Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 404, June, 1849

"A thousand thanks, my dear lord, I would rather walk – but you will let me call on you before I leave town."

"Let you! – I insist on it. I am still at the old quarters, under pretence," said the marquis, with a sly twinkle of the eyelid, "that Castleton House wants painting!"

"At twelve to-morrow, then?"

"Twelve to-morrow. Alas! that's just the hour at which Mr Screw, the agent for the London property, (two squares, seven streets, and a lane!) is to call."

"Perhaps two o'clock will suit you better?"

"Two! – just the hour at which Mr Plausible, one of the Castleton members, insists upon telling me why his conscience will not let him vote with Trevanion!"

"Three o'clock?"

"Three! – just the hour at which I am to see the Secretary of the Treasury, who has promised to relieve Mr Plausible's conscience! But come and dine with me – you will meet the executors to the will!"

"Nay, Sir Sedley – that is, my dear lord – I will take my chance, and look in, after dinner."

"Do so; my guests are not lively! What a firm step the rogue has! Only twenty, I think – twenty! and not an acre of property to plague him!" So saying, the marquis dolorously shook his head, and vanished through the noiseless mahogany doors, behind which Messrs Fudge and Fidget awaited the unhappy man, – with the accounts of the great Castleton coal mine.

CHAPTER LXXVII

On my way towards our lodgings, I resolved to look in at a humble tavern, in the coffee-room of which the Captain and myself habitually dined. It was now about the usual hour in which we took that meal, and he might be there waiting for me. I had just gained the steps of this tavern, when a stage coach came rattling along the pavement, and drew up at an inn of more pretensions than that which we favoured, situated within a few doors of the latter. As the coach stopped, my eye was caught by the Trevanion livery, which was very peculiar. Thinking I must be deceived, I drew near to the wearer of the livery, who had just descended from the roof, and, while he paid the coachman, gave his orders to a waiter who emerged from the inn – "Half-and-half, cold without!" The tone of the voice struck me as familiar, and, the man now looking up, I beheld the features of Mr Peacock. Yes, unquestionably it was he. The whiskers were shaved – there were traces of powder in the hair or the wig – the livery of the Trevanions (ay, the very livery – crestbutton, and all) upon that portly figure, which I had last seen in the more august robes of a beadle. But Mr Peacock it was – Peacock travestied, but Peacock still. Before I had recovered my amaze, a woman got out of a cabriolet, which seemed to have been in waiting for the arrival of the coach, and, hurrying up to Mr Peacock, said in the loud impatient tone common to the fairest of the fair sex, when in haste – "How late you are – I was just going. I must get back to Oxton to-night."

Oxton – Miss Trevanion was staying at Oxton! I was now close behind the pair – I listened with my heart in my ear.

"So you shall, my dear – so you shall; just come in, will you."

"No, no; I have only ten minutes to catch the coach. Have you any letter for me from Mr Gower? How can I be sure, if I don't see it under his own hand, that" —

"Hush!" said Peacock, sinking his voice so low that I could only catch the words, "no names, letter, pooh, I'll tell you." He then drew her apart, and whispered to her for some moments. I watched the woman's face, which was bent towards her companion's, and it seemed to show quick intelligence. She nodded her head more than once, as if in impatient assent to what was said; and, after a shaking of hands, hurried off to the cab; then, as if a thought struck her, she ran back, and said —

"But in case my lady should not go – if there's any change of plan?"

"There'll be no change, you may be sure: Positively to-morrow – not too early; you understand?"

"Yes, yes; good-by" – and the woman, who was dressed with a quiet neatness, that seemed to stamp her profession as that of an abigail, (black cloak, with long cape – of that peculiar silk which seems spun on purpose for ladies'-maids – bonnet to match, with red and black ribbons,) hastened once more away, and in another moment the cab drove off furiously.

What could all this mean? By this time the waiter brought Mr Peacock the half-and-half. He despatched it hastily, and then strode on towards a neighbouring stand of cabriolets. I followed him; and just as, after beckoning one of the vehicles from the stand, he had ensconced himself therein, I sprang up the steps and placed myself by his side. "Now, Mr Peacock," said I, "you will tell me at once how you come to wear that livery, or I shall order the cabman to drive to Lady Ellinor Trevanion's, and ask her that question myself."

"And who the devil! – Ah, you're the young gentleman that came to me behind the scenes – I remember."

"Where to, sir?" asked the cabman.

"To – to London Bridge," said Mr Peacock.

The man mounted the box, and drove on.

"Well, Mr Peacock, I wait your answer. I guess by your face that you are about to tell me a lie; I advise you to speak the truth."

"I don't know what business you have to question me," said Mr Peacock sullenly; and, raising his glance from his own clenched fists, he suffered it to wander over my form with so vindictive a significance that I interrupted the survey by saying, "Will you encounter the house? as the Swan interrogatively puts it – shall I order the cabman to drive to St James's Square?"

"Oh, you know my weak point, sir; any man who can quote Will – sweet Will – has me on the hip," rejoined Mr Peacock, smoothing his countenance, and spreading his palms on his knees. "But if a man does fall in the world, and, after keeping servants of his own, is obliged to be himself a servant,

– 'I will not shame

To tell you what I am.'"

"The Swan says, 'To tell you what I was,' Mr Peacock. But enough of this trifling: who placed you with Mr Trevanion?"

Mr Peacock looked down for a moment, and then, fixing his eyes on me, said – "Well, I'll tell you: you asked me, when we met last, about a young gentleman – Mr – Mr Vivian."

Pisistratus. – Proceed.

Peacock. – I know you don't want to harm him. Besides, "He hath a prosperous art," and one day or other, – mark my words, or rather my friend Will's —

"He will bestride this narrow world

Like a Colossus."

Upon my life he will – like a Colossus,

"And we petty men – "

Pisistratus (savagely.) – Go on with your story.

Peacock (snappishly.) – I am going on with it! You put me out; where was I – oh – ah yes. I had just been sold up – not a penny in my pocket; and if you could have seen my coat – yet that was better than the small-clothes! Well, it was in Oxford Street – no, it was in the Strand, near the Lowther —

"The sun was in the heavens; and the proud day

Attended, with the pleasures of the world."

Pisistratus, (lowering the glass.) – To St James's Square?

Peacock. – No, no; to London Bridge.

"How use doth breed a habit in a man!"

I will go on – honour bright. So I met Mr Vivian, and as he had known me in better days, and has a good heart of his own, he says —

"Horatio, – or I do forget myself."

Pisistratus puts his hand on the check-string.

Peacock. – I mean, (correcting himself) – "Why, Johnson, my good fellow."

Pisistratus. – Johnson! – oh that's your name – not Peacock.

Peacock. – Johnson and Peacock both, (with dignity.) When you know the world as I do, sir, you will find that it is ill travelling this "naughty world" without a change of names in your portmanteau.