A Little Dinner at Timmins's Read online

  That lady was Mrs. Gashleigh. From that day the miserable Fitzroy

  was in her power; and she resumed a sway over his house, to shake

  off which had been the object of his life, and the result of many

  battles. And for a mere freak--(for, on going into Fubsby's a week

  afterwards he found the Peris drinking tea out of blue cups, and

  eating stale bread and butter, when his absurd passion instantly

  vanished)--I say, for a mere freak, the most intolerable burden of

  his life was put on his shoulders again--his mother-in-law.

  On the day before the little dinner took place--and I promise you

  we shall come to it in the very next chapter--a tall and elegant

  middle-aged gentleman, who might have passed for an earl but that

  there was a slight incompleteness about his hands and feet, the

  former being uncommonly red, and the latter large and irregular,

  was introduced to Mrs. Timmins by the page, who announced him as

  Mr. Truncheon.

  "I'm Truncheon, Ma'am," he said, with a low bow.

  "Indeed!" said Rosa.

  "About the dinner M'm, from Fubsby's, M'm. As you have no butler,

  M'm, I presume you will wish me to act as sich. I shall bring two

  persons as haids to-morrow; both answers to the name of John. I'd

  best, if you please, inspect the premisis, and will think you to

  allow your young man to show me the pantry and kitching."

  Truncheon spoke in a low voice, and with the deepest and most

  respectful melancholy. There is not much expression in his eyes,

  but from what there is, you would fancy that he was oppressed by a

  secret sorrow. Rosa trembled as she surveyed this gentleman's

  size, his splendid appearance, and gravity. "I am sure," she said,

  "I never shall dare to ask him to hand a glass of water." Even

  Mrs. Gashleigh, when she came on the morning of the actual dinner-

  party, to superintend matters, was cowed, and retreated from the

  kitchen before the calm majesty of Truncheon.

  And yet that great man was, like all the truly great--affable.

  He put aside his coat and waistcoat (both of evening cut, and

  looking prematurely splendid as he walked the streets in noonday),

  and did not disdain to rub the glasses and polish the decanters,

  and to show young Buttons the proper mode of preparing these

  articles for a dinner. And while he operated, the maids, and

  Buttons, and cook, when she could--and what had she but the

  vegetables to boil?--crowded round him, and listened with wonder as

  he talked of the great families as he had lived with. That man, as

  they saw him there before them, had been cab-boy to Lord Tantallan,

  valet to the Earl of Bareacres, and groom of the chambers to the

  Duchess Dowager of Fitzbattleaxe. Oh, it was delightful to hear

  Mr. Truncheon!

  VI.

  On the great, momentous, stupendous day of the dinner, my beloved

  female reader may imagine that Fitzroy Timmins was sent about his

  business at an early hour in the morning, while the women began to

  make preparations to receive their guests. "There will be no need

  of your going to Fubsby's," Mrs. Gashleigh said to him, with a look

  that drove him out of doors. "Everything that we require has been

  ordered THERE! You will please to be back here at six o'clock, and

  not sooner: and I presume you will acquiesce in my arrangements

  about the WINE?"

  "O yes, mamma," said the prostrate son-in-law.

  "In so large a party--a party beyond some folks MEANS--expensive

  WINES are ABSURD. The light sherry at 26s., the champagne at 42s.;

  and you are not to go beyond 36s. for the claret and port after

  dinner. Mind, coffee will be served; and you come up stairs after

  two rounds of the claret."

  "Of course, of course," acquiesced the wretch; and hurried out of

  the house to his chambers, and to discharge the commissions with

  which the womankind had intrusted him.

  As for Mrs. Gashleigh, you might have heard her bawling over the

  house the whole day long. That admirable woman was everywhere: in

  the kitchen until the arrival of Truncheon, before whom she would

  not retreat without a battle; on the stairs; in Fitzroy's dressing-

  room; and in Fitzroy minor's nursery, to whom she gave a dose of

  her own composition, while the nurse was sent out on a pretext to

  make purchases of garnish for the dishes to be served for the

  little dinner. Garnish for the dishes! As if the folks at

  Fubsby's could not garnish dishes better than Gashleigh, with her

  stupid old-world devices of laurel-leaves, parsley, and cut

  turnips! Why, there was not a dish served that day that was not

  covered over with skewers, on which truffles, crayfish, mushrooms,

  and forced-meat were impaled. When old Gashleigh went down with

  her barbarian bunches of holly and greens to stick about the meats,

  even the cook saw their incongruity, and, at Truncheon's orders,

  flung the whole shrubbery into the dust-house, where, while poking

  about the premises, you may be sure Mrs. G. saw it.

  Every candle which was to be burned that night (including the

  tallow candle, which she said was a good enough bed-light for

  Fitzroy) she stuck into the candlesticks with her own hands, giving

  her own high-shouldered plated candlesticks of the year 1798 the

  place of honor. She upset all poor Rosa's floral arrangements,

  turning the nosegays from one vase into the other without any pity,

  and was never tired of beating, and pushing, and patting, and

  WHAPPING the curtain and sofa draperies into shape in the little

  drawing-room.

  In Fitz's own apartments she revelled with peculiar pleasure. It

  has been described how she had sacked his study and pushed away his

  papers, some of which, including three cigars, and the commencement

  of an article for the Law Magazine, "Lives of the Sheriffs'

  Officers," he has never been able to find to this day. Mamma now

  went into the little room in the back regions, which is Fitz's

  dressing-room, (and was destined to be a cloak-room,) and here she

  rummaged to her heart's delight.

  In an incredibly short space of time she examined all his outlying

  pockets, drawers, and letters; she inspected his socks and

  handkerchiefs in the top drawers; and on the dressing-table, his

  razors, shaving-strop, and hair-oil. She carried off his silver-

  topped scent-bottle out of his dressing-case, and a half-dozen of

  his favorite pills (which Fitz possesses in common with every well-

  regulated man), and probably administered them to her own family.

  His boots, glossy pumps, and slippers she pushed into the shower-

  bath, where the poor fellow stepped into them the next morning, in

  the midst of a pool in which they were lying. The baby was found

  sucking his boot-hooks the next day in the nursery; and as for the

  bottle of varnish for his shoes, (which he generally paints upon

  the trees himself, having a pretty taste in that way,) it could

  never be found to the present hour but it was remarked that the

  young Master Gashleighs, when they came home for the holidays,

  always wore lac
quered highlows; and the reader may draw his

  conclusions from THAT fact.

  In the course of the day all the servants gave Mrs. Timmins

  warning.

  The cook said she coodn't abear it no longer, 'aving Mrs. G. always

  about her kitching, with her fingers in all the saucepans. Mrs. G.

  had got her the place, but she preferred one as Mrs. G. didn't get

  for her.

  The nurse said she was come to nuss Master Fitzroy, and knew her

  duty; his grandmamma wasn't his nuss, and was always aggrawating

  her,--missus must shoot herself elsewhere.

  The housemaid gave utterance to the same sentiments in language

  more violent.

  Little Buttons bounced up to his mistress, said he was butler of

  the family, Mrs. G. was always poking about his pantry, and dam if

  he'd stand it.

  At every moment Rosa grew more and more bewildered. The baby

  howled a great deal during the day. His large china christening-

  bowl was cracked by Mrs. Gashleigh altering the flowers in it, and

  pretending to be very cool, whilst her hands shook with rage.

  "Pray go on, mamma," Rosa said with tears in her eyes. "Should you

  like to break the chandelier?"

  "Ungrateful, unnatural child!" bellowed the other. "Only that I

  know you couldn't do without me, I'd leave the house this minute."

  "As you wish," said Rosa; but Mrs. G. DIDN'T wish: and in this

  juncture Truncheon arrived.

  That officer surveyed the dining-room, laid the cloth there with

  admirable precision and neatness; ranged the plate on the sideboard

  with graceful accuracy, but objected to that old thing in the

  centre, as he called Mrs. Gashleigh's silver basket, as cumbrous

  and useless for the table, where they would want all the room they

  could get.

  Order was not restored to the house, nor, indeed, any decent

  progress made, until this great man came: but where there was a

  revolt before, and a general disposition to strike work and to yell

  out defiance against Mrs. Gashleigh, who was sitting bewildered and

  furious in the drawing-room--where there was before commotion, at

  the appearance of the master-spirit, all was peace and unanimity:

  the cook went back to her pans, the housemaid busied herself with

  the china and glass, cleaning some articles and breaking others,

  Buttons sprang up and down the stairs, obedient to the orders of

  his chief, and all things went well and in their season.

  At six, the man with the wine came from Binney and Latham's. At a

  quarter past six, Timmins himself arrived.

  At half past six he might have been heard shouting out for his

  varnished boots but we know where THOSE had been hidden--and for

  his dressing things; but Mrs. Gashleigh had put them away.

  As in his vain inquiries for these articles he stood shouting,

  "Nurse! Buttons! Rosa my dear!" and the most fearful execrations up

  and down the stairs, Mr. Truncheon came out on him.

  "Egscuse me, sir," says he, "but it's impawsable. We can't dine

  twenty at that table--not if you set 'em out awinder, we can't."

  "What's to be done?" asked Fitzroy, in an agony; "they've all said

  they'd come."

  "Can't do it," said the other; "with two top and bottom--and your

  table is as narrow as a bench--we can't hold more than heighteen,

  and then each person's helbows will be into his neighbor's cheer."

  "Rosa! Mrs. Gashleigh!" cried out Timmins, "come down and speak to

  this gentl--this--"

  "Truncheon, sir," said the man.

  The women descended from the drawing-room. "Look and see, ladies,"

  he said, inducting them into the dining-room: "there's the room,

  there's the table laid for heighteen, and I defy you to squeege in

  more."

  "One person in a party always fails," said Mrs. Gashleigh, getting

  alarmed.

  "That's nineteen," Mr. Truncheon remarked. "We must knock another

  hoff, Ma'm." And he looked her hard in the face.

  Mrs. Gashleigh was very red and nervous, and paced, or rather

  squeezed round the table (it was as much as she could do). The

  chairs could not be put any closer than they were. It was

  impossible, unless the convive sat as a centre-piece in the middle,

  to put another guest at that table.

  "Look at that lady movin' round, sir. You see now the difficklty.

  If my men wasn't thinner, they couldn't hoperate at all," Mr.

  Truncheon observed, who seemed to have a spite to Mrs. Gashleigh.

  "What is to be done?" she said, with purple accents.

  "My dearest mamma," Rosa cried out, "you must stop at home--how

  sorry I am!" And she shot one glance at Fitzroy, who shot another

  at the great Truncheon, who held down his eyes. "We could manage

  with heighteen," he said, mildly.

  Mrs. Gashleigh gave a hideous laugh.

  . . . . . .

  She went away. At eight o'clock she was pacing at the corner of

  the street, and actually saw the company arrive. First came the

  Topham Sawyers, in their light-blue carriage with the white

  hammercloth and blue and white ribbons--their footmen drove the

  house down with the knocking.

  Then followed the ponderous and snuff-colored vehicle, with faded

  gilt wheels and brass earl's coronets all over it, the conveyance

  of the House of Bungay. The Countess of Bungay and daughter

  stepped out of the carriage. The fourteenth Earl of Bungay

  couldn't come.

  Sir Thomas and Lady Gulpin's fly made its appearance, from which

  issued the General with his star, and Lady Gulpin in yellow satin.

  The Rowdys' brougham followed next; after which Mrs. Butt's

  handsome equipage drove up.

  The two friends of the house, young gentlemen from the Temple, now

  arrived in cab No. 9996. We tossed up, in fact, which should pay

  the fare.

  Mr. Ranville Ranville walked, and was dusting his boots as the

  Templars drove up. Lord Castlemouldy came out of a twopenny

  omnibus. Funnyman, the wag, came last, whirling up rapidly in a

  hansom, just as Mrs. Gashleigh, with rage in her heart, was

  counting that two people had failed, and that there were only

  seventeen after all.

  Mr. Truncheon passed our names to Mr. Billiter, who bawled them out

  on the stairs. Rosa was smiling in a pink dress, and looking as

  fresh as an angel, and received her company with that grace which

  has always characterized her.

  The moment of the dinner arrived, old Lady Bungay scuffled off on

  the arm of Fitzroy, while the rear was brought up by Rosa and Lord

  Castlemouldy, of Ballyshanvanvoght Castle, co, Tipperary. Some

  fellows who had the luck took down ladies to dinner. I was not

  sorry to be out of the way of Mrs. Rowdy, with her dandified airs,

  or of that high and mighty county princess, Mrs. Topham Sawyer.

  VII.

  Of course it does not become the present writer, who has partaken

  of the best entertainment which his friends could supply, to make

  fun of their (somewhat ostentatious, as it must be confessed)

  hospitality. If they gave a dinner beyond their means, it is no
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  business of mine. I hate a man who goes and eats a friend's meat,

  and then blabs the secrets of the mahogany. Such a man deserves

  never to be asked to dinner again; and though at the close of a

  London season that seems no great loss, and you sicken of a

  whitebait as you would of a whale--yet we must always remember

  that there's another season coming, and hold our tongues for the

  present.

  As for describing, then, the mere victuals on Timmins's table, that

  would be absurd. Everybody--(I mean of the genteel world of

  course, of which I make no doubt the reader is a polite ornament)--

  Everybody has the same everything in London. You see the same

  coats, the same dinners, the same boiled fowls and mutton, the same

  cutlets, fish, and cucumbers, the same lumps of Wenham Lake ice,

  &c. The waiters with white neck-cloths are as like each other

  everywhere as the peas which they hand round with the ducks of the

  second course. Can't any one invent anything new?

  The only difference between Timmins's dinner and his neighbor's

  was, that he had hired, as we have said, the greater part of the

  plate, and that his cowardly conscience magnified faults and

  disasters of which no one else probably took heed.

  But Rosa thought, from the supercilious air with which Mrs. Topham

  Sawyer was eying the plate and other arrangements, that she was

  remarking the difference of the ciphers on the forks and spoons--

  which had, in fact, been borrowed from every one of Fitzroy's

  friends--(I know, for instance, that he had my six, among others,

  and only returned five, along with a battered old black-pronged

  plated abomination, which I have no doubt belongs to Mrs.

  Gashleigh, whom I hereby request to send back mine in exchange)--

  their guilty consciences, I say, made them fancy that every one was

  spying out their domestic deficiencies: whereas, it is probable

  that nobody present thought of their failings at all. People never

  do: they never see holes in their neighbors' coats--they are too

  indolent, simple, and charitable.

  Some things, however, one could not help remarking: for instance,

  though Fitz is my closest friend, yet could I avoid seeing and being

  amused by his perplexity and his dismal efforts to be facetious?

  His eye wandered all round the little room with quick uneasy

  glances, very different from those frank and jovial looks with which

  he is accustomed to welcome you to a leg of mutton; and Rosa, from

  the other end of the table, and over the flowers, entree dishes, and

  wine-coolers, telegraphed him with signals of corresponding alarm.

  Poor devils! why did they ever go beyond that leg of mutton?

  Funnyman was not brilliant in conversation, scarcely opening his

  mouth, except for the purposes of feasting. The fact is, our

  friend Tom Dawson was at table, who knew all his stories, and in

  his presence the greatest wag is always silent and uneasy.

  Fitz has a very pretty wit of his own, and a good reputation on

  circuit; but he is timid before great people. And indeed the

  presence of that awful Lady Bungay on his right hand was enough

  to damp him. She was in court mourning (for the late Prince of

  Schlippenschloppen). She had on a large black funereal turban

  and appurtenances, and a vast breastplate of twinkling,

  twiddling black bugles. No wonder a man could not be gay in

  talking to HER.

  Mrs. Rowdy and Mrs. Topham Sawyer love each other as women do

  who have the same receiving nights, and ask the same society;

  they were only separated by Ranville Ranville, who tries to be

  well with both and they talked at each other across him.

  Topham and Rowdy growled out a conversation about Rum, Ireland,

  and the Navigation Laws, quite unfit for print. Sawyer never

  speaks three words without mentioning the House and the Speaker.

  The Irish Peer said nothing (which was a comfort) but he ate and

  drank of everything which came in his way; and cut his usual