CHAPTER LXXIX

THE CAPTAIN IN DISTRESS

The luncheon that day was rather better than usual. In addition to a nice piece of cold sirloin of beef, Saveloy sent in a dish of hot sausage-rolls, and some pork-pies, on “sale or return,” as the booksellers say, and Martha had tried her hand, not altogether unsuccessfully, at a sweet omelette. The decanters, too, were replenished, though we are sorry to add that Partridge was so exasperated at Mrs. Brantinghame’s meanness in locking away the wine, that he had infused a very strong dose of jalap into the Tent. He had just had time to shake it well up, as Captain Doleful and Mrs. Brantinghame descended.

Ere they had got settled in their seats, Miss entered the room, looking the very essence of innocence, though most carefully got up, and rustling in a new drab and pink shot watered silk. Doleful was up on the instant to receive his intended, whose smiling features had just been regulated at the looking-glass. Notwithstanding the wigging our old friend had just had, he plied a pretty good knife and fork, and though he thought the first glass of Tent tasted rather queer, he did not hesitate to take a second, in which Mrs. Brantinghame joined him. So they beefed, and sausaged, and Tented, as if there was nothing particularly astir.

Mrs. Brantinghame, however, retired earlier than usual, giving a significant hem and look at her daughter, and no sooner did the door close than Doleful, instead of finding himself in the delightful elysium young gentlemen anticipate on such occasions, began to experience all sorts of queer qualms and disagreeable sensations. Miss, who was under orders to bring the affair to a termination, one way or the other, seeing his perturbation, thought to assist his courage by Marsala, which proving more like liquid fire than wine, he again had recourse to the jalaped Tent. He still thought it queer, and sipped and tasted, and turned it over on his palate, wondering if it could be the sweet omelette that made it taste so.

Miss, knowing Mamma’s sanguine temperament, and that she would not rest long, now that she was fairly raised, tried to get him into conversation as soon as she could. She first broached that convenient autumnal subject, the court-martial on Lieutenant Perry, and censured the naughty officers who tried him. Doleful, who was still lost in meditation on the wine, merely replied between sips, that soldiers generally made as great a mess when they played at lawyers, as lawyers would if they played at soldiers. He then sip, sip, sipped, till he finished the glass, and set it down, thoroughly satisfied there was something wrong about it. He wondered where they had got it. Miss noted his abstraction, and also her Mamma’s hurried footsteps pacing overhead. She tried to get him into the warlike line—the Crimea—then into the Baltic—to Helsingfors, Bomarsund, Revel, saying she thought it was almost better to be as she was, without a brother, than have him exposed to such terrible dangers. This observation, with the falling of a worsted-work weight above, drew Doleful’s attention from certain inward qualms he was feeling, to the subject on which Mamma had been sounding him. It was a great nuisance the old woman being so pressing. What could make her change her tactics so suddenly? She, who had been all ease and confidence before. Could another suitor have turned up? Oh, dear! what a twinge that was—wish he mightn’t have got the cholera. And he incontinently took another pull at the Tent. It was decidedly nasty; and he set his glass down, determined to be done with it. He would give his ears for a little brandy.—There again!—Wished he was at home.—Believed he would have to take a cab.—Would cost him a shilling.—Could have dined at home for ninepence.

Miss, little thinking what was going on internally, but dreading her Mamma’s impetuosity, who, not over comfortable herself, was fretting and fidgetting about in the drawing-room, counting the minutes as hours, venting her spleen on Doleful and all dilatory sweethearters, and wondering how much he had cost her in the way of victuals and drink—Miss, we say, little thinking of what Doleful was suffering, and anxious to give him a lift, tried him personally, by asking what he thought of her new dress, getting up to show it, and just as he was paying the old compliment to her fair hand, after admiring the dress, Mamma, who had stolen noiselessly into the room, exclaimed, “Well, I’m glad you’ve got it all settled. I’m glad you’ve got it all settled,” seizing Doleful’s hand as it dropped from her daughter’s; “for really I was getting very nervous and uncomfortable. And, oh, my dear child!” continued she, giving her a strong hug, “I hope you’ll be happy!” adding, as she turned again to the now teeth-grinding Captain, “I’m sure if she’s not, it will be her own fault, for I never saw a sweeter disposition than yours. And now,” inquired she, in the same breath, “will you take any more luncheon?” pointing to the still well-stored table, and thinking the servants would be wanting their dinners.

Doleful declined any more luncheon.

“Or wine?” asked she.

Doleful would have no more of that either.

“Then let us go upstairs, and communicate the joyful intelligence to your sisters by this post,” continued Mrs. Brantinghame.

“Sisters!” exclaimed Doleful, sickening, “I thought you were an only child!”

“Only child I have left,” replied Mrs. Brantinghame, with the utmost effrontery.

“Only child you have left,” gasped Doleful.

“Yes, only child I have left,” continued Mrs. Brantinghame, volubly. “Only child I have left; but we have a charming family circle to introduce you to, and shall have more as soon as ever this weary war is over.”

“War!” ejaculated Doleful, turning livid.

“Yes; my sons are with their regiments in Turkey, but—”

“Why, I thought you wanted a brother!” interrupted Doleful, appealing imploringly to Miss.

“So I do,” replied Miss, calmly. “So I do. These are only half-brothers, as Mamma will tell you, and a half-brother is never like a whole one, you know.”

“Yes, their name is Honeyball,” explained Mrs. Brantinghame, accepting her daughter’s invitation; “my first husband’s name was Honeyball. P’r’aps you may have heard of him. My eldest son, Archibald, called after my dear brother, Sir Archy, is in the Hot and Heavy Hussars, and my second son, Humphrey, is in the Royal West Highland Practical Jokers.”

Doleful thought he saw their nasty naked swords gleaming before him, and was fairly overcome. Rushing out of the room, he seized his hat and left the house, running out of Acacia Crescent, up the back lane, through Short’s Gardens, and Milkington Street, like a man possessed, and took to his bed like a dormouse.