CHAPTER XXIV

THEY LOVE AND DRIVE AWAY

MRS. MCDERMOTT having chartered Joshua Buckletongue’s newly done up cane-sided landaulet, so provokingly smart that it might be taken for a private one, which is just the very thing the hirers of job carriages generally wish to avoid, there was room for our beaux inside, and Mr. Bunting having handed and tucked the voluminous ladies in, proceeded to ensconce himself in front of Rosa, leaving Mr. Goldspink to follow and take up his position opposite Mamma. John Thomas, having then carefully closed the door on the bulging crinoline, mounted the box, taking good care of his stockings, and at his nod the driver, with his half dirty berlins, got his horse by the head and proceeded to cut away to the course. Off they went with a jerk that nearly sent the gentlemen’s hats into the ladies’ laps, and they were presently worming their way among the multifarious vehicles and flights of equestrians that enliven the drive at this the witching hour of day. Every body as usual was on the move, some on foot, some in carriages, bound for the course, some for the shops, others for a crawl along the shore, some for—they didn’t know where.

The day as shown by the sea, however, was now undergoing a change. Instead of a smooth glassy surface, cold ruffling breezes flitted quickly over, and heavy rolling swells pressed onwards, breaking in great yawning lethargy waves against the shingly shore. The enterprising marine landsmen, whom no amount of bounty could coax into the navy, looked glum, passing monosyllabical words to each other, deprecatory of appearances, and then trying to tempt the unwary into their boats, under the delusion that it was “a fine day for a sail.” And, when in reply they got a rebuff, they “blowed the races,” and wondered what people could see in such work. “Nothing like leather” was not the motto for them.

Meanwhile our pleasant party jolted on, each thinking how much better it would be if there were only three. Mamma sat eyeing her competitive sons-in-law with a comfortable complacency, wondering which would be the happy ring-buyer—mentally placing Jasper’s well-ascertained wealth against Mr. Bunting’s superior manner and appearance. Still, if Bunting had the castle, and all Mrs. Trattles said, there was no saying which might be the man, and the more she thought about it the more undecided she was, and the greater dread she was in of making a mistake. A woman generally thinks she gets the wrong one whichever it is. Mr. Bunting finding that he had a long way the lead of Mr. Jasper in the matter of small talk, plied away his poetry and his pleasantries, while Jasper leant moodily back eyeing the beauty, and feeling satisfied that his money would carry him through. Money was a grand thing he had always been told, and he fully believed it. Who was this Mr. Bunting, he should like to know. A mere idle dangler, he’d be bound to say. Just the sort of man for ladies to make a convenience of. And he looked at Bunting as if very little of his company would satisfy him.

A sudden turn to the left presently cut our turfites out of the quiet-going current of society, and brought the old horse to his bearings against the collar. The ascent of Mont Blanc then commenced. The dash of driving was over, and the toiling one-horse travellers had to undergo the humiliation of being passed at a trot by the “pair oss powers,” while they in turn were eclipsed by Shadrac Absolam, the hook-nosed keeper of the Turkish Saloon and Oyster-rooms, who with a select party of cigar-smoking Israelites dashed past in a yellow barouche-and-four with dirty merry-Andrew-looking post-boys, whipping, shouting, and spurring as if they were trying to catch an express train; w-h-i-sh! what a dust they raise as they go, and how complacently the Jews loll with their great arms over the sides, like half-drunken sailors on a spree. The contortions of people unused to carriages are very amusing. Cutting a dash up-hill, however, is at the best a sorry performance—an attempt that had better be abandoned for more favourable ground. So thought the majority of our pleasure-seekers, and straining, and coaxing, and cracking, and quartering became more the order of the day than cantering. Even when the acclivity was accomplished, there was no room for the panting posters to recover their wind and make a run in, so cargo after cargo was deposited in a very sedate bathing-machine-like way. But if the horses lacked wind, the downs were well supplied, and angry fitful gusts now swept over the unprotected open, increasing in intensity with each fresh attempt. The wind soon began to tell. The Union Jack on our “Hic et ubique” friend, Mr. Baccoman’s marine villa, as he called his tent, was the first to go floating and sweeping, and rising and sinking along the flat, followed by an applauding pack of boys, all anxious to aid its escape, until it caught itself against one of the white rails of the course. Scarcely was its capture effected than the blue and yellow flag on the Hambletonian and Diamond tent followed suit; next half the red pennon went off the Fox and Hounds’ Pavilion; when old Boreas, as if angry at not effecting his full purpose, took the rotten canvas suddenly in the rear, and with a well-directed whisk, sent the whole concern flying in the air, leaving the jolly topers exposed in a sort of cage resembling the framework of a lady’s Crinoline. People then saw the storm was something to care about, and forthwith there was a running to the pegs, and tightening of ropes and shortening of sail, and hauling down of ensigns; while the rival owners of the two fattest boys under the sun, fraternised with their respective caravans, lest they should both be blown away together. Roar, blast, roar; went the wind, keen, sharp, and driving, silencing the drums and trumpets of the shows, retiring the troops, and sending the acrobats, Ethiopians, organ-grinders, monkey-masters, and Aunt Sally-men, here, there, and everywhere for shelter; while the card-sharpers, and thimble-riggers plied their games in out-of-the-way places, free from the noxious ken of the inquisitive police. Amid this aërial conflict, the carriages continued to set down in long-drawn file at the back of the Stand, and after a series of those little pitching stoppages and short progresses, that announce a near approach, the blue-armed hand of policemen at the door-handle at length arrested the further progress of our friends, and the clanging of the iron steps invited their descent. John Thomas then jumped down from the box, and holding his hat on with one hand, he assisted the descent of the Crinoline with the other.

As people always think there is more snow falls at their front-door than anywhere else, so the troublesome wind always seems to touch our nobility more than any one else, and certainly on this occasion our fair friends had good cause to complain of the manner in which they were met at the Stand, and, with the aid of their hoops, nearly blown up into mid-air. But for the prompt vigilance of Mr. Bunting, who saw by other alighters what was likely to happen, there would have been inevitable discomposure of the rayment; but Mr. Bunting having very judiciously taken Miss Rosa’s flounced parasol, kerchief, and bouquet ere she attempted to alight, he popped out of the carriage, leaving her with both hands at liberty to steer her voluminous dress, and then secured her on his arm as soon as her taper foot touched the ground, leaving Mr. Goldspink to perform the same good offices for Mamma. Mr. Bunting then pressed on through the passage-obstructing crowd, crying, “Make way, please!—make way!” with a wave of the hand, that as good as said, “Please look at me and my astonishing beauty!” And forthwith the hurrying, draught-sucked ladies took furtive glances over their shoulders to see who was coming, each aspiring belle inwardly fearing she was going to be eclipsed, while the miscellaneous assortment of men—all, however, alive to the charms of the fair—winked and nudged each other, declaring Rosa was a clipper, and wondering how it was that Admiration Jack always got hold of such pretty girls. Mamma and jolly Jasper quickly followed, benefiting by the sensation caused by Miss Rosa’s appearance, and picking up the compliments lavished on her as she passed. How glad Mamma was that Privett Grove wanted painting!