A Lady of England: The Life and Letters of Charlotte Maria Tucker. Agnes Giberne
one must send a carrier pigeon express for one’s thoughts before one can express them at all? Better have wit to cover ignorance, than silence to conceal sense. One can’t squint into a man’s head to see what it contains. Here comes a light to the door: now for the encounter.
Weasel opens the door.
Is Mrs. [coughs] at home? Pray present my compliments to her, and say that a gentleman who has lost his way entreats the favour of shelter for a night under her hospitable roof.
Weasel. Shall I take up your name, Sir?
Charles. No, Sir, you may take up my words. [Exit Weasel.] Had the fellow been a Constable he might have taken me up also, for in this apparel I look more like a highwayman than a gentleman in a highway. How very cold it is! I wish that the triangular-nosed fellow would make haste; and yet my heart misgives me. I must ‘screw my courage to the sticking point!’ Impudence, impudence is my passport! I hear him shuffling downstairs. Be hardy, bold, and resolute, my heart.
Weasel opens the door.
Weasel. Sir, my Mistress begs you to walk up.
Charles. Go on, go on, I’ll follow thee! [Exeunt.]
SCENE II.
THE PARLOUR OF MRS. JUDITH’S HOUSE.
Charles. Mrs. Judith. The Misses Sophia, Barbara, and Horatia Rattleton.
Charles. For all this unmerited kindness, most kind and fair ladies, a lonely wanderer can only return you thanks.
[The young Ladies whisper together.]
Sophia. Handsome, isn’t he?
Horatia. Such a flow of eloquence, such a command of language.
Barbara. I wonder, Ratty, who he is.
Mrs. Jud. Do you come from the North, Sir?
Charles. I have spent the last few months there, Madam, though I was not born in Scotland. They were unfortunate months to me. I came to England on my Company’s being broken up.
Horatia. Your Company! did you serve King George?
Charles. No, Miss, I tried to serve myself.
Horatia. [Aside to Barbara.] Strange, is it not?
Sophia. Why was your company broken up?
Charles. Because we were not able to raise a Sovereign amongst us. We were sadly cut up.
Horatia. [Eagerly.] By the Dragoons?
Charles. [Laughing.] Do not inquire too closely, fair Lady.
Mrs. Jud. May I ask your name, Sir?
Charles. Charles Stu—[Aside.] Ass that I am!
Mrs. Jud. I beg your pardon, Sir, I did not hear you.
Charles. [Aside.] The first word that comes! [Aloud.] Dapple, Madam, Dapple. [Aside.] I might have hit on a more romantic name, but my brain seems in a whirl.
Horatia. It is a very curious study to trace the derivations. …
Mrs. Jud. Any way related to the Dapples of. …
Sophia. Down, Adonis, down! your dirty little paws. …
Horatia. One would suppose them sometimes prophetical of future events. Who can deny that Hanover. …
Barbara. Our family name of. …
Horatia. [Raising her voice.] Who can deny that Hanover has a great resemblance to Hand-over, or that Cumberland is as just a denomination for the bloody Duke as if. …
Sophia. Pretty little pet he is, is he not?
Barbara. Our family name of Rattleton is said to be derived from a famous Ancestor of ours, a chief of the ancient Britons. …
Mrs. Jud. My Cousin by the Mother’s side. …
Barbara. Whose head being cleft from his shoulders as he was driving his chariot into the thickest of. …
Mrs. Jud. The family of the Goslings. …
Horatia. Also passionately fond of Heraldry. …
Barbara. His spirit seemed unconquered even by the blow which decapitated him, and he drove on. …
Horatia. A Lion rampant over 6 grasshoppers. …
Barbara. Whence our name of Rattle-ton or Rattle-on is said to be derived.
Charles. [Aside.] This is beyond endurance. They stun me. What a nest of parrots I am in! I cannot get in a word.
Horatia. Thus, Sir, your name of … I beg your pardon, Sir, it has slipped my memory.
Charles. [Aside.] Hang me, if it has not fairly bolted from mine!
Mrs. Jud. Mr. Charles Dapple.
Charles. [Aside.] I’ll change the conversation. [To Horatia.] You seem much devoted, Miss, to scientific pursuits.
Horatia. O, they are my delight, my recreation! Ornithology, Mythology, Geology, Conchology, fascinate me. I was first given my taste for the higher branches of these intellectual sciences by. …
Sophia. Mr. Dapple, have you remarked my pretty little. …
Horatia. My Uncle in the Scilly Isles, whose mind. …
Sophia. Have you remarked. …
Horatia. A profound genius. …
Sophia. My little poodle, Adonis?
Horatia. By-the-by, Mr. Dapple, may I ask your opinion on a much disputed point, where I venture to differ even from my Uncle? What do you think of the Aerolites?
Charles. [Turning to Sophia.] A sweet little dog, indeed: what fine eyes!
Horatia. Do you think them. …
Charles. The little pink ribbon round its neck is so becoming.
Horatia. [Raising her voice.] Mr. Dapple, Mr. Dapple, do you think the Aerolites. …
Charles. [Aside.] Help me, my mother-wits!
Horatia. Do you agree in the generally received opinion. …
Charles. [Aside.] Some political party perhaps!
Horatia. Or do you think them. …
Charles. Why, ma’am, I think—I—I am decidedly of opinion—that—that—the. …
Horatia. The Aerolites. …
Charles. Are nothing more or less than Jacobites.
All the Ladies. Jacobites!
Horatia. Why, Sir, I always thought them a sort of stone. …
Charles. Stone-fruit, true, true; I spoke without thinking. Stone-fruit, a species of—of—apricots.
Barbara. Hark, there is a knock at the door. Peep through the shutters, Ratty, and see who it is.
Charles. [Aside.] A little diversion for me. I am growing so hot. Silence to cover sense would in this case. …
Horatia. ’Tis old Colonel Stumply.
Charles. [Starting up.] Colonel Stumply! I’m dished.
The Ladies. Why—what—who——
Charles. Perhaps you will permit me, ladies, to retire. I feel indisposed—faint! [Exit.]
Mrs. Jud. I must go and welcome my old friend. [Exit.]
Horatia. Bab!
Barbara. Ratty!