CHAPTER LXXVII

APPLETON HALL HOSPITALITY

AS parties in the country are only of rare occurrence, there was generally a dinner-party at Appleton Hall every hunting-day, to which sportsmen were asked, or invited themselves by sending or leaving their names with Ambrose the butler, on or before the morning of the day. The table was usually laid for six, which was easily extended to eight or ten, if the harvest of the hunting-field yielded a greater crop of guests.

Mr. Jessop being an even-going man, with the word “comfort” for his motto, there was never any fuss or hurry of inconvenience, Jovey and his Jug always having a good dinner, even if they sat down to it alone. Monsieur Ragout, the cook, of course liked to know when there was a new-comer, so that he might put on the extra steam of astonishment, otherwise the culinary current ran pretty evenly.

When our re-arranged hero descended the grand staircase, he found Ambrose and a drab and red liveried footman waiting to receive the candles of the inmates, and to meet and announce the out-of-door guests on their arrival. Receiving Mr. Bunting’s candle with a bow, and handing it to the footman to set down, Ambrose conducted our friend across the spacious entrance hall towards a lofty, richly-carved, but very dirty door on the right. This being well thrown open, Mr. Bunting entered a large well-proportioned drawing-room, whose once costly gilding and decorations were almost made respectable by the force of the fire, and the light that was now thrown upon them. It was, however, but a momentary triumph, for a second glance showed the indignities to which the room had been subjected, as well by the girls as the nuns, and the cold-water-cure gentleman. The hundred guinea mirror was starred in three places, the white marble chimney-piece was chipped and scratched, the crest in the middle was wholly gone, while the coloured coat-of-arms was nearly obliterated.

Whatever extravagance there might have been in the furniture in former days, there was nothing of that sort now, for Mr. Jessop had discarded all the faded finery, substituting good cocoa - nut - matting for the fine Kidderminster carpet, whose holes were always tripping people up, chasséed the footstools and ottoman, and sent all the invalided furniture up stairs into the garret. It now looked more like a ball-room with a little hired rout furniture than anything else.

Some people look better in hunting things, others worse; Mr. Jessop, for instance, looked better, the Jug worse. Mr. Bunting scarcely knew the former, as he now stood in the usual British ease-before-elegance style warming himself at the blazing fire. Neither would Mr. Bunting have recognised the Jug in his clerical costumed upper half, but for the notorious nankins below. Mr. Jessop, we may state, did not affect a dress-uniform, not wishing to promote the growth of cock-tails in the country. His theory was, that no man should be allowed to ride in scarlet who had not first ridden three seasons in black, an arrangement that he thought would be greatly productive of sport, for very few men, he observed, entered a fourth season—so that all their mischief was confined to the three years, which in all probability they would not take if they were not allowed to ride in red. So he always set the example of dressing quite plainly, not even wearing a hunt-button of an evening, and now, if he had been felt, he would have been found to be enveloped in black tweed, all except a cloth coat and black silk cravat.

Making way for Mr. Bunting at the fire, as he advanced up the room, Mr. Jessop hoped he had found all he wanted in his bed-room, adding, that as it was not a very sumptuously furnished house, he begged he would ring, or rather call for whatever was deficient; whereupon Mr. Bunting assured him there was every requirement, since his good friend Mr. Boyston had been good enough to lend him his boot-jack, which, he informed the owner, he had put safely into the drawer as requested: whereupon Mr. Jessop laughed, and said Boyston was very particular about his boot-jack, and had once nearly lost it by lending it to a friend. He then turned the conversation upon the more agreeable topic of dinner, asking Mr. Bunting if he was ready for his, whereupon Mr. Jessop made the grand announcement, that it was the rule of the house never to wait for anyone, adding, that it was wonderful what an effect it had in procuring punctuality.

The Jug then hauled a great turnip of a watch out of his nankin-trousered fob by the big sealed jack-chain to which it was attached, and first putting it to his ear, to be sure it was going, which was not always the case, the Jug sometimes forgetting to wind it up, he said it only wanted seven minutes to dinner.

“They’ll all come in a rush,” observed Mr. Jessop. “Wheeler brings Lightfoot, and Langford brings Daintry.” When Mr. Bunting now thinking it was as cheap sitting as standing, advanced towards a scanty line of bird’s-eye maple chairs ranged against the wall, from which he drew one, to bring to the fire.

“Stop half a minute!” cried Mr. Jessop, darting forward—“stop half a minute!” adding, “let’s see that that chair will carry you, for it’s more than all the chairs in this room will do:” adding, “if you’d seen old Archey Ellenger go down, cup of coffee in hand, the other night, you’d have been amused. The old sinner looked as if he thought he was wanted.”

Mr. Jessop then took the chair, and, after trying its legs all round, as he would a horse’s, stamped it soundly on all fours, saying—

“Yes, I think it’ll do.”

Mr. Bunting then deposited himself gingerly upon it, and ere three minutes more had elapsed, the sound of wheels outside was followed by the shuffling of feet within, and a faint sound of voices presently swelled into chorus as the coming party advanced to the drawing-room door.

“When are you going to get your door-bell replaced?” asked George Wheeler, as Jovey advanced to greet him.

“Hang the bell!—no ringing allowed here,” replied Mr. Jessop, shaking hands, adding, “How are you all? What sort of a night is it?”

“Dinner is on the table,” now announced Ambrose, advancing pompously up to the glad group.

“I told you so!” said Mr. Jessop, glancing at his watch, and showing Mr. Bunting that it was half-past six o’clock to a minute. “Come!” added he, taking Mr. Bunting by the arm, “let me show you the way;” so saying, he led him out of the drawing-room across the marble-flagged hall into the dining-room on the opposite side of the way. The spacious room was a perfect blaze of light. Ambrose had just given the fire a polishing stir, and which was lending its radiance to the effulgence of the wax and oil.

On the massive carved side-board at the far end stood the splendid Rough and Ready-shire testimonial—a magnificent candelabra, flanked by a profusion of beautiful glass and family plate.

“Where will you sit? Near the fire or from it?” asked our host, offering his guest the choice of seats at the round table, adding, “any of these chairs will carry you, for our friend Boyston there tries them all at high-pressure, and he rides fourteen stone in nankins.”

Mr. Bunting chose the chair with his back to the fire, and the red-coats and yellow facings of the Duke’s men drawing up, the dark coats followed suit, and the Jug having said grace, quietly slipped his nankins under the table, and began to help the soup—while Ambrose and the footmen plied the plates, and lap, lap, sup, sup, was the order of the day. The dining, like the drawing-room, was large and dirty, the latter being more apparent when contrasted with the brightness of the plate and the snowy whiteness of the linen.

The Hydropathic gentleman used to sluice his patients in the bed-room above, and a continuous flow of drippings had expanded into a sort of large map of Europe on the ceiling. But it is now no time for airified criticism, looking at plaster, and looking at portraits, belongs to a much later period of the evening—these hungry gentlemen are much better employed in discussing Monsieur Ragout’s varied and excellent dishes, all sent in beautifully hot, and washing them down with copious draughts of sweet and dry. Monsieur had indeed exerted himself to the utmost, nor had Mrs. Allspice been behind in the sweets and savouries, for which she was so justly famous, and when the Jug’s nankins again appeared, all the guests did feel extremely thankful for what they had received.

They then sat at ease, Wheeler turning to Lightfoot, and Daintry to Gumley, each couple with a distinct topic of conversation, while the table was arranged for the second part of the entertainment. A neat dessert, of which nice thin water-biscuits formed a prominent part, being set on, a goodly array of richly-cut decanters presently set sail from before Mr. Jessop—to the toast of “fox-hunting,” which immediately raised the doings of the morning, prematurely cut short by the quick announcement of dinner, and the importance of discussing the delicacies under the Jug’s injunction of the silent system. Then each man gave his own version of his own doings, explaining how it happened he wasn’t up at the finish, one having lost a shoe, another having lost two, a third having followed a bad leader, and vowing he would always take a line of his own for the future,—a resolution very often come to after a good dinner.

The Jug, who was a steady “Port-if-you-please man,” found a companion in Old Fullerton, while the rest adhered to the excellent Claret, which circulated briskly—the Jug keeping himself awake by repeated excursions to the bell, which sometimes rang and sometimes didn’t—but, nevertheless, always produced the butler. The pace having somewhat slackened, devil’d biscuits made their appearance, which gave a slight impetus to the evening, and carried the guests through another bottle of Latour. At length the map of Europe began to be studied, the height and length of the room discussed, with occasional conjectures indulged in as to what would have been the fate of the house if Mr. Jessop had not taken it. Sherry then began to be asked for, clean glasses sought, watches slyly looked at, and other symptoms of complete satisfaction given. The Jug and Fullerton still held on with their second bottle of Port, but the former seeing the general inclination, trudged away to the old bell-place, and, on Ambrose appearing, said, “We’ll take tea and coffee in here, if you please.”

Ambrose then retired, and presently reappeared with his attendant aides-de-camp bearing the massive articles of the family plate-chest covered with the usual paraphernalia of the drawing-room, whereupon parties arose from the dining-table, shook their legs, took a turn up and down the room, agreeing that cocoa-nut-matting made a very good carpet, and then drew up to the salvers and sweets—creaming and sugaring themselves, each man to his mind. Meanwhile, the Jug having buzzed the bottle, gradually sunk into a profound sleep, at his end of the table, with his right hand on the glass, and was presently dreaming o’er the events of the day, recalling Mr. Jessop’s oft-repeated injunctions in going to cover, to keep the field quiet, and not let them press on the hounds, when the Jug, fancying himself again at the cover-side, with the Prince breaking away after the fox, exclaimed, “Hold hard, you beggar with the beard!” and raising his glass like a whip, dashed the whole contents full into his own face! Up the Jug jumped half blinded with wine, which streamed from his visage down on to the unfortunate nankins, looking such a figure of fun that even the most sympathising of the guests could not help laughing at him. Mr. Jessop, however, who was used to such scenes, just gave him a napkin to rub himself dry, which the Jug proceeded to do, merely observing he “must have been dreaming.” And this observation operating as a hint upon the dinner guests, there was presently a calling for carriages, great-coating, good-nighting, and getting away-ing. It being then past eleven o’clock, and Mr. Bunting declining any further potations, Mr. Jessop and he retired to bed, while the Jug went to have a quiet drink and a rock in his own room.