The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-05-01 00:00:00

ATHERSTONE GRANGE.

ET THE AUTHOR OF
N dila% Thornton," " Effie Baird," "Almost a
Criminal," " Leonora's Legacy," 4-c.

CHAPTER VIII.
TEE RECTOR OF LILLINGTON.

A man he was to all the country dear;
E'en children followed with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown to share the good man's smile,
--GoLnsurrif.
NOT twenty miles of distance intervened between
Leonard Atherstone, dying slowly in his gloomy
lodgings in Birmingham, and his father, wealthy and
prosperous, at Atherstone Grange. He was entertain-
ing a brilliant party there, and all was splendour
and gaiety. Since his bitter repudiation of his only
child, Pierce Atherstone had launched into more gaiety
than he had eveF indulged in before. He seemed to
Wish to fling thought behind him, and drive away the
very memory of what he had done by a continued
succession of guests.
His son's name was never mentioned. He "was
not," as literally as though he had never existed.
And yet, strangely enough, the old squire liked to
• have young people about him, to give them pleasure,
,r
and to mix with theca as though he, too, were young,
and full of life; and Atherstone Grange came to be
looked upon as one of the very pleasantest houses in
. Warwickshire to visit at. There were not many set
parties or stately dinners, but there was general
' license and enjoyment, impromptu dinners and pic-
nics, and the very best sort of people gathered
•- together to share them.
It came to be quite an understood thing that no in-
eligibles or detrimentals were ever to be found at the
i' Grange, and manceuvring mammas, with marriage-
able daughters, schemed to get their girls and them-
-. selves invited hither, as only woman can scheme.
Pierce Atherstone took great interest in the flirta-
tions that sprung up in his house, and more than one
' advantageous marriage was planned and arranged
under his roof.
He had no relations, this proud old man, who had
banished his only child—cousins were the nearest
kindred he could claim, and they were but few. The
' Atherstones were not a prolific race, and the Rev.
Norton Atherstone, Rector of Lillington, was almost
the only one of his race left for him to be intimate
with. They were near and dear friends, though the
clergyman was many years younger than the squire,
and as opposite to him in most things as could be
..
Well imagined. He was a liberal-minded, warm-hearted
' man, with not a trace of bigot about him. He would
• visit his poor people indiscriminately, whether they
came to church, or went to the staring brick conven-
., tide, which the Methodists had set up, and whose high
'. priest, a ci-devant shoemaker, denounced him as a
- "man of Beliel," and a "child of wrath," and other
choice epithets—inspired thereto, doubtless, by direct
inspiration. Mr. Atherstone laughed mightily at
these denunciations, and when the little stream which
• runs by Lillington spitefully rose up one night, and,
, inundating the cobbler's dwelling, nearly frightened
his wife to death, besides wetting her, she being ill at
the time, did such good service to her in the way of
• succour with wine and dry clothing, that ever after
her husband spoke of his reverend brother as a
"vessel of grace," to the rector's infinite amuse-
ment.
. Norton Atherstone did not follow in the footsteps of
his progenitors in matter of progeny. He had a house-
ful of sons ax d daughters, and a sweet, gentle-faced
wife, his very counterpart in all its pleasantest
qualities, who made the old-fashioned rectory a place
of home sunshine, sweet to visit at andknow, and who
• was adored by her husband's parishioners, as a dear,
kind lady, with no pride about her.
The young folks were free of the Grange, to roam
about as they listed; and their father often thought,
with a pang, of the uncertain fate of Leonard Ather-
atone, when he saw his children petted and caressed by
his cousin. Years had elapsed since any sign had
come from him; he might be dead for aught anyone
- knew, and once or twice he ventured to speak—to
mention the missing man's name to his father, It was
. useless. He was met with such a curt and bitter re-
' fusel to listen to a word that he gave up the attempt.
' Leonard had disgraced himself, and must take the
consequences.
The two were sitting together the morning before
. little Beryl's debut at Birmingham, having left the
. ' • young people in the library, planning a picnic to
• Kenilworth, which was to come off on a grand scale,
th hidden music in the rooms, and dinner as near
• . tia. possible on the spot where Leicester bent his knee
to his Queen, and lied to her, according to Walter
Scott, as men do lie to trusting women. The dream-
haunted old ruin was to echo with merry voices and
light laughter, and blithe feet were to trip it merrily
over the mouldering dust of its bygone glory.
Insensibly, without knowing how, Norton Ather-
stone touched upon the forbidden subject.
"Don't talk about it, for heaven's sake," the squire
exclaimed. "It makes me sick to think of it."
• "If you would allow it to be spoken of you would
, think of it less."
pi ." Nothing can alter my mind about it, if everyone
‘• ,tilked about it till Doomsday. I will never forgive
ot• him, Norton; and, so help me heaven! I will not give
him one penny to save him from starvation !"
•- "Don't talk like that, Pierce; you do not know
• What may happen."
"Whatever comes of it, my resolution will be the
same. You think me a hard cold man, cousin. Perhaps
I am, but you do not know how I loved my boy, nor
what a bright future I was planning for him. Nobody
can tell what my affection for him was, nor how
bitter a disappointment his deception and wickedness
have been to me." .
"You are too hard. Leonard is yeung and, for
.' aught you know, his wife may be a good and virtuous
Woman. I heard that she was when the matter was
- first talked about." 1
" Bah ! Plausible lies promulgated to reach the ears
~_
- . of the father of her dupe. Good! Heaven save the
'• mark! An actress!"
' "May be good, Pierce. Her profession does not
. Mitke her profligate."
• "You don't know what you are talking about," said
• the. squire, irrascibly. "Are good wives made of
creatures who sell their attractions to the public at so
. , much a night and simper the bow from the stage at
any fool and roue who chooses to pay for the privilege
, of wing her? A good wife! Bah! Coming straight
- frOni the embraces of some painted and bedizened
, buffoon, and lays herself out to play the role of
innocent girlhood, and entrap a rich young fool for his
. Money. Look you, Norton, I had rather my boy, had
gone to the labourers' cottages down yonder and taken
the most ignorant wench there is for his wife' so he
had brought an honest woman to claim his father's
. blessing."
' "What's your spite against actresses ?" asked • the
Clergyman. "I have heard you rail at them before
Many times—long before this miserable business was
thought of. Have you ever known any lady in that
'profession ?" ,
- ' " Once,." replied the squire grimly. "I knew one, and
, I sincerely hope that I shall never till I die know
- another. I'd rather cut off my right hand than know
that Atherstone must come to the child of this woman.
It must, more's the pity."
-" It ought to—it is right; she's your grandchild,
and should succeed in the natural course of things:'
"Yes, male or female, the Grange goes to the next
in succession. I can take away everything else. You
and yours will have everything but the estate and the
'empty house, Norton. I wish you could reign here as
• Atherstone of the Grange."
"I don't. I pray that nothing may come to me but
what is mine by right of inheritance—such a bequest
. as a cousin may receive. You will live to alter your
feelings, and make a righteous will yet." ,
"When I make my will, Leonard Atheistone's name
Will not be found in it. Let us talk of something else,
Norton. This subject is a useless waste of breath.
.iih, Churton what is it ?"
Churton was an old servant, who had grown gray
In the service of the Atherstones, and he entered at the
,Moment with the letter-tray in his hand.
• . "post's lato, sir," he said. "There's a stoppage on
the fine somewhere, they say."
;,„„" Better late than never, Churton," his master said,
overlooking the tray. "Here's a pretty cargo of
Correspondence, Norton. All those to the library,
Churton; these to the housekeeper's room and
servants' hall. Here's one for you, Norton—got in by
Mistake evidently; looks official; something about
that school grant, I daresay. There's one for me."
He put one in his pocket, and, when the servant
had left the room with the others, he turned to his
eousin.
"Who do you think I have a letter from ?" he
asked.
" Fiii,73.l't any idea."
4‘ They say, talk of the devil, acc. From him?'
m.leonard ?"
"q'es."

"What will you do with it ?"
"What I have done with the others—return it in an
envelope:'
"Don't do that, Pierce. Read it.".
"What for ?"
"Because it is from your only son, who ought to be
lido)* his father's side, instead of pining, perhaps
dying, in exile. Don't burn it or send it back, Pierce;
YOU may repent it some day."
"Well, well, it will keep.' And the squire so far
acceded to his cousin's request as to thrust the letter
back into his pocket again. "I'll read the others first,
tier's one from Carson. He's in London about those
Stratton-on-Dunsmore leases. It's a wild place that
bunsmore, and no end of trouble. I wonder what he
has to say."
Ile opened the lawyer's letter, and, to his -amaze.
aient, a playbill fell outof it.
"That's a queer enclosure," he said. "Is Carson
going int for nights of dissipation, and sending me the
Programthes-?”
The letter was short, but its contents gavEL Mr.
At'llerstone not a little- astonishibent."-
Morbey's, Trafalgar-square, March 19;
My dear sir,—The question of the Stratton-on-
-11-!lasnaore leases is not decided yet. The"Peoifle seem
l'„er37 keen in business matters, and their lawyers find
difficult to deal with. I think, eventually, the -
Tatter will be settled as you wish, though I feel very
u°l-Ibtftil of the value of the land when you get it, the '

-
country is so wild. But I had another matter to write
you about—the enclosed playbill. I came across it
accidentally in a shop window, in Bow-street, where
they seem to display the bills of country theatres.
I have made enquiries, and find there's no mistake
about the parties; they are Mrs. Atherstone and her
little daughter. I enclose the bill thinking you may
perhaps like to put a stop to the affair. I should think
it could be done. If you would like me to come down,
telegraph and I will start by the first train.
"Believe me, yours faithfully,
" RICHARD CARSON.
"Pierce Atherstone, Esq."
_

The enclosure was a bill of the Theatre Royal,
Birmingham, announcing the appearance of Beryl and
the child, and Mr. Atherstone's eyes glared furiously
as he read it.

" No, I think I can manage it without Carson's
help," said the squire, crushing the bill in his hand.
"What's the matter, Pierce !" asked the rector.
"Anything gone wrong about the leases ?"
"No, it's another matter. I can't talk of it, Norton.
Leave me alone, there's a good fellow, I must think it
over by myself."
The rector went away, wondering a little but
guessing that the new worry was something about
Leonard, and his cousin paced the room in angry
agitation and perplexity.
"Is he raving mad, I wonder?" he exclaimed; "or
has the devil entered into him, and prompted him to
try how far he can defy me? Could he think of no
other way to defame and disgrace our name than this?
So near here too! Within twenty miles of his father's
outraged home, he sets my very grandchild—the
heiress of our name, the owner of the Grange some
day—on a public stage, to be stared at by a gaping
crowd, with her name paraded on every fence and
hoarding in a town where it is known to half the in-
habitants! But he shall not; he shall stop it, if there
be any reason or manhoodleft in him. I swore I would
never read another of his fawning scrawls. I will read
this one, and see what he has to say in extenuation of
his monstrous and infamous conduct."

Leonard had nothing to say, as it seemed. In his
long and touching letter, the subject was not even
mentioned. It was only an appeal to his fatherly
love to help his son in his bitter strait. There was
not a word of his wasting illness, no word to tell how
near his once-cherished son was to the country "within
the veil." Perhaps if there had been he might have
relented. It was a simple statement of their dire
necessity, and of the straits to which they were re-
duced, with a word or two of tribute to the patience,
cheerfulness, and industry of his despised wife.
_

It might have been better if that fast sentence had
not been written. The very mention of Beryl acted
on the squire like a red cloak on a bull.
"I said I would answer no more of his letters," he
said, angrily. "I will not answer this one. He shall
not say that his daughter took her mother's degrading
profession for want of a hand stretched out to save
her."

_
He sat down and wrote hastily, and rang the bell
before he sealed the envelope.
"Who is in that can go to Leamington at once ?" he
asked, when Churton appeared in answer to his
summons.

"Lowther, sir."
"Very well. Send Lowther to me."
Lowther was found and summoned, and his master
bade him ride to Leamington in time for the 11.25
train for London, and deliver a letter to the guard of
the train with strict injunctions as to its safe disposal
in London. When he had done that, he was to send a
telegram which his master wrote out :
" Pierce Atherstone to Richard Carson.—Letter by
guard of 11.25 train from Leamington. Meet train at
Euston-square, and attend to letter before post time."
Lowther went, and came back and reported that he
had done everything his master bade him, as indeed
he had quickly and intelligently. The letter was speed-
ing away to London, and the telegram was in Mr.
Carson's hands in the smoking-room at Morbey's while
Lowther was refreshing himself after his ride, and the
servants' hall in general were talking the affair over,
and wondering what the letter could be about.
In about four hours a telegram came back fram
London to Mr. Atherstone from the lawyer :
"Letter to hand. Will attend to it at once: Have
plenty of time before post goes out."
"No one shall say I did not try to save my name
from this bitter degradation," the squire said to him-
self, as he read the telegram. "I have made a fair
offer to her father, and if he does not accept it the
fault is his, not mine." .`
Mr. Atherstone was his own courtly and agreeable
self as he headed the dinner table that evening, and he
shared in the amusements of the young people after-
wards with as much gusto, apparently, as any of
them. There was a cloud on his brow, and a pang at
his heart in the midst of it all which he could not hide
from his cousin, and Norton Atherstone pondered over
it a good deal. It had to do with Leonard, he was
convinced, and he was not a little curious about the
letter of the morning, and what it contained. But the
squire made no sign, and the rector had to wait for
time to unfold the mystery.
(To be continued.)