“The woman is a mystery,” he thought; “one would think she were some princess in disguise. Does she really love my uncle, I wonder? She acts her part well, if it is a false one. But, then, who would not act a part for such a prize as she is likely to win? I wish Victor were here. He, perhaps, might be able to penetrate the secret of her existence. She is a hypocrite, no doubt; and an accomplished one. I would give a great deal for the power to strip the veil from her beautiful face, and show my lady in her true colours!”
Such bitter thoughts as these continually harassed the ambitious and disappointed man. And yet he was able to bear himself with studied courtesy towards Lady Eversleigh. The best people in the county had come to Raynham to pay their homage to Sir Oswald’s bride. Nothing could exceed her husband’s pride as he beheld her courted and admired. No shadow of jealousy obscured his pleasure when he saw younger men flock round her to worship and admire. He felt secure of her love, for she had again and again assured him that her heart had been entirely his even before he declared himself to her. He felt an implicit faith in her purity and innocence.
Such a man as Oswald Eversleigh is not easily moved to jealousy; but with such a man, one breath of suspicion, one word of slander, against the creature he loves, is horrible as the agony of death.
Reginald Eversleigh had shared in all the pleasures and amusements of Sir Oswald and his wife. They had gone nowhere without him since his arrival at the castle; for at present he was the only visitor staying in the house, and the baronet was too courteous to leave him alone.
“After the twelfth we shall have plenty of bachelor visitors,” said Sir Oswald; “and you will find the old place more to your taste, I dare say, Reginald. In the meantime, you must content yourself with our society.”
“I am more than contented, my dear uncle, and do not sigh for the arrival of your bachelor friends; though I dare say I shall on very well with them when they do come.”
“I expect a bevy of pretty girls as well. Do you remember Lydia Graham, the sister of Gordon Graham, of the Fusiliers?”
“Yes, I remember her perfectly.”
“I think there used to be something like a flirtation between you and her.”
Sir Oswald and Lady Eversleigh seated themselves in the barouche; Reginald rode by their side, on a thorough-bred hack out of the Raynham stables.
The scenery within twenty miles of the castle was varied in character and rich in beauty. In the purple distance, to the west of the castle, there was a range of heather-clad hills; and between those hills and the village of Raynham there flowed a noble river, crossed at intervals by quaint old bridges, and bordered by little villages, nestling amid green pastures.
The calm beauty of a rustic landscape, and the grandeur of wilder scenery, were alike within reach of the explorer from the castle.
On this bright August afternoon, Sir Oswald had chosen for the special object of their drive the summit of a wooded hill, whence a superb range of country was to be seen. This hill was called Thorpe Peak, and was about seven miles from the castle.
The barouche stopped at the foot of the hill; the baronet and his wife alighted, and walked up a woody pathway leading to the summit, accompanied by Reginald, who left his horse with the servants.
They ascended the hill slowly, Lady Eversleigh leaning upon her husband’s arm. The pathway wound upward, through plantations of fir, and it was only on the summit that the open country burst on the view of the pedestrian. On the summit they found a gentleman seated on the trunk of a fallen tree, sketching. A light portable colour-box lay open by his side, and a small portfolio rested on his knees.
He seemed completely absorbed in his occupation, for he did not raise his eyes from his work as Sir Oswald and his companions approached. He wore a loose travelling dress, which, in its picturesque carelessness of style, was not without elegance.
A horse was grazing under a group of firs near at hand, fastened to one of the trees by the bridle.
This traveller was Victor Carrington.
“Carrington!” exclaimed Mr. Eversleigh; “whoever would have thought of finding you up here? Sketching too!”
The surgeon lifted his head suddenly, looked at his friend, and burst out laughing, as he rose to shake hands. He looked handsomer in his artistic costume than ever Reginald Eversleigh had seen him look before. The loose velvet coat, the wide linen collar and neckerchief of dark-blue silk, set off the slim figure and pale foreign face.
“You are surprised to see me; but I have still more right to be surprised at seeing you. What brings you here?”
“I am staying with my uncle, Sir Oswald Eversleigh, at Raynham Castle.”
“Ah, to be sure; that superb place within four miles of the village of
Abbey wood, where I have taken up my quarters.”
The baronet and his wife had been standing at a little distance from the two young men; but Sir Oswald advanced, with Honoria still upon his arm.
“Introduce me to your friend, Reginald,” he said, in his most cordial manner.
Reginald obeyed, and Victor was presented to Sir Oswald and his wife. His easy and graceful bearing was calculated to make an agreeable impression at the outset, and Sir Oswald was evidently pleased with the appearance and manners of his nephew’s friend.
“You are an artist, I see, Mr. Carrington,” he said, after glancing at the young man’s sketch, which, even in its unfinished state, was no contemptible performance.
“An amateur only, Sir Oswald,” answered Victor. “I am by profession a surgeon; but as yet I have not practised. I find independence so agreeable that I can scarcely bring myself to resign it. I have been wandering about this delightful county for the last week or two, with my sketch-book under my arm — halting for a day or two in any picturesque spot I came upon, and hiring a horse whenever I could get a decent animal. It is a very simple mode of enjoying a holiday; but it suits me.”
“Your taste does you credit. But if you are in my neighbourhood, you must take your horses from the Raynham stables. Where are your present quarters?”
“At the little inn by Abbeywood Bridge.”
“Four miles from the castle. We are near neighbours, Mr. Carrington, according to country habits. You must ride back with us, and dine at Raynham.”
“You are very kind, Sir Oswald; but my dress will preclude—”
“No consequence whatever. We are quite alone just now; and I am sure Lady Eversleigh will excuse a traveller’s toilet. If you are not bent upon finishing this very charming sketch, I shall insist on your returning with us; and you join me in the request, eh, Honoria?”
Lady Eversleigh smiled an assent, and the surgeon murmured his thanks. As yet he had looked little at the baronet’s beautiful wife. He had come to Yorkshire with the intention of studying this woman as a man studies an abstruse and difficult science; but he was too great a tactician to betray any unwonted interest in her. The policy of his life was patience, and in this as in everything else, he waited his opportunity.
“She is very beautiful,” he thought, “and she has made a good market out of her beauty; but it is only the beginning of the story yet — the middle and the end have still to come.”
* * * * *
After this meeting on Thorpe Peak, the surgeon became a constant visitor at Raynham. Sir Oswald was delighted with the young man’s talents and accomplishments; and Victor contrived to win credit by the apparently accidental revelation of his early struggles, his mother’s poverty, his patient studies, and indomitable perseverance. He told of these things without seeming to tell them; a word now, a chance allusion then, revealed the story of his friendless youth. Sir Oswald fancied that such a companion was eminently adapted to urge his nephew onward in the difficult road that leads to fortune and distinction.
“If Reginald had only half your industry, half your perseverance, I should not fear for his future career, Mr. Carrington,” said the baronet, in the course of a confidential conversation with his visitor.
“Th
at will come in good time, Sir Oswald,” answered Victor. “Reginald is a noble fellow, and has a far nobler nature than I can pretend to possess. The very qualities which you are good enough to praise in me are qualities which you cannot expect to find in him. I was a pupil in the stern school of poverty from my earliest infancy, while Reginald was reared in the lap of luxury. Pardon me, Sir Oswald, if I speak plainly; but I must remind you that there are few young men who would have passed honourably through the ordeal of such a change of fortune as that which has fallen on your nephew.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that with most men such a reverse would have been utter ruin of soul and body. An ordinary man, finding all the hopes of his future, all the expectations, which had been a part of his very life, taken suddenly from him, would have abandoned himself to a career of vice; he would have become a blackleg, a swindler, a drunkard, a beggar at the doors of the kinsman who had cast him off. But it was not so with Reginald Eversleigh. From the moment in which he found himself cast adrift by the benefactor who had been more than a father to him, he confronted evil fortune calmly and bravely. He cut the link between himself and extravagant companions. He disappeared from the circles in which he had been admired and courted; and the only grief which preyed upon his generous heart sprang from the knowledge that he had forfeited his uncle’s affection.”
Sir Oswald sighed. For the first time he began to think that it was just possible he had treated his nephew with injustice.
“You are right, Mr. Carrington,” he said, after a pause; “it was a hard trial for any man; and I am proud to think that Reginald passed unscathed through so severe an ordeal. But the resolution at which I arrived a year and a half ago is one that I cannot alter now. I have formed new ties; I have new hopes for the future. My nephew must pay the penalty of his past errors, and must look to his own exertions for wealth and honour. If I die without a direct heir, he will succeed to the baronetcy, and I hope he will try his uttermost to win a fortune by which he may maintain his title.”
There was very little promise in this; but Victor Carrington was, nevertheless, tolerably well satisfied with the result of the conversation. He had sown the seeds of doubt and uncertainty in the baronet’s breast. Time only could bring the harvest. The surgeon was accustomed to work underground, and knew that all such work must be slow and laborious.
* * * * *
CHAPTER VII.
“O BEWARE, MY LORD, OF JEALOUSY.”
The castle was gay with the presence of many guests. The baronet was proud to gather old friends and acquaintances round him, in order that he might show them the fair young wife he had chosen to be the solace of his declining years. A man of fifty who marries a girl of nineteen is always subject to the ridicule of scandalous lips, the ironical jests of pitiless tongues. Sir Oswald Eversleigh knew this, and he wanted to show the world that he was happy — supremely happy — in the choice that he had made.
Amongst those who came to Raynham Castle this autumn was one trusted friend of Sir Oswald, a gruff old soldier, Captain Copplestone, a man who had never won advancement in the service; but who was known to have nobly earned the promotion which had never been awarded him.
This man was on brotherly terms with Sir Oswald, and was about the only creature who had ever dared to utter disagreeable truths to the baronet. He was very poor; but had never accepted the smallest favour from the hands of his wealthy friend. Sir Oswald was devoutly attached to him, and would have gladly opened his purse to him as to a brother; but he dared not offend the stern old soldier’s pride by even hinting at such a desire.
Captain Copplestone came to Raynham prepared to remonstrate with his friend on the folly of his marriage. He arrived when the reception-room was crowded with other visitors, and he stood by, looking on in grim disdain, while the newly arrived guests were pressing their felicitations on Sir Oswald.
By and bye the guests departed to their rooms, and the friends were left alone.
“Well, old friend,” cried the baronet, stretching out both his hands to grasp those of the captain in a warmer salutation than that of his first welcome, “am I to have no word of congratulation from you?”
“What word do you want?” growled Copplestone. “If I tell you the truth, you won’t like it; and if I were to try to tell you a lie, egad! I think the syllables would choke me. It has been hard enough for me to keep patience while all those idiots have been babbling their unmeaning compliments; and now that they’ve gone away to laugh at you behind your back, you’d better let me follow their example, and not risk the chance of a quarrel with an old friend by speaking my mind.”
“You think me a fool, then, Copplestone?”
“Why, what else can I think of you? If a man of fifty must needs go and marry a girl of nineteen, he can’t expect to be thought a Solon.”
“Ah, Copplestone, when you have seen my wife, you will think differently.”
“Not a bit of it. The prettier she is, the more fool I shall think you; for there’ll be so much the more certainty that she’ll make your life miserable.”
“Here she comes!” said the baronet; “look at her before you judge her too severely, old friend, and let her face answer for her truth.”
The room in which the two men were standing opened into another and larger apartment, and through the open folding-doors Captain Copplestone saw Lady Eversleigh approaching. She was dressed in white — that pure, transparent muslin in which her husband loved best to see her — and one large natural rose was fastened amidst her dark hair. As she drew nearer to the baronet and his friend, the bluff old soldier’s face softened.
The introduction was made by Sir Oswald, and Honoria held out her hand with her brightest and most bewitching smile.
“My husband has spoken of you very often, Captain Copplestone,” she said; “and I feel as if we were old friends rather than strangers. I have pleasure in bidding welcome to all Sir Oswald’s guests; but not such pleasure as I feel in welcoming you.”
The soldier extended his bronzed hand, and grasped the soft white fingers in a pressure that was something like that of an iron vice. He looked at Lady Eversleigh with a serio-comic expression of bewilderment, and looked from her to the baronet.
“Well?” asked Sir Oswald, presently, when Honoria had left them.
“Well, Oswald, if the truth must be told, I think you had some excuse for your folly. She is a beautiful creature; and if there is any faith to be put in the human countenance, she is as good as she is beautiful.”
The baronet grasped his friend’s hand with a pressure that was more eloquent than words. He believed implicitly in the captain’s powers of penetration, and this favourable judgment of the wife he adored filled him with gratitude. It was not that the faintest shadow of doubt obscured his own mind. He trusted her fully and unreservedly; but he wanted others to trust her also.
* * * * *
While Sir Oswald and his friend were enjoying a brief interval of confidential intercourse, Reginald Eversleigh and Victor Carrington lounged in a pleasant little sitting-room, smoking their cigars, and leaning on the stone sill of the wide Gothic window.
They were talking, and talking very earnestly.
“You are a very clever fellow, I know, my dear Carrington,” said Reginald; “but it is slow work, very slow work, and I don’t see my way through it.”
“Because you are as impatient as a child who has set his heart on a new toy,” answered the surgeon, disdainfully. “You complain that the game is slow, and yet you see one move after another made upon the board — and made successfully. A month ago you did not believe in the possibility of a reconciliation between your uncle and yourself; and yet that reconciliation has come about. A fortnight ago you would have laughed at the idea of my being here at Raynham, an invited guest; and yet here I am. Do you think there has been no patient thought necessary to work out this much of our scheme? Do you suppose that I was on Thorpe Hill by accident that afternoon?”
“And you hope that something may come of your visit here?”
“I hope that much may come of it. I have already dared to drop hints at injustice done to you. That idea of injustice will rankle in your uncle’s mind. I have my plans, Reginald, and you have only to be patient, and to trust in me.”
“But why should you refuse to tell me the nature of your plans?”
“Because my plans are as yet but half formed. I may soon be able to speak more plainly. Do you see those two figures yonder, walking in the pleasaunce?”
“Yes, I see them — my uncle and his wife,” answered Reginald, with a gesture of impatience.
“They are very happy — are they not? It is quite an Arcadian picture. I beg you to contemplate it earnestly.”
“What a fool you are, Carrington!” cried the young man, flinging away his cigar. “If my uncle chooses to make an idiot of himself, that is no reason why I should watch the evidence of his folly!”
“But there is another reason,” answered Victor, with a sinister look in his glittering black eyes. “Look at the picture while you may, Reginald, for you will not have the chance of seeing it very often.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that the day is near at hand when Lady Eversleigh will fall from her high estate. I mean that an elevation as sudden as hers is often the forerunner of a sudden disgrace. The hour will come when Sir Oswald will mourn his fatal marriage as the one irrevocable mistake of his life; and when, in his despair, he will restore you, the disgraced nephew, to your place, as his acknowledged heir; because you will at least seem to him more worthy than his disgraced wife.”
“And who is to bring this about?” asked Reginald, gazing at his friend in complete bewilderment.
“I am,” answered the surgeon; “but before I do so I must have some understanding as to the price of my services. If the cat who pulled the chestnuts out of the fire for the benefit of the monkey had made an agreement beforehand as to how much of the plunder he was to receive for his pains, the name of the animal would not have become a bye-word with posterity. When I have worked to win your fortune, I must have my reward, my dear Reginald.”
Delphi Works of M. E. Braddon Page 429
