Читать книгу Englefield Grange; or, Mary Armstrong's Troubles - Mrs. H. B. Paull - Страница 11

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Edward Armstrong had parted from the family of Mrs. St. Clair without even the slightest hint of those intentions which a more intimate association had strengthened. But the three days during which he stayed at West Cowes were not lost time. He had seen Maria St. Clair daily, and made himself so truly agreeable a companion and escort, that the ladies willingly accepted his invitation to accompany him for a drive more than once in an open carriage which he hired for the occasion.

They bade him farewell at last with regret, and influenced by her daughters, Mrs. St. Clair expressed a hope that they should see him at Richmond after their return home, which she expected would be in about a fortnight.

Edward Armstrong returned to London with his mind fully made up. He possessed a determined will, and in spite of the misgivings which had tormented him after the exciting evening at Cowes, he had too much self-esteem to dread failure.

The girl he loved might be the daughter of the Honourable Mrs. St. Clair, and the great-granddaughter of an earl, and he knew that, in his eyes at least, she was beautiful, but she was penniless; and the gratitude she felt towards him for having saved her life was fast growing into love. Added to this he had the money she lacked, and the power to surround her with all the pleasant comforts and luxuries which money can procure. He determined, however, notwithstanding this confidence in himself, to wait until he had visited Mrs. St. Clair at her own home, and become more acquainted with the real position of the family to whom he wished to ally himself.

Mr. Edward Armstrong's house in Dover Street, Piccadilly, had been originally the London residence of a nobleman's family who during the early part of the present century had made that part of London, then called May Fair, their head-quarters.

He had let the upper part of his house at a good rental, keeping only for himself a bachelor's parlour behind the office, and a bedroom.

On the first evening after his return from the Isle of Wight, these said bachelor apartments wore a very meagre and desolate aspect.

Hitherto business and money-making had so absorbed his thoughts that the rooms he occupied had scarcely any interest in his eyes. So long as his housekeeper prepared his meals regularly, and kept his apartments clean and comfortable, he was satisfied.

Now, however, he looked with a critical eye upon his domestic arrangements, and on this evening of his arrival, while leaning back after supper in his easy-chair, some such thoughts as these passed through his mind—

"I could not expect any wife to be satisfied with such a dingy little place as this for a sitting-room, and to think of bringing that fairy girl, Maria St. Clair, to such a home is absurd. If I mean to win her I must get rid of these people upstairs, and furnish my house in a fit style to receive her. However, I must not give them notice to leave till I am sure of success. Sure of success! what am I thinking about? 'Faint heart ne'er won fair lady!' and Edward Armstrong is not the man to fail when he once makes up his mind."

Three weeks passed away, and on a warm, sultry morning in July, Maria St. Clair stood at the window of a pretty drawing-room at Richmond, looking out over the beautiful park upon a scene that has not its rival in any suburb at the same distance from London. The noble trees that are scattered over the greensward from the brow of Richmond Hill to the silvery stream of the Thames, which flows at its foot, were luxurious in summer foliage. Chestnut and oak, elm and birch, reared their noble forms at varied distances, casting their broad shadows on the undulating velvet turf, while the gentle deer browsed in safety beneath the sheltering branches.

Mrs. St. Clair sat at work near the open window, now and then glancing at the fair face of her young daughter, which wore a thoughtful, pensive look, in spite of its radiant loveliness.

Maria had quite recovered the effects of her dangerous sea-bath, and the word radiant is not too exaggerated a term to apply to the appearance of the young girl as she stands gracefully, yet carelessly, leaning against the window-frame.

"Have you quite finished practising, Maria?" said her mother, at last.

"No, mamma; but I could not resist another look at the dear old park. After all, I don't think there is a prettier place than Richmond Hill, even in the Isle of Wight; and although I have lived here ever since my childhood, I declare it seems more beautiful to me every year."

"That is because you are older, and more able to appreciate beautiful scenery."

"I suppose that is the reason," replied Maria—and yet while she spoke arose a consciousness that this new appreciation of Nature at Richmond owed its origin to a romantic and vivid description of the feelings the scene had excited in the heart of one who now monopolised all her thoughts. "He promised to come and see us," she said to herself, "and we have been home a week and yet he has not made his appearance. Perhaps he wont come, after all;" and then, feeling that she must throw off the sad thoughts which were attracting her mother's notice, she suddenly rushed to the piano, and struck the first chords of a piece with variations on the air of "The Lass of Richmond Hill."

But the composer's efforts were destined to come to a sudden end. The young housemaid opened the drawing-room door, and as she ushered a gentleman into the room, startled the ladies by exclaiming—

"Mr. Edward Armstrong, ma'am," at the same time placing that gentleman's card in the hands of her mistress.

Maria rose from the piano in hasty confusion. Much as she had thought upon the gentleman, whom she called her deliverer, his appearance at this moment was so totally unexpected that she was relieved to see him advance first to her mother, who sat at a distance from the piano. She had scarcely time to recover her self possession, however, before her mother's words in reply to Mr. Armstrong's inquiries for her daughter caused him to turn and approach her.

As Maria St. Clair came forward to meet this man, to whom she owed, as she thought, such a debt of gratitude, Edward Armstrong, in spite of his own good opinion of himself, was conscious of a feeling of inferiority.

The young girl before him in the simple white morning dress, had a manner and bearing which seemed to place him at an immeasurable distance.

True, there was a modest timidity and a blushing confusion, which added a charm to the beautiful face, as she held out her hand and answered his inquiries for her health with lady-like ease. Yet Edward Armstrong was some minutes before he could feel himself quite at home in the company of these ladies.

We are all liable to be influenced by externals, and therefore when Edward Armstrong met Mrs. St. Clair and her daughter at their own residence, the impression produced on his mind differed greatly from what he had felt in the Isle of Wight.

There he had been introduced to them in the sombre and old-fashioned drawing-room of a lodging-house, but here everything spoke of refinement and elegance. There was nothing pretensive or ostentatious about the house or the noble entrance, even the drawing-room in which they sat had a low ceiling, and the furniture was neither luxurious nor new. But it bore the impress of refined taste, and like all articles bought for their intrinsic value rather than for show, bid fair to last for many years longer in good condition.

Yet not even the antique cabinets, the curiously-wrought worktables, and other valuable ornaments would have been sufficient to produce in Edward Armstrong the impression referred to. It was the toute ensemble—the old-fashioned red brick house, the broad oaken stairs, with the centre covered with Brussels carpet; the long, low drawing-room, its windows opening to the ground on a balcony; the delicate chintz covering to chairs and couches; the flowers, the music, the lace curtains, and the presence of two gentle, lady-like women, one in her widow's dress contrasting to her daughter's simple white, all intermixed with the perfume of flowers, and finished by the glorious prospect stretched out before the windows, made up a picture which Edward Armstrong never forgot.

"You must stay to luncheon, Mr. Armstrong," remarked Mrs. St. Clair, after they had talked for more than half an hour over the still absorbing topic of the boat accident at West Cowes.

"I fear I shall not be able to remain," he replied, "as I have business in Richmond which will detain me for some time to-day; but if it would be agreeable, Mrs. St. Clair, I will spend an afternoon with you next week on any day you may find it convenient."

Mr. Armstrong's scruples about staying to lunch were, however, quickly overcome by the promise that he should leave as soon as he pleased afterwards; and the visitor departed that afternoon, more than ever fascinated by Maria St. Clair, and fully determined to obtain her as his wife. "Where there's a will there's a way," is an old adage which few were more likely to carry out than Edward Armstrong.

From this visit an intimacy arose between Edward Armstrong and Maria St. Clair, which her mother found herself unable to prevent. She saw in her daughter a growing preference for the man who had saved her life. She perceived on his part plain indications, that the greatest reward he could ask as a return for his courage and bravery, would be the hand of Maria St. Clair; and yet she could do nothing to avert such a result without ingratitude to the wooer, and perhaps pain to her daughter.

"I suppose I ought to consult my sister Louisa," she said to herself, "and Sir James, or wait till Herbert comes home from India. Helen is too grateful about little Charlie to make any objection, I am quite sure, but perhaps the colonel may disapprove;"—and then, as Mrs. St. Clair recalled the character of her soldier son-in-law, and reflected on what his gratitude would be towards the man who had saved his only son from drowning, she felt how impossible it was for her to interfere.

She could not forbid him the house, and all she could do was to wait for him to explain his intentions, and then if Maria's affections were really won, she must place the matter before Sir James and take his advice.

Mrs. St. Clair had not long to wait.

One afternoon, towards the end of October, Edward Armstrong had accompanied the ladies in a walk through the park, then glorious in its colouring of red and golden brown, with which autumn had tinted the noble trees.

They were joined by a middle-aged gentleman of martial appearance, whom Mrs. St. Clair greeted with pleased surprise.

"Why, Colonel Elliot, is it possible," she exclaimed, as she shook hands, "when did you arrive?"

"The day before yesterday," he replied. "My wife sent me over to-day to pay my respects, and as soon as I found you were here, I followed you."

"And we are very glad to see you," replied Mrs. St. Clair. Then turning to her daughter, she said, "You remember little Maria, colonel? I suppose you find her grown?"

"Grown indeed! what a change six years have made," he replied, glancing at her companion.

"Mr. Armstrong—Colonel Elliot"—and Mrs. St. Clair observing the glance, introduced the gentleman, adding, "We owe the life of Maria and her little nephew, Charles, to this gentleman's bravery when they were in danger of drowning."

"I have heard the whole account from my wife," said the colonel, quickly; and as Edward Armstrong raised his hat on the introduction, he held out his hand, and added, "Mr. Armstrong, I am indeed happy to make your acquaintance."

"You must accompany us home to dinner," said Mrs. St. Clair, after a few minutes of explanations respecting his arrival in England, and then they turned towards home, the colonel walking by Mrs. St. Clair, and the young people falling behind. The evening passed pleasantly, for Edward Armstrong was always seen to greater advantage in the company of men, with whom he could converse on almost any subject.

He had the tact to conceal a certain want of that something which marks the man accustomed from childhood to refined society, and in this he was assisted by a vast amount of self-sufficiency. Be this as it may, when Colonel Elliot rose to go early, on account of his distance from home, he cordially expressed his regret at leaving such a pleasant companion.

Mrs. St. Clair had remarked during dinner the deepened colour on the cheeks and the bright look in the eyes of her daughter, but she was scarcely prepared for Edward Armstrong's words when after tea in the drawing-room Maria rose and left her mother alone with him.

"Mrs. St. Clair," he said—and for once the voice of the self-possessed Edward Armstrong trembled—"I could not venture to ask you such a favour as I am about to crave, but for your kindness during the last few months. You once requested me to tell you in what way you could show your gratitude to me for what was after all a mere act of common humanity." He paused, but Mrs. St. Clair did not speak, so he went on—"There is no recompense on earth that could be to me a fraction of the value of the gift which you can bestow in giving me your daughter. Even in my efforts to save her life I was actuated by a growing love for her, which has increased since you so kindly allowed us to become better acquainted."

He paused again, for his words had been hurried, and were at last almost breathless. Too well he knew the social barrier existing between a farmer's son and the great-granddaughter of an earl, and while he spoke that barrier had arisen grimly before the mental vision of Mrs. St. Clair. How could it be overcome? At last she broke the silence, which was becoming oppressive—

"Mr. Armstrong, I feel honoured by your preference for my daughter. I can never be sufficiently grateful for the courage which saved her life. I believe you have won her love, and on my own part I would readily give her to you without a moment's hesitation, but I must consider my family, my sons-in-law, and my husband's relatives. What will they say if I allow her to marry a——"

"Do not hesitate, Mrs. St. Clair," exclaimed Edward, whose pride had been roused by her words; "I know I am asking Miss Maria St. Clair to marry a tradesman, but I can offer her a home with more of the comforts, luxuries, and refinements than are often found among many persons who are far above me in rank."

His vehemence troubled Mrs. St. Clair; but after a few minutes' reflection she said, "Mr. Armstrong, I am quite aware that in a money point of view your proposal for my daughter is worthy of consideration, but I cannot give my consent till I have consulted my relatives. Give me a few days to lay the matter before them, and to ascertain the sentiments of Maria, that is all I ask."

"Madam," said Edward Armstrong, rising, "if your dear daughter's wishes are duly considered in this matter, I have no fear as to the result. I will wait a week for your decision."

Mrs. St. Clair could scarcely restrain a smile at the self-appreciation displayed in this speech, but she shook hands pleasantly and promised that in less than a week he should hear from her. The result, however, of Mrs. St. Clair's application to her relatives was in every case but one favourable to Edward Armstrong. Her daughter Helen was ready to ignore everything about him, but that he was respectably connected, able to give Maria a superior home, and in himself handsome, well educated, well informed, and without doubt brave and courageous, for had he not saved her sister and her little son from death?

Colonel Elliot stood out strongly in favour of the man who had made himself so agreeable on that evening at Richmond; indeed all Mrs. St. Clair's relatives who had heard the romantic story so well known in the Isle of Wight were on the side of Edward Armstrong—more especially when his increasing wealth was confirmed by men of business to whom he had referred Mrs. St. Clair.

Only from an old maiden aunt was the information received that "she must not be expected to associate with people who kept a shop." Mrs. St. Clair had very little trouble in discovering her daughter's real sentiments respecting Edward Armstrong, and Sir James Elston's opinions settled the matter. After hearing all the particulars respecting the man who had asked his wife's mother for her portionless daughter, the bluff old Admiral had remarked, "Ah, well, if Mrs. St. Clair marries her daughter to a respectable tradesman who can support her in comfort, instead of looking out for a sprig of nobility without a shilling in his pocket, she will be a very wise woman."

Some little of Edward Armstrong's character showed itself before the wedding. Mrs. St. Clair wished her daughter to be married from Sir James Elston's house in Portland Place, and at a fashionable London church—but the bridegroom elect preferred the quiet of her own house, and the seclusion of Richmond.

Finding she could not succeed in having her own way with a gentleman possessing such a determined will, Mrs. St. Clair appealed to her daughter. But Maria, naturally gentle and yielding, was too anxious to agree with the wishes of her future husband to become an ally with her mother against him. So the gentleman had his way, and in the prettily situated old church, Maria St. Clair plighted her troth to the man who had been the means of saving her life.