Under an affected carelessness of demeanour, and though there was no outward demonstration of doubt upon his patron's part since the quarrel between the two lords, Harry yet saw that Lord Castlewood was watching his guest very narrowly; and caught signs of distrust and smothered rage (as Harry thought) which foreboded no good. On the [pg 143] point of honour Esmond knew how touchy his patron was; and watched him almost as a physician watches a patient, and it seemed to him that this one was slow to take the disease, though he could not throw off the poison when once it had mingled with his blood. We read in Shakespeare (whom the writer for his part considers to be far beyond Mr. Congreve, Mr. Dryden, or any of the wits of the present period) that when jealousy is once declared, nor poppy, nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the East, will ever soothe it or medicine it away.
In fine, the symptoms seemed to be so alarming to this young physician (who indeed young as he was had felt the kind pulses of all those dear kinsmen), that Harry thought it would be his duty to warn my Lord Mohun, and let him know that his designs were suspected and watched. So one day, when in rather a pettish humour, his lordship had sent to Lady Castlewood, who had promised to drive with him, and now refused to come, Harry said—“My lord, if you will kindly give me a place by your side I will thank you; I have much to say to you, and would like to speak to you alone.”
“You honour me by giving me your confidence, Mr. Henry Esmond,” says the other, with a very grand bow. My lord was always a fine gentleman, and young as he was there was that in Esmond's manner which showed that he was a gentleman too, and that none might take a liberty with him—so the pair went out, and mounted the little carriage which was in waiting for them in the court, with its two little cream-coloured Hanoverian horses covered with splendid furniture and champing at the bit.
“My lord,” says Harry Esmond, after they were got into the country, and pointing to my Lord Mohun's foot, which was swathed in flannel, and put up rather ostentatiously on a cushion—“my lord, I studied medicine at Cambridge.”
“Indeed, Parson Harry,” says he: “and are you going to take out a diploma: and cure your fellow student of the——”
“Of the gout,” says Harry, interrupting him, and looking him hard in the face; “I know a good deal about the gout.”
“I hope you may never have it. 'Tis an infernal disease,” says my lord, “and its twinges are diabolical. Ah!” and he made a dreadful wry face, as if he just felt a twinge.
“Your lordship would be much better if you took off all [pg 144] that flannel—it only serves to inflame the toe,” Harry continued, looking his man full in the face.
“Oh! it only serves to inflame the toe, does it?” says the other, with an innocent air.
“If you took off that flannel, and flung that absurd slipper away, and wore a boot,” continues Harry.
“You recommend me boots, Mr. Esmond?” asks my lord.
“Yes, boots and spurs. I saw your lordship three days ago run down the gallery fast enough,” Harry goes on. “I am sure that taking gruel at night is not so pleasant as claret to your lordship; and besides it keeps your lordship's head cool for play, whilst my patron's is hot and flustered with drink.”
“'Sdeath, sir, you dare not say that I don't play fair?” cries my lord, whipping his horses, which went away at a gallop.
“You are cool when my lord is drunk,” Harry continued; “your lordship gets the better of my patron. I have watched you as I looked up from my books.”
“You young Argus!” says Lord Mohun, who liked Harry Esmond—and for whose company and wit, and a certain daring manner, Harry had a great liking too—“You young Argus! you may look with all your hundred eyes and see we play fair. I've played away an estate of a night, and I've played my shirt off my back; and I've played away my periwig and gone home in a nightcap. But no man can say I ever took an advantage of him beyond the advantage of the game. I played a dice-cogging scoundrel in Alsatia for his ears and won 'em, and have one of 'em in my lodging in Bow Street in a bottle of spirits. Harry Mohun will play any man for anything—always would.”
“You are playing awful stakes, my lord, in my patron's house,” Harry said, “and more games than are on the cards.”
“What do you mean, sir?” cries my lord, turning round, with a flush on his face.
“I mean,” answers Harry, in a sarcastic tone, “that your gout is well—if ever you had it.”
“Sir!” cried my lord, getting hot.
“And to tell the truth I believe your lordship has no more gout than I have. At any rate, change of air will do you good, my Lord Mohun. And I mean fairly that you had better go from Castlewood.”
“And were you appointed to give me this message?” [pg 145] cries the Lord Mohun. “Did Frank Esmond commission you?”
“No one did. 'Twas the honour of my family that commissioned me.”
“And you are prepared to answer this?” cries the other, furiously lashing his horses.
“Quite, my lord: your lordship will upset the carriage if you whip so hotly.”
“By George, you have a brave spirit!” my lord cried out, bursting into a laugh. “I suppose 'tis that infernal botte de Jésuite that makes you so bold,” he added.
“'Tis the peace of the family I love best in the world,” Harry Esmond said warmly—“'tis the honour of a noble benefactor—the happiness of my dear mistress and her children. I owe them everything in life, my lord; and would lay it down for any one of them. What brings you here to disturb this quiet household? What keeps you lingering month after month in the country? What makes you feign illness and invent pretexts for delay? Is it to win my poor patron's money? Be generous, my lord, and spare his weakness for the sake of his wife and children. Is it to practise upon the simple heart of a virtuous lady? You might as well storm the Tower single-handed. But you may blemish her name by light comments on it, or by lawless pursuits—and I don't deny that 'tis in your power to make her unhappy. Spare these innocent people, and leave them.”
“By the Lord, I believe thou hast an eye to the pretty Puritan thyself, Master Harry,” says my lord, with his reckless, good-humoured laugh, and as if he had been listening with interest to the passionate appeal of the young man. “Whisper, Harry. Art thou in love with her thyself? Hath tipsy Frank Esmond come by the way of all flesh?”
“My lord, my lord,” cried Harry, his face flushing and his eyes filling as he spoke, “I never had a mother, but I love this lady as one. I worship her as a devotee worships a saint. To hear her name spoken lightly seems blasphemy to me. Would you dare think of your own mother so, or suffer any one so to speak of her! It is a horror to me to fancy that any man should think of her impurely. I implore you, I beseech you, to leave her. Danger will come out of it.”
[pg 146]
“Danger, psha!” says my lord, giving a cut to the horses, which at this minute—for we were got on to the Downs—fairly ran off into a gallop that no pulling could stop. The rein broke in Lord Mohun's hands, and the furious beasts scampered madly forwards, the carriage swaying to and fro, and the persons within it holding on to the sides as best they might, until seeing