General Bounce; Or, The Lady and the Locusts. G. J. Whyte-Melville
their existence to the fresh breezes, the haphazard events, and surrounding excitement of the hunting-field.
General Bounce’s guests, as was natural in the country where he resided, were mostly men like mad Tom,
“Whose chiefest care
Was horse to ride and weapon wear;”
nor, like him, would they have objected to place gloves in their caps or carry any other favours which might demonstrate their own powers of fascination, and their rank in the good graces of the heiress. Yes, there was an heiress now at Newton-Hollows. Popular as had always been the General’s hospitality, he was now besieged with hints, and advances, and innuendoes, having for their object an invitation to his house. What a choice of scamps might he have had, all ready and willing to marry his niece—all anxious, if possible, to obtain even a peep “of that little Miss Kettering, not yet out of the school-room, who is to have ever so many hundred thousand pounds, and over whom old Bounce keeps watch and ward like a fiery dragon.”
But the passing years have little altered Blanche’s sweet and simple character, though they have rounded her figure and added to her beauty. She is to “come out” next spring, and already the world is talking of her charms and her expectations. A pretty picture is so much prettier in a gilt frame, and she will probably begin life with the ball at her foot; yet is there the same soft, artless expression in her countenance that it wore at St. Swithin’s ere her mother’s death—the same essence of beauty, independent of colouring and features, which may be traced in really charming people from the cradle to the grave, which made Blanche a willing child, is now enhancing the loveliness of her womanhood, and will probably leave her a very pleasant-looking old lady.
“And Charlie comes home to-morrow,” says Blanche, tripping along the gravel walk that winds through those well-kept shrubberies. “I wonder if he’s at all the sort of person you fancy, and whether you will think him as perfect as I do?”
“Probably not, my dear,” replied her companion, whose stately gait contrasted amusingly with Blanche’s light and playful gestures. “People seldom come up to one’s ideas of them; and I am sure it is not your fault if I do not expect to meet a perfect hero of romance in your cousin.” We ought to know those low thrilling tones; we ought to recognise the majestic figure—the dark sweeping dress—the braided hair and classical features of that pale, serious face. Mary Delaval is still the handsome governess; and Blanche would rather part with her beauty or her bullfinch, or any of her most prized earthly possessions, than that dear duenna, who, having finished her education, is now residing with her in the dubious capacity of part chaperon, part teacher, and part friend.
“Well, dear, he is a hero,” replied Blanche, who always warmed on that subject. “Let me see which of my heroes he’s most like: Prince Rupert—only he’s younger and better-looking” (Blanche, though a staunch little cavalier, could not help associating mature age and gravity with the flowing wigs in which most of her favourites of that period were depicted); “Claverhouse, only not so cruel—he is like Claverhouse in the face, I think, Mrs. Delaval; or ‘bonnie Prince Charlie’; or Ivanhoe—yes, Ivanhoe, that’s the one; he’s as brave and as gentle; and Mr. Hardingstone, whose life he saved, you know, says he rides most beautifully, and will make a capital officer.”
“And which of the heroes is Mr. Hardingstone, Blanche?” said her friend, in her usual measured tones. Blanche blushed.
“Oh, I can’t understand Mr. Hardingstone,” said she; “I think he’s odd-ish, and quite unlike other people; then he looks through one so. Mrs. Delaval, I think it’s quite rude to stare at people as if you thought they were not telling the truth. But he’s good-looking, too,” added the young lady, reflectively; “only not to be compared with Charlie.”
“Of course not,” rejoined her friend; “but it is fortunate that we are to enjoy the society of this Paladin till he joins his regiment—Lancers, are they not? Well, we must hope, Blanche, to use the language of your favourites of the middle ages, that he may prove a lamb among ladies, as he is doubtless a lion among lancers.”
“Dear Charlie! how he will enjoy his winter. He is so fond of hunting; and he is to have Hyacinth, and Haphazard, and Mayfly to ride for his own—so kind of Uncle Baldwin; but I must be off to put some flowers in his room,” quoth Blanche, skipping along the walk as young ladies will, when unobserved by masculine eyes; “he may arrive at any moment, he’s such an uncertain boy.”
“Zounds! you’ve broke it, you fiddle-headed brute!” exclaimed a choleric voice from the further side of a thick laurel hedge, startling the ladies most unceremoniously, and preparing them for the spectacle of a sturdy black cob trotting rebelliously down the farm road, with a fragment of his bridle dangling from his head, the remaining portion being firmly secured to a gate-post, at which the self-willed animal had been tied up in vain. Another instant brought the owner of the voice and late master of the cob into the presence of Mrs. Delaval and his niece. It was no less a person than General Bounce.
“Uncle Baldwin, Uncle Baldwin,” exclaimed Blanche, who turned him round her finger as she did the rest of the establishment, “where have you been all day? You promised to drive me out—you know you did, you wicked, hard-hearted man.”
“Been, my dear?” replied the General, in a tone of softness contrasting strangely with the flushed and vehement bearing of his outward man; “at that—(no, I will not swear)—at that doubly accursed farm. Would you believe the infernal stupidity of the people—(excuse me, Mrs. Delaval)—men with heads on their shoulders, and hair, and front teeth like other people—and they’ve sent the black bull to Bubbleton without winkers—without winkers, as I live by bread; but I won’t be answerable for the consequences—no, I won’t make good any damages originating in such carelessness; no, not if there’s law in England or justice under heaven! But, my sweet Blanche,” added the General, in a tone of amiable piano, the more remarkable for the forte of his previous observations, “I’ll go and get ready this instant, my darling; you shan’t be disappointed; I’ll order the pony-carriage forthwith. Holloa! you, sir; only let me catch you—only let me catch you, that’s all; I’ll trounce you as sure as my name’s Bounce!” and the General, without waiting for any further explanation, darted off in pursuit of an idle village boy, whom he espied in the very act, flagrante delicto, of trespassing on a pathway which the lord of the manor had been several years vainly endeavouring to shut up.
General Bounce was such a medley as can only be produced by the action of a tropical sun on a vigorous, sanguine Anglo-Saxon temperament. Specimens are becoming scarcer every day. They are seldom to be met with in our conventional and well-behaved country, though here and there, flitting about a certain club celebrated for its curries, they may be discovered even in the heart of the metropolis. On board transports, men-of-war, mail-steamers, and such-like government conveyances, they are more at home; in former days they were occasionally visible inside our long coaches, where they invariably made a difficulty about the window; but in the colonies they are to be seen in their highest state of cultivation; as a general rule, the hotter the climate, the more perfect the specimen.
Our friend the General was a very phœnix of his kind. In person he was short, stout, square, and active, with black twinkling eyes and a round, clean-shaved face—small-featured and good-humoured-looking, but choleric withal. His naturally florid complexion had been baked into a deep red-brown by his Indian campaigns. If Pythagoras was right in his doctrine concerning the transmigration of souls, the General’s must have previously inhabited the person of a sturdy, snappish black-and-tan terrier. In manner he was alternately marvellously winning and startlingly abrupt, the transition being instantaneous; whilst in character he was decided, energetic, and impracticable, though both rash and obstinate, with an irritable temper and an affectionate heart. He had seen service in India, and by his own account had not only experienced sundry hair-breadth ’scapes bordering on the romantic, but likewise witnessed such strange sights and vagaries as fall to the lot of few, save those whose bodily vision is assisted by that imaginative faculty denominated “the mind’s eye.”
The General was a great disciplinarian,