Part 36 (1/2)

Here was delightful news for Pen! He professed himself very much obliged indeed to Lord Colchic.u.m, and made him a handsome speech of thanks, to which the other listened with his double opera-gla.s.s up to his eyes.

Pen was full of excitement at the idea of being a member of this polite Club.

”Don't be always looking at that box, you naughty creature,” cried Miss Blenkinsop.

”She's a dev'lish fine woman, that Mirabel,” said Tiptoff; ”though Mirabel was a d----d fool to marry her.”

”A stupid old spooney,” said the peer.

”Mirabel!” cried out Pendennis.

”Ha! ha!” laughed out Harry Foker. ”We've heard of her before, haven't we, Pen?”

It was Pen's first love. It was Miss Fotheringay. The year before she had been led to the altar by Sir Charles Mirabel, G.C.B., and formerly envoy to the Court of Pumpernickel, who had taken so active a part in the negotiations before the Congress of Swammerdam, and signed, on behalf of H.B.M., the Peace of Pultusk.

”Emily was always as stupid as an owl,” said Miss Blenkinsop.

”Eh! Eh! pas si bete,” the old Peer said.

”Oh, for shame!” cried the actress, who did not in the least know what he meant.

And Pen looked out and beheld his first love once again--and wondered how he ever could have loved her.

Thus on the very first night of his arrival in London, Mr. Arthur Pendennis found himself introduced to a Club, to an actress of genteel comedy and a heavy father of the Stage, and to a das.h.i.+ng society of jovial blades, old and young; for my Lord Colchic.u.m, though stricken in years, bald of head and enfeebled in person, was still indefatigable in the pursuit of enjoyment, and it was the venerable Viscount's boast that he could drink as much claret as the youngest member of the society which he frequented. He lived with the youth about town: he gave them countless dinners at Richmond and Greenwich: an enlightened patron of the drama in all languages and of the Terpsich.o.r.ean art, he received dramatic professors of all nations at his banquets--English from the Covent Garden and Strand houses, Italians from the Haymarket, French from their own pretty little theatre, or the boards of the Opera where they danced. And at his villa on the Thames, this pillar of the State gave sumptuous entertainments to scores of young men of fas.h.i.+on, who very affably consorted with the ladies and gentlemen of the greenroom--with the former chiefly, for Viscount Colchic.u.m preferred their society as more polished and gay than that of their male brethren.

Pen went the next day and paid his entrance-money at the Club, which operation carried off exactly one-third of his hundred pounds; and took possession of the edifice, and ate his luncheon there with immense satisfaction. He plunged into an easy-chair in the library, and tried to read all the magazines. He wondered whether the members were looking at him, and that they could dare to keep on their hats in such fine rooms.

He sate down and wrote a letter to Fairoaks on the Club paper, and said, what a comfort this place would be to him after his day's work was over. He went over to his uncle's lodgings in Bury Street with some considerable tremor, and in compliance with his mother's earnest desire, that he should instantly call on Major Pendennis; and was not a little relieved to find that the Major had not yet returned to town. His apartments were blank. Brown hollands covered his library-table, and bills and letters lay on the mantelpiece, grimly awaiting the return of their owner. The Major was on the Continent, the landlady of the house said, at Badnbadn, with the Marcus of Steyne. Pen left his card upon the shelf with the rest. Fairoaks was written on it still.

When the Major returned to London, which he did in time for the fogs of November, after enjoying which he proposed to spend Christmas with some friends in the country, he found another card of Arthur's, on which Lamb Court, Temple, was engraved, and a note from that young gentleman and from his mother, stating that he was come to town, was entered a member of the Upper Temple, and was reading hard for the bar.

Lamb Court, Temple:--where was it? Major Pendennis remembered that some ladies of fas.h.i.+on used to talk of dining with Mr. Ayliffe, the barrister, who was ”in society,” and who lived there in the King's Bench, of which prison there was probably a branch in the Temple, and Ayliffe was very likely an officer. Mr. Deuceace, Lord Crabs's son, had also lived there, he recollected. He despatched Morgan to find out where Lamb Court was, and to report upon the lodging selected by Mr. Arthur.

That alert messenger had little difficulty in discovering Mr. Pen's abode. Discreet Morgan had in his time traced people far more difficult to find than Arthur.

”What sort of a place is it, Morgan?” asked the Major, out of the bed-curtains in Bury Street the next morning, as the valet was arranging his toilette in the deep yellow London fog.

”I should say rayther a shy place,” said Mr. Morgan. ”The lawyers lives there, and has their names on the doors. Mr. Harthur lives three pair high, sir. Mr. Warrington lives there too, sir.”

”Suffolk Warringtons! I shouldn't wonder: a good family,” thought the Major. ”The cadets of many of our good families follow the robe as a profession. Comfortable rooms, eh?”

”Honly saw the outside of the door, sir, with Mr. Warrington's name and Mr. Arthur's painted up, and a piece of paper with 'Back at 6;' but I couldn't see no servant, sir.”

”Economical at any rate,” said the Major.

”Very, sir. Three pair, sir. Nasty black staircase as ever I see. Wonder how a gentleman can live in such a place.”

”Pray, who taught you where gentlemen should or should not live, Morgan?

Mr. Arthur, sir, is going to study for the bar, sir,” the Major said with much dignity; and closed the conversation and began to array himself in the yellow fog.

”Boys will be boys,” the mollified uncle thought to himself. ”He has written to me a devilish good letter. Colchic.u.m says he has had him to dine, and thinks him a gentlemanlike lad. His mother is one of the best creatures in the world. If he has sown his wild oats, and will stick to his business, he may do well yet. Think of Charley Mirabel, the old fool, marrying that flame of his! that Fotheringay! He doesn't like to come here until I give him leave, and puts it in a very manly nice way.

I was deuced angry with him, after his...o...b..idge escapades--and showed it too when he was here before--Gad, I'll go and see him, hang me if I don't.”

And having ascertained from Morgan that he could reach the Temple without much difficulty, and that a city omnibus would put him down at the gate, the Major one day after breakfast at his Club--not the Polyanthus, whereof Mr. Pen was just elected a member, but another Club: for the Major was too wise to have a nephew as a constant inmate of any house where he was in the habit of pa.s.sing his time--the Major one day entered one of those public vehicles, and bade the conductor to put him down at the gate of the Upper Temple.