Читать книгу Beauchamp; or, The Error - G. P. R. James - Страница 5

The White Hart of Tarningham was a neat little country inn, such as was commonly found in most of the small towns of England at the period of my tale. They are rapidly being brushed off the face of the earth by the great broom of the steam-engine, and very soon the "pleasures of an inn" will be no longer known but by the records of history, while men run through the world at the rate of a hundred miles an hour, finding nothing on their way but stations and "hotels." I hate the very name hotel. It is unEnglish, uncomfortable, unsatisfactory, a combination, I suppose, of host and hell, the one the recipient of perturbed spirits, and the other their tormentor. But the word inn, how comfortable it is in all its significations. We have only retained the double n in it that we may "wear our rue with a difference," and whether we think of being in place, or in power, or in the hearts of those we love, or in the house during a storm, how pleasant is the feeling it produces. It has a home-like and British sound, and I do with all my heart wish that my fellow-countrymen would neither change their words nor their manners for worse things of foreign parentage. An inn, in the days I speak of, was a place famous for white linen, broiled ham, and fresh eggs. I cannot say that the beefsteaks were always tender, or the veal cutlets always done to a turn, or the beds always the softest in the world, but then think of the white dimity curtains, and the casements that rattled just enough to let you know that it was blowing hard without, and the rosy apple-faced chambermaid, and the host himself, round as his own butts, ay, and as full of beer. An innkeeper of those days would have been ashamed to show himself under nineteen stone. He was a part of his own sign, the recommendation of his own ale. His very paunch seemed to say "Look what it has done for me." It entered into his fat, it flowed through his veins, it puffed out his cheeks, it ran out at his eyes, and malt and hops was heard in every accent of his tongue. You had no lean, wizen-faced, black-silk-stockinged innkeepers in those days, and the very aspiring waiters imitated their landlords, and hourly grew fat under the eye, that they might be in a fit condition to marry the widow and take the business when the poor dear gentleman was swallowed up in beer.

Such an inn was the White Hart at Tarningham, and such a host was the landlord, but he was a wise man, and loved not to look upon his successors, for which cause, as well as on account of the trade not being very brisk in that quarter, he maintained no regular waiter; he had a tapster it is true, but the cloth in the neat little parlour on the left hand was laid by a white-capped, black-eyed, blooming maid-servant, and the landlord himself prepared to carry in the first dish, and then leave his expected guest to the tendance of the same fair damsel.

The room was already occupied by one gentleman, the same who in taking his evening walk had joined with our friend the horseman in the rescue of the two ladies, and to say truth, it was owing to his courtesy that the cloth was laid there at all, for he had prior possession, and on communicating to the landlord the fact that a guest would soon arrive who proposed to sup upon roast chicken, the worthy host had exclaimed in a voice of consternation, "Good gracious me, what shall I do? I must turn those fellows out of the tap-room and serve it there, for there is old Mrs. Grover, the lawyer's widow, in the other parlour, and ne'er a sitting-room else in the house!"

"You can make use of this, landlord," replied the stranger; "this gentleman seems a very good-humoured person, and I do not think will be inclined to find fault, although he may not have a whole sitting-room to himself."

"I'd bet a quart," cried the landlord, as if a sudden thought struck him, "I'd bet a quart that it's the gentleman whose portmanteau and a whole bundle of fishing-rods came down this morning. I'll run and see what's the name."

Whatever he felt, the gentleman already in possession expressed no curiosity, but in two minutes the host rolled back again--for to run, as he threatened, was impossible, and informed his guest that the things were addressed to "Edward Hayward, Esq., to be left at the White Hart, Tarningham."

"Very well," said the guest, and without more ado, he took up a book which had been lying on the mantelpiece since the morning, and putting his feet upon another chair, began to read. The landlord bustled about the room, and put the things in order. One of his fat sides knocked his guest's chair, and he begged pardon, but the gentleman read on. He took up the hat, which had been knocked off in the struggle with the chaise, wiped off the red sand which it had gathered, and exclaimed, "Lord bless me, Sir, your hat's all beaten about;" but his companion merely gave a nod, and read on.

At length, when the table was laid, and mustard, pepper, salt, vinegar, and bread had been brought in severally, when the maid had re-arranged what the landlord had arranged before, smoothed what he had smoothed, and brushed what he had brushed, a horse's feet trotting past the window, were heard, and the minute after a voice exclaimed at the door of the inn, "Here, ostler, take my horse, loose the girths, but don't take off the saddle yet, sponge his mouth, and walk him up and down for five minutes. Has his clothing come?"

"Oh, dear, yes, Sir, come this morning," answered the landlord. "This way, Sir, if you please. Sorry you did not let me know before, for positively there is not a whole sitting-room in the house."

"Well, then, I will do with half of one," answered the stranger. "Why, my friend, if you grow any more you must have the doors widened. You are the man for defending a pass; for, upon my life, in default of harder materials, you would block up Thermopylæ. Ale, ale, ale, it's all ale, landlord, and if you don't mind, it will set you ailing. Have my fishing-rods come down?--all safe I hope;" and by the time he had run through these questions and observations, he was in the doorway of the little parlour on the left-hand. He stared for a minute at the previous tenant of the room, who rose to receive him with a smile, and whose face he did not seem to have observed very accurately in the semi-darkness of the road. But the height and general appearance of the stranger soon showed him that they had met before, and with an easy, good-humoured, dashing air, he went up and shook him by the hand.

"A strange means of making acquaintance, my dear Sir," he said, "but I'm very happy to see you again, and safe and well, too, for I thought at one time you were likely to get knocked on the head, and I scarcely dared to interfere, lest I should do it for you myself in trying to hit the other fellow. I hope you did not get any wounds or bruises in the affray?"

"Oh, no," replied the stranger; "I was nearly strangled that is certain, and shall not easily forget the grasp of that man's fingers on my throat; but in regard to this way of making an acquaintance, no two men, I should think, could desire a better than to be both engaged, even accidentally, in rescuing two ladies from wrong."

"Quite chivalrous!" exclaimed the horseman, laughing; "but two Don Quixotes would never do in the world, so I'll acknowledge, at once, that I've not the least spark of chivalry in my nature. If I see a strong thing hurting a weak thing, I knock the strong thing down of course. I can't bear to see a big dog worry a little one, and don't much like to see a terrier catch a rat. But it's all impulse, my dear Sir, all impulse. Thank Heaven I am totally destitute of any sort of enthusiasm. I like every thing in the world well enough, but do not wish to like any thing too much, except, indeed, a particularly good bottle of claret--there, there, I am afraid I am weak. As to helping two ladies, it is always a very pleasant thing, especially if one of them be a particularly pretty girl, as is the case in this instance, I can tell you--but we really should do something to have these fellows caught, for they might have the decency to wait till it is quite dark, and not begin their lawless avocations before the sun has been down an hour."

"I went immediately to a magistrate," answered the stranger; "but as in very many country places, I did not find the ornament of the bench very highly enlightened. Because I was not the party actually attacked, he demurred to taking any steps whatever, and though I shook his resolution on that point, and he seemed inclined to accede to my demand, yet as soon as he found that I could not even give him the names of the two ladies, he went all the way back again, and would not even take my deposition. Perhaps after supper we had better go to him again together, for I dare say you can supply my deficiency by this time, and tell him the name of your pretty lady and her mother."

"No; 'pon my life I can't," rejoined his companion, "I quite forgot to ask--a very beautiful girl, though, and I wonder I didn't inquire, for I always like to ticket pretty faces. What is the name of your Midas, we'll soon bring him to reason, I doubt not. A country magistrate not take a deposition against a highwayman! By Heaven, he will make the people think he goes shares in the booty."

"A highwayman!" exclaimed the landlord, who had been going in and out, and listening to all that was said, whether he had roast chicken, or boiled potatoes, or a jug of fresh drawn beer in his hand. "Why, Lord, Mr. Beauchamp, you never told me!"

"No, my good friend," answered the other, "I did not, because to spread such a tale through an inn, is the very best way I know of insuring the highwayman's escape."

"Well, I dare say, my good round friend," exclaimed the horseman, whom we shall hereafter call Hayward, or as almost all who knew him, had it, Ned Hayward, "I dare say you can help us to the names of these two ladies. Who was it one of your post-boys drove to-night, out there to the westward, to a house in a park?"

"What, to Sir John Slingsby's?" exclaimed the host; but before he could proceed to answer the more immediate question, Ned Hayward gave himself a knock on the forehead, exclaiming,

"Sir John Slingsby's! why that's the very house I'm going to, and I never thought to ask the name--what a fool I am! Well might they call me, when I was in the 40th, thoughtless Ned Hayward. But come, 'mine host of the garter'--"

"Of the White Hart, your honour," replied the landlord, with as low a bow as his stomach would permit.

"Ay, of the White Hart be it then," said Ned Hayward, "let us hear who are these beautiful ladies whom your post-boy drove so slowly, and stopped with so soon, at the bidding of three gentlemen of the road, with pistols in their hands?"

"Lord a mercy!" cried the host, "and was it Mrs. Clifford and her daughter that they stopped? Well, I shouldn't wonder--but mum's the word--it's no affair of mine, and the least said is soonest mended."

The host's countenance had assumed a mysterious look. His whole aspect had an air of mystery. He laid his finger upon the side of his nose, as men do for a practical exemplification of the process which is taking place in their mind when they are putting "that and that" together. He half closed one eye also, as if to give an indication to the beholders that whatever might be the mental light in his own brain, it should not escape for the illumination of those without. There is a perversity in human nature which makes all men--saving the exceptions that prove the general rule--anxious to discover any thing that is hidden, and consequently both Mr. Hayward and Mr. Beauchamp attacked the worthy landlord, totis viribus, and attempted to wrench from him his secret. He held it fast, however, with both hands, exclaiming,

"No, no, gentlemen, I'll not say a word--it's no business of mine--I've nothing to do with it--it's all guess work, and a man who beers and horses all the neighbourhood, must keep a good tongue in his head. But one thing I will say, just to give you two gentlemen a hint, that perhaps you had better not meddle in this matter, or you may make a mess of it. Sally, is not that chicken ready?" And he called from the door of the room to the bar.

"I certainly shall meddle with it, my good friend," said Ned Hayward, in a determined tone, "and that very soon. I'm not the least afraid of making a mess, as you call it, certain that none of it will fall upon myself. So, as soon as we have got supper, which seems a devilish long time coming, we will set off, Mr. Beauchamp, if you please, for this good magistrate's and try--"

He was interrupted in the midst of his speech, though it had by this time nearly come to a conclusion, by a voice in the passage, exclaiming, "Groomber, Mr. Groomber," and the host instantly vociferated, "Coming, Sir, coming," and rushed out of the room.

The voice was heard to demand, as soon as the landlord appeared blocking up the way, "Have you a person by the name of Beauchamp here?"

"Yes, your worship," replied the host, and after a few more words, in a lower tone, the door of the room was thrown open, and Mr. Wittingham was announced, just as Mr. Beauchamp was observing to his new-found friend, Ned Hayward, that the voice was very like that of the worthy magistrate to whom he had applied.

Mr. Wittingham was a tall and very respectable-looking gentleman, somewhat past the middle age, and verging towards that decline of life which is marked by protuberance of the stomach, and thinness of the legs. But, nevertheless, Mr. Wittingham carried it off very well, for his height diminished the appearance of that which is usually called a corporation, and his legs were skilfully concealed in his top-boots. He was exceedingly neat in his apparel, tolerably rosy in the gills, and having a certain dogmatical peremptory expression, especially about the thick eyebrows and hooknose, which he found wonderfully efficacious in the decision of cases at petty sessions.

The moment he entered the room, he fixed his eyes somewhat sternly upon Mr. Beauchamp (whom we have forgotten to describe as a very gentlemanlike--even distinguished-looking person of about thirty years of age), and addressing him in a rough, and rather uncivil tone, said, "Your name, I think you told me, is Beauchamp, Sir, and you came to lay an information before me against certain persons for stopping a chaise upon the king's highway."

"I am, as you say, Sir, called Beauchamp," replied the other gentleman, "and I waited upon you, as the nearest magistrate, to give information of a crime which had been committed in your neighbourhood which you refused to receive. Do me the honour of taking a seat."

"And pray, Sir, if I may be so bold as to ask, who and what are you?" inquired the magistrate, suffering himself to drop heavily into a chair.

"I should conceive that had very little to do with the matter," interposed Ned Hayward, before Mr. Beauchamp could answer. "The simple question is, whether an attempt at highway robbery, or perhaps a worse offence, has or has not been made this night, upon Mrs. and Miss Clifford, as they were going over to my friend Sir John Slingsby's; and allow me to say that any magistrate who refuses to take a deposition on such a subject, and to employ the best means at his command to apprehend the offenders, grossly neglects his duty."

The host brought in the roast fowl, and stared at the dashing tone of Ned Hayward's speech towards one of the magnates of the neighbourhood. Some words in the commencement of that speech had caused Mr. Wittingham's countenance to fall, but the attack upon himself in the conclusion, roused him to indignant resistance, so that his reply was an angry demand of "Who the devil are you, Sir?"

"I am the devil of nobody, Mr. Wittington," answered Ned Hayward. "I am my own devil, if any body's, and my name is Edward Hayward, commonly called Captain Hayward, late of the 40th regiment, and now unattached. But as my supper is ready, I will beg leave to eat my chicken hot. Beauchamp, won't you join? Mr. Wittington, shall I give you a wing? Odd name, Wittington. Descendant of the renowned Lord Mayor of London, I presume?"

"No, Sir, no," answered the magistrate, while Beauchamp could scarcely refrain from laughing. "What I want to know is, what you have to do with this affair?"

"Every thing in the world," answered Ned Hayward, carving the chicken, "as I and my friend Beauchamp here had equal shares in saving the ladies from the clutches of these vagabonds. He came back here to give information, while I rode on with the ladies to protect them. Bring me a bottle of your best sherry, landlord. Now, I'll tell you what, Mr. Wittington--haven't you got any ham that you could broil? I hate chicken without ham, it's as insipid as a country magistrate.--I'll tell you what, Mr. Wittington, this matter shall be investigated to the bottom, whether you like it or not, and I have taken care to leave such marks upon two of the vagabonds, that they'll be easily known for the next month to come. One of them is devilish like you, by the way, but younger. I hit him just over the eye, and down about the nose, so that I'll answer for it I have lettered him in black and blue as well as any sheep in your fields, and we'll catch him before we've done, though we must insist upon having the assistance of the justices."

"I think, Sir, you intend to insult me," said the magistrate, rising with a very angry air, and a blank and embarrassed countenance.

"Not a whit, my dear Sir," answered Ned Hayward. "Pray sit down and take a glass of wine."

"I wont, Sir," exclaimed Mr. Wittingham, "and I shall leave the room. If you have any thing to say to me, it must come before me in a formal manner, and at a proper hour. To-morrow I shall be at the justice-room till eleven, and I hope you will be then prepared to treat the bench with respect."

"The most profound, Sir," said Ned Hayward, rising and bowing till his face almost touched the table before him, and then as Mr. Wittingham walked away with an indignant toss of the head, and closed the door behind him, our gay friend turned to his companion, saying, "There's something under this, Beauchamp. We must find out what it is."