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The Queen's Scarlet, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 3. Two Paces To The Rear |
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_ CHAPTER THREE. TWO PACES TO THE REAR After plunging as we did head first into the great trouble of Sir Richard Frayne's life, I must ask my readers to let me go back, in military parlance, "two paces to the rear," so as to enter into a few explanations as to the position of the cousins, promising that the interpolation shall be neither tedious nor long. Only a short time before Richard Frayne struck that unlucky blow, general-valet Jerry entered the room with-- "Here you are, Sir Richard, two pairs; and your shoes is getting thin in the sole." "Then I must have a new pair, Jerry." "Why don't you have 'arf dozen pairs in on account, sir, like Mr Mark do?" "Look here, Jerry, if you worry me now, I shall throw something at you." Jeremiah Brigley, who had just put down two pairs of newly-polished shoes, rubbed his nose meditatively with the cuff of his striped morning jacket, and then tapped an itching place on his head with the clothes-brush he held in his hand, as he stared down at the owner of the shoes--a good-looking, fair, intent lad of nearly eighteen, busy over a contrivance which rested upon a pile of mathematical and military books on the table of the well-furnished room overlooking the Cathedral Close of Primchilsea busy city. The place was fitted up as a study, and a curtain shut off a smaller room suggestive of a bed within; while over the chimney-piece were foils opposite single-sticks; boxing-gloves hung in pairs, bruised and swollen, as if suffering from their last knocking about; a cavalry sabre and a dragoon officer's helmet were on the wall opposite the window. Books, pictures, and a statuette or two made the place attractive, and here and there were objects which told of the occupant of that room's particular aim. For beneath the helmet and sabre stood a piano open, and with a piece of music on the stand--a movement by Chopin; a violoncello leaned in its case in one corner, a cornet-a-piston showed itself, like an arrangement in brass macaroni packed in red velvet upon a side-table; and in front of it lay open a small, flat flute-case, wherein were the two halves of a silver-keyed instrument side by side, in company with what seemed to be its young one--so exact in resemblance was the silver-mounted piccolo made to fit into the case. There were other signs about of the occupant's love of the sweet science; for there were a tuning-fork, a pitch-pipe, and a metronome on the chimney-piece, a large musical-box on the front of the book-case, some nondescript pipes, reeds, and objects of percussion; and, to show that other tastes were cultivated to some extent, there were, besides, several golf-clubs, fishing-rods, a cricket-bat, and a gun-case. But the owner of all sat intent upon the contrivance before him upon the table, and Jerry scratched his nose now with the edge of the clothes-brush. "Beg pardon, S'Richard--" "What the dickens do you want now?" cried the young man, impatiently. "On'y wanted to 'mind you of what I said lars week, S'Richard." "Didn't I tell you to talk to me when I wasn't busy?" "Yes, S'Richard; but, you see, you never ain't not busy. When you ain't at your books, getting ready for the gov'nor, you're out with Mr Mark Frayne, sir, or some of the other gents; and when you are at home here, sir, you're always tunin' up, an' windin' up, or 'venting something." "Well, there, I am, Jerry," said the young man smoothing his perplexed-looking brow. "Now, then, what is it?" "Only this, S'Richard," said the man, eagerly, and he now had laced up the shoes he had brought in and thrust them beneath the curtain. "You see, my father he used to say as it was a chap's dooty to try and rise in the world." "Yes, of course," said Richard Frayne, thoughtfully taking up a piece of the contrivance upon which he had been at work. "And he said, S'Richard, as you ought to be on the look-out." "Yes. Well?" "Well, S'Richard, that's it; I'm on the look-out." "What for, Jerry?" "To better myself, S'Richard. You see, it's all very well being here valetin' for the young gents and you, S'Richard; and I s'pose, as far as character goes, there ain't a better coach nowhere than master, as they says passes more young gents than anyone." "No; Mr Draycott is a very clever scholar, Jerry," said the young man, looking as if he wished the servant would go. "Well?" "Well, sir, that's all very well for a character for a noo place, but a chap don't want to be cleanin' boots all his life when they ain't shoes." "No, Jerry; that would be rather a monotonous career. But what do you want me to do?" "Well, S'Richard, it's making very bold like; but I can't help liking you, sir, and 'fore long you'll be passing and getting appointed to your regiment; and as I've got a great taste for soljering myself, I thought I'd ask you to take me with you." "You--you want to be a soldier, Jerry?" "Yes, sir. Why not?" said the man, drawing himself up, and brushing the tuft of hair over the top of his forehead, so that it stood up fiercely, and gave his whole head some resemblance to the conventional naming shell of military ornamentation. "Of course, I couldn't think of a military eddication and going to a coach, S'Richard, and passing; but lots of chaps have risen from the ranks." "Yes, I suppose so," said the young man, who looked more bored and fidgety; "but I don't think I ought to promise to take you, Jerry. I don't know that I shall pass and get my commission." "Oh, yes, you will, sir." "Of course, I should like to have you with me, Jerry, because you understand me so well." "I do, S'Richard; and I allus feel proud o' doin' for you. I often watches you when you goes out, and I says to myself, 'Look at him! I cut him, and brushed him, and shaved him'--not as there's much to shave yet, sir." "No, Jerry," said the young man, passing his hand over his upper lip and chin; "it's rather a work of supererogation at present." "A what, sir?" "Work of supererogation, Jerry." "Exactly, S'Richard; that's just what it is. But don't you get out of heart, sir. I was smooth as you once, and now if I goes two days you might grate ginger with me!" "Well, we will see," said the young man; "but if you want to--to--" "Better myself, S'Richard; that's it!" "Don't let another opportunity go." "Oh, yes, I shall, S'Richard! You said you'd like to have me, and that's enough for me! I'd wait for you, sir, if I had to stop till you was a hundred! But, beg pardon, S'Richard, is that there to make a patent mouse-trap?" "Which?" said the young man angrily. "That there thing as you're making, S'Richard." "Pooh! what nonsense! Jerry, you are not musical." "Well, sir, I ain't a moosician, as you may say, but I was a dab at the Jew's-harp once, and I've got a very tidy flootina 'cordion now; only I ain't no time to practise." "No, Jerry," said the young man, thoughtfully, as he laid out his little pieces of mechanism on the table; "this is an attempt to invent a means of producing musical sounds by percussion." "With p'cussion-caps, sir?" "No, no! by blows." "Oh, I see, S'Richard." "I have often thought that more might be done, Jerry, in the way of obtaining musical notes." "Of course, S'Richard." "You see," said the young man, dreamily, "we produce them by vibration." "Yes, S'Richard, and whistling, and fiddling, and blowing trombones." "Exactly; that is all connected with vibration." "Oh, is it, sir? I s'pose you're right; but then there's pyanners, sir, and orgins, sir, street and otherwise!" "Exactly, Jerry," said the young student drily. "There, I'm busy now; I'll remember what you said, and, if I can have you with me, I will." "Thank you kindly, S'Richard. Don't you be afraid as I won't do my dooty by you!" "I won't, Jerry. Then that's all, isn't it?" "Well, S'Richard, not quite all; there's your cousin, sir--Mr Mark, sir." "Well, what about him?" "Only this, S'Richard: if you'd speak to him, and tell him as servants ain't doormats, I should be greatly obliged." "What do you mean?" "Only this, S'Richard, as it's getting beyond bearing! I don't want to go complaining to Mr Draycott, sir, but there is bounds to everything! Havin' all kinds of hard words chucked at you--'fools' and 'idgits' and 'jackasses'--and when it comes to boots and hair-brushes, I says as it's rough enough; but when it's a soda-water bottle and a plate, I can't stand it, and I won't!" "What had you been doing to annoy my cousin?" "Nothin', S'Richard. I just work for him same as I do for my other gentlemen, or for you, sir; and you never threw a bad word at me in your life--let alone boots!" "Did the things hit you, Jerry?" "No, S'Richard, I can't say as they hit me; but they hurt me, all the same. Servants has feelings same as gents has." "I'm very sorry, Jerry. Mr Frayne is a little irritable sometimes." "If you made it often, S'Richard, you wouldn't be very far out." "Well, often then. His studies worry him, I suppose." Jerry made a peculiar grimace. "And he has had a little trouble once or twice with Mr Draycott." "Yes, S'Richard, he ayve." "There, I'll speak to him, Jerry. He doesn't mean anything by it, for he's a good fellow at heart; and when he feels that he has hurt your feelings I daresay it will mean an apology, and--perhaps something else." "Thankye, S'Richard, thankye," said the man. "I know'd you'd say something o' that sort, but don't you speak to him. It wouldn't do no good. He wouldn't 'pologise to such as me; and as to a tip--not him! There, S'Richard, it's all right now. It did me good to say all that out to a real gentleman, and--pst!--Any more orders, S'Richard?" "Eh?" said Richard, wondering at the man's manner. "No, thank you; that's all. What's the matter?" "Pst! S'Richard," whispered the man hurriedly. "Talk of the No-we-never-mentions-him, and you see his--" The door opened with a crash, and made the pictures swing upon the wall, while Jerry drew on one side to let the fresh-comer enter the room. _ |
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