“Sir Thomas had his faults, no doubt! — but he had a very warm heart — of that I am certain,” said Mrs. Brereton.
“He has proved it now,” said Stanley. “But he does not seem to have left anything to Lady Starkey?”
“She has a good fortune of her own,” remarked Mrs. Brereton. “But I am glad the other lady is not included in his will.”
“Do you know who were Sir Thomas’s solicitors, mother?” asked Stanley.
“Yes — Dawson and Davies, Hare Court, Inner Temple,” she replied.
“No doubt we shall soon hear from them respecting the will,” said Stanley.
Just then old Minshull again made his appearance.
“This time I bring you a telegraphic message,” he said, delivering the message to Stanley. “Shall the messenger wait?”
Receiving an answer in the affirmative the old servant withdrew.
“Tis from Dawson and Davies, as I suspected,” said Stanley. “They have sent to inform me that they hold Sir Thomas’s will, which has been recently made, and will forward it immediately, on receiving instructions to that effect. All’s right, you see, mother. But I won’t trouble them to send the will. I’ll run up to town to-morrow, and consult them.”
“That will be the best plan,” said his mother. “The will ought to be left with them.”
“No doubt,” replied Stanley. “I’ll send them a telegram to that effect.”
And he hurried out of the room.
“What a sudden turn of fortune!” mentally ejaculated Mrs. Brereton, when she was left alone. “Heaven grant my dear boy may be able to act aright under such trying circumstances. But I need have no anxiety on his account.”
CHAPTER IX.
MILDRED WARBURTON.
WHEN Stanley Brereton rose on that eventful morning, nothing seemed left him, but to seek a fortune in a new world.
He did not like leaving his mother, to whom he was devotedly attached — for an indefinite period — perhaps, for ever! He did not like leaving another person — but he had made up his mind to go. He had been unsuccessful in his attempt to obtain a living, and seemed destined to remain all his life a poor gentleman.
But there was no reason why this should be. He had plenty of energy — plenty of ability — and was remarkably good-looking, with very prepossessing manners.
But he was excessively sensitive, and resented the slightest offence — when perhaps none was intended. If treated coolly by an acquaintance, he would never speak to that very person again.
For a poor man, without expectations, this was a foolish course to pursue, and he felt its effects in the loss of several of his best friends.
Thinking his uncle had turned his back upon him, and neglected his mother, he wrote him a very indignant letter which caused Sir Thomas to discontinue an allowance hitherto made to his sister.
At last, the impracticable young man resolved to leave England, and seek a fortune elsewhere; and after some deliberation he decided on going to Australia.
People there, he thought, have fewer prejudices than they have in the old country. Besides, no one would know him — and what matter if they did? He had only just enough to pay his passage out, and start him. But what did that signify? He should soon make a fortune. At least, he fancied so.
We may easily imagine what the effect of such an announcement as he had just received must have been upon a young man so constituted.
From poverty, as he deemed it, to wealth! the change was almost too sudden. He had no expectation whatever of becoming his uncle’s heir — nor would he have attempted to seek a reconciliation with him. In another week or so he would probably have set out for Australia.
Just in time to stop him, he learnt that he had suddenly become possessed of a large income. A man must have his feelings pretty well under control not to become excited by such intelligence, and Stanley, who was by no means of a calm temperament, could scarcely contain himself.
After despatching an answer to the solicitors, he went out into the garden where he could commune with himself.
“At length, I have become a person of some importance,” he thought, “and can command as much attention as Sir Thomas, whose position I used to think so enviable. Many plans for the future occur to me, but I shall decide on none till I have well reflected. Whatever else I may do, I won’t quit this dear old place. I will restore it, and so realize a dream I have often indulged. Perhaps, Mildred may like it as much as I do. We shall see. I wonder whether she has heard of my uncle’s death. If so, her curiosity must be aroused. Shall I walk over to Beaucliffe, and tell her and the Squire the good news. How surprised both will be!”
He had been meditating thus for more than half-an-hour, when old Minshull came into the garden to inform him that Squire Warburton and his daughter had just driven over from Beaucliffe House.
“The very persons I wished to see,” said Stanley. “Where are they?”
“With your mother, sir,” replied Minshull. “I don’t know whether I did right, but I ventured to tell them the good news, and wonderfully surprised by it they both were. The Squire could scarcely believe what I told him, and put several questions to me. Miss Mildred clapped her hands with delight. Oh, sir! she’s a charming young lady.”
“That she is, Minshull,” said the young man, smiling.
Stanley then hastened towards the house, but had not reached the entrance when a very lovely girl came forth, and sprang forward to meet him.
“I was just coming to look for you,” she cried, “and offer you my congratulations. Accept them now.”
“They are most welcome,” he replied. “How kind of you and the Squire to come. I wished of all things to see you. And don’t suppose I should have allowed the day to pass without finding my way to Beaucliffe.
But this is much better, as it proves that you take some little interest in me.”
“But we didn’t know you were heir to Brereton,” cried Mildred. “We only knew Sir Thomas had been killed in a duel. However, old Minshull quickly enlightened us.”
“A good genius must have prompted you, for you have come at the right moment,” said Stanley. “Shall we take a turn in the garden?”
She acceded at once to the proposition, and tripped along by his side.
A prettier girl than Mildred Warburton could not be found in the whole county of Cheshire. Just nineteen, tall, with a slight, graceful figure, dark eyes, dark tresses, lovely features, and a complexion like a blush rose.
A first-rate equestrienne, she constantly went out with the hounds during the hunting season, and was generally in at the death.
Squire Warburton, as her father was generally styled, was excessively fond of her, and indulged all her whims and fancies. He had lost his wife some years before, and Mildred more than supplied her place, for Mrs. Warburton had been a great invalid.
When Mildred did not ride out with the Squire she drove him in her pretty pony phaeton, and accompanied him almost everywhere.
Mildred was quite mistress of Beaucliffe — sat at the head of the table, helped to receive the guests, and managed all the servants. She was fortunate in possessing an excellent housekeeper and a very good butler. Nor must we omit to mention that she had a good deal to do with the stables.
Such was the fair Mildred, and being an only daughter, with good expectations and very pretty, we need scarcely say she had a host of admirers. But she favoured none of them.
On the present occasion — as the day was warm and sunny — she wore a light Nankin dress, and a straw hat with a white feather found it.
“Well, you really are an uncommonly-lucky fellow, I must say, Stanley,” she remarked, as they entered the garden.
“No doubt about it,” he rejoined; “and I hope my good luck may not desert me now. By-the-bye, how do you like this old place?”
“Pretty well. If it was put in order I daresay I should like it better.”
“I mean to restore the house completely, and make it as fine a place as
Beaucliffe.”
“Outshine us, eh?”
“No, not outshine you — equal you. When all is done, and Brereton is itself again, will you become its mistress?”
“You put the question so abruptly that I can’t give an answer. I must have time for consideration. Perhaps I may accept the offer — but don’t be too sure. I am very changeable, and may alter my mind in an hour.”
“Then pray decide at once,” he replied, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. “Say you will be mine.”
But she shook her head.
“I like you well enough,” she said; “but I don’t want to quit papa.”
“I persuaded myself you really loved me, Mildred, and would make a sacrifice for my sake,” he said, with a deeply disappointed look. “But I find you care no more for me than for others.”
“I must ask papa’s consent. I must be guided by him.”
“What do you think he will say?” asked Stanley. “I can’t tell,” she replied. “Yesterday I am sure he would have refused. But now you have become your uncle’s heir, he may regard you in a different light.”
“Yesterday I shouldn’t have ventured to propose — understand that, Mildred.”
“Your prospects are wonderfully improved, it must be owned. They are all that papa could desire.”
“Then I’ll speak to him at once!” cried Stanley. “Pray don’t speak to him to-day, or you’ll spoil all. Let me prepare him first.”
“Very well, since you wish it,” replied Stanley, rather surprised. “May I give him a hint?”
“Not the slightest,” she rejoined. “I forbid you on pain of my displeasure. But let us go and join them. We’ve been here too long already.”
“To me it seems only a moment,” replied Stanley, as they quitted the garden.
CHAPTER X.
SQUIRE WARBURTON OF BEAUCLIFFE.
SQUIRE Warburton was the picture of a jovial country gentleman. He looked wonderfully hale and hearty, and though not far from seventy, boasted he had never known a day’s illness in his life.
Yet he was not one of your prudent folk, who live by rule, and deprive themselves of the enjoyments of life, in order to prolong it.
On the contrary, he liked a good dinner, and a glass of old port after it; and as he had an excellent French cook and a well-stocked cellar he was able to indulge his tastes.
In person the Squire was tall and robust, with good features, and a rich, rosy complexion. His dark brown hair had become snow-white, and contrasted strongly, though not disagreeably, with his pink cheeks.
His costume — about which he was very particular — consisted of a blue coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat, a low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, long gaiters, and not unfrequently boots with brown tops.
Squire Warburton, as we have said, was exceedingly fond of his daughter, and showed no inclination to part with her.
It was understood that she had received several advantageous offers, but none had been accepted.
Whether the suitors were refused by the Squire, or his daughter did not appear.
Stanley had always been a favourite of the Squire, who was exceedingly kind to him, and gave him a general invitation to Beaucliffe. Seeing so much of Mildred, the young man naturally fell in love with her, but he managed to conceal his passion, and the old gentleman never suspected it.
When the youthful pair returned from the garden, they found the Squire in the entrance hall with Mrs. Brereton.
Calling to Stanley, in his cheery tones, Mr. Warburton stepped forward, and shook him by the hand with more than his usual cordiality.
“I congratulate you most heartily, my boy,” he exclaimed, “on your good fortune. You deserve it. But I confess I never thought you would obtain it. It has come just in the nick of time. In another week we should have lost you. How obliging in Sir Thomas to get out of the way at this moment. You will now be able to take a place with the best of us — always supposing you fancy a country gentleman’s life.”
“I have had no experience of any other, sir,” replied Stanley; “but it suits me perfectly.”
“Stanley tells me he means to restore this old house, papa,” observed Mildred.
“Bravo!” exclaimed the Squire. “It has been a fine place, and no doubt will be a fine place again.”
“It shall be, I promise you, sir,” said Stanley. “Give good dinners, keep plenty of company, and you’ll soon become popular,” said the Squire. “But to make the home complete, you’ll want a wife.”
“That will do later on,” said Mrs. Brereton.
“Ten years hence, I should say,” added Mildred.
“I’ll bet a hundred to twenty he doesn’t wait half that time,” laughed the Squire.
“I must finish my house before I think of marrying,” said Stanley.
“A very prudent resolve, my boy,” observed the Squire. “Stick to it. And now when will you come and dine with us?”
“As soon as I return,” replied Stanley. “I’m going up to town to-morrow morning.”
“Then come to-day! And I hope you’ll come with him, ma’am. The carriage shall fetch you and take you back.”
“You are very kind, sir,” replied Mrs. Brereton. “But I don’t think we ought to dine out to-day.”
“Poh! — we have nobody staying with us,” said the Squire. “We shall be quite alone.”
“Pray do come, dear Mrs. Brereton,” urged Mildred. “We shall be very glad to see you.”
Stanley looked entreatingly at his mother.
“Well, since you are alone, that alters the case,” replied Mrs. Brereton. “We’ll come.”
“Glad to hear it,” cried the Squire. “Expect the carriage at six.”
The visitors then took leave, and Stanley conducted the young lady to the pony-phaeton, and pressed her hand gently as he placed her in her seat.
The little carriage was the prettiest thing imaginable, as we have said — the ponies were perfect, and Mildred never looked better than when she sat behind them with a whip in her hand.
As soon as the Squire had got in, and the groom had jumped up, she just touched the lively animals, and off they started.
“Well, my darling,” said the Squire, as they went on their way; “what think you now of our young friend? Do you like him any better, eh?”
“How do you like him, papa?” she rejoined, avoiding the question.
“I’ve always liked him,” he replied. “But I never regarded him as a possible son-in-law.”
“Do you regard him so now?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you a week hence,” he replied somewhat doubtfully.
“But you seem to encourage him.”
“I wanted to see what his intentions are,” he replied.
Mildred did not like to say more on the subject just then.
Beaucliffe was about five miles from the place they had just quitted, and the drive thither was through a very pretty country — in fact, the last two miles were the park, which was extremely varied and beautiful, and boasted some extremely fine old timber, Mr. Warburton having used the axe very judiciously.
Next to the trees, the chief ornament of the place was the Mere, a large sheet of water in front of the mansion, with a drive partly round it.
The park was well stocked with deer, and you could scarcely look in any direction without catching a glimpse of a herd, either crouching beneath some great tree or tripping off to a covert.
Dating from Elizabeth’s time, Beaucliffe was a much more imposing structure than Brereton, and excellently preserved. The frontage was very fine, having wings ornamented by gables, and large mullioned windows; with two tall octagonal towers in the centre, beneath which was an arched gateway leading to a large quadrangular court.
From its position in front of the Mere, and the woods around it, Beaucliffe House was seen to great advantage as you approached it from the long avenue.
Just as the Squire and his fair daughter turned into a drive leading to the g
ateway, they perceived a couple of stylish-looking young men on horseback, each with a groom behind him, coming from the house, where they had evidently been calling.
“Who the deuce are those two gay bucks, Mildred?” said the Squire.
“Piers Massey and Reginald Brooke,” she replied. “I’m surprised you don’t know them, papa.”
“I didn’t know them at first, but I now recollect asking them to dine with us one day this week. Could it have been to-day?”
“Most likely. If so, you’ll be in a pretty fix with Mrs. Brereton.”
“You must send her back word.”
“No — no — we can’t do that! But here the young fellows come.”
And she stopped in order to speak to them.
Both were good-looking, well-dressed, and well-mannered, and not at all foppish.
Hats raised, as they approached the phaeton on either side, their first salutations being made to Mildred, and then each had a hearty shake of the hand from her father.
“Well, here we are, you perceive, Squire,” cried Piers Massey.
“No reminder needed,” added Reginald Brooke.
“Glad to see you both,” said the Squire in his heartiest manner, “but to tell you the truth, I wasn’t quite sure of the day.”
“I hope we’ve made no mistake, Miss Warburton?” said Reginald Brooke.
“It makes no sort of difference to us,” she replied. “To-day is just as convenient as to-morrow.”
“Yes, we know your papa’s character for hospitality,” said Piers Massey. “But he might have some other engagement.”
“None that will interfere with you,” rejoined the Squire. “You’ll stay till to-morrow?”
“With the greatest pleasure,” replied Massey. “Since you assure us we’re not in the way.”
“We’re just returned from Brereton,” said Mildred. “Perhaps, you’ve not heard of Stanley’s good luck?”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 792
