I fear, I really fear, he may be in trouble!'

  'If it is he they are hooting in St. Aldate's,' Sir George answereddrily, 'I should say he was in trouble! But in my time the gownsmenwould have sallied out and brought him off before this. And given thoseyelpers a cracked crown or two!'

  The roar of voices in the narrow streets was growing clearer and morethreatening. 'Ye-es?' said the Reverend Frederick, moving about theroom, distracted between his anxiety and his respect for his companion.'Perhaps so. But there is a monstrous low, vulgar set in Collegenowadays; a man of spirit has no chance with them. Yesterday they hadthe insolence to break into my noble friend's rooms and throw hisfurniture out of window! And, I vow, would have gone on to--but Lord!this is frightful! What a shocking howling! My dear sir, my very dearSir George,' Mr. Thomasson continued, his voice tremulous and his fatcheeks grown on a sudden loose and flabby, 'do you think that there isany danger?'

  'Danger?' Sir George answered, with cruel relish--he had gone to thewindow, and was looking out. 'Well, I should say that Madam Venus therewould certainly have to stand shot. If you are wise you will put outsome of those candles. They are entering the lane now. Gad, Tommy, ifthey think your lad of spirit is here, I would not give much for yourwindow-glass!'

  Mr. Thomasson, who had hastened to take the advice, and had extinguishedall the candles but one, thus reducing the room to partial darkness,wrung his hands and moaned for answer. 'Where are the proctors?' hesaid. 'Where are the constables? Where are the--Oh, dear, dear, this isdreadful!'

  And certainly, even in a man of firmer courage a little trepidationmight have been pardoned. As the unseen crowd, struggling and jostling,poured from the roadway of St. Aldate's into the narrow confines ofPembroke Lane, the sound of its hooting gathered sudden volume, and froman intermittent murmur, as of a remote sea, swelled in a moment into aroar of menace. And as a mob is capable of deeds from which the memberswho compose it would severally shrink, as nothing is so pitiless,nothing so unreasoning, so in the sound of its voice is a note thatappals all but the hardiest. Soane was no coward. A year before he hadbeen present at the siege of Bedford House by the Spitalfields weavers,where swords were drawn and much blood was spilled, while the gentlemenof the clubs and coffee-houses looked on as at a play; but even he felta slackening of the pulse as he listened. And with the ReverendFrederick it was different. He was not framed for danger. When thesmoking glare of the links which the ringleaders carried began to danceand flicker on the opposite houses, he looked about him with a wild eye,and had already taken two steps towards the door, when it opened.

  It admitted two men about Sir George's age, or a little younger. One,after glancing round, passed hurriedly to the window and looked out; theother sank into the nearest chair, and, fanning himself with his hat,muttered a querulous oath.

  'My dear lord!' cried the Reverend Frederick, hastening to hisside--and it is noteworthy that he forgot even his panic in the oldhabit of reverence--'What an escape! To think that a life so valuable asyour lordship's should lie at the mercy of those wretches! I shudder atthe thought of what might have happened.'

  'Fan me, Tommy' was the answer. And Lord Almeric, an excessively pale,excessively thin young man, handed his hat with a gesture of exhaustionto the obsequious tutor. 'Fan me; that is a good soul. Positively I amsuffocated with the smell of those creatures! Worse than horses, Iassure you. There, again! What a pother about a common fellow! 'Ponhonour, I don't know what the world is coming to!'

  'Nor I,' Mr. Thomasson answered, hanging over him with assiduity andconcern on his countenance. 'It is not to be comprehended.'

  'No, 'pon honour it is not!' my lord agreed. And then, feeling a littlerecovered, 'Dunborough,' he asked, 'what are they doing?'

  'Hanging you, my dear fellow!' the other answered from the window, wherehe had taken his place within a pace of Soane, but without discoveringhim. He spoke in the full boisterous tone of one in perfect health andspirits, perfectly satisfied with himself, and perfectly heedlessof others.

  'Oh, I say, you are joking?' my lord answered. 'Hanging me? Oh, ah! Isee. In effigy!'

  'And your humble servant,' said Mr. Dunborough. 'I tell you, Tommy, wehad a near run for it. Curse their impudence, they made us sweat. For avery little I would give the rascals something to howl for.'

  Perhaps he meant no more than to put a bold face on it before hiscreatures. But unluckily the rabble, which had come provided with a cartand gallows, a hangman, and a paunchy, red-faced fellow in canonicals,and which hitherto had busied itself with the mock execution, foundleisure at this moment to look up at the window. Catching sight of theobject of their anger, they vented their rage in a roar of execration,so much louder than all that had gone before that it brought thesentence which Mr. Thomasson was uttering to a quavering end. But thedemonstration, far from intimidating Mr. Dunborough, provoked him tofury. Turning from the sea of brandished hands and upturned faces, hestrode to a table, and in a moment returned. The window was open, heflung it wider, and stood erect, in full view of the mob.

  The sight produced a momentary silence, of which he took advantage.'Now, you tailors, begone!' he cried harshly. 'To your hovels, and leavegentlemen to their wine, or it will be the worse for you. Come, march!We have had enough of your fooling, and are tired of it.'

  The answer was a shout of 'Cain!' and 'Murderer!' One voice cried'Ferrers!' and this caught the fancy of the crowd. In a moment a hundredwere crying, 'Ay, Ferrers! Come down, and we'll Ferrers you!'

  He stood a moment irresolute, glaring at them; then something struck andshattered a pane of the window beside him, and the fetid smell of a badegg filled the room. At the sound Mr. Thomasson uttered a cry and shrankfarther into the darkness, while Lord Almeric rose hastily and lookedabout for a refuge. But Mr. Dunborough did not flinch.

  'D----n you, you rascals, you will have it, will you?' he cried; and inthe darkness a sharp click was heard. He raised his hand. A shriek inthe street below answered the movement; some who stood nearest saw thathe held a pistol and gave the information to others, and there was awild rush to escape. But before the hammer dropped, a hand closed onhis, and Soane, crying, 'Are you mad, sir?' dragged him back.

  Dunborough had not entertained the least idea that any one stood nearhim, and the surprise was as complete as the check. After an instinctiveattempt to wrench away his hand, he stood glaring at the person who heldhim. 'Curse you!' he said. 'Who are you? And what do you mean?'

  'Not to sit by and see murder done,' Sir George answered firmly.'To-morrow you will thank me.'

  'For the present I'll thank you to release my hand,' the other retortedin a freezing tone. Nevertheless, Sir George thought that the delay hadsobered him, and complied. 'Much obliged to you,' Dunborough continued.'Now perhaps you will walk into the next room, where there is a light,and we can be free from that scum.'

  Mr. Thomasson had already set the example of a prudent retreat thither;and Lord Almeric, with a feeble, 'Lord, this is very surprising! But Ithink that the gentleman is right, Dunny,' was hovering in the doorway.Sir George signed to Mr. Dunborough to go first, but he would not, andSoane, shrugging his shoulders, preceded him.

  The room into which they all crowded was no more than a closet,containing a dusty bureau propped on three legs, a few books, and Mr.Thomasson's robes, boots, and wig-stand. It was so small that when theywere all in it, they stood perforce close together, and had the air ofpersons sheltering from a storm. This nearness, the glare of the lamp ontheir faces, and the mean surroundings gave a kind of added force to Mr.Dunborough's rage. For a moment after entering he could not speak; hehad dined largely, and sat long after dinner; and his face was suffusedwith blood. But then, 'Tommy, who is--this--fellow?' he cried, blurtingout the words as if each must be the last.

  'Good heavens!' cried
the tutor, shocked at the low appellation.' Mr.Dunborough! Mr. Dunborough! You mistake. My dear sir, my dear friend,you do not understand. This is Sir George Soane, whose name must beknown to you. Permit me to introduce him.'

  'Then take that for a meddler and a coxcomb, Sir George Soane!' criedthe angry man; and quick as thought he struck Sir George, who was atelbows with him, lightly in the face.

  Sir George stepped back, his face crimson. 'You are not sober, sir!' hesaid.

  'Is not that enough?' cried the other, drowning both Mr. Thomasson'sexclamation of horror and Lord Almeric's protest of, 'Oh, but I say, youknow--' under the volume of his voice. 'You have a sword, sir, and Ipresume you know how to use it. If there is not space here, there is aroom below, and I am at your service. You will not wipe that off byrubbing it,' he added coarsely.

  Sir George dropped his hand from his face as if it stung him. 'Mr.Dunborough,' he said trembling--but it was with passion, 'if I thoughtyou were sober and would not repent to-morrow what you have doneto-night--'

  'You would do fine things,' Dunborough retorted. 'Come, sir, a truce toyour impertinence! You have meddled with me, and you must maintain it.Must I strike you again?'

  'I will not meet you to-night,' Sir George answered firmly. 'I will beneither Lord Byron nor his victim. These gentlemen will bear me out sofar. For the rest, if you are of the same mind to-morrow, it will be forme and not for you to ask a meeting.'

  'At your service, sir,' Mr. Dunborough said, with a sarcastic bow. 'Butsuppose, to save trouble in the morning, we fix time and place now.'

  'Eight--in Magdalen Fields,' Soane answered curtly. 'If I do not hearfrom you, I am staying at the Mitre Inn. Mr. Thomasson, I bid yougood-night. My lord, your servant.'

  And with that, and though Mr. Thomasson, wringing his hands over whathad occurred and the injury to himself that might come of it, attemptedsome feeble remonstrances, Sir George bowed sternly, took his hat andwent down. He found his chair at the foot of the stairs, but inconsideration of the crowd he would not use it. The college porters,indeed, pressed him to wait, and demurred to opening even the wicket.But he had carried forbearance to the verge, and dreaded the leastappearance of timidity; and, insisting, got his way. The rabble admiredso fine a gentleman, and so resolute a bearing, gave place to him with ajest, and let him pass unmolested down the lane.

  It was well that they did, for he had come to the end of his patience.One man steps out of a carriage, picks up a handkerchief, and lives towear a Crown. Another takes the same step; it lands him in a lowsquabble from which he may extricate himself with safety, but scarcelywith an accession of credit. Sir George belonged to the inner circle offashion, to which neither rank nor wealth, nor parts, nor power, ofnecessity admitted. In the sphere in which he moved, men seldomquarrelled and as seldom fought. Of easiest habit among themselves, theyleft bad manners and the duello to political adventurers and cubbishpeers, or to the gentlemen of the quarter sessions and the localordinary. It was with a mighty disgust, therefore, that Sir Georgeconsidered alike the predicament into which a caprice had hurried him,and the insufferable young Hector whom fate had made his antagonist.They would laugh at White's. They would make a jest of it over the cakesand fruit at Betty's. Selwyn would turn a quip. And yet the thing wasbeyond a joke. He must be a target first and a butt afterwards--if anyafterwards there were.

  As he entered the Mitre, sick with chagrin, and telling himself he mighthave known that something of this kind would come of stooping to vulgarcompany, he bethought him--for the first time in an hour--of the girl.'Lord!' he said, thinking of her request, her passion, and her splendideyes; and he stood. For the _age des philosophes_, destiny seemed to betaking too large a part in the play. This must be the very man with whomshe had striven to embroil him!

  His servant's voice broke in on his thoughts. 'At what hour will yourhonour please to be called?' he asked, as he carried off the lacedcoat and wig.

  Soane stifled a groan. 'Called?' he said. 'At half-past six. Don'tstare, booby! Half-past six, I said. And do you go now, I'll shift formyself. But first put out my despatch-case, and see there is pen andink. It's done? Then be off, and when you come in the morning bring thelandlord and another with you.'

  The man lingered. 'Will your honour want horses?' he said.

  'I don't know. Yes! No! Well, not until noon. And where is my sword?'

  'I was taking it down to clean it, sir.'

  'Then don't take it; I will look to it myself. And mind you, call me atthe time I said.'