Yes, Leonora! It shall be our fate
To be entwined for ever—but too late!
— Byron’s Tasso’s Lament
According to the Baronetage, which we now have before us, Sir Charles Reckless, Bart., of Reckless Castle, in the County of Kent, married, on the 2nd of March, 1814, Mary Louisa, second daughter of the first Earl of Twylytte, by whom he had issue as follows:—
First, Charles; second, John; third, Robert; fourth, AUGUSTUS; fifth, Mary; sixth, Ellen; seventh, Francis; eighth, Jane; ninth, Matilda; tenth, Isabella; eleventh, James; twelfth, Alice; thirteenth, Lucy; fourteenth, Alfred. Two sons and a daughter had been born between Robert and Augustus, but they died in infancy. The name of our hero is that which appears in large capitals, like, the name of a “star” in a play-bill. The date of his birth, was January the first, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twenty.
Sir Charles Reckless was an unpretending country gentleman, whose chief occupation was in cultivating a large portion of his extensive estate, which yielded him, in all, a clear five thousand per annum. Sir Charles, however, was neither a Squire Western nor a Sir Peter Crawley, albeit he was devoted to agricultural pursuits; He had received an University education, and had taken an ordinary degree; while in point of bearing, manners, and address, he was, in the strictest sense of the term, “a perfect gentleman.” Sir Charles was a magistrate and deputy-lieutenant of his county; but he rarely or never attended the meetings of the magistrates, or any other meetings. He evidently thought, with the Roman bard——
Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis,
Ut prisca gens mortalium,
Paterna rura bobus exercet suis,
Solutus omni fenore
But, notwithstanding Sir Charles held aloof from taking any part in public affairs, he was a man of an extremely humane and charitable disposition, and, in a quiet and unostentatious manner, did a great deal of good, not only amongst his own tenantry, but amongst the entire people by whom he was surrounded.
Lady Mary Reckless was, in every sense of the phrase one of the most charming women that ever existed. She had been—and the outlines still remain, notwithstanding her age and her numerous offspring—, a person of transcendent beauty. She had a face that neither Lawrence nor Canova could have flattered; she had a form that poets would describe as “divines;” she had a temper so gentle and so patient, that those who knew her could easily realize the character of Griseldis. Not that Lady Mary was by any means “a tame being,” for she had all that, fire and enthusiasm which usually accompany the genius and the talents with which she was gifted. In matters of literature and art Lady Mary’s taste was exquisite, albeit she never appeared before the world as an authoress or a patroness. Lady Mary, in fact, with all her beauty, grace, ability, and accomplishments, was a thoroughly domestic woman, and attended to the affairs of her numerous family as cheerfully and as diligently as the best housewife in the kingdom. After this description of Lady Mary, it is needless, perhaps, to add, that she was beloved by all who enjoyed her acquaintance.
Charles Reckless, the eldest son of Sir Charles and Lady Mary, was a steady, plodding youth, who was educated at Eton and at Oxford, subsequently called to the Bar, went circuit (the Home Circuit), now and then held a brief thereon, and half-a-dozen times in every year had an opportunity afforded him of addressing one or other of the Courts in Westminster Hall. He was not deficient in ability; but he lacked the capacity required for a great lawyer or a brilliant advocate.
Mr. Reckless inhabited a very comfortably-furnished set of chambers in King’s Bench Walk, Inner Temple, of which society he was a member. His ambition to rise in his profession, and obtain a silk gown, was immense; and he studied as diligently as though his entire means of existence in after-life depended on this contingency. Mr. Reckless, moreover, liked the society of lawyers, and that studious life which he could uninterruptedly lead in his chambers. At home—if the truth must be told—he was bored by his little brothers and sisters, who were very nice and well-behaved children, no doubt, but who would not scruple to break in upon him when he was devouring the last number of Meesom and Welsby’s, or Carrington and Payne’s Reports, with as much avidity as you or I, reader, would devour the last number of a serial by Dickens, Thackeray, Ainsworth, or Brooks. Besides Mr. Reckless had a dislike to be called “Charley” by these little darlings. It was not that he was a pompous person—far from it; but he thought it inconsistent with the dignity of his position, as a member of the learned profession, whose name at intervals (irregular intervals, to be sure) was to be seen in the Times, and other papers, as (“with Mr. So-and-so”) counsel for the plaintiff or the defendant, as the case might be. Mr. Reckless’s establishment in chambers consisted of three persons—a clerk, a young man of about twenty, who had been born and bred in the vicinity of the Temple, and had never been a mile beyond its precincts in his life; he was a pale, thin, and rather tall lad, and wore a suit of dingy black clothes, and a cravat which would have been white had it not been for the “mildew spots” upon it. This clerk’s name was Flint. Who or what his father was, was one of those things not generally known. I never knew, and never inquired; but his mother used to wash and “do” for Mr. Jewen, a bencher of “the other Society” (the Middle Temple), a very old gentleman, who was familiarly known amongst the students of the day as “ Pam,” or “the Jack of Clubs,” in consequence of the extra-ordinary personal likeness that he bore to that eccentric card. The second person on Mr. Reckless’s establishment who claims our notice was Mrs. Bly, the laundress, who, “saw after” the chambers, cooked the chop or steak which Mr. Reckless ate for breakfast, to a nicety, and so arranged the faggots and coals in the grate, that when Mr. Reckless came home at half-past ten or eleven o’clock at night, he had not the slightest difficulty of lighting a fire; if he required one. She also “got up” the linen (about which Mr. Reckless was very particular) to perfection. Mrs. Bly’s husband, who was a ticket-porter, and wore the badge and apron of the order, cleaned the boots and shoes, brushed the clothes, assisted in getting in the coals, and ran (or rather leisurely walked) errands. This worthy couple, it was said, had their respective “griefs,” which they endeavoured to drown to the extent of their ability, pecuniary and other. On the whole, his establishment gave Mr. Reckless great satisfaction, and he would not have exchanged it for any other in town.
John Reckless, the second son of Sir Charles and Lady Mary Reckless, after taking his degree—a double-first—at Caius College, Cambridge, studied medicine. John, who was also ambitious of obtaining professional distinction, took a bouse in Sackville-street, and enjoyed a small but select practice. He was considered very clever as a physician by those who consulted him. John Reckless, like his elder brother, was a very methodical gentleman; and, to use a common but expressive phrase, was “as regular as clockwork.” The doctor’s establishment consisted of a housekeeper (an old lady from the country, the widow of a half-pay lieutenant in the navy), a footman (who was attired in the livery of the feckless family—red plush breeches and vest, and a drab coat with a green collar), and a valet, who wore plain clothes (black), and who was always to be found in the hall, whenever there was a knock at the door, with a slate and pencil in his hand, ready to take down with the utmost precision any message for his master. The young doctor had no cook; he did not require one. He invariably dined out; and Mrs.Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, would on no account have relinquished the privilege of preparing his breakfast with her own hands. The housemaid, the only female servant in the establishment, was a young woman from the country and a protégé of Mrs. Blenkinsop.
Robert, the third son of Sir Charles and Lady Mary Reckless, distinguished himself as a scholar at Brasenose, Oxford, was ordained, and became the curate of a metropolitan rector, of great celebrity as a preacher and a man of letters. Robert was, at the time to which this period of the narrative relates, engaged upon a theological work, which—although the reception it met with from the publie did not quite realize his sanguine expectations—was subsequently a source of profit both to himself and his publisher. The young divine had apartments in Harley-street, where he used frequently to entertain on a very liberal scale a number of clergymen of his own standing, whose means were not exactly as ample as his own.
Thus far, Sir Charles and Lady Mary Reckless were extremely happy in their sons. But (surgit amari aliquid) there came AUGUSTUS, who was now in his eighteenth year. From childhood, this youth had been as wild as a bird, as playful as a kitten, and as mischievous (harmlessly mischievous) as a monkey. There was not a single atom of vice or guile in his composition, but, nevertheless, he was constantly in some “scrape” or other. Handsome, manly, tall, frank, generous, open-handed, open-hearted, good-humoured, and ready-witted, he was an especial favourite with every one, notwithstanding his defects of character, which arose principally out of exuberance or overflowing of animal spirits. Had it been possible for Sir Charles and Lady Mary to love one of their many children more than another, that child would have been Augustus. Even his steady elder brethren could not help loving him—much as he perplexed them at times—while the younger ones of the family, of both sexes, adored “Dear Gussy,” as they were wont to call him and to speak of him. The tenantry swore by him; the gentry in the neighbourhood were always glad to see him ; the ladies did their best to spoil him, by suffering him to say and do whatever he pleased in their respective homes. With the peasantry, his uniform kindness and civility had made him their idol.
There was no one in the country who was so good a shot as Augustus. Well-known gamekeepers would acknowledge this. With the hounds, his skill, daring, and judgment were the admiration of the whole field. With the rod and line, even Izaak Walton would have watched his cunning with a calm delight. He could sing either a sentimental or a comic song in such a way as to gain unbounded applause. He could play on the piano, the violin, and other instruments by ear, and without knowing a single note of music, any air that he had once heard. He could sketch—especially caricatures—with marvellous effect, although he had not the least idea of “drawing,” beyond what he had been taught by nature. In a word, Augustus Reckless was self-taught in all matters, even in spelling, which he insisted upon doing by ear, rather than by the recognised rules of orthography; and inasmuch as he had picked up his punctuation on the same principle, his composition, when reduced to writing, was far more quaint and unique than elegant and correct. His grammar, however, was unexceptionable, and he was never at a loss to express himself with clearness and force. As for compelling him to study, they might just as well have attempted to compel him to love ardently against his will. Augustus had been sent away from two private boarding-schools and from one public school (Rugby) for offences which, albeit they involved no species of moral turpitude or dishonour, could not possibly be tolerated in any well-regulated establishment for the nurture of juvenile intellect.
In Preparation