A "SORT OF RELATION" AT LINT HALL.
I SAW the Cartwrights at Rose Cottage that evening, and heard further
particulars about Magnus Burford's illness, and of plans for promoting
his restoration to health.
"The mistress will bring the young gentleman home first," said Jane,
"but as soon as he is strong enough the whole family will go to the
seaside, as usual, for a few weeks. Miss Ellen is looking bonnier than
ever. Our old lady brought her back from Germany."
I assented to Jane's remark about Nelly's good looks, and said—
"I knew she travelled with some friend, but not that it was my cousin."
"There were two friends," said Jane—"our lady and a young gentleman
that she picked up somewhere in foreign parts. Miss Flint makes out
that he is a sort of relation of hers, but he is neither a Simpson nor
a Flint. She would be hard set to show what kin he is, but, any way,
it can only be by marriage; there is no relationship worth naming.
However, the mistress can make him stand instead of those that are her
own flesh and blood, if she chooses; and she is likely enough to do it,
for I have heard her say, plain out, 'I will never leave a shilling to
John Simpson.'"
"More shame for her!" said Betsy wrathfully.
"Not at all," I remarked. "Miss Flint's property is her own, and she
has a right to do as she likes with it. I have not the slightest claim
upon it, for my father's branch of the family had their full share of
what belonged to those who were born before them. Our part has been
scattered to the winds; Miss Flint is in the enjoyment of hers, and I
trust she will long be so. Let her property pass into what other hands
it may, I shall feel no disappointment, for my cousin has never made
any secret of her sentiments towards me."
"She has not, Mr. John. She says what she means, and I have no doubt
she will stick to it; though there's many a one has kept hoping that
she would put you back at Lint Hall, when she saw how you had worked
your way and made yourself respected by all sorts of people," said Jane.
"Is Miss Flint at the Hall now?" I asked.
"She is coming to-morrow, and bringing the young gentleman to stay with
her for a week or two. It is a good thing we are used to her ways,
and keep the place aired and in order, or we could not be ready when
she gives such little notice. But this time there is more preparing
than usual. It looks as if she were going to have company, for all the
covers are to be off the furniture, the ornaments set out, and a lot
of plate to be sent from the bank where it is kept. It has never seen
daylight before, since Miss Flint came to the Hall. She must think a
great deal of her visitor, or she would never make so many preparations
for him. When she is here by herself, any old odd fork and spoon will
serve her."
This news of Jane's set me wondering, not that I was surprised to hear
of any whim of Cousin Dorothy's, but I began to speculate as to her
object in bringing this newly discovered connection to Lint Hall. She
must have already introduced him to Nelly, for they had travelled in
company for some days. She always journeyed leisurely and comfortably,
and declined to rush over the ground in the shortest possible time.
I could fancy her stopping by the way at any specially interesting
places, and proving the most delightful of guides to Nelly and this new
male favourite.
With all her peculiarities, Cousin Dorothy was exceptionally well
informed, and much travel and unlimited leisure had enabled her to make
continual additions to her store of knowledge.
I indulged in many speculations that night, for in the course of
conversation I learned from the Cartwrights that Miss Flint had not
met this Mr. Herbert Kenningham, for the first time during her recent
tour. He had been much with the Burfords a year before, when they
joined Nelly on the Continent, instead of allowing her to spend the
summer holidays at Oakhill. It was Mrs. Burford who had ferreted out
the connection, which did not amount to relationship, between Mr.
Kenningham and Cousin Dorothy, and had effected the introduction, for
which I owed that lady another grudge.
Not because my relative would probably endow him with a portion of
her worldly goods. I had never expected that, either while she lived
or afterwards, any part would come to me. She might leave him every
penny, and her doing so would not cost me a sigh of regret. But Cousin
Dorothy usually went dead against any plan of Mrs. Burford's, and an
individual favoured by the latter, was almost certain to be anything
but a favourite with the former.
I had hitherto believed that they were in accord only on one
point—dislike of myself. Now they were agreed in their liking for this
stranger, picked up only themselves knew where or how.
I was very angry at both, for I at once jumped to the conclusion
that Miss Flint had purposely brought my own one girl-friend and Mr.
Kenningham together a second time, and that she had invited him to
Lint Hall to give him a better opportunity of cultivating Nelly's
acquaintance.
"Have you seen the young gentleman?" I asked Jane Cartwright when her
husband had gone into the garden.
"No, Mr. John, but I have seen his 'p'oto,' and if he is like it, he
must be most uncommon handsome. Miss Flint had it with her the last
time she was at the Hall, and she showed it to me and asked me what I
thought of it. I said what I have told you about his looks, and Miss
Flint nodded and seemed pleased."
"'He is a fine fellow, Jane,' she said. 'You would not meet two such as
he in a long day's walk. I am glad I can claim a sort of relationship
with him, and I wish it were nearer.'
"Then she went on as if she were thinking out loud, and I heard her
muttering for a good while after. So far as I could make out, she said,—
"'Yes, if I had got married, I might have had such a son as he is,
instead of being a lonely old woman, with nobody to care about me
except for what they can get.'
"I ventured to say that, after all, marrying was a great lottery. You
might get a husband that was steady and worth cooking and washing for
when he is well, and waiting on when he is sick; or you might chance
upon quite another sort, and wish you had been like Miss Flint, your
own mistress, with nobody to say you nay. There was a deal to be said
on both sides. You see, Mr. John, I wanted to cheer her up a bit, if
she really was feeling down-hearted because she had out-stood her
market."
"What do you mean by that, Jane?" I asked.
"Why, surely, Mr. John, you have heard the saying many a time! It
happens now and then that a farmer's wife finds herself with all her
wares unsold and the buyers gone, because she has stood out for the
highest price, and nobody has been willing to give it. Then she has
been forced to take her butter and eggs to a shop, and content herself
with less than she has refused often enough during the day, or else
she must carry home full baskets and an empty purse. So they say of a
girl who has turned up her nose at one suitor after another, in the
expectation that somebody grander and better would come, until she has
grown old whilst she waited, that she has 'out-stood her market.' I
cannot say for certain, but I have heard that Miss Flint had plenty of
offers in her young days, and it is likely enough, for she was both
pretty and rich."
"Yet she out-stood her market," I said, with a smile.
"Or, maybe, Mr. Right was not amongst them. There was a story, but I
have forgotten the ins and outs of it, that there was one she cared
about, only he was poor and proud, and afraid that he might be looked
on as being only after Miss Flint's money. Any way, she is Miss Flint
to-day, so we know the end of the story. It was not getting married and
being happy ever after," replied Jane.
At this moment, Cartwright and Jabez returned from the garden, and Jane
at once rose from her seat.
"We must be going," she said. "I have ever so many little things to see
to, for the Hall is not ready for the mistress yet."
"I thought we were pretty straight before we came out," replied
Cartwright, as he cast a longing look in the direction of his favourite
chair. "Do you want my help?"
"No. All the heavy work is done; it is only the little things that are
left to finish—the tittivating part, as we call it. You can stay and
have a pipe and a chat with Jabez. You will be home by bedtime, I dare
say."
Cartwright nodded and dropped into his chair, and for a long time he
and Jabez talked on gardening subjects to their hearts' content.
I did not stay with them, but went to my own room, where I must
acknowledge I thought of Miss Flint's new departure with considerable
bitterness. I felt convinced that she and Mrs. Burford were conspiring
to rob me of Nelly's friendship, by creating for her a new and lasting
interest.
I could imagine, the pleasure with which Cousin Dorothy would parade
this new favourite of hers, and, if only to indulge her ill-will
towards myself, boast of the sham relationship in the ears of Oakhill
people. She would have a grim satisfaction in noting the effect of his
personal endowments on the feminine portion of her country neighbours,
amongst whom young bachelors with cultured minds, polished manners, and
good looks were not too plentiful.
This Mr. Kenningham might not possess that other qualification, a full
purse, which prudent parents would desire as an accompaniment to the
rest, but here again Miss Flint could step in triumphantly and make
good the deficiency.
She was just the one to do it, and, I felt, would stand at nothing in
order to carry to a successful issue any scheme on which she had set
her mind.
Miss Flint was fond of Nelly, and probably thought that by introducing
her to Herbert Kenningham she would be doing her a real service; always
provided that this first acquaintance ripened into a closer tie and
proved the means of parting her finally from me.
I have made this confession as to the state of my feelings that
evening, in order to show how capable of self-torment I was, and how
foolish it is in any person to build up a wall of trouble in front of
him, when its only foundation is an imaginary one. I might have spared
myself many anxious hours if, instead of doing this, I had let my mind
rest on all the unmerited and unlooked-for good that had come to me
already. Even if I had remembered the whole of Jane Cartwright's talk,
I might have bethought myself that, according to her account, the whole
Burford family would be going away from Oakhill on account of Magnus.
But self-tormentors are always sure to bear in mind every circumstance
likely to increase their trouble, and to leave unnoticed such as would
tend to lessen or remove it.
When thinking over what I had heard about Mr. Kenningham's good looks,
I might have found some consolation by a glance at my own reflection
in the mirror. Though not quite twenty-one, I was fully six feet high,
well built, and manly-looking. My simple habits and regular life had
doubtless helped to lay a foundation of health, and I had not been a
day absent from my duties on account of illness since I first went
to Oakhill Station. As to my looks, I would rather not attempt a
description of these, but it will be remembered that even my fair foe,
Rose Burford, had declared to her mother that I was handsome, though
I only knew this years afterwards. But what did these things signify?
Of what value would looks, health, a good name, and an unblemished
character be in the eyes of Mrs. Burford and Miss Flint, so long as the
possessor was called John Simpson and was poor?
I had felt quite rich a little while ago—rich in having a quiet home,
a few faithful friends, a sufficient income earned by honest work,
and a trifle laid by to fall back upon in addition to my five hundred
pounds, the interest of which now went to increase my capital; rich but
yesterday in sweetest realities and most precious memories. I had held
Nelly's hand in mine; she had occupied my cosiest chair and played the
hostess in my little room. We had laughed and talked like a couple of
children as we recalled the days when we were such, and Mr. Burford had
laughed with us, and seemed as young as ourselves and no less happy.
My little room but yesterday had been all aglow with golden sunshine
when Nelly sat there, and every article in it had seemed brighter and
more tasteful, because she had touched and admired each in turn. Later
on, I had sat in the gloaming, recalling every kind word of hers and
the bright looks from those sweet, true eyes, and as I thought of them
all, it mattered not that the sun had gone down and the stars were
twinkling faintly in the summer sky. Memory still showed me Nelly. I
should always be able to picture her again as she had looked during
that one delightful hour. I could close my eyes, and memory would flood
the room with golden sunlight, the chair would have its tenant at my
will, and loneliness would be for the future a matter of choice. And
this was yesterday.
Now I sat in gloom, conjuring up dark shadows which, though only
shadows, proved powerful enough to chase away the substantial good
which I could call my own, and the memories and hopes that had cast a
rosy hue over my past and pictured for me yet better things to come.
On the following day I heard of two arrivals. Magnus Burford was
brought home, and Miss Flint reached Lint Hall with Mr. Kenningham.
Though they did not come to Oakhill Station, the luggage did, and
certainly the quantity which bore Mr. Kenningham's name suggested that
a long visit was intended.
"He is going to take up his abode at Cousin Dorothy's," I thought, as
package after package was handed out of the van. I did not consider
that Mr. Kenningham was returning from the Continent, and probably had
more than his mere personal luggage along with him.
Betsy told me of Magnus Burford's home-coming.
"He looks real bad, poor boy!" she said, with a sigh of regret. "I saw
the carriage driven up very gently, as I was passing the house this
afternoon. He was nearly lifted out, and his limbs seemed to tremble
under him as he walked to the door leaning on his mother's arm. Better
have had him strong with a bit less book-learning than worn-out with
too much."
[Illustration: He was nearly lifted out, and his limbs seemed to
tremble under him as he walked to the door leaning on his mother's arm.]
I told Betsy that his parents had never wished Magnus to be overworked,
and that it was the boy's own love of study that had made him do too
much.
"He will soon be all right. Rest and change will work wonders," I said.
"Never, Mr. John!" replied Betsy solemnly. "I can read something in
that boy's face—a look that tells me his illness will have only one
ending. As to his going away, he will not leave his home yet awhile. It
is well Mrs. Burford has got him safe there."
In one respect Betsy's prophecy proved correct. There was no question
of a journey to the seaside. The two best doctors in the neighbourhood
agreed that until Magnus gained strength, no further change would prove
beneficial or could be attempted without risk.
I was truly sorry to hear this. I knew how great a trial the dear lad's
illness would be, not only to Mrs. Burford, but to his father and
sisters; and I fervently trusted they would be spared the still greater
sorrow hinted at by Betsy's foreboding words. I thought even more about
Magnus's condition than I did of its probable results, though now
Rose and Nelly would perforce remain at home, and no doubt Miss Flint
would insist on having them with her as often as Mrs. Burford could be
induced to spare them.