CHAPTER II.
IN WHICH I ENTER THE DRAWING-ROOM.
I was now approaching Brandon Hall; less than ten minutes more would setme down at its door-steps. The stiff figure of Mrs. Marston, the oldhousekeeper, pale and austere, in rustling black silk (she was accounteda miser, and estimated to have saved I dare not say how much moneyin the Wylder family--kind to me with the bread-and-jam andNaples-biscuit-kindness of her species, in old times)--stood in fancy atthe doorway. She, too, was a dream, and, I dare say, her money spent bythis time. And that other dream, to which she often led me, with thelarge hazel eyes, and clear delicate tints--so sweet, so _riante_, yet sosad; poor Lady Mary Brandon, dying there--so unhappily mated--a youngmother, and her baby sleeping in long 'Broderie Anglaise' attire upon thepillow on the sofa, and whom she used to show me with a peeping mystery,and her finger to her smiling lip, and a gaiety and fondness in herpretty face. That little helpless, groping, wailing creature was now theDorcas Brandon, the mistress of the grand old mansion and all itssurroundings, who was the heroine of the splendid matrimonial compromisewhich was about to reconcile a feud, and avert a possible lawsuit, and,for one generation, at least, to tranquillise the troubled annals of theBrandons and Wylders.
And now the ancient gray chapel, with its stained window, and store ofold Brandon and Wylder monuments among its solemn clump of elm-trees,flitted by on my right; and in a moment more we drew up at the great gateon the left; not a hundred yards removed from it, and with an eagerrecognition, I gazed on the noble front of the old manorial house.
Up the broad straight avenue with its solemn files of gigantic timbertowering at the right and the left hand, the chaise rolled smoothly, andthrough the fantastic iron gate of the courtyard, and with a fineswinging sweep and a jerk, we drew up handsomely before the door-steps,with the Wylder arms in bold and florid projection carved above it.
The sun had just gone down. The blue shadows of twilight overcast thelandscape, and the mists of night were already stealing like thin smokeamong the trunks and roots of the trees. Through the stone mullions ofthe projecting window at the right, a flush of fire-light looked pleasantand hospitable, and on the threshold were standing Lord Chelford and myold friend Mark Wylder; a faint perfume of the mildest cheroot declaredhow they had been employed.
So I jumped to the ground and was greeted very kindly by the smokers.
'I'm here, you know, _in loco parentis_;--my mother and I keep watch andward. We allow Wylder, you see, to come every day to his devotions. Butyou are not to go to the Brandon Arms--you got my note, didn't you?'
I had, and had come direct to the Hall in consequence.
I looked over the door. Yes, my memory had served me right. There werethe Brandon arms, and the Brandon quartered with the Wylder; but theWylder coat in the centre, with the grinning griffins for supporters, andflaunting scrolls all round, and the ominous word 'resurgam' underneath,proclaimed itself sadly and vauntingly over the great entrance. I oftenwonder how the Wylder coat came in the centre; who built the old house--aBrandon or a Wylder; and if a Wylder, why was it Brandon Hall?
Dusty and seedy somewhat, as men are after a journey, I chatted with Markand the noble peer for a few minutes at the door, while my valise and _etceteras_ were lifted in and hurried up the stairs to my room, whither Ifollowed them.
While I was at my toilet, in came Mark Wylder laughing, as was his wont,and very unceremoniously he took possession of my easy-chair, and threwhis leg over the arm of it.
'I'm glad you're come, Charlie; you were always a good fellow, and Ireally want a hand here confoundedly. I think it will all do very nicely;but, of course, there's a lot of things to be arranged--settlements, youknow--and I can't make head or tail of their lingo, and a fellow don'tlike to sign and seal hand over head--_you_ would not advise that, youknow; and Chelford is a very good fellow, of course, and all that--buthe's taking care of Dorcas, you see; and I might be left in the lurch.'
'It is a better way, at all events, Mark, than Wylder _versus_ Trusteesof Brandon, minor,' said I.
'Well, things do turn out very oddly; don't they?' said Mark with a slyglance of complacency, and his hands in his pockets. 'But I know you'llhold the tiller till I get through; hang me if I know the soundings, orwhere I'm going; and you have the chart by heart, Charlie.'
'I'm afraid you'll find me by no means so well up now as six years ago in"Wylder and Brandon;" but surely you have your lawyer, Mr. Larkin,haven't you?'
'To be sure--that's exactly it--he's Dorcas's agent. I don't knowanything about him, and I do know you--don't you see? A fellow doesn'twant to put himself into the hands of a stranger altogether, especially alawyer, ha, ha! it wouldn't pay.'
I did not half like the equivocal office which my friend Mark hadprepared for me. If family squabbles were to arise, I had no fancy to mixin them; and I did not want a collision with Mr. Larkin either; and, onthe whole, notwithstanding his modesty, I thought Wylder very well ableto take care of himself. There was time enough, however, to settle thepoint. So by this time, being splendid in French boots and white vest,and altogether perfect and refreshed, I emerged from my dressing-room,Wylder by my side.
We had to get along a dim oak-panelled passage, and into a sort of_oeil-de-boeuf_, with a lantern light above, from which diverged twoother solemn corridors, and a short puzzling turn or two brought us tothe head of the upper stairs. For I being a bachelor, and treatedaccordingly, was airily perched on the third storey.
To my mind, there is something indescribably satisfactory in the intensesolidity of those old stairs and floors--no spring in the planks, not acreak; you walk as over strata of stone. What clumsy grandeur! WhatCyclopean carpenters! What a prodigality of oak!
It was dark by this time, and the drawing-room, a vast and grand chamber,with no light but the fire and a pair of dim soft lamps near the sofasand ottomans, lofty, and glowing with rich tapestry curtains andpictures, and mirrors, and carved oak, and marble--was already tenantedby the ladies.
Old Lady Chelford, stiff and rich, a Vandyke dowager, with a generaleffect of deep lace, funereal velvet, and pearls; and pale, with drearyeyes, and thin high nose, sat in a high-backed carved oak throne, withred cushions. To her I was first presented, and cursorily scrutinisedwith a stately old-fashioned insolence, as if I were a candidate footman,and so dismissed. On a low seat, chatting to her as I came up, was a veryhandsome and rather singular-looking girl, fair, with a lightgolden-tinted hair; and a countenance, though then grave enough, instinctwith a certain promise of animation and spirit not to be mistaken. Couldthis be the heroine of the pending alliance? No; I was mistaken. A thirdlady, at what would have been an ordinary room's length away, halfreclining on an ottoman, was now approached by Wylder, who presented meto Miss Brandon.
'Dorcas, this is my old friend, Charles de Cresseron. You have oftenheard me speak of him; and I want you to shake hands and make hisacquaintance, and draw him out--do you see; for he's a shy youth, andmust be encouraged.'
He gave me a cheerful slap on the shoulder as he uttered this agreeablebit of banter, and altogether disconcerted me confoundedly. Wylder'sdress-coats always smelt of tobacco, and his talk of tar. I was quietlyincensed and disgusted; for in those days I _was_ a little shy.
The lady rose, in a soft floating way; tall, black-haired--but ablackness with a dull rich shadow through it. I had only a generalimpression of large dusky eyes and very exquisite features--more delicatethan the Grecian models, and with a wonderful transparency, like tintedmarble; and a superb haughtiness, quite unaffected. She held forth herhand, which I did little more than touch. There was a peculiarity in hergreeting, which I felt a little overawing, without exactly discovering inwhat it consisted; and it was I think that she did not smile. She nevertook that trouble for form's sake, like other women.
So, as Wylder had set a chair for me I could not avoid sitting upon it,though I should much have preferred standing, after the manner of men,and retaining my liberty.
Wylder's Hand Page 3
