THE STAVELEY FAMILY.
The next two months passed by without any events which deserve our
special notice, unless it be that Mr. Joseph Mason and Mr. Dockwrath
had a meeting in the room of Mr. Matthew Round, in Bedford Row. Mr.
Dockwrath struggled hard to effect this without the presence of the
London attorney; but he struggled in vain. Mr. Round was not the man
to allow any stranger to tamper with his client, and Mr. Dockwrath
was forced to lower his flag before him. The result was that the
document or documents which had been discovered at Hamworth were
brought up to Bedford Row; and Dockwrath at last made up his mind
that as he could not supplant Matthew Round, he would consent to
fight under him as his lieutenant--or even as his sergeant or
corporal, if no higher position might be allowed to him.
"There is something in it, certainly, Mr. Mason," said young Round;
"but I cannot undertake to say as yet that we are in a position to
prove the point."
"It will be proved," said Mr. Dockwrath.
"I confess it seems to me very clear," said Mr. Mason, who by this
time had been made to understand the bearings of the question. "It
is evident that she chose that day for her date because those two
persons had then been called upon to act as witnesses to that other
deed."
"That of course is our allegation. I only say that we may have some
difficulty in proving it."
"The crafty, thieving swindler!" exclaimed Mr. Mason. "She has been
sharp enough if it is as we think," said Round, laughing; and then
there was nothing more done in the matter for some time, to the great
disgust both of Mr. Dockwrath and Mr. Mason. Old Mr. Round had kept
his promise to Mr. Furnival; or, at least, had done something towards
keeping it. He had not himself taken the matter into his own hands,
but he had begged his son to be cautious. "It's not the sort of
business that we care for, Mat," said he; "and as for that fellow
down in Yorkshire, I never liked him." To this Mat had answered that
neither did he like Mr. Mason; but as the case had about it some very
remarkable points, it was necessary to look into it; and then the
matter was allowed to stand over till after Christmas.
We will now change the scene to Noningsby, the judge's country
seat, near Alston, at which a party was assembled for the Christmas
holidays. The judge was there of course,--without his wig; in which
guise I am inclined to think that judges spend the more comfortable
hours of their existence; and there also was Lady Staveley, her
presence at home being altogether a matter of course, inasmuch as she
had no other home than Noningsby. For many years past, ever since the
happy day on which Noningsby had been acquired, she had repudiated
London; and the poor judge, when called upon by his duties to reside
there, was compelled to live like a bachelor, in lodgings. Lady
Staveley was a good, motherly, warm-hearted woman, who thought a
great deal about her flowers and fruit, believing that no one else
had them so excellent,--much also about her butter and eggs, which
in other houses were, in her opinion, generally unfit to be eaten;
she thought also a great deal about her children, who were all
swans,--though, as she often observed with a happy sigh, those of her
neighbours were so uncommonly like geese. But she thought most of
all of her husband, who in her eyes was the perfection of all manly
virtues. She had made up her mind that the position of a puisne judge
in England was the highest which could fall to the lot of any mere
mortal. To become a Lord Chancellor, or a Lord Chief Justice, or
a Chief Baron, a man must dabble with Parliament, politics, and
dirt; but the bench-fellows of these politicians were selected for
their wisdom, high conduct, knowledge, and discretion. Of all such
selections, that made by the late king when he chose her husband, was
the one which had done most honour to England, and had been in all
its results most beneficial to Englishmen. Such was her creed with
reference to domestic matters.
The Staveley young people at present were only two in number,
Augustus, namely, and his sister Madeline. The eldest daughter was
married, and therefore, though she spent these Christmas holidays at
Noningsby, must not be regarded as one of the Noningsby family. Of
Augustus we have said enough; but as I intend that Madeline Staveley
shall, to many of my readers, be the most interesting personage
in this story, I must pause to say something of her. I must say
something of her; and as, with all women, the outward and visible
signs of grace and beauty are those which are thought of the most, or
at any rate spoken of the oftenest, I will begin with her exterior
attributes. And that the muses may assist me in my endeavour,
teaching my rough hands to draw with some accuracy the delicate lines
of female beauty, I now make to them my humble but earnest prayer.
Madeline Staveley was at this time about nineteen years of age. That
she was perfect in her beauty I cannot ask the muses to say, but that
she will some day become so, I think the goddesses may be requested
to prophesy. At present she was very slight, and appeared to be
almost too tall for her form. She was indeed above the average height
of women, and from her brother encountered some ridicule on this
head; but not the less were all her movements soft, graceful, and
fawnlike as should be those of a young girl. She was still at this
time a child in heart and spirit, and could have played as a child
had not the instinct of a woman taught to her the expediency of a
staid demeanour. There is nothing among the wonders of womanhood more
wonderful than this, that the young mind and young heart,--hearts and
minds young as youth can make them, and in their natures as gay,--can
assume the gravity and discretion of threescore years and maintain
it successfully before all comers. And this is done, not as a lesson
that has been taught, but as the result of an instinct implanted from
the birth. Let us remember the mirth of our sisters in our homes, and
their altered demeanours when those homes were opened to strangers;
and remember also that this change had come from the inward working
of their own feminine natures!
But I am altogether departing from Madeline Staveley's external
graces. It was a pity almost that she should ever have become grave,
because with her it was her smile that was so lovely. She smiled with
her whole face. There was at such moments a peculiar laughing light
in her gray eyes, which inspired one with an earnest desire to be in
her confidence; she smiled with her soft cheek, the light tints of
which would become a shade more pink from the excitement, as they
softly rippled into dimples; she smiled with her forehead which would
catch the light from her eyes and arch itself in its glory; but above
all she smiled with her mouth, just showing, but hardly showing, the
beauty of the pearls within. I never saw the face of a woman whose
mouth was equal in pure beauty, in beauty that was expressive of
feeling, to that of Madeline Staveley. Many have I seen with a richer
lip, with a more luxurious curve, much more tempting as baits to the
villainy and rudeness of man; but never one that told so much by
its own mute eloquence of a woman's happy heart and a woman's happy
beauty. It was lovely as I have said in its mirth, but if possible it
was still more lovely in its woe; for then the lips would separate,
and the breath would come, and in the emotion of her suffering the
life of her beauty would be unrestrained.
Her face was oval, and some might say that it was almost too thin;
they might say so till they knew it well, but would never say so when
they did so know it. Her complexion was not clear, though it would be
wrong to call her a brunette. Her face and forehead were never brown,
but yet she could not boast the pure pink and the pearly white which
go to the formation of a clear complexion. For myself I am not sure
that I love a clear complexion. Pink and white alone will not give
that hue which seems best to denote light and life, and to tell of
a mind that thinks and of a heart that feels. I can name no colour
in describing the soft changing tints of Madeline Staveley's face,
but I will make bold to say that no man ever found it insipid or
inexpressive.
And now what remains for me to tell? Her nose was Grecian, but
perhaps a little too wide at the nostril to be considered perfect
in its chiselling. Her hair was soft and brown,--that dark brown
which by some lights is almost black; but she was not a girl whose
loveliness depended much upon her hair. With some women it is their
great charm,--Neæras who love to sit half sleeping in the shade,--but
it is a charm that possesses no powerful eloquence. All beauty of a
high order should speak, and Madeline's beauty was ever speaking. And
now that I have said that, I believe that I have told all that may
be necessary to place her outward form before the inward eyes of my
readers.
In commencing this description I said that I would begin with her
exterior; but it seems to me now that in speaking of these I have
sufficiently noted also that which was within. Of her actual thoughts
and deeds up to this period it is not necessary for our purposes that
anything should be told; but of that which she might probably think
or might possibly do, a fair guess may, I hope, be made from that
which has been already written.
Such was the Staveley family. Those of their guests whom it is
necessary that I should now name, have been already introduced to us.
Miss Furnival was there, as was also her father. He had not intended
to make any prolonged stay at Noningsby,--at least so he had said in
his own drawing-room; but nevertheless he had now been there for a
week, and it seemed probable that he might stay over Christmas-day.
And Felix Graham was there. He had been asked with a special purpose
by his friend Augustus, as we already have heard; in order, namely,
that he might fall in love with Sophia Furnival, and by the aid of
her supposed hatful of money avoid the evils which would otherwise so
probably be the consequence of his highly impracticable turn of mind.
The judge was not averse to Felix Graham; but as he himself was a
man essentially practical in all his views, it often occurred that,
in his mild kindly way, he ridiculed the young barrister. And Sir
Peregrine Orme was there, being absent from home as on a very rare
occasion; and with him of course were Mrs. Orme and his grandson.
Young Perry was making, or was prepared to make, somewhat of a
prolonged stay at Noningsby. He had a horse there with him for the
hunting, which was changed now and again; his groom going backwards
and forwards between that place and The Cleeve. Sir Peregrine,
however, intended to return before Christmas, and Mrs. Orme would go
with him. He had come for four days, which for him had been a long
absence from home, and at the end of the four days he would be gone.
They were all sitting in the dining-room round the luncheon-table
on a hopelessly wet morning, listening to a lecture from the judge
on the abomination of eating meat in the middle of the day, when a
servant came behind young Orme's chair and told him that Mr. Mason
was in the breakfast-parlour and wished to see him.
"Who wishes to see you?" said the baronet in a tone of surprise. He
had caught the name, and thought at the moment that it was the owner
of Groby Park.
"Lucius Mason," said Peregrine, getting up. "I wonder what he can
want me for?"
"Oh, Lucius Mason," said the grandfather. Since the discourse about
agriculture he was not personally much attached even to Lucius; but
for his mother's sake he could be forgiven.
"Pray ask him into lunch," said Lady Staveley. Something had been
said about Lady Mason since the Ormes had been at Noningsby, and the
Staveley family were prepared to regard her with sympathy, and if
necessary with the right hand of fellowship.
"He is the great agriculturist, is he not?" said Augustus. "Bring him
in by all means; there is no knowing how much we may not learn before
dinner on such a day as this."
"He is an ally of mine; and you must not laugh at him," said Miss
Furnival, who was sitting next to Augustus.
But Lucius Mason did not come in. Young Orme remained with him for
about a quarter of an hour, and then returned to the room, declaring
with rather a serious face, that he must ride to Hamworth and back
before dinner.
"Are you going with young Mason?" asked his grandfather.
"Yes, sir; he wishes me to do something for him at Hamworth, and I
cannot well refuse him."
"You are not going to fight a duel!" said Lady Staveley, holding up
her hands in horror as the idea came across her brain.
"A duel!" screamed Mrs. Orme. "Oh, Peregrine!"
"There can be nothing of the sort," said the judge. "I should think
that young Mason is not so foolish; and I am sure that Peregrine Orme
is not."
"I have not heard of anything of the kind," said Peregrine, laughing.
"Promise me, Peregrine," said his mother. "Say that you promise me."
"My dearest mother, I have no more thought of it than you
have;--indeed I may say not so much."
"You will be back to dinner?" said Lady Staveley.
"Oh yes, certainly."
"And tell Mr. Mason," said the judge, "that if he will return with
you we shall be delighted to see him."
The errand which took Peregrine Orme off to Hamworth will be
explained in the next chapter, but his going led to a discussion
among the gentlemen after dinner as to the position in which Lady
Mason was now placed. There was no longer any possibility of keeping
the matter secret, seeing that Mr. Dockwrath had taken great care
that every one in Hamworth should hear of it. He had openly declared
that evidence would now be adduced to prove that Sir Joseph Mason's
widow had herself forged the will, and had said to many people that
Mr. Mason of Groby had determined to indict her for forgery. This
had gone so far that Lucius had declared as openly that he would
prosecute the attorney for a libel, and Dockwrath had sent him word
that he was quite welcome to do so if he pleased.
"It is a scandalous state of things," said Sir Peregrine, speaking
with much enthusiasm, and no little temper, on the subject. "Here is
a question which was settled twenty years ago to the satisfaction of
every one who knew anything of the case, and now it is brought up
again that two men may wreak their vengeance on a poor widow. They
are not men; they are brutes."
"But why does she not bring an action against this attorney?" said
young Staveley.
"Such actions do not easily lie," said his father. "It may be quite
true that Dockwrath may have said all manner of evil things against
this lady, and yet it may be very difficult to obtain evidence of a
libel. It seems to me from what I have heard that the man himself
wishes such an action to be brought."
"And think of the state of poor Lady Mason!" said Mr. Furnival.
"Conceive the misery which it would occasion her if she were dragged
forward to give evidence on such a matter!"
"I believe it would kill her," said Sir Peregrine.
"The best means of assisting her would be to give her some
countenance," said the judge; "and from all that I can hear of her,
she deserves it."
"She does deserve it," said Sir Peregrine, "and she shall have it.
The people at Hamworth shall see at any rate that my daughter regards
her as a fit associate. I am happy to say that she is coming to The
Cleeve on my return home, and that she will remain there till after
Christmas."
"It is a very singular case," said Felix Graham, who had been
thinking over the position of the lady hitherto in silence.
"Indeed it is," said the judge; "and it shows how careful men should
be in all matters relating to their wills. The will and the codicil,
as it appears, are both in the handwriting of the widow, who acted
as an amanuensis not only for her husband but for the attorney. That
fact does not in my mind produce suspicion; but I do not doubt that
it has produced all this suspicion in the mind of the claimant. The
attorney who advised Sir Joseph should have known better."
"It is one of those cases," continued Graham, "in which the sufferer
should be protected by the very fact of her own innocence. No lawyer
should consent to take up the cudgels against her."
"I am afraid that she will not escape persecution from any such
professional chivalry," said the judge.
"All that is moonshine," said Mr. Furnival.
"And moonshine is a very pretty thing if you were not too much afraid
of the night air to go and look at it. If the matter be as you all
say, I do think that any gentleman would disgrace himself by lending
a hand against her."
"Upon my word, sir, I fully agree with you," said Sir Peregrine,
bowing to Felix Graham over his glass.
"I will take permission to think, Sir Peregrine," said Mr. Furnival,
"that you would not agree with Mr. Graham if you had given to the
matter much deep consideration."
"I have not had the advantage of a professional education," said Sir
Peregrine, again bowing, and on this occasion addressing himself to
the lawyer; "but I cannot see how any amount of learning should alter
my views on such a subject."
"Truth and honour cannot be altered by any professional
arrangements," said Graham; and then the conversation turned away
from Lady Mason, and directed itself to those great corrections of
legal reform which had been debated during the past autumn.
The Orley Farm Case, though in other forms and different language,
was being discussed also in the drawing-room. "I have not seen much
of her," said Sophia Furnival, who by some art had usurped the most
prominent part in the conversation, "but what I did see I liked much.
She was at The Cleeve when I was staying there, if you remember, Mrs.
Orme." Mrs. Orme said that she did remember.
"And we went over to Orley Farm. Poor lady! I think everybody ought
to notice her under such circumstances. Papa, I know, would move
heaven and earth for her if he could."
"I cannot move the heaven or the earth either," said Lady Staveley;
"but if I thought that my calling on her would be any satisfaction to
her--"
"It would, Lady Staveley," said Mrs. Orme. "It would be a great
satisfaction to her. I cannot tell you how warmly I regard her, nor
how perfectly Sir Peregrine esteems her."
"We will drive over there next week, Madeline."
"Do, mamma. Everybody says that she is very nice."
"It will be so kind of you, Lady Staveley," said Sophia Furnival.
"Next week she will be staying with us," said Mrs. Orme. "And that
would save you three miles, you know, and we should be so glad to see
you."
Lady Staveley declared that she would do both. She would call at
The Cleeve, and again at Orley Farm after Lady Mason's return home.
She well understood, though she could not herself then say so, that
the greater part of the advantage to be received from her kindness
would be derived from its being known at Hamworth that the Staveley
carriage had been driven up to Lady Mason's door.
"Her son is very clever, is he not?" said Madeline, addressing
herself to Miss Furnival.
Sophia shrugged her shoulders and put her head on one side with a
pretty grace. "Yes, I believe so. People say so. But who is to tell
whether a young man be clever or no?"
"But some are so much more clever than others. Don't you think so?"
"Oh yes, as some girls are so much prettier than others. But if Mr.
Mason were to talk Greek to you, you would not think him clever."
"I should not understand him, you know."
"Of course not; but you would understand that he was a blockhead to
show off his learning in that way. You don't want him to be clever,
you see; you only want him to be agreeable."
"I don't know that I want either the one or the other."
"Do you not? I know I do. I think that young men in society are bound
to be agreeable, and that they should not be there if they do not
know how to talk pleasantly, and to give something in return for all
the trouble we take for them."
"I don't take any trouble for them," said Madeline laughing.
"Surely you must, if you only think of it. All ladies do, and so they
ought. But if in return for that a man merely talks Greek to me, I,
for my part, do not think that the bargain is fairly carried out."
"I declare you will make me quite afraid of Mr. Mason."
"Oh, he never talks Greek;--at least he never has to me. I rather
like him. But what I mean is this, that I do not think a man a bit
more likely to be agreeable because he has the reputation of being
very clever. For my part I rather think that I like stupid young
men."
"Oh, do you? Then now I shall know what you think of Augustus. We
think he is very clever; but I do not know any man who makes himself
more popular with young ladies."
"Ah, then he is a gay deceiver."
"He is gay enough, but I am sure he is no deceiver. A man may make
himself nice to young ladies without deceiving any of them; may he
not?"
"You must not take me 'au pied de la lettre,' Miss Staveley, or I
shall be lost. Of course he may. But when young gentlemen are so very
nice, young ladies are so apt to--"
"To what?"
"Not to fall in love with them exactly, but to be ready to be fallen
in love with, and then if a man does do it he is a deceiver. I
declare it seems to me that we don't allow them a chance of going
right."
"I think that Augustus manages to steer through such difficulties
very cleverly."
"He sails about in the open sea, touching at all the most lovely
capes and promontories, and is never driven on shore by stress of
weather! What a happy sailor he must be!"
"I think he is happy, and that he makes others so."
"He ought to be made an admiral at once But we shall hear some day of
his coming to a terrible shipwreck."
"Oh, I hope not!"
"He will return home in desperate plight, with only two planks left
together, with all his glory and beauty broken and crumpled to pieces
against some rock that he has despised in his pride."
"Why do you prophesy such terrible things for him?"
"I mean that he will get married."
"Get married! of course he will. That's just what we all want. You
don't call that a shipwreck; do you?"
"It's the sort of shipwreck that these very gallant barks have to
encounter."
"You don't mean that he'll marry a disagreeable wife!"
"Oh, no; not in the least. I only mean to say that like other sons of
Adam, he will have to strike his colours. I dare say, if the truth
were known, he has done so already."
"I am sure he has not."
"I don't at all ask to know his secrets, and I should look upon you
as a very bad sister if you told them."
"But I am sure he has not got any,--of that kind."
"Would he tell you if he had?"
"Oh, I hope so; any serious secret. I am sure he ought, for I am
always thinking about him."
"And would you tell him your secrets?"
"I have none."
"But when you have, will you do so?"
"Will I? Well, yes; I think so. But a girl has no such secret," she
continued to say, after pausing for a moment. "None, generally, at
least, which she tells, even to herself, till the time comes in
which she tells it to all whom she really loves." And then there was
another pause for a moment.
"I am not quite so sure of that," said Miss Furnival. After which the
gentlemen came into the drawing-room.
Augustus Staveley had gone to work in a manner which he conceived to
be quite systematic, having before him the praiseworthy object of
making a match between Felix Graham and Sophia Furnival. "By George,
Graham," he had said, "the finest girl in London is coming down to
Noningsby; upon my word I think she is."
"And brought there expressly for your delectation, I suppose."
"Oh no, not at all; indeed, she is not exactly in my style; she is
too,--too,--too--in point of fact, too much of a girl for me. She has
lots of money, and is very clever, and all that kind of thing."
"I never knew you so humble before."
"I am not joking at all. She is a daughter of old Furnival's, whom
by-the-by I hate as I do poison. Why my governor has him down at
Noningsby I can't guess. But I tell you what, old fellow, he can give
his daughter five-and-twenty thousand pounds. Think of that, Master
Brook." But Felix Graham was a man who could not bring himself to
think much of such things on the spur of the moment, and when he was
introduced to Sophia, he did not seem to be taken with her in any
wonderful way.
Augustus had asked his mother to help him, but she had laughed at
him. "It would be a splendid arrangement," he had said with energy.
"Nonsense, Gus," she had answered. "You should always let those
things take their chance. All I will ask of you is that you don't
fall in love with her yourself; I don't think her family would be
nice enough for you."
But Felix Graham certainly was ungrateful for the friendship spent
upon him, and so his friend felt it. Augustus had contrived to
whisper into the lady's ear that Mr. Graham was the cleverest young
man now rising at the bar, and as far as she was concerned, some
amount of intimacy might at any rate have been produced; but he,
Graham himself, would not put himself forward. "I will pique him into
it," said Augustus to himself, and therefore when on this occasion
they came into the drawing-room, Staveley immediately took a vacant
seat beside Miss Furnival, with the very friendly object which he had
proposed to himself.
There was great danger in this, for Miss Furnival was certainly
handsome, and Augustus Staveley was very susceptible. But what will
not a man go through for his friend? "I hope we are to have the
honour of your company as far as Monkton Grange the day we meet
there," he said. The hounds were to meet at Monkton Grange, some
seven miles from Noningsby, and all the sportsmen from the house were
to be there.
"I shall be delighted," said Sophia, "that is to say if a seat in the
carriage can be spared for me."
"But we'll mount you. I know that you are a horsewoman." In answer to
which Miss Furnival confessed that she was a horsewoman, and owned
also to having brought a habit and hat with her.
"That will be delightful. Madeline will ride also, and you will meet
the Miss Tristrams. They are the famous horsewomen of this part of
the country."
"You don't mean that they go after the dogs, across the hedges."
"Indeed they do."
"And does Miss Staveley do that?"
"Oh, no--Madeline is not good at a five-barred gate, and would make
but a very bad hand at a double ditch. If you are inclined to remain
among the tame people, she will be true to your side."
"I shall certainly be one of the tame people, Mr. Staveley."
"I rather think I shall be with you myself; I have only one horse
that will jump well, and Graham will ride him. By-the-by, Miss
Furnival, what do you think of my friend Graham?"
"Think of him! Am I bound to have thought anything about him by this
time?"
"Of course you are;--or at any rate of course you have. I have
no doubt that you have composed in your own mind an essay on the
character of everybody here. People who think at all always do."
"Do they? My essay upon him then is a very short one."
"But perhaps not the less correct on that account. You must allow me
to read it."
"Like all my other essays of that kind, Mr. Staveley, it has been
composed solely for my own use, and will be kept quite private."
"I am so sorry for that, for I intended to propose a bargain to you.
If you would have shown me some of your essays, I would have been
equally liberal with some of mine." And in this way, before the
evening was over, Augustus Staveley and Miss Furnival became very
good friends.
"Upon my word she is a very clever girl," he said afterwards, as
young Orme and Graham were sitting with him in an outside room which
had been fitted up for smoking.
"And uncommonly handsome," said Peregrine.
"And they say she'll have lots of money," said Graham. "After all,
Staveley, perhaps you could not do better."
"She's not my style at all," said he. "But of course a man is obliged
to be civil to girls in his own house." And then they all went to
bed.