LORD AND LADY VERNER.
A delightful September morning inaugurated the second day of the return
home to Montem Castle. The sun shone upon the grand old towers which
stood out in clear outline against the sky; and upon the old ruin with
its moss-grown walls and whispering ivy, a grey old token of the past,
with a long line of green turf stretching forth to the more modern
castle which had been built in presence of the ancient ruin. The modern
establishment had been built as closely as possible after the old
model, and furnished too in antique style, but with all modern comforts.
As far as the eye could see, stretched the noble park with grand old
trees sheltering groups of deer. From the terrace in front of the
castle half a mile of turf, interspersed with beds of flowers and
shrubs and winding walks and natural glints of rock terminated in a
broad expanse of lake, ornamented with sundry islands that looked in
the distance like floating gardens. Far away against the sky the Berne
Hills melted as it were into the Linktowns, whose topmost point was
hung with a misty mantle which the sunbeams fringed with gold.
The Earl and Countess of Verner sat at breakfast two mornings after
their return home in presence of this glorious scene. The windows were
wide open, letting in the perfume of autumn flowers, the song of birds,
the sound of plashing water flowing from an adjacent fountain. What a
paradise it was! Would Amy make it a desert? We shall see.
When her husband said they might expect his brother during the day,
Amy’s cheeks lost their colour for a moment, and her hand trembled;
but the change was not noticed, and a strong effort of will at once
restored the wife’s self-control. The announcement was so unexpected;
all her speculations had not prepared her for so sudden an appearance.
She had expected to meet this man some day, and had thought about her
manner of receiving him; but she had never dreamed that the trial would
come so soon.
“Shut the window, Morris,” said his lordship, “the air is rather
chilly, her ladyship will take cold.”
“Thank you,” said the Countess, gently.
“You have met my brother, I think,” said the Earl.
“Yes, at Barton,” said Amy, promptly, but with a cold chill at her
heart.
“Rather a strange fellow. Why he should return home so soon, I cannot
understand. You may leave the room, Morris.”
Morris and his second in command bowed and retired.
“There was a time when I could not bear Morris to be away from my elbow
for a moment,” said his lordship, “and now I would rather the fellow
were a mile off when you are here, my darling; there is no chatting
freely to one’s wife with that booby swallowing every word.”
His lordship looked across the table at the Countess in her white
morning-robe, and smiled. “I positively envy those Darby-and-Joan
people of the middle class, who are not bothered with a regiment of
servants.”
The Countess looked up and said there were Darbys and Joans, she hoped,
in halls and castles.
“I know of one couple,” said his lordship, cheerily. “George and Amy
are their names, and they will be candidates for the Dunmow Flitch.
Lionel Hammerton can hardly have heard of our marriage.”
“Not heard of it?” said the Countess. This was a new feature of the
case which had not presented itself to her mind.
“Unless the outward mail made a very quick passage indeed, he has not
heard of it; I question whether he can be acquainted with any of the
changes that have taken place in our fortunes during the past year.”
“What a surprise it will be for him,” said the Countess.
“Indeed, it will,” said his lordship.
“Was not his departure a very sudden affair?” asked the Countess.
“Not particularly so, my love,” said the Earl. “We had not contemplated
his entering the army--that was his freak. He indulged in the luxury of
speculation rather extensively, and I think I was a little emphatic in
condemning his large and useless expenditure. I feared he was making
ties of friendship which were not beneficial to him. Perhaps I said
so. In an excitable moment he said it would be better for him to join
the army, and go abroad for a few years. I dislike discussing these
personal questions; it rather bored me at the time, I remember; and I
said I thought it would be best. And so he made his own arrangements.”
“Then he knew that he was about to leave the country some time before
he went away,” said the Countess.
“Yes, he was Gazetted soon after our serious conversation, as he
called it, and sailed a month or two afterwards I think. I knew he
would soon be tired of it, but I had no idea that his return would
be so sudden. He will hardly know the place. I never saw so great
and complete an improvement as there appears in the grounds, and the
general re-arrangement of the house. The whole place is changed, and
with a mistress at the head of affairs, I seem to be quite in a new
world, quite. And what a delightful world it is, Amy!”
His lordship was charmed with his wife, and with everything around him.
The servants did not see a greater change in Montem Castle than they
saw in the noble master thereof. From a quiet, retiring, luxurious
student, who buried himself in his books, and lost himself in continual
admiration of his pottery or pictures, he had become a lively, chatty,
merry gentleman. Formerly, with a continual fear that he was going
to be bored, he had guarded himself as carefully as though he were
a confirmed invalid. No noises, no open windows, as few visitors as
possible; he had appeared to mope away existence, and Brazencrook
looked forward to a speedy successor in Lionel Hammerton; but old
Morris and the butler both said cracked jugs often lasted the longest,
and that ailing men mostly made old bones. Even they, however, were
surprised beyond expression at his lordship. It was marvel enough that
he should marry, but that he should have a really grand wedding, and
make public speeches, and come home “livelier than a cricket, sir,” as
Morris said, was something which they could never cease to wonder at.
He loved his wife with all that fervency which often marks the love of
an old bachelor, who is fascinated out of his former course of life by
a beautiful woman bent on winning him. There was nothing that he would
not have done to add to her comfort and happiness. All his bachelor
ways, his fogeyism, his books, his pictures, his china, none of them
could weigh in attractiveness against the delight of giving her the
smallest pleasure. Her ladyship knew this, and resolved to interfere
as little as possible with his habits and general course of life; she
would join him in his studies and in his pleasures she vowed, and be
his companion indeed.
She would also govern his household, and perform her wifely duties to
the letter. Were she twenty times a countess she would take her place
as the responsible head of the domestic government. She would give her
commands for the day, and do all things in order, as a wife should.
“You shall do whatever you please, my dear,” said his lordship, upon
the mention of this item in her wifely programme. “You are mistress
here, but do not rob me too much of your society; and one thing I must
insist upon.”
The Countess, who had risen and was standing with her hand in his,
smiled archly at the idea of his insisting upon anything.
“Yes, I _must_ insist; you are to remember that my name is George here,
just as it was when we were in Kent, and that I am to have a kiss
always when we part, you as you say on your morning duties, I to wait
your pleasure in the library.”
The Countess promised faithful compliance with this command, and went
on her way to the housekeeper’s room to signify her pleasure with
regard to the arrangements of the day. Amy (for we are privileged to
call her Amy still, and shall insist upon an occasional exercise of
that privilege) entered upon her domestic reign so mildly, and with
such unaffected modesty, that the old housekeeper gladly obeyed her
behests, though this extraordinary interference, on the part of a lady
and a countess, with household affairs was the subject of some slight
mutinous discussion that day in the housekeeper’s room and in the
butler’s pantry too.
Having discharged these morning duties to her own satisfaction by
an inauguration of her system, the Countess ascended the grand old
staircase and sought her boudoir, where she sat down to discuss with
herself and consider the situation which Lionel Hammerton’s letter
had created. She had refrained from asking many questions which her
heart had prompted her to ask at breakfast, fearing that she was not
altogether fulfilling her part of the solemn contract she had entered
into, by learning from her husband the motives which had actuated her
lover without confessing how much she knew of his brother. All she had
sought to learn was in the way of justification of her own conduct,
and she had been strengthened in this by his lordship’s replies. How
should she meet Mr. Hammerton? How much did he know of recent events
to prepare him for the change at Montem Castle? How far might surprise
betray him or her?
Whilst she was thinking of these things the sound of wheels attracted
her attention, and the next moment she saw one of the Earl’s close
carriages, with luggage on the roof, approaching the main entrance. The
conveyance had been to Brazencrook Station to meet Mr. Hammerton. She
had no doubt he had arrived. She watched the brougham roll along the
great drive, through the autumn-tinted trees--watched it, as she had
on another memorable autumn day watched Earl Verner’s carriage whirl
along, through the dying leaves, to Barton Hall. It was a coincidence
which struck her forcibly these two autumn days, and seemed to bode
evil to her. Did she love this man who had won her heart in those past
days, and whose neglect had urged her into a scheme of revenge? She
asked herself the question fearlessly, and her heart said No; but still
there was fear in the answer--a momentary fear that it were better
Lionel Hammerton were in India than here. Contrasting his conduct with
that of the Earl, remembering how niggardly he had been, in those early
days, of tender words, and how he had rather seemed to revel in her own
silent admiration than delight in her love; and how devoted the Earl
was; how noble, how generous; how he had raised her up not thinking
he had done so, but thanking her for his own happiness--thanking her
that she had consented to be the mistress of these grand old halls, and
the successor of a long line of countesses who lived in the history of
titles and beauty. Contrasting the two thus, Lionel Hammerton took but
an abject place, and Amy’s heart overflowed with gratitude to the man
whom she had sworn to love, honour, and obey.
Ringing for her maid, the Countess took a fancy to have her hair
dressed afresh, and then she put on a plainer dress, and in a little
time there came a message from his lordship that Mr. Hammerton had
arrived, and would lunch with them.
The Countess expected this, and was preparing for it. When she had
dismissed her maid, she surveyed herself fixedly in a mirror, as if she
were practising some peculiar expression. She was nervous, and wished
the day at an end. Why had he come here? If he knew of his brother’s
marriage, it would have been far nobler to have remained away from the
place? Did he know of it?
Let us answer that question to the reader. Lionel Hammerton heard of
his brother’s marriage for the first time from the servants at the
Brazencrook Station. He heard it, and with no pleasure; for although
he loved his brother with a generous affection, he had come to expect
that some day, in the ordinary course of nature, he would be called
upon to succeed him. Not only did the disparity of years lead to this
supposition (they were the offspring of two different mothers, the
former Earl having married twice), but the general opinion was that
the younger brother was so much stronger than the eldest, that he must
live out the other. This marriage, therefore, seemed to set up an
obstacle to his hopes. But the news did not affect him half so much as
might have been expected. The strongest feeling about it, we are bound
to say, was one of surprise, which was not a little increased when he
learnt that Christopher Tallant’s daughter was his brother’s wife.
All the way to the Castle he pondered over this extraordinary fact,
and wondered how it was with his poor friend, Arthur Phillips. There
was one thing which gave him comfort: if his brother could descend to
marrying a commoner’s daughter, surely he, a mere officer in the army,
might marry Amy, the daughter of the commoner’s bailiff.
This thought in some measure revived his spirits, which had been dashed
on the first blush of the matrimonial news. He could hardly believe but
what there was some mistake, but when he saw the trim flower beds, the
new gravel walks, the trim sunblinds, the cheerful brightness of the
windows, he felt that the bachelor days of Montem were certainly at an
end. “How odd,” he thought, “to take sweet counsel with my brother’s
wife about Amy Somerton; I will confide all to her ladyship before I
say anything to George--fancy Miss Tallant, Countess of Verner, my
sister-in-law. No wonder I was prompted to come back to England!”