The Newcomes

  Clive. I never had a mother; but you seem like one.

  Madame de F. Mon fils! Oh, mon fils!

  CHAPTER XLVIII

  In which Benedick is a Married Man

  We have all heard of the dying French Duchess, who viewed her coming

  dissolution and subsequent fate so easily, because she said she was

  sure that Heaven must deal politely with a person of her quality;--I

  suppose Lady Kew had some such notions regarding people of rank: her

  long-suffering towards them was extreme; in fact, there were vices which

  the old lady thought pardonable, and even natural, in a young nobleman of

  high station, which she never would have excused in persons of vulgar

  condition.

  Her ladyship's little knot of associates and scandal-bearers--elderly

  roues and ladies of the world, whose business it was to know all sorts of

  noble intrigues and exalted tittle-tattle; what was happening among the

  devotees of the exiled court at Frobsdorf; what among the citizen princes

  of the Tuileries; who was the reigning favourite of the Queen Mother at

  Aranjuez; who was smitten with whom at Vienna or Naples; and the last

  particulars of the chroniques scandaleuses of Paris and London;--Lady

  Kew, I say, must have been perfectly aware of my Lord Farintosh's

  amusements, associates, and manner of life, and yet she never, for one

  moment, exhibited any anger or dislike towards that nobleman. Her amiable

  heart was so full of kindness and forgiveness towards the young prodigal

  that, even without any repentance on his part, she was ready to take him

  to her old arms, and give him her venerable benediction. Pathetic

  sweetness of nature! Charming tenderness of disposition! With all his

  faults and wickednesses, his follies and his selfishness, there was no

  moment when Lady Kew would not have received the young lord, and endowed

  him with the hand of her darling Ethel.

  But the hopes which this fond forgiving creature had nurtured for one

  season, and carried on so resolutely to the next, were destined to be

  disappointed yet a second time, by a most provoking event, which occurred

  in the Newcome family. Ethel was called away suddenly from Paris by her

  father's third and last paralytic seizure. When she reached her home, Sir

  Brian could not recognise her. A few hours after her arrival, all the

  vanities of the world were over for him: and Sir Barnes Newcome, Baronet,

  reigned in his stead. The day after Sir Brian was laid in his vault at

  Newcome--a letter appeared in the local papers addressed to the

  Independent Electors of that Borough, in which his orphan son, feelingly

  alluding to the virtue, the services, and the political principles of the

  deceased, offered himself as a candidate for the seat in Parliament now

  vacant. Sir Barnes announced that he should speedily pay his respects in

  person to the friends and supporters of his lamented father. That he was

  a staunch friend of our admirable constitution need not be said. That he

  was a firm, but conscientious upholder of our Protestant religion, all

  who knew Barnes Newcome must be aware. That he would do his utmost to

  advance the interests of this great agricultural, this great

  manufacturing county and borough, we may be sure he avowed; as that he

  would be (if returned to represent Newcome in Parliament) the advocate of

  every rational reform, the unhesitating opponent of every reckless

  innovation. In fine, Barnes Newcome's manifesto to the Electors of

  Newcome was as authentic a document and gave him credit for as many

  public virtues, as that slab over poor Sir Brian's bones in the chancel

  of Newcome church, which commemorated the good qualities of the defunct,

  and the grief of his heir.

  In spite of the virtues, personal and inherited, of Barnes, his seat for

  Newcome was not got without a contest. The dissenting interest and the

  respectable Liberals of the borough wished to set up Samuel Higg, Esq.;

  against Sir Barnes Newcome: and now it was that Barnes's civilities of

  the previous year, aided by Madame de Moncontour's influence over her

  brother, bore their fruit. Mr. Higg declined to stand against Sir Barnes

  Newcome, although Higg's political principles were by no means those of

  the honourable Baronet; and the candidate from London, whom the Newcome

  extreme Radicals set up against Barnes, was nowhere on the poll when the

  day of election came. So Barnes had the desire of his heart; and, within

  two months after his father's demise, he sate in Parliament as Member for

  Newcome.

  The bulk of the late Baronet's property descended, of course, to his

  eldest son: who grumbled, nevertheless, at the provision made for his

  brothers and sisters, and that the town-house should have been left to

  Lady Anne, who was too poor to inhabit it. But Park Lane is the best

  situation in London, and Lady Anne's means were greatly improved by the

  annual produce of the house in Park Lane, which, as we all know, was

  occupied by a foreign minister for several subsequent seasons. Strange

  mutations of fortune: old places; new faces; what Londoner does not see

  and speculate upon them every day? Coelia's boudoir, who is dead with the

  daisies over her at Kensal Green, is now the chamber where Delia is

  consulting Dr. Locock, or Julia's children are romping: Florio's

  dining-tables have now Pollio's wine upon them: Calista, being a widow,

  and (to the surprise of everybody who knew Trimalchio, and enjoyed his

  famous dinners) left but very poorly off, lets the house, and the rich,

  chaste, and appropriate planned furniture, by Dowbiggin, and the proceeds

  go to keep her little boys at Eton. The next year, as Mr. Clive Newcome

  rode by the once familiar mansion (whence the hatchment had been removed,

  announcing that there was in Coelo Quies for the late Sir Brian Newcome,

  Bart.), alien faces looked from over the flowers in the balconies. He got

  a card for an entertainment from the occupant of the mansion, H.E. the

  Bulgarian minister; and there was the same crowd in the reception-room

  and on the stairs, the same grave men from Gunter's distributing the

  refreshments in the dining-room, the same old Smee, R. A. (always in the

  room where the edibles were), cringing and flattering to the new

  occupants; and the same effigy of poor Sir Brian, in his

  deputy-lieutenant's uniform, looking blankly down from over the

  sideboard, at the feast which his successors were giving. A dreamy old

  ghost of a picture. Have you ever looked at those round George IV.'s

  banqueting-hall at Windsor? Their frames still hold them, but they smile

  ghostly smiles, and swagger in robes and velvets which are quite faint

  and faded: their crimson coats have a twilight tinge: the lustre of their

  stars has twinkled out: they look as if they were about to flicker off

  the wall and retire to join their originals in limbo.

  * * * * * *

  Nearly three years had elapsed since the good Colonel's departure for

  India, and during this time certain changes had occurred in the lives of

  the principal actors and the writer of this history. As regards the

  latter, it must be sta
ted that the dear old firm of Lamb Court had been

  dissolved, the junior member having contracted another partnership. The

  chronicler of these memoirs was a bachelor no longer. My wife and I had

  spent the winter at Rome (favourite resort of young married couples); and

  had heard from the artists there Clive's name affectionately repeated;

  and many accounts of his sayings and doings, his merry supper-parties,

  and the talents of young Ridley, his friend. When we came to London in

  the spring, almost our first visit was to Clive's apartments in Charlotte

  Street, whither my wife delightedly went to give her hand to the young

  painter.

  But Clive no longer inhabited that quiet region. On driving to the house

  we found a bright brass plate, with the name of Mr. J. J. Ridley on the

  door, and it was J. J.'s hand which I shook (his other being engaged with

  a great palette, and a sheaf of painting-brushes) when we entered the

  well-known quarters. Clive's picture hung over the mantelpiece, where his

  father's head used to hang in our time--a careful and beautifully

  executed portrait of the lad in a velvet coat and a Roman hat, with that

  golden beard which was sacrificed to the exigencies of London fashion. I

  showed Laura the likeness until she could become acquainted with the

  original. On her expressing her delight at the picture, the painter was

  pleased to say, in his modest blushing way, that he would be glad to

  execute my wife's portrait too, nor, as I think, could any artist find a

  subject more pleasing.

  After admiring others of Mr. Ridley's works, our talk naturally reverted

  to his predecessor. Clive had migrated to much more splendid quarters.

  Had we not heard? he had become a rich man, a man of fashion. "I fear he

  is very lazy about the arts," said J. J., with regret on his countenance;

  "though I begged and prayed him to be faithful to his profession. He

  would have done very well in it, in portrait-painting especially. Look

  here, and here, and here!" said Ridley, producing fine vigorous sketches

  of Clive's. "He had the art of seizing the likeness, and of making all

  his people look like gentlemen, too. He was improving every day, when

  this abominable bank came in the way, and stopped him."

  What bank? I did not know the new Indian bank of which the Colonel was a

  director. Then, of course, I was aware that the mercantile affair in

  question was the Bundelcund Bank, about which the Colonel had written to

  me from India more than a year since, announcing that fortunes were to be

  made by it, and that he had reserved shares for me in the company. Laura

  admired all Clive's sketches, which his affectionate brother-artist

  showed to her with the exception of one representing the reader's humble

  servant; which, Mrs. Pendennis considered, by no means did justice to the

  original.

  Bidding adieu to the kind J. J., and leaving him to pursue his art, in

  that silent serious way in which he daily laboured at it, we drove to

  Fitzroy Square hard by, where I was not displeased to show the good old

  hospitable James Binnie the young lady who bore my name. But here, too,

  we were disappointed. Placards wafered in the windows announced that the

  old house was to let. The woman who kept it brought a card in Mrs.

  Mackenzie's frank handwriting, announcing Mr. James Binnie's address was

  "Poste-restante, Pau, in the Pyrenees," and that his London agents were

  Messrs. So-and-so. The woman said she believed the gentleman had been

  unwell. The house, too, looked very pale, dismal, and disordered. We

  drove away from the door, grieving to think that ill-health, or any other

  misfortunes, had befallen good old James.

  Mrs. Pendennis drove back to our lodgings, Brixham's, in Jermyn Street,

  while I sped to the City, having business in that quarter. It has been

  said that I kept a small account with Hobson Brothers, to whose bank I

  went, and entered the parlour with that trepidation which most poor men

  feel on presenting themselves before City magnates and capitalists. Mr.

  Hobson Newcome shook hands most jovially and good-naturedly,

  congratulated me on my marriage, and so forth, and presently Sir Barnes

  Newcome made his appearance, still wearing his mourning for his deceased

  father.

  Nothing could be more kind, pleasant, and cordial than Sir Barnes's

  manner. He seemed to know well about my affairs; complimented me on every

  kind of good fortune; had heard that I had canvassed the borough in which

  I lived; hoped sincerely to see me in Parliament and on the right side;

  was most anxious to become acquainted with Mrs. Pendennis, of whom Lady

  Rockminster said all sorts of kind things; and asked for our address, in

  order that Lady Clara Newcome might have the pleasure of calling on my

  wife. This ceremony was performed soon afterwards; and an invitation to

  dinner from Sir Barnes and Lady Clara Newcome speedily followed it.

  Sir Barnes Newcome, Bart., M.P., I need not say, no longer inhabited the

  small house which he had occupied immediately after his marriage: but

  dwelt in a much more spacious mansion in Belgravia, where he entertained

  his friends. Now that he had come into his kingdom, I must say that

  Barnes was by no means so insufferable as in the days of his

  bachelorhood. He had sown his wild oats, and spoke with regret and

  reserve of that season of his moral culture. He was grave, sarcastic,

  statesmanlike; did not try to conceal his baldness (as he used before his

  father's death, by bringing lean wisps of hair over his forehead from the

  back of his head); talked a great deal about the House; was assiduous in

  his attendance there and in the City; and conciliating with all the

  world. It seemed as if we were all his constituents, and though his

  efforts to make himself agreeable were rather apparent, the effect

  succeeded pretty well. We met Mr. and Mrs. Hobson Newcome, and Clive, and

  Miss Ethel looking beautiful in her black robes. It was a family party,

  Sir Barnes said, giving us to understand, with a decorous solemnity in

  face and voice, that no large parties as yet could be received in that

  house of mourning.

  To this party was added, rather to my surprise, my Lord Highgate, who

  under the sobriquet of Jack Belsize has been presented to the reader of

  this history. Lord Highgate gave Lady Clara his arm to dinner, but went

  and took a place next Miss Newcome, on the other side of her; that

  immediately by Lady Clara being reserved for a guest who had not as yet

  made his appearance.

  Lord Highgate's attentions to his neighbour, his laughing and talking,

  were incessant; so much so that Clive, from his end of the table, scowled

  in wrath at Jack Belsize's assiduities: it was evident that the youth,

  though hopeless, was still jealous and in love with his charming cousin.

  Barnes Newcome was most kind to all his guests: from Aunt Hobson to your

  humble servant, there was not one but the of master the house had an

  agreeable word for him. Even for his cousin Samuel Newcome, a gawky youth

  with an eruptive countenance, Barnes had appropriate words of

  conversation, and talked
about King's College, of which the lad was an

  ornament, with the utmost affability. He complimented that institution

  and young Samuel, and by that shot knocked not only over Sam but his

  mamma too. He talked to Uncle Hobson about his crops; to Clive about his

  pictures; to me about the great effect which a certain article in the

  Pall Mall Gazette had produced in the House, where the Chancellor of the

  Exchequer was perfectly livid with fury, and Lord John bursting out

  laughing at the attack: in fact, nothing could be more amiable than our

  host on this day. Lady Clara was very pretty--grown a little stouter

  since her marriage; the change only became her. She was a little silent,

  but then she had Uncle Hobson on her left-hand side, between whom and her

  ladyship there could not be much in common, and the place at the right

  hand was still vacant. The person with whom she talked most freely was

  Clive, who had made a beautiful drawing of her and her little girl, for

  which the mother and the father too, as it appeared, were very grateful.

  What had caused this change in Barnes's behaviour? Our particular merits

  or his own private reform? In the two years over which this narrative has

  had to run in the course of as many chapters, the writer had inherited a

  property so small that it could not occasion a banker's civility; and I

  put down Sir Barnes Newcome's politeness to a sheer desire to be well

  with me. But with Lord Highgate and Clive the case was different, as you

  must now hear.

  Lord Highgate, having succeeded to his father's title and fortune, had

  paid every shilling of his debts, and had sowed his wild oats to the very

  last corn. His lordship's account at Hobson Brothers was very large.

  Painful events of three years' date, let us hope, were forgotten--

  gentlemen cannot go on being in love and despairing, and quarrelling for

  ever. When he came into his funds, Highgate behaved with uncommon

  kindness to Rooster, who was always straitened for money: and when the

  late Lord Dorking died and Rooster succeeded to him, there was a meeting

  at Chanticlere between Highgate and Barnes Newcome and his wife, which

  went off very comfortably. At Chanticlere the Dowager Lady Kew and Miss

  Newcome were also staying, when Lord Highgate announced his prodigious

  admiration for the young lady; and, it was said, corrected Farintosh, as

  a low-minded, foul-tongued young cub, for daring to speak disrespectfully

  of her. Nevertheless, vous concevez, when a man of the Marquis's rank was

  supposed to look with the eyes of admiration upon a young lady, Lord

  Highgate would not think of spoiling sport, and he left Chanticlere

  declaring that he was always destined to be unlucky in love. When old

  Lady Kew was obliged to go to Vichy for her lumbago, Highgate said to

  Barnes, "Do ask your charming sister to come to you in London; she will

  bore herself to death with the old woman at Vichy, or with her mother at

  Rugby" (whither Lady Anne had gone to get her boys educated), and

  accordingly Miss Newcome came on a visit to her brother and sister, at

  whose house we have just had the honour of seeing her.

  When Rooster took his seat in the House of Lords, he was introduced by

  Highgate and Kew, as Highgate had been introduced by Kew previously. Thus

  these three gentlemen all rode in gold coaches; had all got coronets on

  their heads; as you will, my respected young friend, if you are the

  eldest son of a peer who dies before you. And now they were rich, they

  were all going to be very good boys, let us hope. Kew, we know, married

  one of the Dorking family, that second Lady Henrietta Pulleyn, whom we

  described as frisking about at Baden, and not in the least afraid of him.

  How little the reader knew, to whom we introduced the girl in that chatty

  offhand way, that one day the young creature would be a countess! But we

  knew it all the while--and, when she was walking about with the