Jack was not in good odour with the porters that day; he had not produced a shower of gold, not as who should say a shower; but they had a smell of the truth and they naturally took his part against the civil power. When one came in with fresh coals he quietly observed, ‘Your little chap with the cauliflower car is still hanging about outside the arch, sir.’
‘Cauliflower ear’ - had he heard that before how happy he would have been! He darted to the window, and after some minutes of peering he said, ‘Be a good fellow and desire him to step into the hall. I will see him at once.’
Mr Scriven, the literary man, came across the courtyard; he was looking old and tired; his ear was hideously swollen. ‘Sir,’ he said in a voice that quavered with anxiety, ‘Dr Maturin bids me tell you that all was well in Seething Lane, and he hopes you will join him at the Grapes, by the Savoy, if you are not bespoke. I am to fetch a coach into the court. I have been trying to do my errand, sir . . . I hope…’
‘Excellent. Capital. Make it so, Mr - . Bring it into the yard and I am with you.’
At the mention of the Savoy, that blessed haven, the porter’s suspicions were confirmed; a benevolent grin spread across his face and he hurried Out with Mr Scriven to find a coach, bring it in through the arch (an irregular proceeding) and manoeuvre it so close to the steps that Jack could step in unseen.
‘Perhaps it would be wise to sit on the floor, on this cloak, sir,’ said Mr Scriven. ‘It has been baked,’ he added, sensing a certain reluctance. ‘And Dr Maturin was good enough to shave me all over, to parboil me in the copper, and to new-?clothe me from head to foot.’
‘I am sorry I gave your ear such a knock,’ said Jack from the depths of the straw. ‘Does it hurt a great deal?’
‘You are very good, sir. I do not feel it now. Dr Maturin was so kind as to dress it with an ointment from the oriental apothecary’s at the corner of Bruton Street, and it is almost insensible. Now, sir, you can sit up, if you choose: we are in the duchy.’
‘What duchy?’
‘The duchy of Lancaster, sir. From Cecil Street to the other side of Exeter Change it is part of the duchy, neither London nor Westminster, and the law is different - writs not the same as London writs: why, even the chapel is a royal peculiar.’
‘Peculiar, is she?’ said Jack with real satisfaction. ‘A damned agreeable peculiarity, too. I wish there were more of ‘em. What is your name, sir?’
‘Scriven, sir, at your service. Adam Scriven.’
‘You are an honest fellow, Mr Scriven. Here we are: this is the Grapes. Can you pay the man? Capital.’
‘Stephen,’ he cried, ‘how happy I am to see you. We have a chance yet - we breathe! We hope! I have a ship, and if only I can get to Portsmouth, and if she floats, we shall make our fortunes. Here are my orders: there are yours. Ha, ha, ha. What luck did you have? I hope you did not hear bad news. You look pretty hipped.’
‘No, no,’ said Stephen, smiling in spite of himself. ‘I have negotiated the bill on Mendoza. At only twelve and a half per cent discount, which surprised me; but then the bill was backed. Here are eight-?five guineas,’ sliding a leather bag across the table.
‘Thank you, thank you, Stephen,’ cried Jack, shaking him by the hand. ‘What a charming sound - they ring out like freedom, ha, ha. I am as hungry as a man can well be, without perishing of mere want - nothing since breakfast.’ He began to halloo for the woman of the house, who told him he might have a nice pair of ducks or a nice piece of cold sturgeon with cucumber, fresh that morning in Billingsgate.
‘Let us start with the sturgeon, and if you put the ducks down to the fire this very minute, they will be ready by the time we have done. What are you drinking, Stephen?’
‘Gin and water, cold.’
‘What a God-?forsaken melancholy tope. Let us call for champagne it is not every day we get a ship, and such a ship I will tell you all about it ‘He gave Stephen a detailed account of his interview, drawing the Polychrest’s curious shape in watered gin ‘She is a vile job, of course, and how she survived Old Jarvie’s reforms I cannot conceive. When I looked at her sheer-?plan, and when I thought of Canning’s frigate, building under his eye according to the draught of the Bellone - why, it made me feel very strange, for a moment. But I have scarcely had time to tell you of the handsome offer he made me. Forgive me for a moment while I write him a note to say I regret extremely that official business makes it impossible, and so on: turn it in the most obliging way I can manage, very civil and friendly, and get it into the penny post tonight; for really, it was the handsomest, most flattering offer. I took to Canning amazingly; I hope to see him again. You would like him, Stephen. Full of life, intelligent, gets the point at once, interested in everything - civil, too, delicate and modest; perfectly gentlemanlike; you would swear he was an Englishman. You must meet.’
‘That is a recommendation, to be sure; but I am already acquainted with Mr Canning.’
‘You know him?’
‘We met at Bruton Street today.’ In a flash Jack understood why the sound of Bruton Street had run so unpleasantly just now. ‘I called on Diana Villiers after walking with Sophie in the park.’
A look of intense pain came over Jack’s face. ‘How was Sophie?’ he asked, looking down.
‘She was not looking well. Thinner, unhappy. But she has grown up: I think her more beautiful now than when we knew her in Sussex.’
Jack leant over the back of his chair, saying nothing. A clatter of plates and dishes, a busy waving of table-? cloth and napkins, and the sturgeon and the champagne came in. They ate, with a few generalities about sturgeon - a fish-?royal - the first time Jack had eaten it - a rather insipid, disappointing fish - and then he said, ‘How was Diana?’
‘Her spirits appeared sometimes elated and sometimes oppressed; but she was in splendid looks; and she too was full of life.’ He might have added, ‘And of wanton unkindness.’
Jack said, ‘I had no notion you would call at Bruton Street.’ Stephen made no reply other than a bend of his head. ‘Were there many other people?’
‘Three soldiers, an Indian judge, and Mr Canning.’
