CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
GENTLEMAN JACK.
"He is transformed, And grown a gallant of the last edition."
_Massinger_.
Jack's letters from London were exuberant. He was delighted with hisnew phase of existence. He had made some most advantageous friendships,and was in hopes of obtaining a monopoly, which would bring him in abouta hundred a year. In the meantime, he begged that his father wouldremember that life at Court was a very costly affair; and perhaps hewould be so good as to send him a little more money. Half-a-dozenletters of this description passed, and Jack was liberally supplied withsuch an amount as his father anticipated that he might reasonably want.But at the end of about two years came a much more urgent epistle. Jackwas sorry to say that he had been unavoidably compelled to go into debt.No blame was to be attached to him in the matter. He had not incurredthe obligation of a penny for anything beyond the barest necessaries; hehoped his father would not imagine that he had been livingextravagantly. But he wished Sir Thomas to understand that he reallyhad not a suspicion of the inevitable expenses of Court life. The sumswhich he had been so good as to remit were a mere drop in the ocean ofJack's necessities.
Sir Thomas replied, without any expression of displeasure, that if hisson could get leave of absence sufficient to pay a visit to Lancashire,he would be glad to see him at home, and he desired that he would bringall his bills with him.
The answer to this letter was Jack himself, who came home on an autumnevening, most elaborately attired, and brimful of news.
A fresh punishment had been devised for felony--transportation to thecolonies among the savages. The Spaniards were finally and completelyexpelled from the Dutch provinces. A Dutchman had made theextraordinary discovery that by an ingenious arrangement of pieces ofglass, of certain shapes, at particular distances, objects far off couldbe made to seem nearer and larger. The Queen was about to send out acommercial expedition to India--the first--from which great things wereexpected. There was a new proclamation against Jesuits and "seminarypriests." All these matters naturally enough, with Jack's personaladventures, occupied the first evening.
The next morning, Sir Thomas asked to see the bills. Jack brought out atolerably large package of documents, which he presented to his fatherwith a graceful reverence.
"I do ensure you, Sir, that I have involved me for nought beyond thebarest necessities of a gentleman."
His father opened and perused the first bill.
"`One dozen of shirts at four pound the piece.' Be those, my lad, amongthe barest necessities?"
"Of a gentleman, Sir," said Jack.
"Four pound, Brother! Thou must mean four shillings," cried Rachel.
"'Tis writ four pound," calmly returned Sir Thomas.
"Good lack Jack!" said Rachel, turning to her nephew. "Were thereangels for buttons all the way down?"
"The broidery, Aunt--the broidery!" returned Jack. "Four pound is areasonable charge enough. Marry, I do ensure you, my sometime Lord ofLeicester was wont to pay ten pound the piece for his shirts."
"I would I had been his shirt-maker!" said Rachel. "'Twould have builtup my fortune."
"What wist thou touching broidery, Jack?" demanded Lady Enville, withher silvery laugh.
"Go to!" said Sir Thomas, taking up the next bill. "`Five score of silkstockings, broidered, with golden clocks [Note 1], twenty-six andeight-pence the pair.'--Those be necessaries, belike, Jack?"
"Assuredly, Sir. White, look you--a pair the day, or maybe two."
"Ha!" said his father. "`Item, one short coat, guarded with budge[lambskin], and broidered in gold thread, 45 pounds.--Item, one longgown of tawny velvet, furred with pampilion [an unknown species of fur],and guarded with white lace, 66 pounds, 13 shillings, 4 pence.'--Necessaries, Jack?"
"Mercy preserve us!" ejaculated Rachel.
"Good lack, Sir Thomas!--the lad must have gear!" urged his step-mother.
Sir Thomas laid down the bills.
"Be so good, Jack, as to tell me the full figures of these counts?"
"Good sooth, Sir! I have not added them," replied Jack in acontemptuous tone. "A gentleman is ne'er good at reckoning."
"He seems to be reasonable good at spending," said his father. "But howmuch, Jack, dost guess they may all come to?"
"Really, Sir, I cannot say."
"Go to--give a guess."
"Marry--somewhere about five thousand pound, it may be."
According to the equivalent value of money in the present day, Jack'sdebts amounted to about seventy-five thousand pounds. His father'syearly income was equal to about six thousand.
"How lookest thou to pay this money, Jack?" asked Sir Thomas, in a toneof preternatural calmness which argued rather despair than lack ofannoyance.
"Well, Sir, there be two or three fashions of payment," returned Jack,airily. "If you cannot find the money--"
"I cannot, in very deed, lad."
"Good," answered Jack quite complacently. "Then--if I win not themonopoly--"
"The monopoly would not pay thy debts under fifty years, Jack; not ifthou gavest every penny thereof thereto, and hadst none fresh to pay.How about that, lad?"
"Of course I must live like a gentleman, Sir," said Jack loftily. "Thenthe next way is to win the grant of a wardship."
This way of acquiring money is so entirely obsolete that it needsexplanation. The grant of a wardship meant that some orphan heir of alarge inheritance was placed in the care of the grantee, who was obligedto defray out of the heir's estate the necessary expenses of hissustenance and education, but was free to apply all the surplus to hisown use until the heir was of age. When the inheritance was large,therefore, the grant was a considerable boon to the guardian.
"And supposing that fail thee?"
"Well, then--if the worst come to the worst--I can but wed an heir,"remarked Jack with serenity.
"Wed an estate, thou meanest, Jack."
"Of course, Sir. The woman must come with it, I reckon. That I cannothelp."
"Marry come up!" exclaimed Rachel. "Thou art a very man. Those beright the man's ways. `The woman must come with it,' forsooth! Jack,my fingers be itching to thrash thee."
"Such matters be done every day, Aunt," observed Jack, smilinggraciously,--not with reference to the suggested reward of his misdeeds.
"Black sin is done every day, lad. I wis that without thy telling. Butthat is no cause why thou shouldst be the doer of it."
"Nay, Aunt Rachel!" retorted Jack, in the same manner. "'Tis no sin towed an heir."
"It was a sin, when I was a child, to tell lies. Maybe that is alterednow," said Rachel dryly.
"What lies, Aunt Rachel?" asked Jack laughing.
"Is it no lie, Jack, to lead a woman into believing that thou lovest_her_, when, if she plucked her purse out of her pocket and gave itthee, thou wert fully content, and shouldst ask no more?"
"You have old-fashioned notions, Aunt Rachel," said Jack, stilllaughing.
"Jack! I do trust thou wilt not wed with any but one of good degree.Let her be a knight's daughter, at the least--a lord's were all thebetter," said his step-mother.
"But touching these debts, Jack," resumed his father. "Suppose thoushouldst fail to wed thine heir,--how then?"
"Then, Sir, I shall trust to redeem the money at play."
Every man of substance--not a Puritan--was at that time a gamester.
"And how, if that fail?"
"They can't all fail, Sir!" said Jack lightly.
"My lad!" replied His father earnestly, "I did an ill deed when I sentthee to London."
"Dear heart, Sir!" exclaimed Jack, just suppressing a much strongerejaculation, "I do ensure you, you never did a wiser thing."
"Then my life hath been one of sore folly," answered his father.
"I alway told thee thou shouldst come to wrack," added his aunt.
"Nay, now, what wrack have I come to?" returned Jack with a gracefulflourish of his hands.
"Call you it wrack to have a good post in theQueen's Majesty's house, with hope of a better, maybe, when it pleaseGod?--or, to be well [stand well, be on good terms] with many honourablegentlemen, and heirs of good houses, throughout all England?--or, tohave the pick of their sisters and cousins, when it liketh me to wed?"
"They shall have a jolly picking that pick out thee!" growled AuntRachel.
"Or to have open door of full many honourable houses,--and good credit,that there is not a craftsman in London that should not count it honourto serve me with such goods as I might choose?" pursued Jack.
"A mighty barren honour, Jack, on thine own showing."
"Jack!" interposed Sir Thomas, who had seemed deep in thought for aminute, "tell me honestly,--of this five thousand pound, if so be, howmuch was lost at the dice?"
"Why, Sir!--you did not count I should reckon my debts of honour?"
Sir Thomas groaned within himself.
"Debts of honour!" cried Rachel. "What, be there a parcel more?"
"These be trade-debts, Aunt!" said Jack, with an injured air,--"debtsthat I can defray or leave, as it may stand with conveniency. My debtsof honour must be paid, of course!--I looked to your bounty, Sir, forthat. They be not much--but a light thousand or twelve hundred pound, Itake it."
That is to say, about 15,000 pounds to 18,000 pounds.
"Jack!" said his father, "dost remember thou hast two sisters yetunwed?"
"One, Sir, under your good pleasure," replied Jack suavely.
"Two," gravely repeated Sir Thomas. "I will set no difference betwixtBlanche and Clare. And they be to portion, lad; and we have all tolive. I cannot pay thy debts of honour and see to these likewise. And,Jack, the trade-debts, as thou callest them, must come first."
"Sir!" exclaimed Jack aghast.
"I say, the trade-debts must stand first," repeated his father firmly.
"A gentleman never puts his trade-debts before his debts of honour,Sir!" cried Jack in a tone of intense disgust mixed with amazement.
"I know not what you gentlemen of the Court may account honour norhonesty, Sir," replied Sir Thomas, now sternly; "but I am a plain honestman, that knows nought of Court fashions, for the which His goodprovidence I thank God. And if it be honest to heap up debt that thouhast no means of paying to thy certain knowledge, then I know not thesignification of honesty."
"But I must play, Sir!" replied Jack--in the tone with which he mighthave said, "I must breathe."
"Then thou must pay," said Sir Thomas shortly.
"Must play, quotha!" interjected Rachel. "Thou must be a decent lad,--that is all the must I see."
"Come, be not too hard on the lad!" pleaded Lady Enville, fanningherself elegantly. "Of course he must live as other young men."
"That is it, Madam!" responded Jack eagerly, turning to his welcomeally. "I cannot affect singularity--'tis not possible."
"Of course not," said Lady Enville, who quite agreed with Jack'ssentiments, as women of her type generally do.
"Thou canst affect honesty, trow," retorted Rachel.
"Sir," said Jack, earnestly addressing his father, "I do entreat you,look on this matter in a reasonable fashion."
"That is it which I would fain do, Jack."
"Well, Sir,--were I to put my trade-debts before my debts of honour, allwhom I know should stamp me as no gentleman. They should reckon me somecraftsman's son that had crept in amongst them peradventure."
"Good lack!" said his step-mother and aunt together,--the former indismay, the latter in satire.
"I am willing that any should count me no gentleman, if he find me notone," answered his father; "but one thing will I never do, and that is,give cause to any man to reckon me a knave."
"But, Sir, these be nought save a parcel of beggarly craftsmen."
"Which thou shouldst have been, had it so pleased God," put in AuntRachel.
"Aunt," said Jack loftily, "I was born a gentleman; and under your goodleaves, a gentleman I do mean to live and die."
"Thou hast my full good leave to live and die a gentleman, my lad," saidhis father; "and that is, a man of honour, truth, and probity."
"And 'tis no true man, nor an honourable, that payeth not his justdebts," added Rachel.
"I cry thee mercy, Rachel; a gentleman never troubleth him touchingdebts," observed Lady Enville.
"In especial unto such like low companions as these," echoed Jack.
"Well!--honesty is gone out of fashion, I reckon," said Rachel.
"Only this will I say, Sir," resumed Jack with an air of settlingmatters: "that if you will needs have my trade-debts defrayed before mydebts of honour, you must, an't like you, take them on yourself. I willbe no party to such base infringement of the laws of honour."
"Good lack, lad! Thou talkest as though thy father had run into debt,and was looking unto thee to defray the charges! 'Tis tother way about,Jack. Call thy wits together!" exclaimed his aunt.
"Well, Aunt Rachel, you seem determined to use me hardly," said Jack,with an air of reluctant martyrdom; "but you will find I harbour nomalice for your evil conception of mine intents."
To see this Jack, who had done all the mischief and made everybodyuncomfortable, mount on his pedestal and magnanimously forgive them, wastoo much for Rachel's equanimity.
"Of all the born fools that e'er gat me in a passion, Jack, thou artvery king and captain! I would give my best gown this minute thou wertsix in the stead of six-and-twenty--my word, but I would leather thee!I would whip thee till I was dog-weary, whatever thou shouldst be. Theborn patch [fool]!--the dolt [dunce]!--the lither loon [idle,good-for-nothing fellow]!--that shall harbour no malice against mebecause--he is both a fool and a knave! If thou e'er hadst any sense,Jack (the which I doubt), thou forgattest to pack it up when thouearnest from London. Of all the long-eared asses ever I saw--"
Mistress Rachel's diatribe came to a sudden close, certainly not fromthe exhaustion of her feelings, but from the want of suitable wordswherein to express them.
"Aunt!" said Jack, still in an injured tone, "would you have me togovern myself by rule and measure, like a craftsman?"
"Words be cast away on thee, Jack: I will hold my peace. When thybrains be come home from the journey they be now gone, thou canst giveme to wit, an' it like thee."
"I marvel," murmured Sir Thomas absently, "what Master Tremayne shouldsay to all this."
"He!" returned Jack with sovereign scorn. "He is a Puritan!"
"He is a good man, Jack. And I doubt--so he keep out of ill company--whether Arthur shall give him the like care," said his father sighing.
"Arthur! A sely milksop, Sir, that cannot look a goose in the face!"
"Good lack! how shall he ever win through this world, that is choke-fullof geese?" asked Rachel cuttingly.
"Suffer me to say, Sir, that Puritans be of no account in the Court."
"Of earth, or Heaven?" dryly inquired Sir Thomas.
"The Court of England, I mean, Sir. They be universally derided andheld of low esteem. All these Sectaries--Puritans, Gospellers,Anabaptists, and what not--no gentleman would be seen in their company."
"Dear heart!" growled the still acetic Rachel. "The angels must bemighty busy a-building chambers for the gentry, that they mix not inHeaven with the poor common saints."
"'Tis the general thought, Aunt, among men of account.--and doth commenditself for truth,--that 't will take more ill-doing to damn a gentlemanthan a common man." [Note 2.]
"Good lack! I had thought it should be the other way about," saidRachel satirically.
"No doubt," echoed Lady Enville--in approbation of Jack's sentiment, notRachel's.
"Why, Aunt!--think you no account is taken of birth and blood inHeaven?"
"Nay, I'll e'en let it be," said Rachel, rising and opening the door."Only look thou, Jack,--there is another place than Heaven; and I don'treckon there be separate chambers there. Do but think what it were, ifit _should_ chance to a gentleman to be shut up yonder along with the
poor sinners of the peasantry!"
And leaving this Parthian dart, Rachel went her way.
"I will talk with thee again, Jack: in the mean while, I will, keepthese," said his father, taking up the bills.
"As it like you, Sir," responded Jack airily. "I care not though Inever see them again."
"What ado is here!" said Lady Enville, as her husband departed. "I amsore afeared thou wilt have some trouble hereabout, Jack. Both thyfather and aunt be of such ancient notions."
Jack bent low, with a courtier's grace, to kiss his step-mother's hand.
"Trouble, Madam," he said--and spoke truly--"trouble bideth no longer onme than water on a duck's back."
"And now tell me, Tremayne, what shall I do with this lad?"
"I am afeared, Sir Thomas, you shall find it hard matter to deal withhim."
"Good lack, these lads and lasses!" groaned poor Sir Thomas. "They dowear a man's purse--ay, and his heart. Marry, but I do trust I gave nosuch thought and sorrow to my father! Yet in very deed my care for thefuture passeth it for the past. If Jack go on thus, what shall the endbe?"
Mr Tremayne shook his head.
"Can you help me to any argument that shall touch the lad's heart?"
"Argument ne'er touched a man's heart yet," said the Rector. "That isbut for the head. There is but one thing that will touch the heart toany lasting purpose; and that is, the quickening grace of God the HolyGhost."
"Nay, all they seem to drift further away from Him," sighed the fathersadly.
"My good friend, it may seem so to you, mainly because yourself arecoming nearer."
Sir Thomas shook his head sorrowfully.
"Nay, for I ne'er saw me to be such a sinner as of late I have. Youcall not that coming nearer God?"
"Ay, but it is!" said Mr Tremayne. "Think you, friend; you _were_ sucha sinner all your life long, though it be only now that, thanks to God,you see it. And I do in very deed hope and trust that you have thistrue sight of yourself because the Lord hath touched your eyes with theointment of His grace. Maybe you are somewhat like as yet unto himwhose eyen Christ touched, that at first he could not tell betwixt menand trees. The Lord is not like to leave His miracle but half wrought.He will perfect that which He hath begun."
"God grant it!" said Sir Thomas feelingly. "But tell me, what can I dofor Jack? I would I had listed you and Rachel, and had not sent him toLondon. Sir Piers, and Orige, and the lad himself, o'er-persuaded me.I rue it bitterly; but howbeit, what is done is done. The matter is,what to do now?"
"The better way, methinks, should be that you left him to smart for ithimself, an' you so could."
"Jack will ne'er smart for aught," said his father. "Were I to stay hisallowance, he should but run into further debt, ne'er doubting to paythe same somewhen and somehow. The way and the time he should leave tochance. I see nought but ruin before the lad. He hath learned over illlessons in the Court,--of honour which is clean contrary to commonhonesty, and courtesy which standeth not with plain truth."
"Ay, the Devil can well glose," [flatter, deceive] said Mr Tremaynesadly.
"The lad hath no conscience!" added Sir Thomas. "With all this, helaugheth and singeth as though nought were on his mind. Good lack! butif I had done as he, I had been miserable thereafter. I conceive notsuch conditions."
"I conceive them, for I have seen them aforetime. But I would not havesuch a conscience for the worth of the Queen's Mint."
Indeed, Jack did seem perfectly happy. His appetite, sleep, andspirits, were totally unaffected by his circumstances. Clare, to whomthis anomaly seemed preposterous, one day asked him if he were happy.
"Happy?" repeated Jack. "For sure! Wherefore no?"
Clare did not tell him.
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One evening in the week of Jack's return, to the surprise of all, inwalked Mr John Feversham. He did not seem to have much to say, exceptthat Uncle Piers and Aunt Lucrece were well. In fact, he never had muchto say. Nor did he think it necessary to state what had brought him toLancashire. He was asked to remain, of course, to which he assented,and slipped into his place with a quiet ponderosity which seemed tobelong to him.
"An oaken yule-log had as much sense, and were quicker!" [livelier]said Jack aside to Blanche.
"Nay, he wanteth not for sense, I take it," returned his sister, "but ofa truth he is solid matter."
"I marvel if he ever gat into debt," observed Clare quietly from theother side of Jack.
"He!" sneered that young gentleman. "He is the fashion of man thatshould pay all his trade-debts and ne'er ask for a rebate."
"Well! methinks that were no very ill deed," said Clare.
"A deed whereof no gentleman of spirit should be guilty!"
"There be divers sorts of spirits, Jack."
"There is but one manner of spirit," returned Jack sharply, "and I ne'ersaw a spark thereof in yon bale of woollen goods labelled JackFeversham."
"May be thou wilt, some day," answered Clare.
"That will be when the Ribble runneth up instead of down. He is acoward,--mine head to yon apple thereon."
"Be not so sure thereof."
"But I am sure thereof--as sure as a culverin shot."
Clare dropped the subject.
Rather late on the following evening, with his usual quiet,business-like air, John Feversham asked for a few words with Sir Thomas.Then--to the astonishment of that gentleman--the purport of his visitcame out. He wanted Blanche.
Sir Thomas was quite taken by surprise. It had never occurred to himthat silent John Feversham had the faintest design upon any one. Andwhat could this calm, undemonstrative man have seen in the butterflyBlanche, which had captivated him, of all people? He promised an answerthe next day; and, feeling as if another straw had been added to hisburden, he went to consult the ladies.
Lady Enville disapproved of the proposal. So unlike Don Juan!--sototally inferior, in every respect! And would it not be desirable towait and see whether John were really likely to succeed to his uncle'sinheritance within any reasonable time? she calmly urged. Sir Piersmight live twenty years yet, or he might have a family of his own, andthen where would John Feversham be? In present circumstances, concludedher Ladyship, enjoying the scent of her pomander, she thought this amost undesirable match for Blanche, who could not do much worse, andmight do much better.
Rachel, as might be expected, took the contrary view. Unlike DonJuan!--yes, she hoped so, indeed! This was a sensible young man, who,it might be trusted, would keep Blanche in order, which she was likelyenough to need as long as she lived. How should the girl do better? Byall means take advantage of the offer.
"Well, should Blanche know? That is, before acceptance."
"Oh, ay!" said Lady Enville.
"Oh, no!" said Rachel.
In Rachel's eyes, the new-fangled plan of giving the young lady a voicein the question was fraught with danger. But Lady Enville prevailed.Blanche was summoned, and asked what she thought of John Feversham.
It did not appear that Blanche had thought much about him at all. Shewas rather inclined to laugh at and despise him.
Well, had she any disposition to marry him?
Blanche's shrinking--"Oh no, an' it liked you, Father!"--decided thematter.
To all outward appearance, John Feversham took his rejection veryquietly. Sir Thomas couched it in language as kind as possible. Johnsaid little in answer, and exhibited no sign of vexation. But Rachel,who was still pursuing her career of amateur detective, thought that hefelt more distress than he showed.
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Note 1. The embroidery about the heel and ankle, which showed above thelow shoes then fashionable.
Note 2. Lest the reader should think this idea too preposterous to havebeen seriously entertained, I refer him to words actually uttered (andapproved by the hearers) on the death of P
hilippe, Duke of Orleans,brother of Louis the Fourteenth:--"I can assure you, God thinks twicebefore He damns a person of the Prince's quality."--(_Memoires deDangeau_).