Venetia | Page 7

in which the bodies of chickens, pigeons, and rabbits were embalmed in spices, cocks' combs, and savoury balls, and well bedewed with one of those rich sauces of claret, anchovy, and sweet herbs, in which our great-grandfathers delighted, and which was technically termed a Lear. But the grand essay of skill was the cover of this pasty, whereon the curious cook had contrived to represent all the once-living forms that were now entombed in that gorgeous sepulchre. A Florentine tourte, or tansy, an old English custard, a more refined blamango, and a riband jelly of many colours, offered a pleasant relief after these vaster inventions, and the repast closed with a dish of oyster loaves and a pompetone of larks.
Notwithstanding the abstemiousness of his hostess, the Doctor was never deterred from doing justice to her hospitality. Few were the dishes that ever escaped him. The demon dyspepsia had not waved its fell wings over the eighteenth century, and wonderful were the feats then achieved by a country gentleman with the united aid of a good digestion and a good conscience.
The servants had retired, and Dr. Masham had taken his last glass of port, and then he rang a bell on the table, and, I trust my fair readers will not be frightened from proceeding with this history, a servant brought him his pipe. The pipe was well stuffed, duly lighted, and duly puffed; and then, taking it from his mouth, the Doctor spoke.
'And so, my honoured lady, you have got a neighbour at last.'
'Indeed!' exclaimed Lady Annabel.
But the claims of the pipe prevented the good Doctor from too quickly satisfying her natural curiosity. Another puff or two, and he then continued.
'Yes,' said he, 'the old abbey has at last found a tenant.'
'A tenant, Doctor?'
'Ay! the best tenant in the world: its proprietor.'
'You quite surprise me. When did this occur?'
'They have been there these three days; I have paid them a visit. Mrs. Cadurcis has come to live at the abbey with the little lord.'
'This is indeed news to us,' said Lady Annabel; 'and what kind of people are they?'
'You know, my dear madam,' said the Doctor, just touching the ash of his pipe with his tobacco-stopper of chased silver, 'that the present lord is a very distant relative of the late one?'
Lady Annabel bowed assent.
'The late lord,' continued the Doctor, 'who was as strange and wrong-headed a man as ever breathed, though I trust he is in the kingdom of heaven for all that, left all his property to his unlawful children, with the exception of this estate entailed on the title, as all estates should be, 'Tis a fine place, but no great rental. I doubt whether 'tis more than a clear twelve hundred a-year.'
'And Mrs. Cadurcis?' inquired Lady Annabel.
'Was an heiress,' replied the Doctor, 'and the late Mr. Cadurcis a spendrift. He was a bad manager, and, worse, a bad husband. Providence was pleased to summon him suddenly from this mortal scene, but not before he had dissipated the greater part of his wife's means. Mrs. Cadurcis, since she was a widow, has lived in strict seclusion with her little boy, as you may, my dear lady, with your dear little girl. But I am afraid,' said the Doctor, shaking his head, 'she has not been in the habit of dining so well as we have to-day. A very limited income, my dear madam; a very limited income indeed. And the guardians, I am told, will only allow the little lord a hundred a-year; but, on her own income, whatever it may be, and that addition, she has resolved to live at the abbey; and I believe, I believe she has it rent-free; but I don't know.'
'Poor woman!' said Lady Annabel, and not without a sigh. 'I trust her child is her consolation.'
Venetia had not spoken during this conversation, but she had listened to it very attentively. At length she said, 'Mamma, is not a widow a wife that has lost her husband?'
'You are right, my dear,' said Lady Annabel, rather gravely.
Venetia mused a moment, and then replied, 'Pray, mamma, are you a widow?'
'My dear little girl,' said Dr. Masham, 'go and give that beautiful peacock a pretty piece of cake.'
Lady Annabel and the Doctor rose from the table with Venetia, and took a turn in the park, while the Doctor's horses were getting ready.
'I think, my good lady,' said the Doctor, 'it would be but an act of Christian charity to call upon Mrs. Cadurcis.'
'I was thinking the same,' said Lady Annabel; 'I am interested by what you have told me of her history and fortunes. We have some woes in common; I hope some joys. It seems that this case should indeed be an exception to my rule.'
'I would not ask you to sacrifice your inclinations