CHAPTER XVII

THE ANONYMOUS LETTER

P to this time all had gone smoothly and well with our friend Mr. Bunting in Sea-View Place. John Thomas now let him in, as a matter of course, and pretty Perker the maid smiled attornment to his coming authority.

Miss received him with cheerful cordial encouragement, and Mamma was quite motherly and leave-them-alone-ical. Now, however, we regret to say things were going to take rather a different turn.

On the same day that the venison came, came one of those suspiciously written letters that would puzzle an expert to say whether they are the production of a man, a woman, or a child, cautioning our fair friends against the insidious Mr. Bunting, and saying that he was nothing but a needy fortune-hunting adventurer—advising them to question him about his castle and his consequence, and to ask him if he knew Miss Richley, or Miss Meadows, or Miss Featherwood. This was a poser to Mrs. McDermott, who was most thankful that Mrs. Goldspink mentioned in her letter announcing the haunch that Jasper was coming, so that they might trim the boat accordingly. Mr. Bunting had not come out with the specific words of an offer, so Mamma advised Rosa to be cautious and retiring, to keep him going on, but to avoid coming to the point—that is to say, to a declaration. And they looked at the letter again and again, wondered who had written it, whether it was any one who wanted him themselves, or some jealous person envious of Rosa. It was very perplexing.

In these days of wonderful science and discovery, when sighs are wafted on wires

“From Indus to the Pole,”

and the sun condescends to take portraits as low as a shilling a minute, it would be a great convenience if Mr. Adolphe Diddler or Didier the mesmeric somnambulist, or some other great necromancer, would invent some process by which the hidden thoughts of parties might be discovered and the deeds done in their absence made known to them. Then our esteemed friend Mr. Admiration Jack would have understood why it was that Mamma was more formal and Miss less confiding, and why instead of the sunny promenade on the gaily thronged esplanades and terraces they preferred a quiet walk on to the Downs, and took the unfrequented line of Brick-field Lane, Ivy Cottage, and Chewcud’s Dairy. At first, for want of a necromancer to explain matters, our friend thought they were afraid he was only trifling with fair Rosa’s feelings and wanted the tender prop: which he determined to make the very first opportunity; but that was just the very last thing they really did want, and Mamma guarded Miss against it with the most watchful and careful vigilance. No more leavings-alone or getting out of earshot for her. Whatever was said must be in her presence and hearing. So Mr. Jack was put upon a sort of half allowance of love, to be restored to the full diet or not according as things might appear. Three ladies he wouldn’t suit seemed rather too many, and Mamma thought it would not do to let Rosa be the fourth, especially if it was to endanger her prospects elsewhere.

However, Mrs. McDermott thought Mr. Bunting might be made useful in expediting the movements of our young turfite Mr. Goldspink, who was not quite so expeditious as the improved celerity of the times would require. Long courtships are not now in favour.

So much for the tender passion; let us now look at the venison. Much the same scene took place in the housekeeper’s room in Sea-View Place that had been enacted in Sivin-and-four’s little back-room at the Bank. Mrs. Meggison the cook-housekeeper unpacked and exhibited it, Bason the housemaid asked if it was pork, John Thomas replied it was panther; and when Mrs. McDermott appeared, the first question she put was how long it would keep. Now that was just what perplexed Mrs. Meggison, for she knew that a haunch of venison betokened a party and a party caused trouble, and as she considered that she was just as much away for her amusement as her mistress was, she had no idea of being involved in any such complications. So she replied “that she was really afraid it wouldn’t keep very long, indeed that it appeared to her quite ready for use, and considering the weather and the ’eat of the ’ouse p’raps the sooner it was used the better.” And as she spoke a great buzzing blue-bottle fly settled upon it and seemed to enforce the argument. “And then as to a party,” continued Mrs. Meggison, brushing it away, “we have no dish big enough to put it upon; nor indeed anything fit to set before company, nothink but the old-fashioned blue and white pattern, and as to a dessert-set, there ain’t two dishes alike—indeed I never saw what they call a furnished ’ouse so badly furnished—one with so little in it—in fact there were no pails, nor no pans, nor no peg to ’ang nothing upon, and as to the scullery it was a disgrace to be seen, and the kitchen was very little better, and the attics were shemful;” and so she ran on with such a volley of complaints that Mrs. McDermott was glad to beat a retreat at the earliest possible opportunity. It being clear that Mrs. Meggison did not incline to a party, and without the cordial aid of the cook it is little use attempting one, Mrs. McDermott had then to consider what was best to be done with the formidable haunch. Her first impulse was to pack it up and send it down to her neighbour at Privett Grove, the Rev. Dr. Wedlock, but remembering what an explosion a haunch of venison makes in the country, she was fearful it might be traced to its proper source and put down as a mere present of convenience. The same objection held good with regard to Mrs. Surfeit, Mr. Hill, Mr. Shaw, Miss Stern, indeed all the people in those parts. At last she hit upon a person on whom she thought it would be beneficially bestowed, and from whom some equivalent might be expected in return, namely, Mrs. Thomas Trattles, the champion of our now rather down-in-the-market hero, Mr. Bunting. Accordingly she had it repacked, and putting on a clean card label she directed it to “Mrs. T. Trattles, 25, Seagull Place,” omitting the date of the kill, “with Mrs. McDermott’s compliments,” and told John Thomas to deliver it, who gave a stray boy twopence for carrying it, who forthwith went along bolstering all the boys he met on the road. So, on the principle that beating a beefsteak makes it tender, the venison would be improved by the operation.

Mrs. McDermott was right in her calculations, for as soon as Jane Tongs, the maid of all work, and Mrs. Trattles had held their inquisition upon the haunch, turned it and smelt it and poked it and guessed how long it would keep, Mrs. Trattles put on her best fly-away bonnet and new black machinery-lace scarf and came trotting along to make her most grateful acknowledgments for it.

Mrs. McDermott having investigated her visitor’s shoulders from the balcony above, hinted Rosa to retire, thinking to pursue her inquiries more advantageously alone. So after the torrent of gratitude had subsided and the state of the weather been discussed, Mrs. McDermott guided the conversation among the pic-nics, the parties, the prospects of the season, and the state of the Roseberry Rocks’ heart market generally. They then condescended, as the Scotch say, on Mr. Bunting in particular. Some people are obliging enough to say anything they see other people want them to say, and Mrs. Thomas Trattles could accommodate herself to circumstances. At first when she thought Mrs. McDermott was full of him, she ran him up, then when Mrs. McDermott rather hesitated she “gave her pause,” as Hamlet says, when he considers the bare bodkin question in all its bearings. Certainly she considered he was a very eligible match, but then people might be mistaken, Mrs. McDermott knew; but then she (Mrs. Trattles) always made deductions for exaggeration and had done so in the present instance, and thought he might be fairly set down at ten or fifteen thousand a year, but say ten—ten was very comfortable; competence at least. There was no doubt he had a very fine place in Scotland—a castle—Buntingbury Castle—whether there was a deer park or not she couldn’t tell; but there were grouse, for she knew a lady who had some from it, and very good they were. The thing however could be easily ascertained if Mrs. McDermott or any of her friends had any interest in the matter. “Oh no,” Mrs. McDermott “did not wish for anything of that sort—only as Mrs. Trattles had introduced him she thought she would know something about him, not that there was anything (hem) at present (hum) and (hem)—only”—with which innuendo she left Mrs. Trattles to take up the running.

Well Mrs. Trattles would make some inquiries—she knew where to go to exactly, and of course would not compromise Mrs. McDermott; and having now got her cue she presently trotted off to contemplate her venison again and consider “what she should do with it,” as Sir Bulwer Lytton would say.

We must now introduce some more characters on the scene.