Читать книгу Roger Kyffin's Ward - Kingston William Henry Giles - Страница 7

Mabel Everard and Harry Tryon stood together under the shade of the wide-spreading trees which extended their boughs over the edge of the large lake in Stanmore Park watching a couple of graceful swans which glided noiselessly by across the mirror-like surface of the water.

“I have come to wish you good-bye, Mabel,” said Harry, and his voice trembled slightly. “Lady Tryon insists on my accompanying her to London, and I cannot refuse to obey her. It is time, and she says truly that I should choose a profession; but which can I choose? I should have preferred going to sea some years ago, but I am getting too old for that, and though I have no objection to the army, yet it would take me away for years, perhaps for long years, Mabel, and that I could not stand.”

He looked affectionately into her face as he spoke.

“I should not wish you to go, Harry,” she answered in a low voice, “and yet I know that it is right and manly to have a profession. I should not like you to be in any better, yet it is so full of dangers that I should be very miserable.”

“No, I see, I must live in the country and turn farmer,” said Harry, as if a bright idea had struck him. “I have always been told that Lady Tryon is sure to leave me all her property, and that must be sufficient for all my wishes. However, when I go to London I will try and learn what profession is likely to suit me. I certainly don’t wish to be idle; and the thought of winning you, and making a home fit for your reception, will stimulate me to exertion.”

“I shall be glad if it does.”

A boat was moored near where they stood. Harry proposed to row Mabel round the lake. They looked very interesting as they two sat in the boat, Harry rowing, and Mabel smiling and talking cheerfully, occasionally catching at a water-lily.

They talked of Lucy. The theme was a sad one. Since the day of the fête she had never been well. There was a colour in her cheek and a brightness in her eye, which alarmed her aunt. She communicated her fears to Mabel.

“But dear Lucy does not consider that she is in any danger, or she would not urge my uncle to have the ball next week.”

“Perhaps your aunt is unduly alarmed,” said Harry, “Lucy seems in such spirits that I cannot suppose there is any danger. I was in a great fright at first, thinking that Lady Tryon would insist on going to London before the ball, but I am thankful to say she consents to stay till it is over. There is only one thing I don’t like in these balls. I say, Mabel, you must not let those French officers flirt too much with you. They are marquises and barons, to be sure; but after all, except their pay, they have nothing to bless themselves with. Somehow or other, I never can like a foreigner as much as an Englishman.”

“That is rather hard upon papa,” said Mabel, looking up. “You know his mother was a foreigner. Did you not know that she was French? Grandpapa married, when he was a very young man, just as he was a lieutenant, a French lady. She, too, was very young and very pretty.”

“That I am sure she must have been,” said Harry, looking up at Mabel.

“The story is a very sad one. Poor mamma died, I believe, when I was born, and grandpapa had just time to carry away his boy to England, and to place me with Aunt Ann, when he was obliged to go to sea. The little I know of the early history of our family I have learnt from Aunt Ann.”

They were nearing the shore when they heard a voice hailing them from the spot from which they set out. They soon reached a landing-place. A fine officer-like looking man was standing near it. Mabel sprang out and threw herself into his arms.

“Oh! papa, you have come back without giving us warning. Oh! dear, dear papa, how happy you have made me!”

Captain Digby Everard returned his daughter’s embrace. He looked inquiringly at Harry, whom he did not recognise.

“This is Harry Tryon,” she said. “You remember him as a boy; but he has grown a good deal since then.” The Captain smiled.

“I am very happy to renew my acquaintance with him,” he said, holding out his hand, “and I am glad to see so accomplished an oarsman: it is a pity that he has not been bred to the sea. However, perhaps it is not too late. Lord Cochrane did not go afloat till he was as old as Harry is, and he has already made a name for himself.”

The Captain and his daughter walked on towards the house, she leaning on his arm, and looking up, ever and anon, into his face as he spoke affectionately to her.

Harry, thinking that the Captain might consider him intrusive, made his adieus to Mabel and her father.

“Aunt Ann will want you to help her in preparing for the entertainment,” said Mabel, as she shook hands with him.

“And I should be happy to become better acquainted with you,” added the Captain, warmly shaking him by the hand.

Harry was becoming very popular in the neighbourhood: a good-looking young man, with apparently ample means, is certain to be so, if he is tolerably well behaved in other respects. People do not pry too closely into the character of youths of good fortune. Harry, however, was unexceptionable. The banker and some of the tradesmen of Lynderton might have had their suspicions that Lady Tryon would not “cut up” as well as was expected; but as they had had no quarrel with her grandson, they did not allow this idea to go forth to his detriment. Harry, therefore, dined as frequently out as at home. Indeed, the attractions of Ayleston Hall were not very great, to his taste.

One day, however, she insisted upon his remaining and taking a tête-à-tête dinner with her. Her eyes were weak, and she wanted him to read to her afterwards a new tale by Miss Burney. To that he had no objection. It was very romantic, and suited his humour.

“Well, Harry, you must make your fortune some day by a wife,” said the worldly old lady, “and really if you succeed with that pretty girl, Mabel Everard, you will do well. Under some circumstances I might not have encouraged it; but as it is, I have an idea: you know Lucy’s mother died of consumption, and if Lucy dies the Captain becomes his uncle’s heir.”

“But my mother died of consumption,” answered Harry, who hated the thought of being mercenary; “I hope Lucy may live, and that I may have the means of making a fortune to support a wife whenever I marry.”

“Silly boy, fortunes are not so easily made,” said the old lady, in a voice which sounded somewhat harsh to Harry’s ear. “If you don’t marry a fortune, there will probably be poverty and beggary in store for you. They are the most dreadful things in my opinion in this life. Be a wise lad, Harry, and try and win Mabel. You don’t mean to say, boy, that you have no wish to marry her?”

Harry hesitated to acknowledge his love to his grandmother. The old lady’s manner did not encourage confidence. Instinctively he mistrusted her. The old lady eyed him narrowly.

“Take my advice, and be attentive to the girl. If you follow it I shall be well pleased; if not, I shall act accordingly. Or perhaps when you go to London you would like to be introduced to your cousins, the Coppinger girls. There are a good many of them, I believe, but I have kept up no intercourse for some years past with my worthy brother Stephen. Indeed, he and I have different notions on most subjects. However, if there is anything to be gained, I should have no objection to call on my nieces. He is very rich, I am told, and will probably divide his fortune between them. Still, though our family is a good one, as he has always lived in the city, a daughter of his cannot bring you the county influence and credit which you would derive from such a girl as Mabel Everard.”

Harry seldom acted the hypocrite. He did so, however, on this occasion. He should be very happy to become acquainted with his fair cousins, and he did not for a moment deny the attractions of Mabel Everard, or the advantages which might accrue, should he be fortunate enough to win her hand.

The old lady, with all her acuteness, did not quite understand her grandson. On this occasion, however, she read his mind better than usual. Had he been perfectly frank she might have doubted him, but now that he attempted to compete with her in hypocrisy, she read him through and through.

“Why the lad thinks of marrying that little girl,” she thought to herself, “and unless her father should marry again, she will be one of the chief heiresses of the county, should her cousin die.”

The intended ball was to be the largest which had yet taken place at Stanmore, and Lucy especially wished for it. It was her birthday, and the Colonel could deny her nothing. Besides, Captain Everard had come home, and it would help to do him honour. Not only was all the neighbourhood asked, but people from all parts of the county. The house was to be full. As it was originally a hunting lodge, the outbuildings were very extensive, and could hold all the carriages and horses of the numerous guests. People do not mind packing tolerably close on such occasions. There was a long range of rooms in one of the wings for bachelors, and another similar range where a vast number of young ladies could be put up, with their attendant waiting-maidens. The new dining-hall, in which the dancing was to take place, was very extensive. It was to be ornamented with wreaths of flowers, and numerous bracket lights on the walls. The chandeliers were looked upon as wonderful specimens of art, though greatly surpassed by those of later years. A considerable number of guests who came from a distance arrived the day before. Lucy and Mabel had exerted themselves, especially in preparing the wreaths, and running about the house all the day assisting their aunt. Harry, of course, had been summoned over to help, and so had the Baron de Ruvigny.

Harry had got over his jealousy of the young Frenchman, with regard to Mabel. He saw, indeed, that the Baron’s attentions were devoted exclusively to Lucy. He was certainly in love with her; of that there appeared no doubt.

The Colonel invited Harry to stop to dinner. It was more hurried than usual, because Lucy insisted that they should have dancing after it, to practise for the next day. Those were primitive days. Lynderton boasted of but one public conveyance, denominated the Fly, though it seldom moved out of a snail’s pace, except when the driver was somewhat tipsy, and hurrying back to obtain a second fare. Harry had been sent round a short time before dinner to invite several maiden ladies, with one or two other dames who were not able to attend the ball the following day, while three or four of the foreign officers had received an intimation that they would be welcome.

Dinner over, and the tables cleared away, the gay young party began tripping it merrily to the music of harpsichord, violin, and flageolet, played by the foreign officers. Lucy appeared in excellent health and spirits, in spite of the fatigue she had gone through in the morning. No one danced more eagerly or lightly after the first country dance. She and the young Baron stood up to perform their proposed minuet: every one remarked how lovely she looked, and how gracefully she moved. People forgot to watch the slides and bows of the young Frenchman; at least, some of the guests did, though he was rewarded for his exertions by the evident admiration of several of the young ladies.

“That young Tryon, who is dancing with Mabel Everard, considering he is an Englishman, acquits himself very well indeed,” observed the Dowager Countess of Polehampton, eyeing the young couple through her glass. “If any creature could make a man dance, Mabel Everard would do so. Do you admire her or her cousin most?”

“Really, your ladyship, they are both fine girls; it is difficult to decide between them,” answered Sir John Frodsham, an old beau who faithfully danced attendance on the Countess. “If I were a young man I might be called upon to decide the question, and then I should certainly have voted in favour of the heiress; but now Lady Frodsham puts that out of my power.”

“Oh, fie! Sir John, you men are all the same, money carries off the palm with young and old alike.”

Harry meantime was enjoying his dance with Mabel, caring very little what the Countess of Polehampton or Sir John Frodsham might say of him.

During that evening more than one could not help remarking the rich colour and the sparkling eyes of the heiress of Stanmore. Never had she looked so lovely; indeed, generally she carried off the palm from her cousin. The dance continued, the amateur musicians exerting themselves to the utmost; and everybody declared that if the present impromptu little party went off so well, that of the next day must be a great success. The Colonel was seated at the end of the room, paying attention to his more elderly guests, and occasionally saying a pleasant word or two to the young ones. Madam Everard kept moving about and acting the part of an attentive hostess. Frequently her nieces assisted her, when not actually engaged in dancing. There was a question to be decided as to what dance should next take place.

“Where is Lucy?” exclaimed Madam Everard, looking round. Lucy had left the room; some minutes passed, and she did not return. Madam Everard became anxious. Mabel was again dancing, or she would have sent her to look for her cousin. Madam Everard hastened from the ball-room; she went up-stairs, and met a servant by the way.

“Miss Everard went up into her room some time ago.”

Madam Everard hastened forward, telling the maid to follow.

The door was slightly open. There was no sound in the room – a lamp burned on the table; Madam Everard’s heart sank with dread. She looked round. Stretched on the floor lay her beloved niece in her gay ball dress, her countenance like marble, and blood flowing from her lips!

“She breathes, she breathes!” she said; and she and the maid lifted her on to the bed.

She had broken a blood-vessel. Madam Everard knew that at a glance: Lucy’s mother had done the same.

“Dr Jessop must be sent for immediately;” but Madam Everard did not wish to give the alarm to the rest of the guests. She would let the visitors depart, and allow those who were to remain in the house to go to their rooms before the sad intelligence was conveyed to them. She did all that could be done, and applied such restoratives as she believed would be effectual.

Immediately Paul Gauntlett threw himself on horseback, and galloped off to fetch Dr Jessop. He would not even stop to put a saddle on the horse’s back, and would have gone off with the halter.

Meantime Lucy returned to consciousness, and declared that she did not feel ill, only somewhat tired, and would like to go to sleep. The guests shortly began to take their departure. The maid-servants of the maiden ladies came with their pattens and hoods, and big cloaks, some with huge umbrellas in addition. There were footmen and footboys also, with many-coloured liveries, carrying huge stable lanterns to light their mistresses. They were generally employed in the service of the dowagers. The Fly was in requisition, but only for a select few.