Delphi Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu

by J. Sheridan le Fanu

  A face that must have been very pretty and was still interesting — gentle, gay, and frank — was before her. But she was much older than her brother: a daughter by an earlier marriage.

  This lady evidently took a fancy to Maud, and when they had talked a little, and began to grow to know one another better, after a short conversation aside with Maximilla, during which Maud saw that goodnatured old maid look once or twice at her, Lady Mardykes, coming over to her, began to talk to her again.

  “I should have gone to Roydon to see Lady Vernon,” she said, “only that I had doubts as to her liking it; and perhaps it is better to put it off to another time. There have been so many unlucky vexations, and I know she and papa don’t visit, so you will understand why I don’t go to see you at Roydon. But you must promise to come to me for a few weeks to Carsbrook. I shan’t be going to Mardykes till next year, perhaps; I should rather have had you there. All about Golden Friars is so very beautiful. But I think you will say that Carsbrook is a pretty place, and if I can persuade Maximilla Medwyn to come to meet you, I’m sure you will find it pleasant. I’ll consult with her as to how best to invite you.”

  Maud was very well pleased with this little plan; and now old Mr. Tintern came forth upon the grass, with his agreeable greetings and chilly smiles, and Maximilla and he began to talk, and their talk grew gradually, it seemed, a little earnest. And when the gong summoned them to luncheon, he seemed still a little thoughtful now and then during that repast.

  They walked out again through the glass door after luncheon, and Mr. Tintern, in the same mood, accompanied them, and once more fell into talk with Miss Max.

  Ethel Tintern was now beside Maud, and the two young ladies sat down upon a rustic seat among the flowers.

  “We are forlorn damsels here; our gentlemen have all gone off to fish at Dalworth. Papa wanted Lady Mardykes and me to go in the carriage, and I am so glad now we did not. We should have missed you. Do you know I think we girls have much more resource than men. They won’t entertain themselves as we do, and it is so hard to amuse them. You have a guest at present at Roydon?”

  “Yes, Captain Vivian.”

  “Yes; and Miss Medwyn thinks he is a little taken with you?”

  “She divides him between me and Lady Mardykes at present, and when you are acquainted, I dare say she’ll give you a share.”

  Ethel laughed, and said suddenly:

  “By-the-bye, I was so near forgetting the pyracanth! It is beginning to look rather passé; it is the very last, but she can judge pretty well what it must be when it is in its best looks.”

  So she got Miss Max to look at the flower, which she held up for her inspection in its glass, and there ensued an animated bit of floral gossip, in which Mr. Tintern, who was skilled in flowers, and had won a few years since two or three prizes, one especially, which made a great noise, for his ranunculuses, took a leading part.

  Then Mr. Tintern withdrew, and Miss Max, Lady Mardykes, and Mrs. Tintern talked together, and Ethel, alone once more with Maud Vernon, said, as if the long parenthesis counted for nothing:

  “About that Captain Vivian — take my advice, and don’t allow him to pay you the slightest attention.”

  “Really — — “

  “Yes,” says Miss Tintern, who is cruelly plucking a white rose, petal by petal, asunder, and watching the process intently.

  “Yes, but I assure you he hasn’t,” said Maud.

  “Miss Medwyn thinks differently,” said Miss Tintern, with gentle diligence continuing the process of discerption.

  “I don’t perceive it, if he does,” answered Maud. “But why do you warn me?” and she smiled a little curiously as she put her question.

  “Because I know certain things about him, and he is aware that I do, that ought to prevent him. You mustn’t repeat a word I say, mind. Does he seem to wish to avoid me?”

  “Quite the contrary. He talks as if he should like so much to make your acquaintance.”

  “That I don’t understand,” said Ethel, plucking three or four leaves together from her dishevelled rose.

  “I understood him to wish that I should take the first opportunity of introducing him.”

  “I should not like that at all,” said Ethel, with a tone and look of marked annoyance, her eyes still watching the flower she was stripping leaf by leaf.

  “Is it anything discreditable?” asked Maud.

  “No, not that, certainly not, but it might easily become so. You see, I’m talking riddles, but, indeed, I can’t help it. I can’t say anything more at present than I have told you, and so much I had a right to say, and am very glad I have had an opportunity, and for the present, as I said, I can give you nothing but that, my earnest piece of advice. And take care of yourself, I counsel you, in this false, shabby, wicked world.”

  With these words, Ethel Tintern got up, and broke what remained of the rose between her fingers, and crumpled it up and threw it away. She saw Miss Max walking quickly toward them, with the air of a chaperon in search of her charge, and she guessed that the hour had come for saying goodbye.

  “My dear Maud, I had no idea how late it was,” said Maximilla, before she reached them. “I’m so afraid we shall be late for our appointment with your mamma. It is twenty minutes past three now. Had not we better go?”

  Maud was a little alarmed, for with her to be late for an appointment with her mother was a very serious matter indeed, so she consulted her watch, which, for a lady’s timepiece, was a very fair one, being seldom more than twenty minutes wrong, either way, and finding there signs corroborative of Miss Max’s calculations, “there was parting in hot haste,” and time for little more than a hurried inquiry whether Ethel was going to the Wymering ball.

  “Yes, she thought so; that is, if her papa went; her mamma was not well enough.”

  And so, kissing and goodbyes, and a very friendly reminder from Lady Mardykes, who said she expected to be at home at Carsbrook in ten days, and that Maud would be sure to hear from her about that time.

  And now they are whirling homeward, at the brilliant pace of the highbred horses of Roydon, and Maud says to her companion:

  “Ethel has just been warning me, for reasons she won’t tell, against permitting Captain Vivian to pay me attentions. Not a very likely thing, but I’m sure she means it kindly, and she was really quite earnest, but she charged me not to tell it to mortal, so you must promise not to mention it.”

  So you see how well the secret was guarded.

  “Upon my life, this Captain Vivian, invalid though he be, is beginning to grow into a very formidable sort of hero. Mr. Tintern was talking about him, and I said, just to try what he would say, that I thought Barbara had taken rather a fancy to him, and he took it up not at all jestingly, but very seriously indeed, and he told me, confidentially, that he had heard the same thing from another quarter, and that he believed it. So, my dear Maud, I rather think,” continued Miss Max, who saw as far into millstones as most old ladies, “that we may connect Miss Ethel’s warning with her father’s curious information. Don’t you see?”

  “Upon my word, the situation grows tragical!” said Maud, with a laugh.

  “It would be an unlucky business for Mr. Tintern, of course, if Barbara took it into her head to marry, because it might extinguish any chance, and you may be sure he thinks it a better one than it is, of his succeeding to a share of the Vernon property. Dear me, who are those?”

  The exclamation and question were suggested by the emergence of Lady Vernon and Captain Vivian from the church-door of Roydon, which the carriage was now almost passing.

  “Rehearsing the ceremony, I suppose,” laughed Miss Max.

  A footman was waiting outside, and the sexton followed the lady and gentleman out, and locked the old church-door.

  Lady Vernon had been showing Captain Vivian the monument which he had seen but imperfectly the day before. Lady Vernon saw them, and bowed and smiled to Miss Max as they passed.

  “I sometimes think
Barbara is not looking very well — pale and tired. I don’t know why she fags herself so miserably, I’m sure. But if I told her so, I should only have my head in my hand. There are some people, my dear, who hate advice, and, on the whole, do you know, I rather think they are right.”

  They were driving up the avenue by this time, and were soon in the courtyard.

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  MR. TINTERN HAS SOMETHING TO SAY.

  Mr. Tintern arrived next day, and was fortunate enough to find Lady Vernon alone in the drawingroom.

  He had some county business to tell her of, and some gossip to report; but there was still something palpably on his mind which he did not very well know how to express.

  He stood up, and she thought he was going to take his leave; it was time he should; but he went to the window instead, and talked of the two gigantic chestnut-trees that overshadow the balustrade of the court, in a sentimental and affectionate vein, as remembering them from the earliest time he could remember anything; and he spoke of her father with great regard, affection, and veneration. And then he spoke of the friendship that had always existed between the Grange and Roydon Hall, and then he mentioned that most interesting family memorial, the “shield-room,” with the quarterings of the Rose and the Key; of his right to quarter which, proving the early connexion of his family with the Vernons, he was prouder than of any other incident in their history. And having ended all this, he seemed to have still something more to say.

  The lady’s large grey eyes lighted on him with a cold inquiry. She was growing impatient. If he had anything to say, why did he not say it? Her look disconcerted him, and his light eyes went down before her dark gaze, as with an effort he said:

  “I’m going to take my leave, Lady Vernon, and I don’t know whether you will, by-and-bye, be vexed with me for having gone without mentioning a circumstance, which, however, I believe to be of absolutely no importance. But, you see, you have so often told me that you like, on all occasions, to be put in possession of facts, and that you insist so much on candour and frankness as the primary conditions of all friendship, and you have honoured me, more than once, with so large a measure of confidence, which has extremely flattered me, that even at a risk of appearing very impertinent, I had almost made up my mind to tell you what I have ascertained to be a general — very general — topic of — of interest among neighbours and people down here; but, on the whole, I should rather not, unless, indeed, you would command me, which I rather hope you will not.”

  “I shan’t command you, certainly. I have no right even to press you; but if it concerns me, I should be very much obliged if you would let me know what it is.”

  “I’m sure you will forgive me, but feeling how much, in a matter of so much more delicacy, you have already honoured me with your confidence, I felt myself, you will understand, in a little difficulty.”

  “You need have none, Mr. Tintern, in speaking perfectly frankly to me. Pray say what it is.”

  “As you say so, I shall, of course.”

  And then, with all the tact and delicacy, and polite and oblique refinement, on which he piqued himself, Mr. Tintern did at length distinctly inform Lady Vernon that it was said that she meant to honour Captain Vivian with her hand.

  “If people had some useful occupation of their own they would have less time to spare in settling other people’s affairs. I shan’t take the slightest notice of any such rumours. They don’t amount even to that. They are not rumours, but the mere speculations of two or three idle brains. I am forty-two” — she was really forty-three, but even for the force of her argument she would not forego that little inaccuracy— “and I have not married since my husband’s death, twenty years ago nearly. It is a little odd, that one can’t have a guest in one’s house, without being made a topic for the coarse gossip of low people. I only wish I knew to whom I am obliged for taking this very gross liberty with my name. They should never enter the doors of Roydon again.”

  Mr. Tintern was a little frightened at the effect of his own temerity, for he had never seen Lady Vernon so angry before, and a quarrel with her was the last thing he would have provoked.

  “I shall certainly contradict it,” he hastened to say. “I shall take every occasion to do so.”

  “You may, or you may not. I shan’t prevent you, and I shan’t authorise you. I don’t want it circulated or contradicted. I am totally indifferent about it.”

  “Of course — entirely; you must be — entirely indifferent. But you understand, although I didn’t believe it, yet, as I was supposed to be a not unlikely person to hear anything so interesting, I thought you might not choose, as my sitting by and not being in a position to contradict it appeared to some people very like countenancing the — the gossip — — “

  “Pray understand me, Mr. Tintern. I don’t the least care whether it is countenanced or contradicted. It does not interest me. I shan’t, either directly or indirectly, take the smallest notice of it. I look on it simply as an impertinence.”

  “I hope, Lady Vernon, you don’t suppose for a moment that I viewed it otherwise than as an impertinence. That was my real difficulty, and I felt it so much that I really doubted whether I should mention it. But, on the other hand, I think you will say that I should have been wanting in loyalty to the house of Vernon, if I had not given you the option of hearing, or of not hearing, as you might determine.”

  “I think, Mr. Tintern, you did no more than was friendly in the matter,” said Lady Vernon, extending her hand, “and I am extremely obliged to you. As to the thing itself, we shan’t talk of it any more.”

  Lady Vernon took an unusually cordial leave of that near neighbour and distant kinsman, who departed in good spirits, and well pleased with himself.

  As he rode homeward, however, and conned over the conversation, he began to perceive with more distinctness that upon the main question Lady Vernon had left him quite as much in the dark as ever.

  “But she could not express all that contempt and indignation if there was anything in the report, and she certainly would not have been so much obliged to me for repeating it to her.”

  But this reasoning did not so entirely reassure him as he fancied it ought.

  Six words would have denied it, and set the matter at rest, and that short sentence had not been spoken.

  He began to grow very uncomfortable.

  If he had known what was occurring at that moment in the library at Roydon Hall, it would not have allayed his uneasiness.

  In that room there is a very pretty buhl cabinet, with ormolu Cupids gambolling and flitting over its rich cornice. You would not suppose that this elegant shell contained within it a grimy iron safe. But on unlocking and throwing open the florid and many-coloured doors, the homely front of the black safe appears, proof against fire and burglars.

  Lady Vernon unlocks a small bronze casket over the chimneypiece, and from it takes the big many-warded key of the safe. She applies it, and the doors swing open.

  A treasury of parchment deeds discloses itself. She knows exactly where to place her hand on the one she wants. The organ of neatness and order is strong in her. She selects it from a sheaf of exactly similar ones. No ancient deeds, yellow and rusty with years. This is a milk-white parchment. Its blue stamp and silver foil look quite pretty in the corner. A short square deed, with scrivenry that looks black and fresh as if the ink were hardly dry upon it, and there are blanks left for names and dates. It is a deed as yet unexecuted. She takes it out, and lays it with its face downward on her desk, locks the safe and the cabinet, and restores the key to its casket over the mantelpiece.

  The angry colour is still in Lady Vernon’s cheeks as she slowly reads this deed, filling in, with careful penmanship, all the dates, and writing, in no less than four blank places at full length, the words, “Alexander Wyke Tintern, of the Grange, in the county of —— , Esquire.”

  Was Lady Vernon rewarding friendly Mr. Tintern, then and there, by a deed of appointment — for these have b
een prepared, at her desire, by Mr. Coke — securing his succession, in certain contingencies, to a share in a princely reversion?

  No. Alas! for the aspirations of the Grange, these little deeds, quite sufficient and irrevocable, are for the eternal cutting-off of the condemned.

  All being ready now, Lady Vernon touches the bell, sends for her secretary, and having doubled back the deed so that the signing place only is disclosed, seals, signs, and delivers it in presence of her secretary, who little dreams that these few magical symbols are taking off the head of a neighbour, and laying his airy castle in the dust.

  And now he has duly “witnessed” it, and Lady Vernon despatches it that evening, registered, with a letter enjoining the strictest secrecy, to Mr. Coke in London.

  So good Mr. Tintern, if he knew but all, need trouble himself no further whether Lady Vernon or Maud marry, or pine and die singly; for go where it may, not one shilling of the great reversion can, by any chance or change, ever become his.

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  CINDERELLA.

  Captain Vivian was now very much better; he has lost the languor of an invalid, and is rapidly recovering the strength and tints of health, and with them the air and looks of youth return.

  The uneasiness of Mr. Tintern grew apace, for he heard authentic reports of the long walks which the handsome young captain used daily to take about the romantic grounds of Roydon with the beautiful lady of that ancient manor.

  “The idea,” he said to Mrs. Tintern, “of that old woman — she’s forty-six, if she’s an hour — marrying that military adventurer, not five-and-twenty, by Jove! Such infatuation!”

  Old Tintern saw the captain one day fishing his trout-stream diligently, and pretending not to know him at that distance, he shouted, in arrogant tones, to the keeper: “Holloa! I say, Drattles, go down there, will you, quick, and see who the devil that is fishing my brook!”

  The gamekeeper touched his hat, and ran down, and Mr. Tintern, from his point of observation, strode at a more leisurely pace, in a converging line, towards the offender.