# Elizabeth's Pretenders/Part 1/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
The simple plan on which the house at Farley Manor was built may be told in a few words. A broad corridor ran the whole length of the house, out of which the various sitting-rooms on the ground floor opened. On ascending the circular stairs, which were in the centre of the building, a similar corridor led, on the right hand, to the bedrooms of the family, on the left to those of the guests. Elizabeth's spacious studio, her bedroom, and a small dressing-room occupied by her maid, were on one side of this passage; on the other, Mr. and Mrs. Shaw's bedroom, two dressing-rooms, and a bath-room. The circular staircase, lit by a domed skylight, divided these from the guest-chambers, though there was a passage to right and left of the banisters on the landing which united the two portions of the corridor. At the extreme end, next to the door of Elizabeth's room, was a French window, opening upon a stone balcony, which commanded a view of the distant hills and the winding river, and many an old timbered farmhouse down the valley.
Here, early in the morning, at sunset, and by moonlight, Elizabeth often stood, watching the long blue shadows shorten as the sun rose higher, or lengthen as the golden light declined. She seldom went to bed ​without stepping out upon the balcony to take counsel of the starlit sky. Could the stone balustrade on which she leaned have told all the girl's thoughts, as they floated over it into the still misty air of daybreak, or the unfathomable spaces of the night, what a strange tissue of faith and fear, of hopes and questionings and doubts, it would have been!
The girl's character was not as yet fully developed. She was still full of inconsistencies—perhaps always would be; but experience might do something to reconcile points in her nature which did not seem to fit into each other. Proud, independent, undemonstrative in manner, she yet responded very quickly to affection. She had grown really fond of her uncle, for whom she felt a certain pity—she hardly knew why. For was he not perfectly happy? Did he ever appear to wish his wife different from what she was? And if she could entirely have believed in her aunt, she would have become attached to her also, little as their natures had in common. The girl's was a curious blending of the romantic with the practical and hardworking. Clever as she was, she was not suspicious—not shrewd; at this time hardly very observant. Certainly few clever girls in her position would not have had their eyes open, after a few months, to Mrs. William Shaw's real character. She was untruthful, and she was always restless for amusement and admiration—so much Elizabeth saw; but her aunt's apparent kindness and invariable good temper hoodwinked the girl, who was still very ignorant of human nature. By none of the indications which would have betrayed the secret to so many could she have discerned ​that Mrs. Shaw's light-hearted gaiety concealed a thoroughly depraved nature.
Not that she was bad in the sense of being malevolent; she was only intensely vain, and utterly unprincipled. She had married a man for whom she had no particle of affection, because he could give her the things for which she hungered. Being the man he was, William Shaw exerted no authority over her, and believed all she told him. She amused him; she made his life very comfortable; he enjoyed, in a vicarious way, the admiration she created, especially in the hunting-field; no whisper of evil ever reached him, and his trustful nature was incapable of harbouring a suspicion.
Mrs. Shaw, in her own way, was clever: there are so many ways of being clever. When she saw that Elizabeth's taking up her residence at Farley was inevitable, she resolved to make the best of it. She had already received the girl once, with every demonstration of delight, under her roof; the next thing was to bind Elizabeth to her by ties of gratitude and affection so strong that, having eyes she should not see, and ears she should not hear, whatsoever Mrs. Shaw desired should remain unknown. The task was easier than she anticipated. The cords that bound Elizabeth to her aunt were not, indeed, as "taut" as Mrs. Shaw conceived; but the girl's nature, as I have already said, was slow to suspect evil.
And now the scheme, which (the reader has already divined) had been growing up in a brain that was never affected by conscience, seemed nearly ripe for execution. Colonel Wybrowe was the most attractive of all her adorers. And he was very poor. He confided to her, when ​they met in London—it was during that dinner at the Savoy—that he was "stone broke," and would have to pass through the Bankruptcy Court shortly. A means of saving her friend occurred to her. Why should he not make up to Elizabeth? Could she do better than bestow herself and her twelve thousand a year on a man for whose person she had expressed such undisguised admiration? He was ruined, and he would find it difficult to pretend that he was in love with her. His tastes lay quite in another direction. But there was his recognized position in the world of fashion; his reputation for strength and courage, and his great personal attraction. With so many advantages, surely he might aspire to, the hand of a rather plain, obscure girl, with means to maintain him in all the luxury he had a right to expect?
The suggestion was at first coldly received by the individual it was meant to benefit. He told her he was not a marrying man; he would rather remain free and poor; the obligations of matrimony were distasteful to him. That was all very well, she replied; but how was he going to live? Here was a ready escape from his difficulties. If she could only bring this about (of course it needed his active and strenuous co-operation; there must be no half-measures with such a girl as Elizabeth), it would mean security for the remainder of his life. Her arguments prevailed. Naturally, the moral side of the question remained untouched by either. If she—the girl's aunt—had no scruples, no qualms of conscience, why should he be troubled with any? If the girl chose to marry him, well—it was her look-out. He should ​always behave as a gentleman towards her. If she didn't expect too much, they might "get along" pretty well.
Such reasoning as this prompted Wybrowe to take the initiatory steps we have recorded in his quest for money—with the drawback of a wife attached thereto. It cannot be said that these steps were vigorous or decisive; still they were steps, not too sudden or violent to be out of character with his poco-curante manner and demeanour. Elizabeth was slow to believe whither those steps tended. But she thought a great deal about her sitter during the next three weeks. His face too often obtruded itself between herself and her work. It irritated her. She wondered why it was that his rare smile and certain tones of his voice haunted her with a pertinacity which nothing else had ever yet done. Was she to be dominated by a man's looks and manner, of whom she knew so little, and that little by no means to his advantage? She had always said she despised men who did not work—who treated life as a playground, and wasted their energies on football, so to speak. Here was one who had done nothing but play football, and an expensive game it had been. She could not honour such a man; to be consistent, she should reprobate him. And whenever she said this, the noble head, pale and reproachful as Banquo's ghost, rose up before her.
Colonel Wybrowe had daily interviews with either lawyers, money-lenders, or creditors, during the weeks that he passed in London, before returning to Farley. For this purpose he had gone up—to temporize; to explain that if matters were not forced to a crisis, if a little patience were exercised, he had good hope, at no ​distant period, of being able to pay twenty shillings in the pound. The creditors took counsel. It oozed out (through the ex-Guardsman's indirect instrnmentality, no doubt) that there was an heiress in the wind. They agreed to wait a few weeks before taking him into the Bankruptcy Court.
It was still early in June, when Mrs. Shaw announced one morning at breakfast, after opening her letters, that Colonel Wybrowe would arrive that day. It was Whitsuntide, and other guests were also expected; the house, which was not large, would be full. It was the first party they had had since Anthony's death, more than six months ago.
"Well, I'm glad Wybrowe can come," said William Shaw, heartily, in spite of the drawback that his mouth was full of devilled kidney; "for he's such a favourite with the women, that the girls who are coming will be pleased—eh, Molly?"
"Oh! as to that," replied his wife, glancing at Elizabeth with a meaning smile, "he seldom condescends to talk to girls. I don't suppose he'll say six words to Kate Wargrave, or Guendoline Palliser, handsome as she is. He is so very odd!"
"Then what men have you got for 'em—eh?"
"Lord Robert Elton is coming. I don't know him, but the duchess asked us to Colesover, and as neither you nor Elizabeth would go, I had to decline. So I thought the best thing was to ask the son here, and he accepted."
"I'm glad of it. I hear him very well spoken of; and he's the right side of the House, and a first-rate speaker, I'm told. Any one else?"
​"There is Captain Drayson."
"Who the deuce is Captain Drayson? I never heard of him. You are always inventing new men, Molly."
"You forget, William; we met him in the winter out hunting several times. And I had known him before in London. He is in the —th, and quartered at Manchester."
"Ah! well, you've a better memory than I have. Then there's General Palliser and Lady Wargrave—that makes ten. You haven't any more, I hope?"
"No; the house won't hold any more. I wish you would build a wing, William—a nice large room for dancing below, and some bedrooms above."
"Can't afford it, Molly. I live up to every penny of my income as it is."
Generous Elizabeth was on the point of saying, "Let me build the wing for you," when the sober good sense of her uncle's next speech stopped her.
"And it ain't the building only, you see, but a larger house means more expense; and I don't want large parties, and balls, and all that. It ain't worth it. Ten's a very good number. A couple of whist-tables, and two to play piquet or bezique—what d'ye want more?"
"Don't put too much sugar in!" a voice called out from the bay window. Coco's perch was always placed there at breakfast-time.
His mistress went up to him, laughing, with a lump in her hand.
"You don't mind how much one puts in, you spoilt pet!" Then turning to her husband, "Oh! it is as you like, dear," said Mrs. Shaw, with her sweetest manner. "I wouldn't, for the world, have you do anything you ​don't like, merely to please me. Only, if Elizabeth doesn't marry next year"—here she laughed again, and cast another meaning glance towards her niece—"we really must give a ball, or something, to introduce her to the county."
Elizabeth interposed resolutely.
"Certainly not, aunt. If you think of doing anything of the sort, I shall go away. Uncle William isn't to bo bothered on my account. I don't want balls, and I can get on very well without knowing all the county,"
"Well," said her aunt, who had just opened and read another letter which the post had brought, "if you don't want to know all the county, the Head and Front of the county wants to know you. Here is a second invitation from the duchess to Colesover Castle! She says they are to have a dance there on the 20th. It is too amusing! She has never taken the least notice of me till now. You are the attraction, Bessie."
"Nonsense, aunt! How can you talk so?"
"But it's true, my dear. She wants you for Lord Robert. Well, we shall see what he is like. I'm told he is horribly ugly; but that," she added, with her ringing little laugh, "is of course of no importance with such a lot of brains, and the noble blood of the Eltons. It can't signify how ugly and misshapen he is!" Then turning to the placid William, she continued, "Shall I fetch Colonel Wybrowe from the station, or will you? He comes earlier than the rest, for whom, of course, you will send the omnibus."
The reply she knew beforehand. Had she not known it, she would not have asked the question.
​"You'd better go, Molly. I have something to do at the farm."
And she went. That half-hour's colloquy placed her in possession of, if not all, at least some of, the facts environing her friend's position. No time was to be lost. He must now set to work in earnest, and use the opportunities he had with skill and determination. The presence of other guests during the week—notably such a foil in physical respects as Lord Robert Elton—far from being a drawback, was held to be advantageous to his suit.