The King's Own Part 50

The grooms made no scruple, after the catastrophe, to state all that had pa.s.sed between them and their master; it was spread through Cheltenham with the usual rapidity of all scandal, in a place where people have nothing to do but to talk about each other. The only confutation which the report received, was the conduct of Mr Rainscourt. He was positively inconsolable--he threw himself upon the remains, declaring that nothing should separate him from his dear--dear Clara. The honest old curate, who had attended Mrs Rainscourt in her last moments, had great difficulty, with the a.s.sistance of the men servants, in removing him to another chamber on the ensuing day. Some declared that he repented of his unkind behaviour, and that he was struck with remorse; the females observed, that men never knew the value of a wife until they lost her; others thought his grief was all humbug, although they acknowledged, at the same time, that they could not find out any interested motives to induce him to act such a part.

But when Mr Rainscourt insisted that the heart of the deceased should be embalmed, and directed it to be enshrined in an urn of ma.s.sive gold, then all Cheltenham began to think that he was sincere,--at least all the ladies did; and the gentlemen, married or single, were either too wise or too polite to offer any negative remark, when his conduct was p.r.o.nounced to be a pattern for all husbands. Moreover, Mr Potts, the curate, vouched for his sincerity, in consequence of the handsome gratuity which he had received for consigning Mrs Rainscourt to the vault, and the liberal largess to the poor upon the same occasion. "How could any man prove his sincerity more?" thought Mr Potts, who, blinded by grat.i.tude, forgot that although in affliction our hearts are softened towards the miseries of others, on the other hand, we are quite as (if not more) liberal when intoxicated with good fortune.

Be it as it may, the conduct of Mr Rainscourt was p.r.o.nounced most exemplary. All hints and surmises of former variance were voted scandalous, and all Cheltenham talked of nothing but the dead Mrs Rainscourt, the living Mr Rainscourt, the heart, and the magnificent gold urn.

"Have you heard how poor Mr Rainscourt is?" was the usual question at the pump, as the ladies congregated to pour down Number 3, or Number 4, in accordance with the directions of the medical humbugs.

"More resigned--they say he was seen walking after dark?"

"Was he, indeed? to the churchyard, of course. Poor dear man!"

"Miss Emily's maid told my Abigail last night, that she looks quite beautiful in her mourning. But I suppose she will not come on the promenade again, before she leaves Cheltenham."

"She ought not," replied a young lady who did not much approve of so handsome an heiress remaining at Cheltenham. "It will be very incorrect if she does; some one ought to tell her so."

With the exception of Mr Potts, no one had dared to break in upon the solitude of Mr Rainscourt, who had remained the whole day upon the sofa, with the urn on the table before him, and the shutters closed to exclude the light. The worthy curate called upon him every evening, renewing his topics of consolation, and pointing out the duty of Christian resignation. A deep sigh! a heavy Ah! or a long drawn Oh!

were all the variety of answers that could be obtained for some days.

But time does wonders; and Mr Rainscourt at last inclined an ear to the news of the day, and listened with marked attention to the answers which he elicited from the curate, by his indirect questions, as to what the world said about him.

"Come, come, Mr Rainscourt, do not indulge your grief any more. Excess becomes criminal. It is my duty to tell you so, and yours to attend to me. It is not to be expected that you will immediately return to the world and its amus.e.m.e.nts; but as there must be a beginning, why not come and take your family dinner to-day with Mrs Potts and me? Now let me persuade you--she will be delighted to see you--we dine at five. A hot joint--nothing more."

Rainscourt, who was rather tired of solitude, refused in such a way as to induce the worthy curate to reiterate his invitation, and at length, with great apparent unwillingness, consented. The curate sat with him until the dinner hour, when, leaning on the pastor's arm, Rainscourt walked down the street, in all the trappings of his woe, and his eyes never once raised from the ground.

"There's Mr Rainscourt! There's Mr Rainscourt!" whispered some of the promenaders who were coming up the street.

"No! that's not him."

"Yes it is, walking with Mr Potts! Don't you see his beautiful large dog following him? He never walks without it. An't it a beauty? It's a Polygar dog from the East Indies. His name is Tippoo."

The house of the curate was but a short distance from the lodgings occupied by Mr Rainscourt. They soon entered, and were hid from the prying eyes of the idle and the curious.

"I have persuaded Mr Rainscourt to come and take a family dinner with us, my dear."

"Quite delighted to see him," replied Mrs Potts, casting a sidelong angry glance at her husband.

Mr Rainscourt made a slight bow, and threw himself on the sofa, covering his face with his hand, as if the light was hideous.

Mrs Potts took the opportunity of escaping by the door, beckoning to her husband as soon as she was outside.

"And I will go and decant the wine.--Quite in the family way, Mr Rainscourt--no ceremony. You'll excuse me," continued the curate, as he obeyed the summons of his wife, like a school-boy ordered up to be _birched_.

"Well, my dear," interrogated Mr Potts, humbly, as soon as the door was closed. But Mrs Potts made no reply, until she had led her husband to such a distance from the parlour as she imagined would prevent Mr Rainscourt from being roused by the high pitch to which she intended to raise her voice.

"I do declare, Mr Potts, you are a complete _fool_. Sat.u.r.day--all the maids was.h.i.+ng--and ask him to dinner! There's positively nothing to eat. It really is too provoking."

"Well, my dear, what does it matter? The poor, man will, in all probability, not eat a bit--he is so overcome."

"So over-fiddlesticked!" replied the lady. "Grief never hurts the appet.i.te, Mr Potts; on the contrary, people care more then about a good dinner than at other times. It's the only enjoyment they can have without being accused by the world of want of feeling."

"Well, you know better than I, my dear; but I really think that if you were to die I could not eat a bit."

"And I tell you, Mr Potts, I could, if you were to die tomorrow.--So stupid of you!--Sally, run and take off the tablecloth,--it's quite dirty; put on one of the fine damask."

"They will be very large for the table, ma'am."

"Never mind--be quick, and step next door, and ask the old German to come in and wait at table. He shall have a pint of strong beer."

Sally did as she was bid. Mr Potts, whose wine had been decanted long before, and Mrs Potts, who had vented her spleen upon her husband, returned into the parlour together.

"My dear Mr Potts is so particular about decanting his wine," observed the lady, with a gracious smile, as she entered--"he is so long about it, and scolds me so if ever I wish to do it for him."

Mr Potts was a little surprised at the last accusation: but as he had long been drilled, he laughed a.s.sent. A tedious half-hour--during which the lady had all the conversation to herself, for the curate answered only in monosyllabic compliance, and Rainscourt made no answer whatever--elapsed before dinner was announced by the German mercenary who had been subsidised.

"Meinheer, de dinner was upon de table."

"Come, Mr Rainscourt," said the curate, in a persuasive tone.

Rainscourt got up, and without offering his arm to the lady, who had her own bowed out in readiness, stalked out of the room by the side of Mr Potts, followed by his wife, who, by her looks, seemed to imply that she considered that the demise of one woman was no excuse for a breach of politeness towards another.

The covers were removed--two small soles (much _too small_ for three people), and a dish of potatoes. "Will you allow me to offer you a little sole, Mr Rainscourt? I am afraid you will have a very poor dinner."

Rainscourt bowed in the negative, and the soles disappeared in a very short time between the respective organs of mastication of Mr and Mrs Potts.

The dishes of the first course were removed; and the German appeared with a covered dish, followed by Sally, who brought some vegetables, and returned to the kitchen for more.

"I'm afraid you will have a very poor dinner," repeated the lady.--"Take off the cover, Sneider.--Will you allow me to help you to a piece of this?"

Rainscourt turned his head round to see if the object offered was such as to tempt his appet.i.te, and beheld a--_smoking bullock's heart_!

"My wife, my wife!" exclaimed he, as he darted from his chair; and covering his face, as if to hide from his sight the object which occasioned the concatenation of ideas, attempted to run out of the room.

But his escape was not so easy. In his hurried movement he had entangled himself with the long table-cloth that trailed on the carpet, and, to the dismay of the party, everything that was on the table was swept off in his retreat; and as he had blindfolded himself, he ran with such force against the German, who was in the act of receiving a dish from Sally, that, precipitating him against her, they both rolled prostrate on the floor.

"Ah, mein Got, mein Got!" roared the German, as his face was smothered with the hot stewed peas, a dish of which he was carrying as he fell on his back.

"Oh, my eye, my eye!" bellowed Sally, as she rolled upon the floor.

"My wife, my wife!" reiterated Rainscourt, as he trampled over them, and secured his retreat.

"And oh, my dinner, my dinner!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the curate, as he surveyed the general wreck.

"And oh, you fool, you fool, Mr Potts!" echoed the lady, with her arms akimbo--"to ask such a man to dine with you!"

"Well, I had no idea that he could have taken it so much to _heart_,"

replied the curate meekly.

But we must follow Rainscourt, who--whether really agitated by the circ.u.mstance, or, aware that it would be bruited abroad, thought that a display of agitation would be advisable--proceeded with hurried steps to the promenades, where he glided through the thoughtless crowd with the silent rapidity of a ghost. Having sufficiently awakened the curiosity of the spectators, he sank down on one of the most retired benches, with his eyes for some time thrown up in contemplation of the fleecy clouds, beyond which kind spirits are supposed to look down, and weep over the follies and inconsistencies of an erring world. Casting his eyes to earth, he beheld--horror upon horrors--the detested bullock's heart, which his great Polygar dog had seized during the confusion of the dinner scene, and had followed him out with it in his mouth. Finding it too hot to carry immediately after its seizure, he had, for a time, laid it down, and had just arrived with it. There he was, not a foot from the bench, his jaws distended with the prize, tossing up his head as if in mockery of his master, and wagging his long, feathered tail.