Читать книгу A Novel Without a Name - William Aubrey Burnage - Страница 15

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FENWICK PARK was to be opened again. The news spread through Dunmow and its neighbourhood like wildfire; and everybody was on the tiptoe of expectation, for rumour had hinted that Squire Wilton's only child and heiress Mabel had fulfilled the promise of her girlhood and developed into a woman of rare and exquisite beauty. Five years before, on the death of his wife, who was drowned at Dover, when crossing the straits of Calais, Squire Wilton closed the old house where his forefathers for centuries, each in his turn, had lived before him—and retired to an estate he had purchased in Cornwall; but now that time and change had somewhat dulled the edge of his grief, he had determined to return to his ancestral home. He was a large-hearted, benevolent man, hospitable, a Tory to the core, and every inch an English gentleman; and now that he was returning to their midst, his old friends were ready to give him a hearty welcome; while the young people of the neighborhood, who could recollect but little of the old gentleman, and still less of his daughter, having been themselves but children when she was last among them, were waiting with the impatience of curiosity to see the heiress, and judge for themselves whether she could reach the standard of beauty each one's imagination had raised for her,—the young men with vague notions of possible flirtations in store; some, more mercenary than the rest, even going so far as to hazard conjectures of her probable dowry, and their own individual chances of securing it,—the young girls, some animated merely by the ordinary share of inquisitiveness each had inherited from grandmother Eve; others already more than half-jealous of that peerless beauty, which, it was whispered among them, was to bring all hearts to her feet.

England is renowned among the nations as the one boasting the most picturesque and beautiful country-seats in Europe—places where nature appears to have conspired with art to produce homes surrounded by all that can delight the eye, or contribute to the enjoyment of life, parks with the softest and greenest verdure, and studded with the most venerable and stately trees, miniature forests abounding in spots of sequestered and romantic beauty, snatches of river scenery, of upland cornfields, and meadows dotted with sheep and cattle—nowhere upon the face of the whole earth can places be found, where comfort and appearance, beauty and utility are so inseparably united, as in the country seats of England's "upper ten thousands." And in this beautiful England may be found some to equal, but none to surpass the ancestral home of the Wilton's, of Fenwick Park. The grounds, which were very extensive, comprising as they did over fives square miles of rich agricultural land, were situated in a wooded and picturesque valley, and extended from the summit of its western watershed, across the intervening low land, and half way up the opposite slope. The House, as it was usually called, was built upon the high ground on the western side of the estate, and commanded a splendid view of the valley for miles both up and down, and of the meanderings of the river, which lay in it like a silver thread, here and there hidden by the bright green foliage, or the abrupt bends in its course. The House itself was a huge pile which, with the exception of a wing added in the reign of the Virgin Queen, was erected when Richard III of "infamous fame" occupied the island throne; and, excepting occasional, necessary repairs, was but little altered by the passage of time. The park from which the mansion took its name, occupied the whole space between the House and the opposite boundary, and lay on both sides of the river, which flowed through the middle of it in a narrow, high-banked and circuitous course. The river was spanned near the centre of the park by a light iron bridge for foot passage; while the carriage drive round the park crossed it by two shallow fords, one near the northern and the other near the southern boundary wall. A miniature lake, a couple of hundred yards back from the river on its western bank, formed an additional charm to the beautiful grounds, and was a pleasing element in the thorough English landscape. This tiny sheet of water was in the undisturbed possession of a thriving colony of swans and ducks. The road from the nearest railway station, distant about three miles, skirted the eastern boundary of the estate; but a path through the park, the use of which was permitted to horsemen and foot-passengers, shortened the distance by about half a mile, and was frequently availed of by persons going to and from Dunmow, and as Fenwick Park was celebrated far and near for its fine trees and picturesque river scenery, it was a favorite resort of pedestrian artists, who never failed to visit it, sketchbook in hand,—whenever fortune yielded their steps to the vicinity.

On the afternoon of the day previous to the expected return of the proprietor of Fenwick Park, a handsome youth about twenty years of age entered the park, on the Dunmow side, for the purpose of riding through towards Elmgrove Hall, further up the valley. He was mounted upon a foam-flecked grey, that had evidently been ridden hard. More than half a mile was saved by taking the path; but judging from the look of interest with which he surveyed the scene, and the leisurely pace at which he rode, saving time nor distance was not his principal motive for taking advantage of the shortest. "And she is coming back again to the old place," he soliloquised as he reined in his impatient steed on catching a glimpse of the House through the trees. "Five years since she left it, and since I last saw her! She loved me then: I wonder what her sentiments towards me are now! Strange that all my letters were returned unopened! I expect that was the old gentleman's doing! Five years! Why, we were only children then; and here have I been fool enough to think that because I have worshipped her image ever since, that she was sure to recipro——"

"The tin plaques o' Egypt on yer and all the nist o' yer artist breed! Bad luck to yer, are yer after thinkin', that thim Australy swans was sint all thim miles to be scared to death by a goshawk o' a painter!"

The youth looked round, and discovered himself to be in the immediate vicinity of a young game-keeper, who had a pair of black swans in a hamper on a wheel barrow upon the shafts of which he was then and there resting. "Hallo, Halloran, old boy; how are you?" he exclaimed, recognising that functionary. "What have you got there? Black swans, eh?"

"Bedad, yer honor, an' its meself that didn't know yer!" said the game-keeper apologetically, recognising in the horseman the son of a neighboring squire, "Yer've growed mighty stout intirely, since I wos after seein' yer last; an' that's a big morsel o' twelve months ago."

"And you took me for a painter, did you?"

"Be the powers thin I did, yer honor! And it's a mighty nuisance thim artist chaps is intirely, a prowlin' round wid their canvas and brushes! Bedad, they say it's only the picture o' the place they're after; but it's my confounded opinion the plate's the game they're at, if all was knowed! Faix, an if its only the picture they're after, why don't they go to old Tom Seaton's toyshop in Dunmow? There's plenty o' illigant pictures to be got there jist for the buyin'. Buyin' is it, faith? Why, savin' yer honor's presence there is'nt no more lazy, pilferin' set o' vagabonds out o' the county jail!"

"And you took me for a painter; or, to use your definition, a lazy pilfering vagabond," said the young man, laughing. "Upon my honor, I feel highly flattered?"

"An' sure sir and wasn't yer jist a surveyin' the old place as if yer'd like to eat it—jist like them artist chaps do! Of course, I thought honest people wouldn't look at a place like that unless, bedad, they were after calculatin' what the locks were like, and were the silver was kept?"

The young man bit his nether lip in vexation at his absorbed interest having attracted the rustic's attention, and to change the subject he made some trivial enquiry concerning the birds in the game-keeper's charge; in reply to which that individual informed him that they were a pair of black swans from "a place called Australy in Botany Bay, over beyant the sea somewhere."

"An' the reason thims black bates me hollar intirely unless, bedad, the bate of the sun blackes them like it does their furrin natives? Its a mighty queer country to live in that Botany Bay, where the people walk about on their heads an' the animals run about on their hind legs. Be the 'mass, they tell me thim same wild basts carries their young ones slung in pouches tied to their bellies; and the jackasses fly about in the trees!"

"Ah, Ha? That's a queer country, Halloran, and no mistake. Have you ever been there! That's the place would suit you well. Plenty of adventures."

"Be the blessed virgin, whin me father came back from Botany Bay last Friday was two years, and told us children o' the wonderful things he'd seen. I jist niver believed a word o' it. 'How the devil,' said I, 'could fishes have fur like a rabbit an' feet like a duck? or the cherry-trees have the seeds outside o' the fruit? or the weather be hotter nor summer at Christmas? But be me father's bagpipes, I'll believe anything now, after seein' with me own two blessed eyes a couple o' swans blacked as black as a pair o' ravens!"

"Strange is'nt it!" observed the young man absently as his thoughts wandered from his talkative companion to the grand old and venerable place before him, and his eyes fell upon a certain window from which many a time in the dear old days of childhood a well remembered face had watched him as he cantered up the old avenue on his sturdy little shetland.

"Its mighty fine to be a gentleman like you sir; to be able to go about as you like! Bedad who knows, you may be after going out to thim outlandish parts beyant, where the birds laugh like Christians, an' the grass grows on the trees an' the——"

"I," returned the youth, rousing himself from a pleasant reverie. "I love England too much ever to wish to leave it. I will give my share of adventure to any one who cares to go for it. No, England for me, Halloran. There's no place in the world to my mind like our brave little England. I shall live and die in it, I expect, unless she should go to war and send my regiment on active service. Then, I suppose I should have to go, like, or not like?"

"Be the powers thin, yer honor, it's more thin any on us can say what's b'fore him, as the praste said to me father, when he got transported for sivin years for burning the house o' a varmint o' a land agent," agreed Halloran.

"And so the squire returns to-morrow," observed the youth, not deigning to controvert the game-keeper's philosophy. "I expect you are all glad the Park is to be inhabited again. It will seem like old times."

"Faix, an' it's meself that's mighty glad, yer honor; for it's an angel entirely the young lady's growed, they say. Thim black bastes o' swans, I'm after fetching down to the lake beyant is a pair o' Miss Mabels; an' its mighty perticular she is about 'em too, feedin' 'em out o' her own pretty hands."

"They are a beautiful pair of birds, Halloran; and will make quite an ornament to the lake."

"Bedad, thin, an' that same will depend upon if the white ones takes to 'em kindly!" returned the game-keeper. "It's uncommon likely they'll object to the company o' these black beggars. But be the piper that played before Saint Patrick, I must wheel 'em down, an' git back to the House in no time; or there'll be the divil to pay. Good-bye, sir; an' I hope you'll forgive me for takin' you for an artist."

"Don't mention it my dear fellow," replied the horseman, laughing. "If you miss any of the plate in the morning, you will know where to look for it. Good-bye!"

Halloran took up his barrow, and wheeled the "black furriners" to the lake, where he left them to make what terms they might with the original inhabitants; and the youth rode slowly on, now musing upon the bright days of his childhood, when he and the expected heiress were constant companions, and anon anticipating by the ready aid of imagination the pleasure of meeting her again.

About eight miles up the valley from Fenwick Park stood Elmgrove Hall, another of the grand, old, English manorial homes, and the residence of Squire Fenton, one of the richest and most popular men in the county. A thorough sportsman, jovial, and free, he was looked upon as a leader by the gentlemanly fraction of the 'sporting world' of Essex. Being of whig principles, and having a name of comparatively recent date, his grandfather, a London merchant, having amassed the wealth that purchased the Hall and gave the family the rank of landed gentry,—Squire Fenton had never been on very cordial terms with his more aristocratic neighbour at Fenwick Park, though during the life of Mrs. Wilton, the female position of the families were on visiting terms; but shortly before that lady's death the gentlemen openly quarreled over an election; and all intimacy was broken off. Now that his old neighbor was returning after a long absence, Squire Fenton was anxious to become reconciled; but he felt doubtful how Mr. Wilton would receive his overtures of friendship. At Elmgrove Hall, as well as at Fenwick Park, preparations were being made for the return of the absent. Harry Fenton, the idol of his mother and sisters, and the pride of his father, was expected home on a short leave of absence. He was a cornet in a cavalry regiment stationed in the south of England and had been away from home for nearly a year; and sharp watch was kept by anxious and expectant mother and sisters, who were restlessly impatient of delay an hour before the slow-paced clock intimated that the appointed time had arrived for his return; but the clock struck twice after before the sharp-sighted Beatrice, who stood sentinel by the window, reported him coming in sight, where the road crossed the brow of the hill opposite, and riding as leisurely as if he were counting his horse's steps, or composing a love song.

"Anybody would think Harry didn't want to see us he comes so slow!" grumbled the loving little Beatrice in an injured tone, jealous and hurt at her brother's apparent want of a love as demonstrative and warm as her own. "If I was a boy, and had been away from my sisters all this time, I would gallop every bit of the way, as fast as my horse could go!"

"Patience, my girl!" said Mrs. Fenton, soothingly. "Perhaps Harry is tired; or his horse may have gone lame. It is always best to learn the cause of delay, before you blame people. Harry will be here in ten minutes now; surely you can wait patiently that long!"

"Look, mamma! There's Fanny and Clara running down to the edge to meet him! May I go too?" cried the excited little damsel, pointing to two young girls racing down the avenue. "Harry will be sure to give me a ride."

"Very well, my darling, run along!" and in an instant the little girl dashed out, hat in hand, and raced away after her sisters; while the fond mother, her eyes filled with tears of maternal love and pride, leaned against the frame of the open window, watching the approach of her only son.

As soon as the young horseman was near enough to recognize the girls running towards him, he touched his grey with the spur, and was quickly in the midst of them; and springing from the saddle, he kissed them each heartily in approved and brotherly fashion. "O, Harry," cried Beatrice, between smiles and tears, "I am so glad you are home again. Give me a ride!"

The little girl was speedily lifted to the saddle; and the sedate old horse docilely followed while Harry, with a sister on each arm, led the way to the Hall! Harry Fenton was a remarkably fine-looking young man, handsome, well developed (thanks to an early and judicious use of gymnastic exercises), and standing a shade over five feet eleven inches. His black hair and full, brown eyes formed a pleasing contrast, as he walked between his sisters to the light, flaxen curls and blue eyes of Clara, and the rich brown hair, and clear grey eyes of Fanny. After a few minutes spent in asking and answering questions about father and mother and neighbours; and in detailing the current news of the day, Fanny exclaimed, "And to think that Mabel should be coming back just when you got leave of absence! She has grown very beautiful, Amelia Walmsley says. She saw her at Penzance two months ago."

"Grown beautiful," replied Harry. "She has been beautiful ever since I have known her! I only wish I had a sister half so lovely."

"You are just like all the brothers," retorted Clara, pouting. "Always think other girls better than your own sisters."

"Ah, but then she was always prettier than we!" said Fanny, smiling at her sister's jealous words. "There are plenty of beautiful girls, who will have to give Mabel the palm; aren't there Harry?"

"Yes, sis! But it's Mabel's disposition more than her face, that holds me captive. I set more value upon beauty of character than more personal loveliness."

"Rubbish, Harry! You are getting sentimental," disputed Clara, ill-humouredly. "You would soon forget her beauty of character, as you call it, if Mabel lost her pretty face. Suppose she caught the small pox, and it left her a fright, would you love her still for her beauty of character?"

"Suppose we talk a little sense by way of a change!" put in Fanny. "Papa will not be home till to-morrow evening, Harry. He went up to London this morning to see a new hunter. What made you so late? We expected you home two hours ago."

"I rode through Fenwick Park, and stayed looking at the old place," replied Harry. "There are great preparations going on for the reception of the old gentleman. If he and father were on better terms, I would take you over to see Mabel during my leave of absence."

"I wish they were for your sake Harry," said Fanny. "But Mabel is sure to come and see us. She used to do what she liked; and I dare say she has her own way as much now as ever she did."

"I don't know so much about that!" Harry replied gloomily, recollecting certain letters of his to Mabel returned unopened.

"I expect our fathers' disagreement won't prevent your visiting the Park, Harry, when Mabel is back!" hazarded Clara.

"That will depend upon Mabel herself!" returned Harry, laughing. "If she likes to see me, all the fathers in the world shall not keep me away; but if she gives me only a half a reason to think that I am unwelcome, I shall be too proud to play the part of the lovelorn waif."

Here the brother and sisters' confidential chat was terminated by their reaching the Hall; and after embracing his mother, Harry lifted Beatrice down, gave the horse in charge of a groom and led his mother into the house. Half an hour later the family was taking tea in Mrs. Fenton's private parlour or boudoir, Harry having voted that, as they had no visitors, and his father was away, the usual six o'clock dinner should be superceded by an early tea.

As soon as Harry had somewhat blunted the edge of his appetite he startled Fanny by declaring that he could see that she was brimming over with impatience to learn how his comrade Lieutenant Beaumont was. "He gave me some love message, or other; but I quite forget what."

"O, Harry, do talk sense!" that young lady exclaimed, turning away to hide her heightened color, "I don't care anything for Arthur Beaumont."

"Well, that's fortunate, Fanny," returned Harry, determined upon taking his sister, "For really I think he doesn't care very much for you, whatever he may pretend to the contrary. I believe he's engaged."

"What has that to do with me? It is not my business!" retorted Fanny all her color going again at the unwelcome hint.

"I saw a valentine he sent to a lady friend of his two or three months ago. It was a real beauty, sis; and he wrote some special verses for it too. I can remember one, I think,—-

"Beautiful! ay, beautiful

Is the girl I would portray!

Cold as marble, and as dull

As an anchorite are they,

Who her matchless eyes can see—

Eyes of love—inspiring gray—

And still feel their bosoms free!"

"Why, that was on Fanny's valentine, Harry!" cried Beatrice, who had been an unnoticed observer of all that was said. "I heard her reading it to Clara."

Fanny sprang from her seat in confusion and hurried from the room; but Harry was too quick for her; and catching her up in his strong arms, he carried her back to her seat in triumph.

"It was such a pretty picture, Harry, all gilded all over with——"

"Silence Chatter box! Little girls should be seen, and not heard," said Mrs. Fenton, reprovingly, to the impulsive Beatrice; and, turning to her son she continued, "You ought to know better, Harry, than to tease your sister like this! Don't do it again, or I shall be angry with you!" The incorrigible Harry only laughed; and in reply kissed the blushing victim of his fun; and soon he began again, this time with the more excitable and impatient Clara. And so the evening wore away, till the ever-ready monitor time insisted upon their separating for the night; and soon all were asleep, Fanny dreaming that Arthur Beaumont was to be married, and that she was only to be one of the bridesmaids; and Harry, that his leave was up without his having an opportunity of even exchanging a word with the "queen of this rosebud garden of girls," as he would probably have called Mabel had he lived a few years later and read Tennyson.