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Updated: June 26, 2025
There was something which made Clara unwilling even to name the man whom her mother had publicly proposed as her future husband. "He isn't Mr Broughton's partner," said Mrs Van Siever. "Mr Broughton has not got a partner. Mr Musselboro is the head of the firm. And as to your marrying him, of course, I can't make you." "No, mamma, you cannot."
"Yes; yes; go into the City! Go anywhere. Go. But stay! Oh, Conway!" There was a sudden change in her voice as she spoke. "Hark, there he is, as sure as life." Then Conway listened, and heard a footstep on the stairs, as to which he had then but little doubt that it was the footstep of Dobbs Broughton. "Oh heavens! He is tipsy!" exclaimed Mrs Broughton; "and what shall we do?"
The old dower-house of Fawsley, not many miles to the north-east of Broughton, in the adjoining county of Northamptonshire, had a secret room over the hall, where a private press was kept for the purpose of printing political tracts at this time, when the country was working up into a state of turmoil.
How was he to get through his present difficulty? "No," said he, "Broughton did not come. It was Mr Musselboro whose steps you heard below." "What is he here for? What is he doing here? Where is Dobbs? Conway, there is something the matter. Has he gone off?" "Yes; he has gone off." "The coward!" "No; he was not a coward; not in that way."
Since his marriage with a daughter of the De Courcys, by which marriage he had intended to climb to the highest pinnacle of social eating and drinking, he had gradually found himself to be falling in the scale of such matters, and could bring himself to dine with a Dobbs Broughton without any violent pain.
She seemed to be quite cheerful, but Dalrymple perfectly understood, from a special glance which she gave to him, that he was to perceive that her cheerfulness was assumed for Clara's benefit. Mrs Broughton was showing how great a heroine she could be on behalf of her friends. "Now, my dear," she said, "do remember that this is the last day.
"Where is Dobbs?" she said. "Where is Broughton?" "He is not here." "He is in the house, for I heard him. Why have you come back?" Dalrymple's eye fell on the tattered canvas, and he thought of the doings of the past month. He thought of the picture of the three Graces, which was hanging in the room below, and he thoroughly wished that he had never been introduced to the Broughton establishment.
This would naturally have been flattering to Johnny had it not been that he was in truth absorbed by the story which he had heard. "Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that Broughton has committed suicide?" She could not speak of it again, but nodded her head at him thrice, while her eyes were still closed. "And how was the manner of it?" said he, asking the question in a low voice.
Now, I do not think I am wrong in supposing that this question lies between the noble Lord the Prime Minister and Lord Broughton, once a Member of this House. This thing was not done by some subordinate who cannot be found out. My hon. and learned Friend says it has been done with marvellous care, and even with so much ability that it must have been done by a man of genius.
N.B. Mr Broughton proposes, with proper assistance, to open an academy at his house in the Haymarket, for the instruction of those who are willing to be initiated in the mystery of boxing: where the whole theory and practice of that truly British art, with all the various stops, blows, cross-buttocks, &c., incident to combatants, will be fully taught and explained; and that persons of quality and distinction may not be deterred from entering into A course of those lectures, they will be given with the utmost tenderness and regard to the delicacy of the frame and constitution of the pupil, for which reason muffles are provided, that will effectually secure them from the inconveniency of black eyes, broken jaws, and bloody noses.
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