The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 1

The Astonis.h.i.+ng History of Troy Town.

by Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch.

TO CHARLES CANNAN.

My Dear Cannan, It is told of a distinguished pedagogue that one day a heated stranger burst into his study, and, wringing him by the hand, cried, "Heaven bless and reward you, sir! Heaven preserve you long to educate old England's boyhood! I have walked many a weary, weary mile to see your face again," he continued, flouris.h.i.+ng a sc.r.a.p of paper, "and a.s.sure you that but for your discipline, obeyed by me as a boy and remembered as a man, I should never--no, never--have won the Ticket-of-Leave which you behold!"

In something of the same spirit I bring you this small volume.

The child of encouragement is given to staggering its parent; and I make no doubt that as you turn the following pages, you will more than once exclaim, with the old lady in the ballad--

"O, deary me! this is none of I!"

Nevertheless, it would be strange indeed if this story bore no marks of you; for a hundred kindly instances have taught me to come with sure reliance for your reproof and praise. Few, I imagine, have the good fortune of a critic so friendly and inexorable; and if the critic has been unsparing, he has been used unsparingly.

Wargrave, Henley-on-Thames, June 7, 1888

CHAPTER I.

IN WHICH THE READER IS MADE ACQUAINTED WITH A STATE OF INNOCENCE; AND THE MEANING OF THE WORD "c.u.mEELFO".

"Any news to-night?" asked Admiral Buzza, leading a trump.

"Hush, my love," interposed his wife timidly, with a glance at the Vicar. She liked to sit at her husband's left, and laid her small cards before him as so many tributes to his greatness.

"I will not hush, Emily. I repeat, is there any news to-night?"

Miss Limpenny, his hostess and vis-a-vis, finding the Admiral's eye fierce upon her, coughed modestly and announced that twins had just arrived to the postmistress. Her manner, as she said this, implied that, for aught she knew, they had come with the letters.

The Vicar took the trick and gathered it up in silence. He was a portly, antique gentleman, with a fine taste for scandal in its proper place, but disliked conversation during a rubber.

"Twins, eh?" growled the Admiral. "Just what I expected. She always was a wasteful woman."

"My love!" expostulated his wife. Miss Limpenny blushed.

"They'll come to the workhouse," he went on, "and serve him right for making such a marriage."

"I have heard that his heart is in the right place," pleaded Miss Limpenny, "but he used--"

"Eh, ma'am?"

"It's of no consequence," said Miss Limpenny, with becoming bashfulness. "It's only that he always used, in sorting his cards, to sit upon his trumps--that always seemed to me--"

"Just so," replied the Admiral, "and now it's twins. Bless the man!

what next?"

It was in the golden age, before Troy became demoralised, as you shall hear. At present you are to picture the drawing-room of the Misses Limpenny arranged for an "evening": the green rep curtains drawn, the "Book of Beauty" disposed upon the centre table, the ballad music on the piano, and the Admiral's double-ba.s.s in the corner. Six wax candles were beaming graciously on cards, tea-cakes and ratafias; on the pictures of "The First Drive," and "The Orphan's Dream," the photographic views of Troy from the harbour, the opposite hill, and one or two other points, and finally the noted oil-painting of Miss Limpenny's papa as he appeared shortly after preaching an a.s.size sermon. Above all, the tea-service was there--the famous set in real silver presented to the late Reverend Limpenny by his flock, and Miss Priscilla--she at the card-table--wore her best brooch with a lock of his hair arranged therein as a _fleur-de-lys_.

I wish I could convey to you some of the innocent mirth of those "evenings" in Troy--those _noctes Limpennianae_ when the ladies brought their cap-boxes (though the Buzzas and Limpennys were but semi-detached neighbours), and the Admiral and his wife insisted on playing against each other, so that the threepenny points never affected their weekly accounts. Those were happy days when the young men were not above singing the "Death of Nelson," or joining in a glee, and arming the young ladies home afterwards. In those days "Hocken's Slip" had not yet become the "Victoria Quay," and we talked of the "Rope Walk" where we now say "Marine Parade." Alas! our tastes have altered with Troy.

Yet we were vastly genteel. We even had our s.h.i.+bboleth, a verdict to be pa.s.sed before anything could hope for toleration in Troy.

The word to be p.r.o.nounced was "c.u.mEELFO," and all that was not _c.u.meelfo_ was Anathema.

So often did I hear this word from Miss Limpenny's lips that I grew in time to clothe it with an awful meaning. It meant to me, as nearly as I can explain, "All Things Sanctioned by the Principles of the Great Exhibition of 1851," and included as time went on--

Crochet Antimaca.s.sars.

Art in the style of the "Greek Slave."

"Elegant Extracts," and the British Poets as edited by Gilfillan.

Corkscrew Curls and Prunella Boots.

Alb.u.m Verses.

Quadrille-dancing, and the _Deux-temps_.

Popular Science.

Proposals on the bended Knee.

Conjuring and Variety Entertainments.

The Sentimental Ballad.

The Proprieties, etc., etc., etc.

The very spirit of this word breathed over the Limpenny drawing-room to-night, and Miss Priscilla's lips seemed to murmur it as she gazed across to where her sister Lavinia was engaged in a round game with the young people. These were Admiral Buzza's three daughters, Sophy, Jane, and Calypso--the last named after her father's old s.h.i.+p--and young Mr. Moggridge, the amusing collector of customs. They were playing with ratafias for counters (ratafias were _c.u.meelfo_), and peals of guileless laughter from time to time broke in upon the grave silence of the whist-table.

For always, on such occasions, in the glow of Miss Limpenny's wax candles, Youth and Age held opposite camps, with the centre table as debatable ground; nor, until the rubber was finished, and the round game had ended in a seemly scramble for ratafias, would the two recognise each other's presence, save now and then by a "Hush, if you please, young people," from the elder sister, followed by a whispered, "What spirits your dear girls enjoy!" for Mrs. Buzza's ear.

But at length the signal would be given by Miss Priscilla.

"Come, a little music perhaps might leave a pleasant taste.

What do you say, Vicar?"

Upon which the Vicar would regularly murmur--

"Say, rather, would gild refined gold, Miss Limpenny."

And the Admiral as invariably broke in with--

"Come, Sophy! remember the proverb about little birds that can sing and won't sing."

This prelude having been duly recited, the Misses Buzza would together trip to the piano, on which the two younger girls in duet were used to accompany Sophia's artless ballads. The performance gained a character of its own from a habit to which Calypso clung, of counting the time in an audible aside: as thus--

_Sophia_ (singing): "Oh, breathe but a whispered command."

_Calypso: "One, two, three, four_."

_Sophia_: "I'll lay down my life for thee!"

_Calypso: "One, two, three, four_."

--the effect of which upon strangers has been known to be paralysing, though we who were _c.u.meelfo_ pretended not to notice it. But Sophy could also accompany her own songs, such as, "Will you love me then as now?" and "I'd rather be a daisy," with much feeling. She was clever, too, with the water-colour brush, and to her we owe that picture of "_ H.M.S. Calypso_ in a Storm," which hangs to this day over the Admiral's mantelpiece.