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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Orley Farm
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you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook. Title: Orley Farm
Author: Anthony Trollope
Release date: October 13, 2007 [eBook #23000]
Most recently updated: March 31, 2014
Language: English
Credits: E-text prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D. *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORLEY FARM ***
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ORLEY FARM
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
First published in serial form March, 1861, through October, 1862,
and in book form in 1862, both by Chapman and Hall. [Illustration: ORLEY FARM. (Frontispiece)]
CONTENTS
VOLUME I
I. THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE GREAT ORLEY FARM CASE. II. LADY MASON AND HER SON. III. THE CLEEVE. IV. THE PERILS OF YOUTH. V. SIR PEREGRINE MAKES A SECOND PROMISE. VI. THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. VII. |
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THE MASONS OF GROBY PARK. VIII. MRS. MASON'S HOT LUNCHEON. IX. A CONVIVIAL MEETING. X. MR., MRS., AND MISS FURNIVAL. XI. MRS. FURNIVAL AT HOME. XII. MR. FURNIVAL'S CHAMBERS. XIII. GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY. XIV. DINNER AT THE CLEEVE. XV. A MORNING CALL AT MOUNT PLEASANT VILLA. XVI. MR. DOCKWRATH IN BEDFORD ROW. XVII. VON BAUHR. XVIII. THE ENGLISH VON BAUHR. XIX. THE STAVELEY FAMILY. XX. MR. DOCKWRATH IN HIS OWN OFFICE. XXI. CHRISTMAS IN HARLEY STREET. XXII. CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY. XXIII. CHRISTMAS AT GROBY PARK. XXIV. CHRISTMAS IN GREAT ST. HELENS. XXV. MR. FURNIVAL AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBERS. XXVI. WHY SHOULD I NOT? XXVII. COMMERCE. XXVIII. MONKTON GRANGE. XXIX. BREAKING COVERT. XXX. ANOTHER FALL. XXXI. FOOTSTEPS IN THE CORRIDOR. XXXII. WHAT BRIDGET BOLSTER HAD TO SAY. XXXIII. THE ANGEL OF LIGHT. XXXIV. MR. FURNIVAL LOOKS FOR ASSISTANCE. XXXV. LOVE WAS STILL THE LORD OF ALL. XXXVI. WHAT THE YOUNG MEN THOUGHT ABOUT IT. XXXVII. PEREGRINE'S ELOQUENCE. XXXVIII. OH, INDEED! XXXIX. WHY SHOULD HE GO? XL. I CALL IT AWFUL. VOLUME II
XLI. HOW CAN I SAVE HIM? XLII. JOHN KENNEBY GOES TO HAMWORTH. XLIII. JOHN KENNEBY'S COURTSHIP. XLIV. SHOWING HOW LADY MASON COULD BE VERY NOBLE. XLV. SHOWING HOW MRS. ORME COULD BE VERY WEAK MINDED. XLVI. A WOMAN'S IDEA OF FRIENDSHIP. XLVII. THE GEM OF THE FOUR FAMILIES. XLVIII. THE ANGEL OF LIGHT UNDER A CLOUD. XLIX. MRS. FURNIVAL CAN'T PUT UP WITH IT. L. IT IS QUITE IMPOSSIBLE. LI. MRS. FURNIVAL'S JOURNEY TO HAMWORTH. LII. |
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SHOWING HOW THINGS WENT ON AT NONINGSBY. LIII. LADY MASON RETURNS HOME. LIV. TELLING ALL THAT HAPPENED BENEATH THE LAMP-POST. LV. WHAT TOOK PLACE IN HARLEY STREET. LVI. HOW SIR PEREGRINE DID BUSINESS WITH MR. ROUND. LVII. THE LOVES AND HOPES OF ALBERT FITZALLEN. LVIII. MISS STAVELEY DECLINES TO EAT MINCED VEAL. LIX. NO SURRENDER. LX. WHAT REBEKAH DID FOR HER SON. LXI. THE STATE OF PUBLIC OPINION. LXII. WHAT THE FOUR LAWYERS THOUGHT ABOUT IT. LXIII. THE EVENING BEFORE THE TRIAL. LXIV. THE FIRST JOURNEY TO ALSTON. LXV. FELIX GRAHAM RETURNS TO NONINGSBY. LXVI. SHOWING HOW MISS FURNIVAL TREATED HER LOVERS. LXVII. MR. MOULDER BACKS HIS OPINION. LXVIII. THE FIRST DAY OF THE TRIAL. LXIX. THE TWO JUDGES. LXX. HOW AM I TO BEAR IT? LXXI. SHOWING HOW JOHN KENNEBY AND BRIDGET BOLSTER BORE
THEMSELVES IN COURT. LXXII. MR. FURNIVAL'S SPEECH. LXXIII. MRS. ORME TELLS THE STORY. LXXIV. YOUNG LOCHINVAR. LXXV. THE LAST DAY. LXXVI. I LOVE HER STILL. LXXVII. JOHN KENNEBY'S DOOM. LXXVIII. THE LAST OF THE LAWYERS. LXXIX. FAREWELL. LXXX. SHOWING HOW AFFAIRS SETTLED THEMSELVES AT NONINGSBY. ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME I
ORLEY FARM. FRONTISPIECE
SIR PEREGRINE AND HIS HEIR. CHAPTER III
THERE WAS SORROW IN HER HEART,
AND DEEP THOUGHT IN HER MIND. CHAPTER V
"THERE IS NOTHING LIKE IRON, SIR; NOTHING." CHAPTER VI
AND THEN THEY ALL MARCHED OUT OF THE ROOM,
EACH WITH HIS OWN GLASS. CHAPTER IX
MR. FURNIVAL'S WELCOME HOME. CHAPTER XI
"YOUR SON LUCIUS DID SAY--SHOPPING." CHAPTER XIII
OVER THEIR WINE. |
|
CHAPTER XIV
VON BAUHR'S DREAM. CHAPTER XVII
THE ENGLISH VON BAUHR AND HIS PUPIL. CHAPTER XVIII
CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY--MORNING. CHAPTER XXII
CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY--EVENING. CHAPTER XXII
"WHY SHOULD I NOT?" CHAPTER XXV
MONKTON GRANGE. CHAPTER XXVIII
FELIX GRAHAM IN TROUBLE. CHAPTER XXIX
FOOTSTEPS IN THE CORRIDOR. CHAPTER XXXI
THE ANGEL OF LIGHT. CHAPTER XXXIII
LUCIUS MASON IN HIS STUDY. CHAPTER XXXVI
PEREGRINE'S ELOQUENCE. CHAPTER XXXVII
LADY STAVELY INTERRUPTING HER SON
AND SOPHIA FURNIVAL. CHAPTER XXXIX
VOLUME II
JOHN KENNEBY AND MIRIAM DOCKWRATH. CHAPTER XLII
GUILTY. CHAPTER XLIV
LADY MASON AFTER HER CONFESSION. CHAPTER XLV
"BREAD SAUCE IS SO TICKLISH." CHAPTER XLVII
"NEVER IS A VERY LONG WORD." CHAPTER L
"TOM," SHE SAID, "I HAVE COME BACK." CHAPTER LI
LADY MASON GOING BEFORE THE MAGISTRATES. CHAPTER LIII
SIR PEREGRINE AT MR. ROUND'S OFFICE. CHAPTER LVI
"TELL ME, MADELINE, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?" CHAPTER LVIII
"NO SURRENDER." CHAPTER LIX
MR. CHAFFANBRASS AND MR. SOLOMON ARAM. CHAPTER LXII
THE COURT. CHAPTER LXIV
THE DRAWING-ROOM AT NONINGSBY. CHAPTER LXV
"AND HOW ARE THEY ALL AT NONINGSBY?" CHAPTER LXVI
LADY MASON LEAVING THE COURT. CHAPTER LXX
"HOW CAN I BEAR IT?" CHAPTER LXX
BRIDGET BOLSTER IN COURT. CHAPTER LXXI
LUCIUS MASON, AS HE LEANED ON THE GATE
THAT WAS NO LONGER HIS OWN. CHAPTER LXXIII
FAREWELL! CHAPTER LXXIX
FAREWELL! CHAPTER LXXIX
VOLUME I. CHAPTER I. THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE GREAT ORLEY FARM CASE. It is not true that a rose by any other name will smell as sweet. |
|
Were it true, I should call this story "The Great Orley Farm Case." But who would ask for the ninth number of a serial work burthened
with so very uncouth an appellation? Thence, and therefore,--Orley
Farm. I say so much at commencing in order that I may have an opportunity
of explaining that this book of mine will not be devoted in any
special way to rural delights. The name might lead to the idea that
new precepts were to be given, in the pleasant guise of a novel, as
to cream-cheeses, pigs with small bones, wheat sown in drills, or
artificial manure. No such aspirations are mine. I make no attempts
in that line, and declare at once that agriculturists will gain
nothing from my present performance. Orley Farm, my readers, will be
our scene during a portion of our present sojourn together, but the
name has been chosen as having been intimately connected with certain
legal questions which made a considerable stir in our courts of law. It was twenty years before the date at which this story will be
supposed to commence that the name of Orley Farm first became known
to the wearers of the long robe. At that time had died an old
gentleman, Sir Joseph Mason, who left behind him a landed estate in
Yorkshire of considerable extent and value. This he bequeathed, in a
proper way, to his eldest son, the Joseph Mason, Esq., of our date. |
|
Sir Joseph had been a London merchant; had made his own money, having
commenced the world, no doubt, with half a crown; had become, in
turn, alderman, mayor, and knight; and in the fulness of time was
gathered to his fathers. He had purchased this estate in Yorkshire
late in life--we may as well become acquainted with the name, Groby
Park--and his eldest son had lived there with such enjoyment of the
privileges of an English country gentleman as he had been able to
master for himself. Sir Joseph had also had three daughters, full
sisters of Joseph of Groby, whom he endowed sufficiently and gave
over to three respective loving husbands. And then shortly before his
death, three years or so, Sir Joseph had married a second wife, a
lady forty-five years his junior, and by her he also left one son, an
infant only two years old when he died. For many years this prosperous gentleman had lived at a small country
house, some five-and-twenty miles from London, called Orley Farm. This had been his first purchase of land, and he had never given up
his residence there, although his wealth would have entitled him to
the enjoyment of a larger establishment. |
|
On the birth of his youngest
son, at which time his eldest was nearly forty years old, he made
certain moderate provision for the infant, as he had already made
moderate provision for his young wife; but it was then clearly
understood by the eldest son that Orley Farm was to go with the Groby
Park estate to him as the heir. When, however, Sir Joseph died, a
codicil to his will, executed with due legal formalities, bequeathed
Orley Farm to his youngest son, little Lucius Mason. Then commenced those legal proceedings which at last developed
themselves into the great Orley Farm Case. The eldest son contested
the validity of the codicil; and indeed there were some grounds
on which it appeared feasible that he should do so. This codicil
not only left Orley Farm away from him to baby Lucius, but also
interfered in another respect with the previous will. It devised a
sum of two thousand pounds to a certain Miriam Usbech, the daughter
of one Jonathan Usbech who was himself the attorney who had attended
upon Sir Joseph for the making out of this very will, and also of
this very codicil. This sum of two thousand pounds was not, it is
true, left away from the surviving Joseph, but was to be produced out
of certain personal property which had been left by the first will to
the widow. And then old Jonathan Usbech had died, while Sir Joseph
Mason was still living. |
|
All the circumstances of the trial need not be detailed here. It was
clearly proved that Sir Joseph had during his whole life expressed
his intention of leaving Orley Farm to his eldest son; that he was a
man void of mystery, and not given to secrets in his money matters,
and one very little likely to change his opinion on such subjects. It
was proved that old Jonathan Usbech at the time in which the will was
made was in very bad circumstances, both as regards money and health. His business had once not been bad, but he had eaten and drunk it,
and at this period was feeble and penniless, overwhelmed both by gout
and debt. He had for many years been much employed by Sir Joseph in
money matters, and it was known that he was so employed almost up to
the day of his death. The question was whether he had been employed
to make this codicil. The body of the will was in the handwriting of the widow, as was also
the codicil. It was stated by her at the trial that the words were
dictated to her by Usbech in her husband's hearing, and that the
document was then signed by her husband in the presence of them both,
and also in the presence of two other persons--a young man employed
by her husband as a clerk, and by a servant-maid. |
|
These two last,
together with Mr. Usbech, were the three witnesses whose names
appeared in the codicil. There had been no secrets between Lady Mason
and her husband as to his will. She had always, she said, endeavoured
to induce him to leave Orley Farm to her child from the day of the
child's birth, and had at last succeeded. In agreeing to this Sir
Joseph had explained to her, somewhat angrily, that he wished to
provide for Usbech's daughter, and that now he would do so out of
moneys previously intended for her, the widow, and not out of the
estate which would go to his eldest son. To this she had assented
without a word, and had written the codicil in accordance with the
lawyer's dictation, he, the lawyer, suffering at the time from gout
in his hand. Among other things Lady Mason proved that on the date of
the signatures Mr. Usbech had been with Sir Joseph for sundry hours. Then the young clerk was examined. He had, he said, witnessed in
his time four, ten, twenty, and, under pressure, he confessed to
as many as a hundred and twenty business signatures on the part of
his employer, Sir Joseph. He thought he had witnessed a hundred
and twenty, but would take his oath he had not witnessed a hundred
and twenty-one. |
|
He did remember witnessing a signature of his
master about the time specified by the date of the codicil, and he
remembered the maid-servant also signing at the same time. Mr. Usbech
was then present; but he did not remember Mr. Usbech having the
pen in his hand. Mr. Usbech, he knew, could not write at that time,
because of the gout; but he might, no doubt, have written as much
as his own name. He swore to both the signatures--his own and his
master's; and in cross-examination swore that he thought it probable
that they might be forgeries. On re-examination he was confident that
his own name, as there appearing, had been written by himself; but
on re-cross-examination, he felt sure that there was something wrong. It ended in the judge informing him that his word was worth nothing,
which was hard enough on the poor young man, seeing that he had done
his best to tell all that he remembered. Then the servant-girl came
into the witness-box. She was sure it was her own handwriting. She
remembered being called in to write her name, and seeing the master
write his. It had all been explained to her at the time, but she
admitted that she had not understood the explanation. She had also
seen the clerk write his name, but she was not sure that she had seen
Mr. Usbech write. Mr. Usbech had had a pen in his hand; she was sure
of that. |
|
The last witness was Miriam Usbech, then a very pretty, simple girl
of seventeen. Her father had told her once that he hoped Sir Joseph
would make provision for her. This had been shortly before her
father's death. At her father's death she had been sent for to Orley
Farm, and had remained there till Sir Joseph died. She had always
regarded Sir Joseph and Lady Mason as her best friends. She had known
Sir Joseph all her life, and did not think it unnatural that he
should provide for her. She had heard her father say more than once
that Lady Mason would never rest till the old gentleman had settled
Orley Farm upon her son. Not half the evidence taken has been given here, but enough probably
for our purposes. The will and codicil were confirmed, and Lady Mason
continued to live at the farm. Her evidence was supposed to have been
excellently given, and to have been conclusive. She had seen the
signature, and written the codicil, and could explain the motive. She
was a woman of high character, of great talent, and of repute in the
neighbourhood; and, as the judge remarked, there could be no possible
reason for doubting her word. Nothing also could be simpler or
prettier than the evidence of Miriam Usbech, as to whose fate and
destiny people at the time expressed much sympathy. |
|
That stupid young
clerk was responsible for the only weak part of the matter; but if
he proved nothing on one side, neither did he prove anything on the
other. This was the commencement of the great Orley Farm Case, and having
been then decided in favour of the infant it was allowed to slumber
for nearly twenty years. The codicil was confirmed, and Lady Mason
remained undisturbed in possession of the house, acting as guardian
for her child till he came of age, and indeed for some time beyond
that epoch. In the course of a page or two I shall beg my readers to
allow me to introduce this lady to their acquaintance. Miriam Usbech, of whom also we shall see something, remained at the
farm under Lady Mason's care till she married a young attorney, who
in process of time succeeded to such business as her father left
behind him. She suffered some troubles in life before she settled
down in the neighbouring country town as Mrs. Dockwrath, for she had
had another lover, the stupid young clerk who had so villainously
broken down in his evidence; and to this other lover, whom she had
been unable to bring herself to accept, Lady Mason had given her
favour and assistance. Poor Miriam was at that time a soft, mild-eyed
girl, easy to be led, one would have said; but in this matter Lady
Mason could not lead her. |
|
It was in vain to tell her that the
character of young Dockwrath did not stand high, and that young
Kenneby, the clerk, should be promoted to all manner of good things. Soft and mild-eyed as Miriam was, Love was still the lord of all. In
this matter she would not be persuaded; and eventually she gave her
two thousand pounds to Samuel Dockwrath, the young attorney with the
questionable character. This led to no breach between her and her patroness. Lady Mason,
wishing to do the best for her young friend, had favoured John
Kenneby, but she was not a woman at all likely to quarrel on such a
ground as this. "Well, Miriam," she had said, "you must judge for
yourself, of course, in such a matter as this. You know my regard for
you." "Oh yes, ma'am," said Miriam, eagerly. "And I shall always be glad to promote your welfare as Mrs.
Dockwrath, if possible. I can only say that I should have had more
satisfaction in attempting to do so for you as Mrs. Kenneby." But,
in spite of the seeming coldness of these words, Lady Mason had
been constant to her friend for many years, and had attended to her
with more or less active kindness in all the sorrows arising from
an annual baby and two sets of twins--a progeny which before the
commencement of my tale reached the serious number of sixteen, all
living. |
|
Among other solid benefits conferred by Lady Mason had been the
letting to Mr. Dockwrath of certain two fields, lying at the
extremity of the farm property, and quite adjacent to the town of
Hamworth in which old Mr. Usbech had resided. These had been let by
the year, at a rent not considered to be too high at that period, and
which had certainly become much lower in proportion to the value of
the land, as the town of Hamworth had increased. On these fields Mr.
Dockwrath expended some money, though probably not so much as he
averred; and when noticed to give them up at the period of young
Mason's coming of age, expressed himself terribly aggrieved. "Surely, Mr. Dockwrath, you are very ungrateful," Lady Mason had said
to him. But he had answered her with disrespectful words; and hence
had arisen an actual breach between her and poor Miriam's husband. "I
must say, Miriam, that Mr. Dockwrath is unreasonable," Lady Mason had
said. And what could a poor wife answer? "Oh! Lady Mason, pray let
it bide a time till it all comes right." But it never did come right;
and the affair of those two fields created the great Orley Farm Case,
which it will be our business to unravel. And now a word or two as to this Orley Farm. In the first place let
it be understood that the estate consisted of two farms. |
|
One, called
the Old Farm, was let to an old farmer named Greenwood, and had been
let to him and to his father for many years antecedent to the days
of the Masons. Mr. Greenwood held about three hundred acres of land,
paying with admirable punctuality over four hundred a year in rent,
and was regarded by all the Orley people as an institution on the
property. Then there was the farm-house and the land attached to it. This was the residence in which Sir Joseph had lived, keeping in
his own hands this portion of the property. When first inhabited by
him the house was not fitted for more than the requirements of an
ordinary farmer, but he had gradually added to it and ornamented
it till it was commodious, irregular, picturesque, and straggling. When he died, and during the occupation of his widow, it consisted
of three buildings of various heights, attached to each other,
and standing in a row. The lower contained a large kitchen, which
had been the living-room of the farm-house, and was surrounded
by bake-house, laundry, dairy, and servants' room, all of fair
dimensions. It was two stories high, but the rooms were low, and the
roof steep and covered with tiles. The next portion had been added by
Sir Joseph, then Mr. Mason, when he first thought of living at the
place. |
|
This also was tiled, and the rooms were nearly as low; but
there were three stories, and the building therefore was considerably
higher. For five-and-twenty years the farm-house, so arranged, had
sufficed for the common wants of Sir Joseph and his family; but when
he determined to give up his establishment in the City, he added on
another step to the house at Orley Farm. On this occasion he built
a good dining-room, with a drawing-room over it, and bed-room over
that; and this portion of the edifice was slated. The whole stood in one line fronting on to a large lawn which fell
steeply away from the house into an orchard at the bottom. This
lawn was cut in terraces, and here and there upon it there stood
apple-trees of ancient growth; for here had been the garden of the
old farm-house. They were large, straggling trees, such as do not
delight the eyes of modern gardeners; but they produced fruit by the
bushel, very sweet to the palate, though probably not so perfectly
round, and large, and handsome as those which the horticultural skill
of the present day requires. The face of the house from one end to
the other was covered with vines and passion-flowers, for the aspect
was due south; and as the whole of the later addition was faced by
a verandah, which also, as regarded the ground-floor, ran along the
middle building, the place in summer was pretty enough. |
|
As I have
said before, it was irregular and straggling, but at the same time
roomy and picturesque. Such was Orley Farm-house. There were about two hundred acres of land attached to it, together
with a large old-fashioned farm-yard, standing not so far from the
house as most gentlemen farmers might perhaps desire. The farm
buildings, however, were well hidden, for Sir Joseph, though he would
at no time go to the expense of constructing all anew, had spent more
money than such a proceeding would have cost him doctoring existing
evils and ornamenting the standing edifices. In doing this he had
extended the walls of a brewhouse, and covered them with creepers, so
as to shut out from the hall door the approach to the farm-yard, and
had put up a quarter of a mile of high ornamental paling for the same
purpose. He had planted an extensive shrubbery along the brow of the
hill at one side of the house, had built summer-houses, and sunk a
ha-ha fence below the orchard, and had contrived to give to the place
the unmistakable appearance of an English gentleman's country-house. Nevertheless, Sir Joseph had never bestowed upon his estate, nor had
it ever deserved, a more grandiloquent name than that which it had
possessed of old. |
|
Orley Farm-house itself is somewhat more than a mile distant from
the town of Hamworth, but the land runs in the direction of the
town, not skirting the high road, but stretching behind the cottages
which stand along the pathway; and it terminates in those two fields
respecting which Mr. Dockwrath the attorney became so irrationally
angry at the period of which we are now immediately about to treat. These fields lie on the steep slope of Hamworth Hill, and through
them runs the public path from the hamlet of Roxeth up to Hamworth
church; for, as all the world knows, Hamworth church stands high, and
is a landmark to the world for miles and miles around. Within a circuit of thirty miles from London no land lies more
beautifully circumstanced with regard to scenery than the country
about Hamworth; and its most perfect loveliness commences just
beyond the slopes of Orley Farm. There is a little village called
Coldharbour, consisting of some half-dozen cottages, situated
immediately outside Lady Mason's gate,--and it may as well be stated
here that this gate is but three hundred yards from the house, and is
guarded by no lodge. This village stands at the foot of Cleeve Hill. The land hereabouts ceases to be fertile, and breaks away into heath
and common ground. Round the foot of the hill there are extensive
woods, all of which belong to Sir Peregrine Orme, the lord of the
manor. |
|
Sir Peregrine is not a rich man, not rich, that is, it being
borne in mind that he is a baronet, that he represented his county in
parliament for three or four sessions, and that his ancestors have
owned The Cleeve estate for the last four hundred years; but he is by
general repute the greatest man in these parts. We may expect to hear
more of him also as the story makes its way. I know many spots in England and in other lands, world-famous in
regard to scenery, which to my eyes are hardly equal to Cleeve Hill. From the top of it you are told that you may see into seven counties;
but to me that privilege never possessed any value. I should not
care to see into seventeen counties, unless the country which spread
itself before my view was fair and lovely. The country which is so
seen from Cleeve Hill is exquisitely fair and lovely;--very fair,
with glorious fields of unsurpassed fertility, and lovely with oak
woods and brown open heaths which stretch away, hill after hill, down
towards the southern coast. I could greedily fill a long chapter with
the well-loved glories of Cleeve Hill; but it may be that we must
press its heather with our feet more than once in the course of our
present task, and if so, it will be well to leave something for those
coming visits. "Ungrateful! I'll let her know whether I owe her any gratitude. |
|
Haven't I paid her her rent every half-year as it came due? what more
would she have? Ungrateful, indeed! She is one of those women who
think that you ought to go down on your knees to them if they only
speak civilly to you. I'll let her know whether I'm ungrateful." These words were spoken by angry Mr. Samuel Dockwrath to his wife, as
he stood up before his parlour-fire after breakfast, and the woman to
whom he referred was Lady Mason. Mr. Samuel Dockwrath was very angry
as he so spoke, or at any rate he seemed to be so. There are men who
take a delight in abusing those special friends whom their wives
best love, and Mr. Dockwrath was one of these. He had never given
his cordial consent to the intercourse which had hitherto existed
between the lady of Orley Farm and his household, although he had not
declined the substantial benefits which had accompanied it. His pride
had rebelled against the feeling of patronage, though his interest
had submitted to the advantages thence derived. |
|
A family of sixteen
children is a heavy burden for a country attorney with a small
practice, even though his wife may have had a fortune of two thousand
pounds; and thus Mr. Dockwrath, though he had never himself loved
Lady Mason, had permitted his wife to accept all those numberless
kindnesses which a lady with comfortable means and no children is
always able to bestow on a favoured neighbour who has few means and
many children. Indeed, he himself had accepted a great favour with
reference to the holding of those two fields, and had acknowledged as
much when first he took them into his hands some sixteen or seventeen
years back. But all that was forgotten now; and having held them for
so long a period, he bitterly felt the loss, and resolved that it
would ill become him as a man and an attorney to allow so deep an
injury to pass unnoticed. It may be, moreover, that Mr. Dockwrath was
now doing somewhat better in the world than formerly, and that he
could afford to give up Lady Mason, and to demand also that his wife
should give her up. |
|
Those trumpery presents from Orley Farm were very
well while he was struggling for bare bread, but now, now that he had
turned the corner,--now that by his divine art and mystery of law
he had managed to become master of that beautiful result of British
perseverance, a balance at his banker's, he could afford to indulge
his natural antipathy to a lady who had endeavoured in early life
to divert from him the little fortune which had started him in the
world. Miriam Dockwrath, as she sat on this morning, listening to her
husband's anger, with a sick little girl on her knee, and four or
five others clustering round her, half covered with their matutinal
bread and milk, was mild-eyed and soft as ever. Hers was a nature in
which softness would ever prevail;--softness, and that tenderness of
heart, always leaning, and sometimes almost crouching, of which a
mild eye is the outward sign. But her comeliness and prettiness were
gone. Female beauty of the sterner, grander sort may support the
burden of sixteen children, all living,--and still survive. I have
known it to do so, and to survive with much of its youthful glory. But that mild-eyed, soft, round, plumpy prettiness gives way beneath
such a weight as that: years alone tell on it quickly; but children
and limited means combined with years leave to it hardly a chance. "I'm sure I'm very sorry," said the poor woman, worn with her many
cares. |
|
"Sorry; yes, and I'll make her sorry, the proud minx. There's an old
saying, that those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones." "But, Samuel, I don't think she means to be doing you any harm. You
know she always did say-- Don't, Bessy; how can you put your fingers
into the basin in that way?" "Sam has taken my spoon away, mamma." "I'll let her know whether she's doing any harm or no. And what
signifies what was said sixteen years ago? Has she anything to show
in writing? As far as I know, nothing of the kind was said." "Oh, I remember it, Samuel; I do indeed!" "Let me tell you then that you had better not try to remember
anything about it. If you ain't quiet, Bob, I'll make you, pretty
quick; d'ye hear that? The fact is, your memory is not worth a curse. Where are you to get milk for all those children, do you think, when
the fields are gone?" "I'm sure I'm very sorry, Samuel." "Sorry; yes, and somebody else shall be sorry too. And look here,
Miriam, I won't have you going up to Orley Farm on any pretence
whatever; do you hear that?" and then, having given that imperative
command to his wife and slave, the lord and master of that
establishment walked forth into his office. |
|
On the whole Miriam Usbech might have done better had she followed
the advice of her patroness in early life, and married the stupid
clerk. CHAPTER II. LADY MASON AND HER SON. I trust that it is already perceived by all persistent novel readers
that very much of the interest of this tale will be centred in the
person of Lady Mason. Such educated persons, however, will probably
be aware that she is not intended to be the heroine. The heroine, so
called, must by a certain fixed law be young and marriageable. Some
such heroine in some future number shall be forthcoming, with as
much of the heroic about her as may be found convenient; but for the
present let it be understood that the person and character of Lady
Mason is as important to us as can be those of any young lady, let
her be ever so gracious or ever so beautiful. In giving the details of her history, I do not know that I need go
back beyond her grandfather and grandmother, who were thoroughly
respectable people in the hardware line; I speak of those relatives
by the father's side. Her own parents had risen in the world,--had
risen from retail to wholesale, and considered themselves for a
long period of years to be good representatives of the commercial
energy and prosperity of Great Britain. |
|
But a fall had come upon
them,--as a fall does come very often to our excellent commercial
representatives--and Mr. Johnson was in the "Gazette." It would be
long to tell how old Sir Joseph Mason was concerned in these affairs,
how he acted as the principal assignee, and how ultimately he took
to his bosom as his portion of the assets of the estate, young Mary
Johnson, and made her his wife and mistress of Orley Farm. Of the
family of the Johnsons there were but three others, the father, the
mother, and a brother. The father did not survive the disgrace of his
bankruptcy, and the mother in process of time settled herself with
her son in one of the Lancashire manufacturing towns, where John
Johnson raised his head in business to some moderate altitude, Sir
Joseph having afforded much valuable assistance. There for the
present we will leave them. I do not think that Sir Joseph ever repented of the perilous deed he
did in marrying that young wife. His home for many years had been
desolate and solitary; his children had gone from him, and did not
come to visit him very frequently in his poor home at the farm. They
had become grander people than him, had been gifted with aspiring
minds, and in every turn and twist which they took, looked to do
something towards washing themselves clean from the dirt of the
counting-house. |
|
This was specially the case with Sir Joseph's son, to
whom the father had made over lands and money sufficient to enable
him to come before the world as a country gentleman with a coat of
arms on his coach-panel. It would be inconvenient for us to run off
to Groby Park at the present moment, and I will therefore say no more
just now as to Joseph junior, but will explain that Joseph senior was
not made angry by this neglect. He was a grave, quiet, rational man,
not however devoid of some folly; as indeed what rational man is so
devoid? He was burdened with an ambition to establish a family as the
result of his success in life; and having put forth his son into the
world with these views, was content that that son should act upon
them persistently. Joseph Mason, Esq., of Groby Park, in Yorkshire,
was now a county magistrate, and had made some way towards a footing
in the county society around him. With these hopes, and ambition such
as this, it was probably not expedient that he should spend much of
his time at Orley Farm. |
|
The three daughters were circumstanced much
in the same way: they had all married gentlemen, and were bent on
rising in the world; moreover, the steadfast resolution of purpose
which characterised their father was known by them all,--and by
their husbands: they had received their fortunes, with some settled
contingencies to be forthcoming on their father's demise; why, then,
trouble the old gentleman at Orley Farm? Under such circumstances the old gentleman married his young
wife,--to the great disgust of his four children. They of course
declared to each other, corresponding among themselves by letter,
that the old gentleman had positively disgraced himself. It was
impossible that they should make any visits whatever to Orley Farm
while such a mistress of the house was there;--and the daughters did
make no such visits. Joseph, the son, whose monetary connection with
his father was as yet by no means fixed and settled in its nature,
did make one such visit, and then received his father's assurance--so
at least he afterwards said and swore--that this marriage should by
no means interfere with the expected inheritance of the Orley Farm
acres. But at that time no young son had been born,--nor, probably,
was any such young son expected. The farm-house became a much brighter abode for the old man, for the
few years which were left to him, after he had brought his young
wife home. She was quiet, sensible, clever, and unremitting in her
attention. |
|
She burthened him with no requests for gay society, and
took his home as she found it, making the best of it for herself, and
making it for him much better than he had ever hitherto known it. His
own children had always looked down upon him, regarding him merely
as a coffer from whence money might be had; and he, though he had
never resented this contempt, had in a certain measure been aware of
it. But there was no such feeling shown by his wife. She took the
benefits which he gave her graciously and thankfully, and gave back
to him in return, certainly her care and time, and apparently her
love. For herself, in the way of wealth and money, she never asked
for anything. And then the baby had come, young Lucius Mason, and there was of
course great joy at Orley Farm. The old father felt that the world
had begun again for him, very delightfully, and was more than ever
satisfied with his wisdom in regard to that marriage. But the very
genteel progeny of his early youth were more than ever dissatisfied,
and in their letters among themselves dealt forth harder and still
harder words upon poor Sir Joseph. What terrible things might he not
be expected to do now that his dotage was coming on? Those three
married ladies had no selfish fears--so at least they declared, but
they united in imploring their brother to look after his interests at
Orley Farm. |
|
How dreadfully would the young heir of Groby be curtailed
in his dignities and seignories if it should be found at the last day
that Orley Farm was not to be written in his rent-roll! And then, while they were yet bethinking themselves how they might
best bestir themselves, news arrived that Sir Joseph had suddenly
died. Sir Joseph was dead, and the will when read contained a codicil
by which that young brat was made the heir to the Orley Farm estate. I have said that Lady Mason during her married life had never asked
of her husband anything for herself; but in the law proceedings which
were consequent upon Sir Joseph's death, it became abundantly evident
that she had asked him for much for her son,--and that she had been
specific in her requests, urging him to make a second heir, and to
settle Orley Farm upon her own boy, Lucius. She herself stated that
she had never done this except in the presence of a third person. She
had often done so in the presence of Mr. Usbech the attorney,--as to
which Mr. Usbech was not alive to testify; and she had also done so
more than once in the presence of Mr. Furnival, a barrister,--as to
which Mr. Furnival, being alive, did testify--very strongly. As to that contest nothing further need now be said. |
|
It resulted in
the favour of young Lucius Mason, and therefore, also, in the favour
of the widow;--in the favour moreover of Miriam Usbech, and thus
ultimately in the favour of Mr. Samuel Dockwrath, who is now showing
himself to be so signally ungrateful. Joseph Mason, however, retired
from the battle nothing convinced. His father, he said, had been
an old fool, an ass, an idiot, a vulgar, ignorant fool; but he was
not a man to break his word. That signature to the codicil might be
his or might not. If his, it had been obtained by fraud. What could
be easier than to cheat an old doting fool? Many men agreed with
Joseph Mason, thinking that Usbech the attorney had perpetrated this
villainy on behalf of his daughter; but Joseph Mason would believe,
or say that he believed--a belief in which none but his sisters
joined him,--that Lady Mason herself had been the villain. He was
minded to press the case on to a Court of Appeal, up even to the
House of Lords; but he was advised that in doing so he would spend
more money than Orley Farm was worth, and that he would, almost to a
certainty, spend it in vain. Under this advice he cursed the laws of
his country, and withdrew to Groby Park. |
|
Lady Mason had earned the respect of all those around her by the way
in which she bore herself in the painful days of the trial, and also
in those of her success,--especially also by the manner in which she
gave her evidence. And thus, though she had not been much noticed
by her neighbours during the short period of her married life, she
was visited as a widow by many of the more respectable people round
Hamworth. In all this she showed no feeling of triumph; she never
abused her husband's relatives, or spoke much of the harsh manner
in which she had been used. Indeed, she was not given to talk about
her own personal affairs; and although, as I have said, many of her
neighbours visited her, she did not lay herself out for society. She
accepted and returned their attention, but for the most part seemed
to be willing that the matter should so rest. The people around by
degrees came to know her ways, they spoke to her when they met her,
and occasionally went through the ceremony of a morning call; but did
not ask her to their tea-parties, and did not expect to see her at
picnic and archery meetings. Among those who took her by the hand in the time of her great trouble
was Sir Peregrine Orme of The Cleeve,--for such was the name which
had belonged time out of mind to his old mansion and park. |
|
Sir
Peregrine was a gentleman now over seventy years of age, whose family
consisted of the widow of his only son, and the only son of that
widow, who was of course the heir to his estate and title. Sir
Peregrine was an excellent old man, as I trust may hereafter be
acknowledged; but his regard for Lady Mason was perhaps in the first
instance fostered by his extreme dislike to her stepson, Joseph Mason
of Groby. Mr. Joseph Mason of Groby was quite as rich a man as Sir
Peregrine, and owned an estate which was nearly as large as The
Cleeve property; but Sir Peregrine would not allow that he was a
gentleman, or that he could by any possible transformation become
one. He had not probably ever said so in direct words to any of the
Mason family, but his opinion on the matter had in some way worked
its way down to Yorkshire, and therefore there was no love to spare
between these two county magistrates. There had been a slight
acquaintance between Sir Peregrine and Sir Joseph; but the ladies of
the two families had never met till after the death of the latter. Then, while that trial was still pending, Mrs. Orme had come forward
at the instigation of her father-in-law, and by degrees there had
grown up an intimacy between the two widows. |
|
When the first offers
of assistance were made and accepted, Sir Peregrine no doubt did
not at all dream of any such result as this. His family pride, and
especially the pride which he took in his widowed daughter-in-law,
would probably have been shocked by such a surmise; but,
nevertheless, he had seen the friendship grow and increase without
alarm. He himself had become attached to Lady Mason, and had
gradually learned to excuse in her that want of gentle blood and
early breeding which as a rule he regarded as necessary to a
gentleman, and from which alone, as he thought, could spring many of
those excellences which go to form the character of a lady. It may therefore be asserted that Lady Mason's widowed life was
successful. That it was prudent and well conducted no one could
doubt. Her neighbours of course did say of her that she would not
drink tea with Mrs. Arkwright of Mount Pleasant villa because she was
allowed the privilege of entering Sir Peregrine's drawing-room; but
such little scandal as this was a matter of course. Let one live
according to any possible or impossible rule, yet some offence will
be given in some quarter. Those who knew anything of Lady Mason's
private life were aware that she did not encroach on Sir Peregrine's
hospitality. She was not at The Cleeve as much as circumstances would
have justified, and at one time by no means so much as Mrs. Orme
would have desired. |
|
In person she was tall and comely. When Sir Joseph had brought her
to his house she had been very fair,--tall, slight, fair, and very
quiet,--not possessing that loveliness which is generally most
attractive to men, because the beauty of which she might boast
depended on form rather than on the brightness of her eye, or the
softness of her cheek and lips. Her face too, even at that age,
seldom betrayed emotion, and never showed signs either of anger or of
joy. Her forehead was high, and though somewhat narrow, nevertheless
gave evidence of considerable mental faculties; nor was the evidence
false, for those who came to know Lady Mason well, were always ready
to acknowledge that she was a woman of no ordinary power. Her eyes
were large and well formed, but somewhat cold. Her nose was long and
regular. Her mouth also was very regular, and her teeth perfectly
beautiful; but her lips were straight and thin. It would sometimes
seem that she was all teeth, and yet it is certain that she never
made an effort to show them. The great fault of her face was in
her chin, which was too small and sharp, thus giving on occasions
something of meanness to her countenance. She was now forty-seven
years of age, and had a son who had reached man's estate; and yet
perhaps she had more of woman's beauty at this present time than
when she stood at the altar with Sir Joseph Mason. |
|
The quietness and
repose of her manner suited her years and her position; age had given
fulness to her tall form; and the habitual sadness of her countenance
was in fair accordance with her condition and character. And yet
she was not really sad,--at least so said those who knew her. The
melancholy was in her face rather than in her character, which was
full of energy,--if energy may be quiet as well as assured and
constant. Of course she had been accused a dozen times of matrimonial
prospects. What handsome widow is not so accused? The world of
Hamworth had been very certain at one time that she was intent on
marrying Sir Peregrine Orme. But she had not married, and I think I
may say on her behalf that she had never thought of marrying. Indeed,
one cannot see how such a woman could make any effort in that line. It was impossible to conceive that a lady so staid in her manner
should be guilty of flirting; nor was there any man within ten miles
of Hamworth who would have dared to make the attempt. Women for the
most part are prone to love-making--as nature has intended that they
should be; but there are women from whom all such follies seem to be
as distant as skittles and beer are distant from the dignity of the
Lord Chancellor. Such a woman was Lady Mason. |
|
At this time--the time which is about to exist for us as the period
at which our narrative will begin--Lucius Mason was over twenty-two
years old, and was living at the farm. He had spent the last three or
four years of his life in Germany, where his mother had visited him
every year, and had now come home intending to be the master of his
own destiny. His mother's care for him during his boyhood, and up to
the time at which he became of age, had been almost elaborate in its
thoughtfulness. She had consulted Sir Peregrine as to his school, and
Sir Peregrine, looking to the fact of the lad's own property, and
also to the fact, known by him, of Lady Mason's means for such a
purpose, had recommended Harrow. But the mother had hesitated, had
gently discussed the matter, and had at last persuaded the baronet
that such a step would be injudicious. The boy was sent to a private
school of a high character, and Sir Peregrine was sure that he had
been so sent at his own advice. |
|
"Looking at the peculiar position of
his mother," said Sir Peregrine to his young daughter-in-law, "at her
very peculiar position, and that of his relatives, I think it will be
better that he should not appear to assume anything early in life;
nothing can be better conducted than Mr. Crabfield's establishment,
and after much consideration I have had no hesitation in recommending
her to send her son to him." And thus Lucius Mason had been sent to
Mr. Crabfield, but I do not think that the idea originated with Sir
Peregrine. "And perhaps it will be as well," added the baronet, "that he and
Perry should not be together at school, though I have no objection to
their meeting in the holidays. Mr. Crabfield's vacations are always
timed to suit the Harrow holidays." The Perry here mentioned was the
grandson of Sir Peregrine--the young Peregrine who in coming days was
to be the future lord of The Cleeve. When Lucius Mason was modestly
sent to Mr. Crabfield's establishment at Great Marlow, young
Peregrine Orme, with his prouder hopes, commenced his career at the
public school. Mr. Crabfield did his duty by Lucius Mason, and sent him home at
seventeen a handsome, well-mannered lad, tall and comely to the
eye, with soft brown whiskers sprouting on his cheek, well grounded
in Greek, Latin, and Euclid, grounded also in French and Italian,
and possessing many more acquirements than he would have learned
at Harrow. |
|
But added to these, or rather consequent on them, was
a conceit which public-school education would not have created. When their mothers compared them in the holidays, not openly with
outspoken words, but silently in their hearts, Lucius Mason was found
by each to be the superior both in manners and knowledge; but each
acknowledged also that there was more of ingenuous boyhood about
Peregrine Orme. Peregrine Orme was a year the younger, and therefore his comparative
deficiencies were not the cause of any intense sorrow at The Cleeve;
but his grandfather would probably have been better satisfied--and
perhaps also so would his mother--had he been less addicted to the
catching of rats, and better inclined towards Miss Edgeworth's novels
and Shakespeare's plays, which were earnestly recommended to him by
the lady and the gentleman. But boys generally are fond of rats, and
very frequently are not fond of reading; and therefore, all this
having been duly considered, there was not much deep sorrow in those
days at The Cleeve as to the boyhood of the heir. But there was great pride at Orley Farm, although that pride was
shown openly to no one. Lady Mason in her visits at The Cleeve said
but little as to her son's present excellences. |
|
As to his future
career in life she did say much both to Sir Peregrine and to Mrs.
Orme, asking the council of the one and expressing her fears to the
other; and then, Sir Peregrine having given his consent, she sent the
lad to Germany. He was allowed to come of age without any special signs of manhood,
or aught of the glory of property; although, in his case, that coming
of age did put him into absolute possession of his inheritance. On
that day, had he been so minded, he could have turned his mother out
of the farm-house, and taken exclusive possession of the estate; but
he did in fact remain in Germany for a year beyond this period, and
returned to Orley Farm only in time to be present at the celebration
of the twenty-first birthday of his friend Peregrine Orme. This
ceremony, as may be surmised, was by no means slurred over without
due rejoicing. The heir at the time was at Christchurch; but at such
a period a slight interruption to his studies was not to be lamented. There had been Sir Peregrine Ormes in those parts ever since the days
of James I; and indeed in days long antecedent to those there had
been knights bearing that name, some of whom had been honourably
beheaded for treason, others imprisoned for heresy; and one made
away with on account of a supposed royal amour,--to the great
glorification of all his descendants. |
|
Looking to the antecedents of
the family, it was only proper that the coming of age of the heir
should be duly celebrated; but Lucius Mason had had no antecedents;
no great-great-grandfather of his had knelt at the feet of an
improper princess; and therefore Lady Mason, though she had been at
The Cleeve, had not mentioned the fact that on that very day her son
had become a man. But when Peregrine Orme became a man--though still
in his manhood too much devoted to rats--she gloried greatly in her
quiet way, and whispered a hope into the baronet's ear that the young
heir would not imitate the ambition of his ancestor. "No, by Jove! it
would not do now at all," said Sir Peregrine, by no means displeased
at the allusion. And then that question as to the future life of Lucius Mason became
one of great importance, and it was necessary to consult, not only
Sir Peregrine Orme, but the young man himself. His mother had
suggested to him first the law: the great Mr. Furnival, formerly of
the home circuit, but now practising only in London, was her very
special friend, and would give her and her son all possible aid in
this direction. And what living man could give better aid than the
great Mr. Furnival? But Lucius Mason would have none of the law. |
|
This
resolve he pronounced very clearly while yet in Germany, whither his
mother visited him, bearing with her a long letter written by the
great Mr. Furnival himself. But nevertheless young Mason would have
none of the law. "I have an idea," he said, "that lawyers are all
liars." Whereupon his mother rebuked him for his conceited ignorance
and want of charity; but she did not gain her point. She had, however, another string to her bow. As he objected to be a
lawyer, he might become a civil engineer. Circumstances had made Sir
Peregrine Orme very intimate with the great Mr. Brown. Indeed, Mr.
Brown was under great obligations to Sir Peregrine, and Sir Peregrine
had promised to use his influence. But Lucius Mason said that civil
engineers were only tradesmen of an upper class, tradesmen with
intellects; and he, he said, wished to use his intellect, but he did
not choose to be a tradesman. His mother rebuked him again, as well
he deserved that she should,--and then asked him of what profession
he himself had thought. "Philology," said he; "or as a profession,
perhaps literature. I shall devote myself to philology and the races
of man. Nothing considerable has been done with them as a combined
pursuit." And with these views he returned home--while Peregrine Orme
at Oxford was still addicted to the hunting of rats. But with philology and the races of man he consented to combine the
pursuit of agriculture. |
|
When his mother found that he wished to take
up his abode in his own house, she by no means opposed him, and
suggested that, as such was his intention, he himself should farm his
own land. He was very ready to do this, and had she not represented
that such a step was in every way impolitic, he would willingly have
requested Mr. Greenwood of the Old Farm to look elsewhere, and have
spread himself and his energies over the whole domain. As it was he
contented himself with desiring that Mr. Dockwrath would vacate his
small holding, and as he was imperative as to that his mother gave
way without making it the cause of a battle. She would willingly have
left Mr. Dockwrath in possession, and did say a word or two as to the
milk necessary for those sixteen children. But Lucius Mason was ducal
in his ideas, and intimated an opinion that he had a right to do what
he liked with his own. Had not Mr. Dockwrath been told, when the
fields were surrendered to him as a favour, that he would only have
them in possession till the heir should come of age? Mr. Dockwrath
had been so told; but tellings such as these are easily forgotten by
men with sixteen children. |
|
And thus Mr. Mason became an agriculturist
with special scientific views as to chemistry, and a philologist
with the object of making that pursuit bear upon his studies with
reference to the races of man. He was convinced that by certain
admixtures of ammonia and earths he could produce cereal results
hitherto unknown to the farming world, and that by tracing out the
roots of words he could trace also the wanderings of man since the
expulsion of Adam from the garden. As to the latter question his
mother was not inclined to contradict him. Seeing that he would sit
at the feet neither of Mr. Furnival nor of Mr. Brown, she had no
objection to the races of man. She could endure to be talked to about
the Oceanic Mongolidae and the Iapetidae of the Indo-Germanic class,
and had perhaps her own ideas that such matters, though somewhat
foggy, were better than rats. But when he came to the other subject,
and informed her that the properly plentiful feeding of the world
was only kept waiting for the chemists, she certainly did have her
fears. Chemical agriculture is expensive; and though the results may
possibly be remunerative, still, while we are thus kept waiting by
the backwardness of the chemists, there must be much risk in making
any serious expenditure with such views. |
|
"Mother," he said, when he had now been at home about three months,
and when the fiat for the expulsion of Samuel Dockwrath had already
gone forth, "I shall go to Liverpool to-morrow." "To Liverpool, Lucius?" "Yes. That guano which I got from Walker is adulterated. I have
analyzed it, and find that it does not contain above thirty-two and a
half hundredths of--of that which it ought to hold in a proportion of
seventy-five per cent. of the whole." "Does it not?" "No; and it is impossible to obtain results while one is working with
such fictitious materials. Look at that bit of grass at the bottom of
Greenwood's Hill." "The fifteen-acre field? Why, Lucius, we always had the heaviest
crops of hay in the parish off that meadow." "That's all very well, mother; but you have never tried,--nobody
about here ever has tried, what the land can really produce. I will
throw that and the three fields beyond it into one; I will get
Greenwood to let me have that bit of the hill-side, giving him
compensation of course--"
"And then Dockwrath would want compensation." "Dockwrath is an impertinent rascal, and I shall take an opportunity
of telling him so. But as I was saying, I will throw those seventy
acres together, and then I will try what will be the relative effects
of guano and the patent blood, But I must have real guano, and so I
shall go to Liverpool." |
|
"I think I would wait a little, Lucius. It is almost too late for any
change of that kind this year." "Wait! Yes, and what has come of waiting? We don't wait at all in
doubling our population every thirty-three years; but when we come
to the feeding of them we are always for waiting. It is that waiting
which has reduced the intellectual development of one half of the
human race to its present terribly low state--or rather prevented its
rising in a degree proportionate to the increase of the population. No more waiting for me, mother, if I can help it." "But, Lucius, should not such new attempts as that be made by men
with large capital?" said the mother. "Capital is a bugbear," said the son, speaking on this matter quite
_ex cathedrâ_, as no doubt he was entitled to do by his extensive
reading at a German university--"capital is a bugbear. The capital
that is really wanting is thought, mind, combination, knowledge." "But, Lucius--"
"Yes, I know what you are going to say, mother. I don't boast that
I possess all these things; but I do say that I will endeavour to
obtain them." "I have no doubt you will; but should not that come first?" "That is waiting again. We all know as much as this, that good manure
will give good crops if the sun be allowed full play upon the land,
and nothing but the crop be allowed to grow. |
|
That is what I shall
attempt at first, and there can be no great danger in that." And so
he went to Liverpool. Lady Mason during his absence began to regret that she had not left
him in the undisturbed and inexpensive possession of the Mongolidae
and the Iapetidae. His rent from the estate, including that which she
would have paid him as tenant of the smaller farm, would have enabled
him to live with all comfort; and, if such had been his taste, he
might have become a philosophical student, and lived respectably
without adding anything to his income by the sweat of his brow. But
now the matter was likely to become serious enough. For a gentleman
farmer determined to wait no longer for the chemists, whatever might
be the results, an immediate profitable return per acre could not be
expected as one of them. Any rent from that smaller farm would now
be out of the question, and it would be well if the payments made
so punctually by old Mr. Greenwood were not also swallowed up in
the search after unadulterated guano. Who could tell whether in
the pursuit of science he might not insist on chartering a vessel,
himself, for the Peruvian coast? CHAPTER III. THE CLEEVE. I have said that Sir Peregrine Orme was not a rich man, meaning
thereby that he was not a rich man considering his acknowledged
position in the county. |
|
Such men not uncommonly have their tens,
twelves, and twenty thousands a year; but Sir Peregrine's estate
did not give him above three or four. He was lord of the manor of
Hamworth, and possessed seignorial rights, or rather the skeleton and
remembrance of such rights with reference to a very large district of
country; but his actual property--that from which he still received
the substantial benefits of ownership--was not so large as those
of some of his neighbours. There was, however, no place within the
county which was so beautifully situated as The Cleeve, or which had
about it so many of the attractions of age. The house itself had been
built at two periods,--a new set of rooms having been added to the
remains of the old Elizabethan structure in the time of Charles II. It had not about it anything that was peculiarly grand or imposing,
nor were the rooms large or even commodious; but everything was old,
venerable, and picturesque. Both the dining-room and the library were
panelled with black wainscoating; and though the drawing-rooms were
papered, the tall, elaborately-worked wooden chimney-pieces still
stood in them, and a wooden band or belt round the rooms showed that
the panels were still there, although hidden by the modern paper. But it was for the beauty and wildness of its grounds that The Cleeve
was remarkable. The land fell here and there into narrow, wild
ravines and woody crevices. |
|
The soil of the park was not rich, and
could give but little assistance to the chemists in supplying the
plentiful food expected by Mr. Mason for the coming multitudes of the
world; it produced in some parts heather instead of grass, and was
as wild and unprofitable as Cleeve Common, which stretched for miles
outside the park palings; but it seemed admirably adapted for deer
and for the maintenance of half-decayed venerable oaks. Young timber
also throve well about the place, and in this respect Sir Peregrine
was a careful landlord. There ran a river through the park,--the
River Cleeve, from which the place and parish are said to have
taken their names;--a river, or rather a stream, very narrow and
inconsiderable as to its volume of water, but which passed for some
two miles through so narrow a passage as to give to it the appearance
of a cleft or fissure in the rocks. The water tumbled over stones
through this entire course, making it seem to be fordable almost
everywhere without danger of wet feet; but in truth there was hardly
a spot at which it could be crossed without a bold leap from rock to
rock. Narrow as was the aperture through which the water had cut its
way, nevertheless a path had been contrived now on one side of the
stream and now on the other, crossing it here and there by slight
hanging wooden bridges. |
|
The air here was always damp with spray, and
the rocks on both sides were covered with long mosses, as were also
the overhanging boughs of the old trees. This place was the glory
of The Cleeve, and as far as picturesque beauty goes it was very
glorious. There was a spot in the river from whence a steep path led
down from the park to the water, and at this spot the deer would come
to drink. I know nothing more beautiful than this sight, when three
or four of them could be so seen from one of the wooden bridges
towards the hour of sunset in the autumn. Sir Peregrine himself at this time was an old man, having passed his
seventieth year. He was a fine, handsome English gentleman with white
hair, keen gray eyes, a nose slightly aquiline, and lips now too
closely pressed together in consequence of the havoc which time had
made among his teeth. He was tall, but had lost something of his
height from stooping,--was slight in his form, but well made, and
vain of the smallness of his feet and the whiteness of his hands. He
was generous, quick tempered, and opinionated; generally very mild to
those who would agree with him and submit to him, but intolerant of
contradiction, and conceited as to his experience of the world and
the wisdom which he had thence derived. |
|
To those who were manifestly
his inferiors he was affable, to his recognised equals he was
courteous, to women he was almost always gentle;--but to men who
claimed an equality which he would not acknowledge, he could make
himself particularly disagreeable. In judging the position which a
man should hold in the world, Sir Peregrine was very resolute in
ignoring all claims made by wealth alone. Even property in land could
not in his eyes create a gentleman. A gentleman, according to his
ideas, should at any rate have great-grandfathers capable of being
traced in the world's history; and the greater the number of such,
and the more easily traceable they might be on the world's surface,
the more unquestionable would be the status of the claimant in
question. Such being the case, it may be imagined that Joseph Mason,
Esq., of Groby Park did not rank high in the estimation of Sir
Peregrine Orme. I have said that Sir Peregrine was fond of his own opinion; but
nevertheless he was a man whom it was by no means difficult to lead. In the first place he was singularly devoid of suspicion. The word of
a man or of a woman was to him always credible, until full proof had
come home to him that it was utterly unworthy of credit. After that
such a man or woman might as well spare all speech as regards the
hope of any effect on the mind of Sir Peregrine Orme. |
|
He did not
easily believe a fellow-creature to be a liar, but a liar to him once
was a liar always. And then he was amenable to flattery, and few that
are so are proof against the leading-strings of their flatterers. All
this was well understood of Sir Peregrine by those about him. His
gardener, his groom, and his woodman all knew his foibles. They all
loved him, respected him, and worked for him faithfully; but each of
them had his own way in his own branch. And there was another person at The Cleeve who took into her own
hands a considerable share of the management and leading of Sir
Peregrine, though, in truth, she made no efforts in that direction. This was Mrs. Orme, the widow of his only child, and the mother of
his heir. Mrs. Orme was a younger woman than Mrs. Mason of Orley Farm
by nearly five years, though her son was but twelve months junior to
Lucius Mason. She had been the daughter of a brother baronet, whose
family was nearly as old as that of the Ormes; and therefore, though
she had come penniless to her husband, Sir Peregrine had considered
that his son had married well. She had been a great beauty, very
small in size and delicate of limb, fair haired, with soft blue
wondering eyes, and a dimpled cheek. |
|
Such she had been when young
Peregrine Orme brought her home to The Cleeve, and the bride at once
became the darling of her father-in-law. One year she had owned
of married joy, and then all the happiness of the family had been
utterly destroyed, and for the few following years there had been no
sadder household in all the country-side than that of Sir Peregrine
Orme. His son, his only son, the pride of all who knew him, the hope
of his political party in the county, the brightest among the bright
ones of the day for whom the world was just opening her richest
treasures, fell from his horse as he was crossing into a road, and
his lifeless body was brought home to The Cleeve. All this happened now twenty years since, but the widow still wears
the colours of mourning. Of her also the world of course said that
she would soon console herself with a second love; but she too has
given the world the lie. From that day to the present she has never
left the house of her father-in-law; she has been a true child to
him, and she has enjoyed all a child's privileges. There has been
but little favour for any one at The Cleeve who has been considered
by the baronet to disregard the wishes of the mistress of the
establishment. |
|
Any word from her has been law to him, and he has of
course expected also that her word should be law to others. He has
yielded to her in all things, and attended to her will as though she
were a little queen, recognizing in her feminine weakness a sovereign
power, as some men can and do; and having thus for years indulged
himself in a quixotic gallantry to the lady of his household, he has
demanded of others that they also should bow the knee. During the last twenty years The Cleeve has not been a gay house. During the last ten those living there have been contented, and in
the main happy; but there has seldom been many guests in the old
hall, and Sir Peregrine has not been fond of going to other men's
feasts. He inherited the property very early in life, and then there
were on it some few encumbrances. While yet a young man he added
something to these, and now, since his own son's death, he has been
setting his house in order, that his grandson should receive the
family acres intact. |
|
Every shilling due on the property has been paid
off; and it is well that this should be so, for there is reason to
fear that the heir will want a helping hand out of some of youth's
difficulties,--perhaps once or twice before his passion for rats
gives place to a good English gentleman-like resolve to hunt twice a
week, look after his timber, and live well within his means. The chief fault in the character of young Peregrine Orme was that
he was so young. There are men who are old at one-and-twenty,--are
quite fit for Parliament, the magistrate's bench, the care of a wife,
and even for that much sterner duty, the care of a balance at the
bankers; but there are others who at that age are still boys,--whose
inner persons and characters have not begun to clothe themselves with
the "toga virilis." I am not sure that those whose boyhoods are so
protracted have the worst of it, if in this hurrying and competitive
age they can be saved from being absolutely trampled in the dust
before they are able to do a little trampling on their own account. Fruit that grows ripe the quickest is not the sweetest; nor when
housed and garnered will it keep the longest. For young Peregrine
there was no need of competitive struggles. |
|
The days have not yet
come, though they are no doubt coming, when "detur digniori" shall
be the rule of succession to all titles, honours, and privileges
whatsoever. Only think what a life it would give to the education of
the country in general, if any lad from seventeen to twenty-one could
go in for a vacant dukedom; and if a goodly inheritance could be
made absolutely incompatible with incorrect spelling and doubtful
proficiency in rule of three! Luckily for Peregrine junior these days are not yet at hand, or I
fear that there would be little chance for him. While Lucius Mason
was beginning to think that the chemists might be hurried, and that
agriculture might be beneficially added to philology, our friend
Peregrine had just been rusticated, and the head of his college had
intimated to the baronet that it would be well to take the young
man's name off the college books. This accordingly had been done,
and the heir of The Cleeve was at present at home with his mother
and grandfather. What special act of grace had led to this severity
we need not inquire, but we may be sure that the frolics of which
he had been guilty had been essentially young in their nature. |
|
He
had assisted in driving a farmer's sow into the man's best parlour,
or had daubed the top of the tutor's cap with white paint, or had
perhaps given liberty to a bag full of rats in the college hall at
dinner-time. Such were the youth's academical amusements, and as they
were pursued with unremitting energy it was thought well that he
should be removed from Oxford. Then had come the terrible question of his university bills. One
after another, half a score of them reached Sir Peregrine, and then
took place that terrible interview,--such as most young men have had
to undergo at least once,--in which he was asked how he intended to
absolve himself from the pecuniary liabilities which he had incurred. "I am sure I don't know," said young Orme, sadly. "But I shall be glad, sir, if you will favour me with your
intentions," said Sir Peregrine, with severity. "A gentleman does
not, I presume, send his orders to a tradesman without having some
intention of paying him for his goods." [Illustration: SIR PEREGRINE AND HIS HEIR.] "I intended that they should all be paid, of course." "And how, sir? by whom?" "Well, sir,--I suppose I intended that you should pay them;" and
the scapegrace as he spoke looked full up into the baronet's face
with his bright blue eyes,--not impudently, as though defying his
grandfather, but with a bold confidence which at once softened the
old man's heart. |
|
Sir Peregrine turned away and walked twice the length of the library;
then, returning to the spot where the other stood, he put his hand on
his grandson's shoulder. "Well, Peregrine, I will pay them," he said. "I have no doubt that you did so intend when you incurred them;--and
that was perhaps natural. I will pay them; but for your own sake, and
for your dear mother's sake, I hope that they are not very heavy. Can
you give me a list of all that you owe?" Young Peregrine said that he thought he could, and sitting down at
once he made a clean breast of it. With all his foibles, follies, and
youthful ignorances, in two respects he stood on good ground. He was
neither false nor a coward. He continued to scrawl down items as long
as there were any of which he could think, and then handed over the
list in order that his grandfather might add them up. It was the
last he ever heard of the matter; and when he revisited Oxford some
twelve months afterwards, the tradesmen whom he had honoured with his
custom bowed to him as low as though he had already inherited twenty
thousand a year. Peregrine Orme was short in stature as was his mother, and he also
had his mother's wonderfully bright blue eyes; but in other respects
he was very like his father and grandfather;--very like all the
Ormes who had lived for ages past. |
|
His hair was light; his forehead
was not large, but well formed and somewhat prominent; his nose
had something, though not much, of the eagle's beak; his mouth was
handsome in its curve, and his teeth were good, and his chin was
divided by a deep dimple. His figure was not only short, but stouter
than that of the Ormes in general. He was very strong on his legs; he
could wrestle, and box, and use the single-stick with a quickness and
precision that was the terror of all the freshmen who had come in his
way. Mrs. Orme, his mother, no doubt thought that he was perfect. Looking
at the reflex of her own eyes in his, and seeing in his face so sweet
a portraiture of the nose and mouth and forehead of him whom she
had loved so dearly and lost so soon, she could not but think him
perfect. When she was told that the master of Lazarus had desired
that her son should be removed from his college, she had accused the
tyrant of unrelenting, persecuting tyranny; and the gentle arguments
of Sir Peregrine had no effect towards changing her ideas. On that
disagreeable matter of the bills little or nothing was said to her. Indeed, money was a subject with which she was never troubled. |
|
Sir
Peregrine conceived that money was a man's business, and that the
softness of a woman's character should be preserved by a total
absence of all pecuniary thoughts and cares. And then there arose at The Cleeve a question as to what should
immediately be done with the heir. He himself was by no means so well
prepared with an answer as had been his friend Lucius Mason. When
consulted by his grandfather, he said that he did not know. He would
do anything that Sir Peregrine wished. Would Sir Peregrine think
it well that he should prepare himself for the arduous duties of a
master of hounds? Sir Peregrine did not think this at all well, but
it did not appear that he himself was prepared with any immediate
proposition. Then Peregrine discussed the matter with his mother,
explaining that he had hoped at any rate to get the next winter's
hunting with the H.H. ;--which letters have represented the Hamworth
Fox Hunt among sporting men for many years past. To this his mother
made no objection, expressing a hope, however, that he would go
abroad in the spring. "Home-staying youths have ever homely wits,"
she said to him, smiling on him ever so sweetly. "That's quite true, mother," he said. "And that's why I should like
to go to Leicestershire this winter." But going to Leicestershire
this winter was out of the question. CHAPTER IV. THE PERILS OF YOUTH. |
|
Going to Leicestershire was quite out of the question for young Orme
at this period of his life, but going to London unfortunately was
not so. He had become acquainted at Oxford with a gentleman of
great skill in his peculiar line of life, whose usual residence
was in the metropolis; and so great had been the attraction found
in the character and pursuits of this skilful gentleman, that our
hero had not been long at The Cleeve, after his retirement from
the university, before he visited his friend. Cowcross Street,
Smithfield, was the site of this professor's residence, the
destruction of rats in a barrel was his profession, and his name
was Carroty Bob. It is not my intention to introduce the reader to
Carroty Bob in person, as circumstances occurred about this time
which brought his intimacy with Mr. Orme to an abrupt conclusion. It
would be needless to tell how our hero was induced to back a certain
terrier, presumed to be the pride of Smithfield; how a great match
came off, second only in importance to a contest for the belt of
England; how money was lost and quarrels arose, and how Peregrine
Orme thrashed one sporting gent within an inch of his life, and
fought his way out of Carroty Bob's house at twelve o'clock at night. The tale of the row got into the newspapers, and of course reached
The Cleeve. |
|
Sir Peregrine sent for his grandson into his study, and
insisted on knowing everything;--how much money there was to pay, and
what chance there might be of an action and damages. Of an action and
damages there did not seem to be any chance, and the amount of money
claimed was not large. Rats have this advantage, that they usually
come cheaper than race-horses; but then, as Sir Peregrine felt
sorely, they do not sound so well. "Do you know, sir, that you are breaking your mother's heart?" said
Sir Peregrine, looking very sternly at the young man--as sternly as
he was able to look, let him do his worst. Peregrine the younger had a very strong idea that he was not doing
anything of the kind. He had left her only a quarter of an hour
since; and though she had wept during the interview, she had forgiven
him with many caresses, and had expressed her opinion that the chief
fault had lain with Carroty Bob and those other wretched people
who had lured her dear child into their villainous den. She had
altogether failed to conceal her pride at his having fought his way
out from among them, and had ended by supplying his pocket out of
her own immediate resources. "I hope not, sir," said Peregrine the
younger, thinking over some of these things. "But you will, sir, if you go on with this shameless career. I do not
speak of myself. |
|
I do not expect you to sacrifice your tastes for me;
but I did think that you loved your mother!" "So I do;--and you too." "I am not speaking about myself sir. When I think what your father
was at your age;--how nobly--" And then the baronet was stopped in
his speech, and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. "Do you think
that your father, sir, followed such pursuits as these? Do you think
that he spent his time in the pursuit of--rats?" "Well; I don't know; I don't think he did. But I have heard you say,
sir, that you sometimes went to cockfights when you were young." "To cockfights! well, yes. But let me tell you, sir, that I always
went in the company of gentlemen--that is, when I did go, which was
very seldom." The baronet in some after-dinner half-hour had allowed
this secret of his youth to escape from him, imprudently. "And I went to the house in Cowcross Street with Lord John Fitzjoly." "The last man in all London with whom you ought to associate! But I
am not going to argue with you, sir. If you think, and will continue
to think, that the slaughtering of vermin is a proper pursuit--"
"But, sir, foxes are vermin also." "Hold your tongue, sir, and listen to me. You know very well what
I mean, sir. |
|
If you think that--rats are a proper pursuit for a
gentleman in your sphere of life, and if all that I can say has
no effect in changing your opinion--I shall have done. I have not
many years of life before me, and when I shall be no more, you can
squander the property in any vile pursuits that may be pleasing to
you. But, sir, you shall not do it while I am living; nor, if I can
help it, shall you rob your mother of such peace of mind as is left
for her in this world. I have only one alternative for you, sir--." Sir Peregrine did not stop to explain what might be the other branch
of this alternative. "Will you give me your word of honour as
a gentleman that you will never again concern yourself in this
disgusting pursuit?" "Never, grandfather!" said Peregrine, solemnly. Sir Peregrine before he answered bethought himself that any pledge
given for a whole life-time must be foolish; and he bethought himself
also that if he could wean his heir from rats for a year or so, the
taste would perish from lack of nourishment. "I will say for two
years," said Sir Peregrine, still maintaining his austere look. "For two years!" repeated Peregrine the younger; "and this is the
fourth of October." |
|
"Yes, sir; for two years," said the baronet, more angry than ever at
the young man's pertinacity, and yet almost amused at his grandson's
already formed resolve to go back to his occupation at the first
opportunity allowed. "Couldn't you date it from the end of August, sir? The best of the
matches always come off in September." "No, sir; I will not date it from any other time than the present. Will you give me your word of honour as a gentleman, for two years?" Peregrine thought over the proposition for a minute or two in sad
anticipation of all that he was to lose, and then slowly gave his
adhesion to the terms. "Very well, sir;--for two years." And then he
took out his pocket-book and wrote in it slowly. It was at any rate manifest that he intended to keep his word, and
that was much; so Sir Peregrine accepted the promise for what it was
worth. "And now," said he, "if you have got nothing better to do, we
will ride down to Crutchley Wood." "I should like it of all things," said his grandson. "Samson wants me to cut a new bridle-path through from the larches at
the top of the hill down to Crutchley Bottom; but I don't think I'll
have it done. Tell Jacob to let us have the nags; I'll ride the gray
pony. And ask your mother if she'll ride with us." |
|
It was the manner of Sir Peregrine to forgive altogether when he did
forgive; and to commence his forgiveness in all its integrity from
the first moment of the pardon. There was nothing he disliked so
much as being on bad terms with those around him, and with none more
so than with his grandson. Peregrine well knew how to make himself
pleasant to the old man, and when duly encouraged would always do so. And thus the family party, as they rode on this occasion through the
woods of The Cleeve, discussed oaks and larches, beech and birches,
as though there were no such animal as a rat in existence, and no
such place known as Cowcross Street. "Well, Perry, as you and Samson are both of one mind, I suppose the
path must be made," said Sir Peregrine, as he got off his horse at
the entrance of the stable-yard, and prepared to give his feeble aid
to Mrs. Orme. Shortly after this the following note was brought up to The Cleeve by
a messenger from Orley Farm:--
MY DEAR SIR PEREGRINE,
If you are quite disengaged at twelve o'clock to-morrow, I
will walk over to The Cleeve at that hour. Or if it would
suit you better to call here as you are riding, I would
remain within till you come. I want your kind advice on a
certain matter. Most sincerely yours,
MARY MASON. Thursday. |
|
Lady Mason, when she wrote this note, was well aware that it would
not be necessary for her to go to The Cleeve. Sir Peregrine's
courtesy would not permit him to impose any trouble on a lady when
the alternative of taking that trouble on himself was given to him. Moreover, he liked to have some object for his daily ride; he liked
to be consulted "on certain matters;" and he especially liked being
so consulted by Lady Mason. So he sent word back that he would be at
the farm at twelve on the following day, and exactly at that hour his
gray pony or cob might have been seen slowly walking up the avenue to
the farm-house. The Cleeve was not distant from Orley Farm more than two miles by
the nearest walking-path, although it could not be driven much under
five. With any sort of carriage one was obliged to come from The
Cleeve House down to the lodge on the Hamworth and Alston road, and
then to drive through the town of Hamworth, and so back to the farm. But in walking one would take the path along the river for nearly a
mile, thence rise up the hill to the top of Crutchley Wood, descend
through the wood to Crutchley Bottom, and, passing along the valley,
come out at the foot of Cleeve Hill, just opposite to Orley Farm
Gate. |
|
The distance for a horseman was somewhat greater, seeing that
there was not as yet any bridle-way through Crutchley Wood. Under
these circumstances the journey between the two houses was very
frequently made on foot; and for those walking from The Cleeve House
to Hamworth the nearest way was by Lady Mason's gate. Lady Mason's drawing-room was very pretty, though it was by no means
fashionably furnished. Indeed, she eschewed fashion in all things,
and made no pretence of coming out before the world as a great lady. She had never kept any kind of carriage, though her means, combined
with her son's income, would certainly have justified her in a
pony-chaise. Since Lucius had become master of the house he had
presented her with such a vehicle, and also with the pony and harness
complete; but as yet she had never used it, being afraid, as she said
to him with a smile, of appearing ambitious before the stern citizens
of Hamworth. "Nonsense, mother," he had replied, with a considerable
amount of young dignity in his face. "We are all entitled to those
comforts for which we can afford to pay without injury to any one. I
shall take it ill of you if I do not see you using it." "Oh, Sir Peregrine, this is so kind of you," said Lady Mason, coming
forward to meet her friend. |
|
She was plainly dressed, without any full
exuberance of costume, and yet everything about her was neat and
pretty, and everything had been the object of feminine care. A very
plain dress may occasion as much study as the most elaborate,--and
may be quite as worthy of the study it has caused. Lady Mason, I am
inclined to think, was by no means indifferent to the subject, but
then to her belonged the great art of hiding her artifice. "Not at all; not at all," said Sir Peregrine, taking her hand and
pressing it, as he always did. "What is the use of neighbours if they
are not neighbourly?" This was all very well from Sir Peregrine in
the existing case; but he was not a man who by any means recognised
the necessity of being civil to all who lived near him. To the great
and to the poor he was neighbourly; but it may be doubted whether
he would have thought much of Lady Mason if she had been less good
looking or less clever. "Ah! I know how good you always are to me. But I'll tell you why I am
troubling you now. Lucius went off two days since to Liverpool." "My grandson told me that he had left home." "He is an excellent young man, and I am sure that I have every reason
to be thankful." |
|
Sir Peregrine, remembering the affair in Cowcross
Street, and certain other affairs of a somewhat similar nature,
thought that she had; but for all that he would not have exchanged
his own bright-eyed lad for Lucius Mason with all his virtues and all
his learning. "And indeed I am thankful," continued the widow. "Nothing can be
better than his conduct and mode of life; but--"
"I hope he has no attraction at Liverpool, of which you disapprove." "No, no; there is nothing of that kind. His attraction is--; but
perhaps I had better explain the whole matter. Lucius, you know, has
taken to farming." "He has taken up the land which you held yourself, has he not?" "Yes, and a little more; and he is anxious to add even to that. He is
very energetic about it, Sir Peregrine." "Well; the life of a gentleman farmer is not a bad one; though in
his special circumstances I would certainly have recommended a
profession." "Acting upon your advice I did urge him to go to the bar. But he has
a will of his own, and a mind altogether made up as to the line of
life which he thinks will suit him best. What I fear now is, that he
will spend more money upon experiments than he can afford." "Experimental farming is an expensive amusement," said Sir Peregrine,
with a very serious shake of his head. |
|
"I am afraid it is; and now he has gone to Liverpool to buy--guano,"
said the widow, feeling some little shame in coming to so
inconsiderable a conclusion after her somewhat stately prologue. "To buy guano! Why could he not get his guano from Walker, as my man
Symonds does?" "He says it is not good. He analyzed it, and--"
"Fiddlestick! Why didn't he order it in London, if he didn't like
Walker's. Gone to Liverpool for guano! I'll tell you what it is, Lady
Mason; if he intends to farm his land in that way, he should have a
very considerable capital at his back. It will be a long time before
he sees his money again." Sir Peregrine had been farming all his
life, and had his own ideas on the subject. He knew very well that no
gentleman, let him set to work as he might with his own land, could
do as well with it as a farmer who must make a living out of his
farming besides paying the rent;--who must do that or else have no
living; and he knew also that such operations as those which his
young friend was now about to attempt was an amusement fitted only
for the rich. It may be also that he was a little old-fashioned, and
therefore prejudiced against new combinations between agriculture and
chemistry. |
|
"He must put a stop to that kind of work very soon, Lady
Mason; he must indeed; or he will bring himself to ruin--and you with
him." Lady Mason's face became very grave and serious. "But what can I say
to him, Sir Peregrine? In such a matter as that I am afraid that he
would not mind me. If you would not object to speaking to him?" Sir Peregrine was graciously pleased to say that he would not object. It was a disagreeable task, he said, that of giving advice to a young
man who was bound by no tie either to take it or even to receive it
with respect. "You will not find him at all disrespectful; I think I can promise
that," said the frightened mother; and that matter was ended by a
promise on the part of the baronet to take the case in hand, and to
see Lucius immediately on his return from Liverpool. "He had better
come and dine at The Cleeve," said Sir Peregrine, "and we will have
it out after dinner." All of which made Lady Mason very grateful. CHAPTER V.
SIR PEREGRINE MAKES A SECOND PROMISE. We left Lady Mason very grateful at the end of the last chapter for
the promise made to her by Sir Peregrine with reference to her son;
but there was still a weight on Lady Mason's mind. |
|
They say that the
pith of a lady's letter is in the postscript, and it may be that that
which remained for Lady Mason to say, was after all the matter as to
which she was most anxious for assistance. "As you are here," she
said to the baronet, "would you let me mention another subject?" "Surely," said he, again putting down his hat and riding-stick. Sir Peregrine was not given to close observation of those around him,
or he might have seen by the heightened colour of the lady's face,
and by the slight nervous hesitation with which she began to speak,
that she was much in earnest as to this other matter. And had he been
clever in his powers of observation he might have seen also that she
was anxious to hide this feeling. "You remember the circumstances of
that terrible lawsuit?" she said, at last. "What; as to Sir Joseph's will? Yes; I remember them well." "I know that I shall never forget all the kindness that you showed
me," said she. "I don't know how I should have lived through it
without you and dear Mrs. Orme." "But what about it now?" "I fear I am going to have further trouble." "Do you mean that the man at Groby Park is going to try the case
again? It is not possible after such a lapse of time. I am no lawyer,
but I do not think that he can do it." |
|
"I do not know--I do not know what he intends, or whether he intends
anything; but I am sure of this,--that he will give me trouble if he
can. But I will tell you the whole story, Sir Peregrine. It is not
much, and perhaps after all may not be worth attention. You know the
attorney in Hamworth who married Miriam Usbech?" "What, Samuel Dockwrath? Oh, yes; I know him well enough; and to tell
the truth I do not think very well of him. Is he not a tenant of
yours?" "Not at present." And then Lady Mason explained the manner in which
the two fields had been taken out of the lawyer's hands by her son's
order. "Ah! he was wrong there," said the baronet. "When a man has held land
so long it should not be taken away from him except under pressing
circumstances; that is if he pays his rent." "Mr. Dockwrath did pay his rent, certainly; and now, I fear, he is
determined to do all he can to injure us." "But what injury can Mr. Dockwrath do you?" "I do not know, but he has gone down to Yorkshire,--to Mr. Mason's
place; I know that; and he was searching through some papers of old
Mr. Usbech's before he went. Indeed, I may say that I know as a
fact that he has gone to Mr. Mason with the hope that these law
proceedings may be brought on again." "You know it as a fact?" |
|
"I think I may say so." "But, dear Lady Mason, may I ask you how you know this as a fact?" "His wife was with me yesterday," she said, with some feeling of
shame as she disclosed the source from whence she had obtained her
information. "And did she tell the tale against her own husband?" "Not as meaning to say anything against him, Sir Peregrine; you
must not think so badly of her as that; nor must you think that I
would willingly obtain information in such a manner. But you must
understand that I have always been her friend; and when she found
that Mr. Dockwrath had left home on a matter in which I am so nearly
concerned, I cannot but think it natural that she should let me
know." To this Sir Peregrine made no direct answer. He could not quite say
that he thought it was natural, nor could he give any expressed
approval of any such intercourse between Lady Mason and the
attorney's wife. He thought it would be better that Mr. Dockwrath
should be allowed to do his worst, if he had any intention of doing
evil, and that Lady Mason should pass it by without condescending to
notice the circumstance. But he made allowances for her weakness, and
did not give utterance to his disapproval in words. |
|
"I know you think that I have done wrong," she then said, appealing
to him; and there was a tone of sorrow in her voice which went to his
heart. "No, not wrong; I cannot say that you have done wrong. It may be a
question whether you have done wisely." "Ah! if you only condemn my folly, I will not despair. It is probable
I may not have done wisely, seeing that I had not you to direct me. But what shall I do now? Oh, Sir Peregrine, say that you will not
desert me if all this trouble is coming on me again!" "No, I will not desert you, Lady Mason; you may be sure of that." "Dearest friend!" "But I would advise you to take no notice whatever of Mr. Dockwrath
and his proceedings. I regard him as a person entirely beneath your
notice, and if I were you I should not move at all in this matter
unless I received some legal summons which made it necessary for me
to do so. I have not the honour of any personal acquaintance with Mr.
Mason of Groby Park." It was in this way that Sir Peregrine always
designated his friend's stepson--"but if I understand the motives by
which he may probably be actuated in this or in any other matter,
I do not think it likely that he will expend money on so very
unpromising a case." "He would do anything for vengeance." |
|
"I doubt if he would throw away his money even for that, unless he
were very sure of his prey. And in this matter, what can he possibly
do? He has the decision of the jury against him, and at the time he
was afraid to carry the case up to a court of appeal." "But, Sir Peregrine, it is impossible to know what documents he may
have obtained since that." "What documents can do you any harm;--unless, indeed, there should
turn out to be a will subsequent to that under which your son
inherits the property?" "Oh, no; there was no subsequent will." "Of course there was not; and therefore you need not frighten
yourself. It is just possible that some attempt may be made now that
your son is of age, but I regard even that as improbable." "And you would not advise me then to say anything to Mr. Furnival?" "No; certainly not--unless you receive some legal notice which may
make it necessary for you to consult a lawyer. Do nothing; and if
Mrs. Dockwrath comes to you again, tell her that you are not disposed
to take any notice of her information. Mrs. Dockwrath is, I am sure,
a very good sort of woman. Indeed I have always heard so. But, if
I were you, I don't think that I should feel inclined to have much
conversation with her about my private affairs. What you tell her you
tell also to her husband." |
|
And then the baronet, having thus spoken
words of wisdom, sat silent in his arm-chair; and Lady Mason, still
looking into his face, remained silent also for a few minutes. "I am so glad I asked you to come," she then said. "I am delighted, if I have been of any service to you." "Of any service! oh, Sir Peregrine, you cannot understand what it is
to live alone as I do,--for of course I cannot trouble Lucius with
these matters; nor can a man, gifted as you are, comprehend how a
woman can tremble at the very idea that those law proceedings may
possibly be repeated." Sir Peregrine could not but remember as he looked at her that during
all those law proceedings, when an attack was made, not only on her
income but on her honesty, she had never seemed to tremble. She had
always been constant to herself, even when things appeared to be
going against her. But years passing over her head since that time
had perhaps told upon her courage. "But I will fear nothing now, as you have promised that you will
still be my friend." "You may be very sure of that, Lady Mason. I believe that I may
fairly boast that I do not easily abandon those whom I have once
regarded with esteem and affection; among whom Lady Mason will, I am
sure, allow me to say that she is reckoned as by no means the least." |
|
And then taking her hand, the old gentleman bowed over it and kissed
it. "My dearest, dearest friend!" said she; and lifting Sir Peregrine's
beautifully white hand to her lips she also kissed that. It will be
remembered that the gentleman was over seventy, and that this pretty
scene could therefore be enacted without impropriety on either side. Sir Peregrine then went, and as he passed out of the door Lady
Mason smiled on him very sweetly. It is quite true that he was over
seventy; but nevertheless the smile of a pretty woman still had
charms for him, more especially if there was a tear in her eye the
while;--for Sir Peregrine Orme had a soft heart. As soon as the door was closed behind him Lady Mason seated herself
in her accustomed chair, and all trace of the smile vanished from her
face. She was alone now, and could allow her countenance to be a true
index of her mind. If such was the case her heart surely was very
sad. She sat there perfectly still for nearly an hour, and during the
whole of that time there was the same look of agony on her brow. Once
or twice she rubbed her hands across her forehead, brushing back her
hair, and showing, had there been any one by to see it, that there
was many a gray lock there mixed with the brown hairs. |
|
Had there been
any one by, she would, it may be surmised, have been more careful. There was no smile in her face now, neither was there any tear in her
eye. The one and the other emblem were equally alien to her present
mood. But there was sorrow at her heart, and deep thought in her
mind. She knew that her enemies were conspiring against her,--against
her and against her son; and what steps might she best take in order
that she might baffle them? [Illustration: There was sorrow in her heart,
and deep thought in her mind.] "I have got that woman on the hip now." Those were the words which
Mr. Dockwrath had uttered into his wife's ears, after two days spent
in searching through her father's papers. The poor woman had once
thought of burning all those papers--in old days before she had
become Mrs. Dockwrath. Her friend, Lady Mason, had counselled her
to do so, pointing out to her that they were troublesome, and could
by no possibility lead to profit; but she had consulted her lover,
and he had counselled her to burn nothing. "Would that she had been
guided by her friend!" she now said to herself with regard to that
old trunk, and perhaps occasionally with regard to some other things. "I have got that woman on the hip at last!" |
|
and there had been a
gleam of satisfaction in Samuel's eye as he uttered the words which
had convinced his wife that it was not an idle threat. She knew
nothing of what the box had contained; and now, even if it had not
been kept safe from her under Samuel's private key, the contents
which were of interest had of course gone. "I have business in the
north, and shall be away for about a week," Mr. Dockwrath had said to
her on the following morning. "Oh, very well; then I'll put up your things," she had answered in
her usual mild, sad, whining, household voice. Her voice at home was
always sad and whining, for she was overworked, and had too many
cares, and her lord was a tyrant to her rather than a husband. "Yes, I must see Mr. Mason immediately. And look here, Miriam, I
positively insist that you do not go to Orley Farm, or hold any
intercourse whatever with Lady Mason. D'ye hear?" Mrs. Dockwrath said that she did hear, and promised obedience. Mr.
Dockwrath probably guessed that the moment his back was turned all
would be told at the farm, and probably also had no real objection to
her doing so. Had he in truth wished to keep his proceedings secret
from Lady Mason he would not have divulged them to his wife. |
|
And then
Mr. Dockwrath did start for the north, bearing certain documents with
him; and soon after his departure Mrs. Dockwrath did pay a visit to
Orley Farm. Lady Mason sat there perfectly still for about an hour thinking what
she would do. She had asked Sir Peregrine, and had the advantage of
his advice; but that did not weigh much with her. What she wanted
from Sir Peregrine was countenance and absolute assistance in the
day of trouble,--not advice. She had desired to renew his interest
in her favour, and to receive from him his assurance that he would
not desert her; and that she had obtained. It was of course also
necessary that she should consult him; but in turning over within her
own mind this and that line of conduct, she did not, consciously,
attach any weight to Sir Peregrine's opinion. The great question for
her to decide was this;--should she put herself and her case into the
hands of her friend Mr. Furnival now at once, or should she wait till
she had received some certain symptom of hostile proceedings? If she
did see Mr. Furnival, what could she tell him? Only this, that Mr.
Dockwrath had found some document among the papers of old Mr. Usbech,
and had gone off with the same to Groby Park in Yorkshire. What that
document might be she was as ignorant as the attorney's wife. |
|
When the hour was ended she had made up her mind that she would do
nothing more in the matter, at any rate on that day. CHAPTER VI. THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. Mr. Samuel Dockwrath was a little man, with sandy hair, a pale face,
and stone-blue eyes. In judging of him by appearance only and not by
the ear, one would be inclined to doubt that he could be a very sharp
attorney abroad and a very persistent tyrant at home. But when Mr.
Dockwrath began to talk, one's respect for him began to grow. He
talked well and to the point, and with a tone of voice that could
command where command was possible, persuade where persuasion was
required, mystify when mystification was needed, and express with
accuracy the tone of an obedient humble servant when servility was
thought to be expedient. We will now accompany him on his little tour
into Yorkshire. Groby Park is about seven miles from Leeds, and as Mr. Dockwrath had
in the first instance to travel from Hamworth up to London, he did
not reach Leeds till late in the evening. |
|
It was a nasty, cold,
drizzling night, so that the beauties and marvels of the large
manufacturing town offered him no attraction, and at nine o'clock
he had seated himself before the fire in the commercial room at The
Bull, had called for a pair of public slippers, and was about to
solace all his cares with a glass of mahogany-coloured brandy and
water and a cigar. The room had no present occupant but himself, and
therefore he was able to make the most of all its comforts. He had
taken the solitary arm-chair, and had so placed himself that the gas
would fall direct from behind his head on to that day's "Leeds and
Halifax Chronicle," as soon as he should choose to devote himself to
local politics. The waiter had looked at him with doubtful eyes when he asked to be
shown into the commercial room, feeling all but confident that such a
guest had no right to be there. He had no bulky bundles of samples,
nor any of those outward characteristics of a commercial "gent" with
which all men conversant with the rail and road are acquainted, and
which the accustomed eye of a waiter recognises at a glance. And
here it may be well to explain that ordinary travellers are in this
respect badly treated by the customs of England, or rather by the
hotel-keepers. |
|
All inn-keepers have commercial rooms, as certainly
as they have taps and bars, but all of them do not have commercial
rooms in the properly exclusive sense. A stranger, therefore, who has
asked for and obtained his mutton-chop in the commercial room of The
Dolphin, The Bear, and The George, not unnaturally asks to be shown
into the same chamber at the King's Head. But the King's Head does a
business with real commercials, and the stranger finds himself--out
of his element. "'Mercial, sir?" said the waiter at The Bull Inn, Leeds, to Mr.
Dockwrath, in that tone of doubt which seemed to carry an answer to
his own question. But Mr. Dockwrath was not a man to be put down by
a waiter. "Yes," said he. "Didn't you hear me say so?" And then the
waiter gave way. None of those lords of the road were in the house at
the moment, and it might be that none would come that night. Mr. Dockwrath had arrived by the 8.22 P.M. down, but the 8.45 P.M. up
from the north followed quick upon his heels, and he had hardly put
his brandy and water to his mouth before a rush and a sound of many
voices were heard in the hall. There is a great difference between
the entrance into an inn of men who are not known there and of
men who are known. |
|
The men who are not known are shy, diffident,
doubtful, and anxious to propitiate the chambermaid by great
courtesy. The men who are known are loud, jocular, and assured;--or
else, in case of deficient accommodation, loud, angry, and full of
threats. The guests who had now arrived were well known, and seemed
at present to be in the former mood. "Well, Mary, my dear, what's the
time of day with you?" said a rough, bass voice, within the hearing
of Mr. Dockwrath. "Much about the old tune, Mr. Moulder," said the
girl at the bar. "Time to look alive and keep moving. Will you have
them boxes up stairs, Mr. Kantwise?" and then there were a few words
about the luggage, and two real commercial gentlemen walked into the
room. Mr. Dockwrath resolved to stand upon his rights, so he did not move
his chair, but looked up over his shoulder at the new comers. The
first man who entered was short and very fat;--so fat that he could
not have seen his own knees for some considerable time past. His face
rolled with fat, as also did all his limbs. His eyes were large, and
bloodshot. He wore no beard, and therefore showed plainly the triple
bagging of his fat chin. In spite of his overwhelming fatness, there
was something in his face that was masterful and almost vicious. His
body had been overcome by eating, but not as yet his spirit--one
would be inclined to say. |
|
This was Mr. Moulder, well known on the
road as being in the grocery and spirit line; a pushing man, who
understood his business, and was well trusted by his firm in spite of
his habitual intemperance. What did the firm care whether or no he
killed himself by eating and drinking? He sold his goods, collected
his money, and made his remittances. If he got drunk at night that
was nothing to them, seeing that he always did his quota of work the
next day. But Mr. Moulder did not get drunk. His brandy and water
went into his blood, and into his eyes, and into his feet, and into
his hands,--but not into his brain. The other was a little square man in the hardware line, of the name
of Kantwise. He disposed of fire-irons, grates, ovens, and kettles,
and was at the present moment heavily engaged in the sale of certain
newly-invented metallic tables and chairs lately brought out by the
Patent Steel Furniture Company, for which Mr. Kantwise did business. He looked as though a skin rather too small for the purpose had been
drawn over his head and face so that his forehead and cheeks and chin
were tight and shiny. His eyes were small and green, always moving
about in his head, and were seldom used by Mr. Kantwise in the
ordinary way. |
|
At whatever he looked he looked sideways; it was not
that he did not look you in the face, but he always looked at you
with a sidelong glance, never choosing to have you straight in front
of him. And the more eager he was in conversation--the more anxious
he might be to gain his point, the more he averted his face and
looked askance; so that sometimes he would prefer to have his
antagonist almost behind his shoulder. And then as he did this, he
would thrust forward his chin, and having looked at you round the
corner till his eyes were nearly out of his head, he would close
them both and suck in his lips, and shake his head with rapid little
shakes, as though he were saying to himself, "Ah, sir! you're a bad
un, a very bad un." His nose--for I should do Mr. Kantwise injustice
if I did not mention this feature--seemed to have been compressed
almost into nothing by that skin-squeezing operation. It was long
enough, taking the measurement down the bridge, and projected
sufficiently, counting the distance from the upper lip; but it had
all the properties of a line; it possessed length without breadth. There was nothing in it from side to side. If you essayed to pull it,
your fingers would meet. |
|
When I shall have also said that the hair
on Mr. Kantwise's head stood up erect all round to the height of two
inches, and that it was very red, I shall have been accurate enough
in his personal description. That Mr. Moulder represented a firm good business, doing tea, coffee,
and British brandy on a well-established basis of capital and profit,
the travelling commercial world in the north of England was well
aware. No one entertained any doubt about his employers, Hubbles and
Grease of Houndsditch. Hubbles and Grease were all right, as they had
been any time for the last twenty years. But I cannot say that there
was quite so strong a confidence felt in the Patent Steel Furniture
Company generally, or in the individual operations of Mr. Kantwise
in particular. The world in Yorkshire and Lancashire was doubtful
about metallic tables, and it was thought that Mr. Kantwise was too
eloquent in their praise. Mr. Moulder when he had entered the room, stood still, to enable
the waiter to peel off from him his greatcoat and the large shawl
with which his neck was enveloped, and Mr. Kantwise performed the
same operation for himself, carefully folding up the articles of
clothing as he took them off. Then Mr. Moulder fixed his eyes on Mr.
Dockwrath, and stared at him very hard. "Who's the party, James?" he
said to the waiter, speaking in a whisper that was plainly heard by
the attorney. |
|
"Gen'elman by the 8.22 down," said James. "Commercial?" asked Mr. Moulder, with angry frown. "He says so himself, anyways," said the waiter. "Gammon!" replied Mr. Moulder, who knew all the bearings of a
commercial man thoroughly, and could have put one together if he were
only supplied with a little bit--say the mouth, as Professor Owen
always does with the Dodoes. Mr. Moulder now began to be angry, for
he was a stickler for the rights and privileges of his class, and had
an idea that the world was not so conservative in that respect as it
should be. Mr. Dockwrath, however, was not to be frightened, so he
drew his chair a thought nearer to the fire, took a sup of brandy and
water, and prepared himself for war if war should be necessary. "Cold evening, sir, for the time of year," said Mr. Moulder, walking
up to the fireplace, and rolling the lumps of his forehead about in
his attempt at a frown. In spite of his terrible burden of flesh, Mr.
Moulder could look angry on occasions, but he could only do so when
he was angry. He was not gifted with a command of his facial muscles. "Yes," said Mr. Dockwrath, not taking his eyes from off the Leeds
and Halifax Chronicle. "It is coldish. Waiter, bring me a cigar." This was very provoking, as must be confessed. |
|
Mr. Moulder had not
been prepared to take any step towards turning the gentleman out,
though doubtless he might have done so had he chosen to exercise
his prerogative. But he did expect that the gentleman would have
acknowledged the weakness of his footing, by moving himself a little
towards one side of the fire, and he did not expect that he would
have presumed to smoke without asking whether the practice was
held to be objectionable by the legal possessors of the room. Mr.
Dockwrath was free of any such pusillanimity. "Waiter," he said
again, "bring me a cigar, d'ye hear?" The great heart of Moulder could not stand this unmoved. He had been
an accustomed visitor to that room for fifteen years, and had always
done his best to preserve the commercial code unsullied. He was now
so well known, that no one else ever presumed to take the chair
at the four o'clock commercial dinner if he were present. It was
incumbent on him to stand forward and make a fight, more especially
in the presence of Kantwise, who was by no means stanch to his order. Kantwise would at all times have been glad to have outsiders in the
room, in order that he might puff his tables, and if possible effect
a sale;--a mode of proceeding held in much aversion by the upright,
old-fashioned, commercial mind. |
|
"Sir," said Mr. Moulder, having become very red about the cheeks and
chin, "I and this gentleman are going to have a bit of supper, and it
ain't accustomed to smoke in commercial rooms during meals. You know
the rules no doubt if you're commercial yourself;--as I suppose you
are, seeing you in this room." Now Mr. Moulder was wrong in his law, as he himself was very well
aware. Smoking is allowed in all commercial rooms when the dinner has
been some hour or so off the table. But then it was necessary that he
should hit the stranger in some way, and the chances were that the
stranger would know nothing about commercial law. Nor did he; so he
merely looked Mr. Moulder hard in the face. But Mr. Kantwise knew the
laws well enough, and as he saw before him a possible purchaser of
metallic tables, he came to the assistance of the attorney. "I think you are a little wrong there, Mr. Moulder; eh; ain't you?" said he. "Wrong about what?" said Moulder, turning very sharply upon his
base-minded compatriot. "Well, as to smoking. It's nine o'clock, and if the gentleman--"
"I don't care a brass farthing about the clock," said the other, "but
when I'm going to have a bit of steak with my tea, in my own room, I
chooses to have it comfortable." |
|
"Goodness me, Mr. Moulder, how many times have I seen you sitting
there with a pipe in your mouth, and half a dozen gents eating their
teas the while in this very room? The rule of the case I take it to
be this; when--"
"Bother your rules." "Well; it was you spoke of them." "The question I take to be this," said Moulder, now emboldened by
the opposition he had received. "Has the gentleman any right to
be in this room at all, or has he not? Is he commercial, or is
he--miscellaneous? That's the chat, as I take it." "You're on the square there, I must allow," said Kantwise. "James," said Moulder, appealing with authority to the waiter, who
had remained in the room during the controversy;--and now Mr. Moulder
was determined to do his duty and vindicate his profession, let
the consequences be what they might. "James, is that gentleman
commercial, or is he not?" It was clearly necessary now that Mr. Dockwrath himself should take
his own part, and fight his own battle. "Sir," said he, turning to
Mr. Moulder, "I think you'll find it extremely difficult to define
that word;--extremely difficult. In this enterprising country all men
are more or less commercial." "Hear! hear!" said Mr. Kantwise. "That's gammon," said Mr. Moulder. "Gammon it may be," said Mr. Dockwrath, "but nevertheless it's
right in law. |
|
Taking the word in its broadest, strictest, and most
intelligible sense, I am a commercial gentleman; and as such I do
maintain that I have a full right to the accommodation of this public
room." "That's very well put," said Mr. Kantwise. "Waiter," thundered out Mr. Moulder, as though he imagined that that
functionary was down the yard at the taproom instead of standing
within three feet of his elbow. "Is this gent a commercial, or is he
not? Because if not,--then I'll trouble you to send Mr. Crump here. My compliments to Mr. Crump, and I wish to see him." Now Mr. Crump
was the landlord of the Bull Inn. "Master's just stepped out, down the street," said James. "Why don't you answer my question, sir?" said Moulder, becoming
redder and still more red about his shirt-collars. "The gent said as how he was 'mercial," said the poor man. "Was I to
go to contradict a gent and tell him he wasn't when he said as how he
was?" "If you please," said Mr. Dockwrath, "we will not bring the waiter
into this discussion. I asked for the commercial room, and he did his
duty in showing me to the door of it. The fact I take to be this; in
the south of England the rules to which you refer are not kept so
strictly as in these more mercantile localities." "I've always observed that," said Kantwise. |
|
"I travelled for three years in Devonshire, Somersetshire, and
Wiltshire," said Moulder, "and the commercial rooms were as well kept
there as any I ever see." "I alluded to Surrey and Kent," said Mr. Dockwrath. "They're uncommonly miscellaneous in Surrey and Kent," said Kantwise. "There's no doubt in the world about that." "If the gentleman means to say that he's come in here because he
didn't know the custom of the country, I've no more to say, of
course," said Moulder. "And in that case, I, for one, shall be very
happy if the gentleman cam make himself comfortable in this room as a
stranger, and I may say guest;--paying his own shot, of course." "And as for me, I shall be delighted," said Kantwise. "I never did
like too much exclusiveness. What's the use of bottling oneself up? that's what I always say. Besides, there's no charity in it. We gents
as are always on the road should show a little charity to them as
ain't so well accustomed to the work." At this allusion to charity Mr. Moulder snuffled through his nose to
show his great disgust, but he made no further answer. Mr. Dockwrath,
who was determined not to yield, but who had nothing to gain by
further fighting, bowed his head, and declared that he felt very much
obliged. Whether or no there was any touch of irony in his tone, Mr.
Moulder's ears were not fine enough to discover. |
|
So they now sat
round the fire together, the attorney still keeping his seat in the
middle. And then Mr. Moulder ordered his little bit of steak with his
tea. "With the gravy in it, James," he said, solemnly. "And a bit
of fat, and a few slices of onion, thin mind, put on raw, not with
all the taste fried out; and tell the cook if she don't do it as
it should be done, I'll be down into the kitchen and do it myself. You'll join me, Kantwise, eh?" "Well, I think not; I dined at three, you know." "Dined at three! What of that? a dinner at three won't last a man for
ever. You might as well join me." "No, I think not. Have you got such a thing as a nice red herring in
the house, James?" "Get one round the corner, sir." "Do, there's a good fellow; and I'll take it for a relish with my
tea. I'm not so fond of your solids three times a day. They heat the
blood too much." "Bother," grunted Moulder; and then they went to their evening meal,
over which we will not disturb them. The steak, we may presume, was
cooked aright, as Mr. Moulder did not visit the kitchen, and Mr.
Kantwise no doubt made good play with his unsubstantial dainty, as he
spoke no further till his meal was altogether finished. "Did you ever hear anything of that Mr. Mason who lives near
Bradford?" |
|
asked Mr. Kantwise, addressing himself to Mr. Moulder, as
soon as the things had been cleared from the table, and that latter
gentleman had been furnished with a pipe and a supply of cold
without. "I remember his father when I was a boy," said Moulder, not troubling
himself to take his pipe from his mouth, "Mason and Martock in the
Old Jewry; very good people they were too." "He's decently well off now, I suppose, isn't he?" said Kantwise,
turning away his face, and looking at his companion out of the
corners of his eyes. "I suppose he is. That place there by the road-side is all his own, I
take it. Have you been at him with some of your rusty, rickety tables
and chairs?" "Mr. Moulder, you forget that there is a gentleman here who won't
understand that you're at your jokes. I was doing business at Groby
Park, but I found the party uncommon hard to deal with." "Didn't complete the transaction?" "Well, no; not exactly; but I intend to call again. He's close enough
himself, is Mr. Mason. But his lady, Mrs. M.! Lord love you, Mr.
Moulder, that is a woman!" "She is; is she? As for me, I never have none of these private
dealings. It don't suit my book at all; nor it ain't what I've been
accustomed to. If a man's wholesale, let him be wholesale." |
|
And then,
having enunciated this excellent opinion with much energy, he took a
long pull at his brandy and water. "Very old fashioned, Mr. Moulder," said Kantwise, looking round the
corner, then shutting his eyes and shaking his head. "May be," said Moulder, "and yet none the worse for that. I call it
hawking and peddling, that going round the country with your goods
on your back. It ain't trade." And then there was a lull in the
conversation, Mr. Kantwise, who was a very religious gentleman,
having closed his eyes, and being occupied with some internal
anathema against Mr. Moulder. "Begging your pardon, sir, I think you were talking about one Mr.
Mason who lives in these parts," said Dockwrath. "Exactly. Joseph Mason, Esq., of Groby Park," said Mr. Kantwise, now
turning his face upon the attorney. "I suppose I shall be likely to find him at home to-morrow, if I
call?" "Certainly, sir; certainly; leastwise I should say so. Any personal
acquaintance with Mr. Mason, sir? If so, I meant nothing offensive by
my allusion to the lady, sir; nothing at all, I can assure you." "The lady's nothing to me, sir; nor the gentleman either;--only that
I have a little business with him." "Shall be very happy to join you in a gig, sir, to-morrow, as far
as Groby Park; or fly, if more convenient. I shall only take a few
patterns with me, and they're no weight at all,--none in the least,
sir. |
|
They go on behind, and you wouldn't know it, sir." To this,
however, Mr. Dockwrath would not assent. As he wanted to see Mr.
Mason very specially, he should go early, and preferred going by
himself. "No offence, I hope," said Mr. Kantwise. "None in the least," said Mr. Dockwrath. "And if you would allow me, sir, to have the pleasure of showing you
a few of my patterns, I'm sure I should be delighted." This he said
observing that Mr. Moulder was sitting over his empty glass with the
pipe in his hand, and his eyes fast closed. "I think, sir, I could
show you an article that would please you very much. You see, sir,
that new ideas are coming in every day, and wood, sir, is altogether
going out,--altogether going out as regards furniture. In another
twenty years, sir, there won't be such a thing as a wooden table
in the country, unless with some poor person that can't afford to
refurnish. Believe me, sir, iron's the thing now-a-days." "And indian-rubber," said Dockwrath. "Yes; indian-rubber's wonderful too. Are you in that line, sir?" "Well; no; not exactly." "It's not like iron, sir. You can't make a dinner-table for fourteen
people out of indian-rubber, that will shut up into a box 3-6 by
2-4 deep, and 2-6 broad. |
|
Why, sir, I can let you have a set of
drawing-room furniture for fifteen ten that you've never seen
equalled in wood for three times the money;--ornamented in the
tastiest way, sir, and fit for any lady's drawing-room or boodoor. The ladies of quality are all getting them now for their boodoors. There's three tables, eight chairs, easy rocking-chair, music-stand,
stool to match, and pair of stand-up screens, all gilt in real Louey
catorse; and it goes in three boxes 4-2 by 2-1 and 2-3. Think of
that, sir. For fifteen ten and the boxes in." Then there was a pause,
after which Mr. Kantwise added--"If ready money, the carriage paid." And then he turned his head very much away, and looked back very hard
at his expected customer. "I'm afraid the articles are not in my line," said Mr. Dockwrath. "It's the tastiest present for a gentleman to make to his lady that
has come out since--since those sort of things have come out at
all. You'll let me show you the articles, sir. It will give me the
sincerest pleasure." And Mr. Kantwise proposed to leave the room in
order that he might introduce the three boxes in question. "They would not be at all in my way," said Mr. Dockwrath. |
|
"The trouble would be nothing," said Mr. Kantwise, "and it gives me
the greatest pleasure to make them known when I find any one who
can appreciate such undoubted luxuries;" and so saying Mr. Kantwise
skipped out of the room, and soon returned with James and Boots, each
of the three bearing on his shoulder a deal box nearly as big as a
coffin, all of which were deposited in different parts of the room. Mr. Moulder in the meantime snored heavily, his head falling on to
his breast every now and again. But nevertheless he held fast by his
pipe. Mr. Kantwise skipped about the room with wonderful agility,
unfastening the boxes, and taking out the contents, while Joe the
boots and James the waiter stood by assisting. They had never yet
seen the glories of these chairs and tables, and were therefore
not unwilling to be present. It was singular to see how ready
Mr. Kantwise was at the work, how recklessly he threw aside the
whitey-brown paper in which the various pieces of painted iron were
enveloped, and with what a practised hand he put together one article
after another. First there was a round loo-table, not quite so large
in its circumference as some people might think desirable, but,
nevertheless, a round loo-table. The pedestal with its three claws
was all together. With a knowing touch Mr. Kantwise separated the
bottom of what looked like a yellow stick, and, lo! |
End of preview. Expand
in Data Studio
ForgetRetainBooks
This dataset is derived from the NarrativeQA dataset, created by Kocisky et al. (2018). NarrativeQA is a dataset for evaluating reading comprehension and narrative understanding.
This dataset is an extraction of the book content from the original NarrativeQA dataset.
Citation
If you want to use this dataset, please also cite the original NarrativeQA dataset.
@article{narrativeqa,
author = {Tom\'a\v s Ko\v cisk\'y and Jonathan Schwarz and Phil Blunsom and
Chris Dyer and Karl Moritz Hermann and G\'abor Melis and
Edward Grefenstette},
title = {The {NarrativeQA} Reading Comprehension Challenge},
journal = {Transactions of the Association for Computational Linguistics},
url = {https://TBD},
volume = {TBD},
year = {2018},
pages = {TBD},
}
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