Mr Torrance of Tinto was the representative of an old county family, but
he would not have been the richest commoner in Scotland if he had been
no more than this. A variety of other circumstances, however, had
combined to bring about this effect, and elevate a man who was no
better, at the best that could be said for him, than a rude
yeoman-sportsman at soul, into a person of the greatest local importance
and almost national notability. The previous Torrance of Tinto, a man of
some rough practical power, had allied himself to some degree in
business, and to a much greater degree in life, with a great railway
contractor--one of the men who, coming from nothing, have made colossal
fortunes, and found admittance for their children, if not for
themselves, into the foremost ranks of society. Mr Torrance married this
man's daughter, and all the money which the original navvy had quarried
out of the bowels of the earth, or gathered from its surface, went to
increase the lands and the power of Tinto, where this daughter, his only
child, a woman with the magnificent ideas of expenditure which enormous
wealth so naturally brings along with it, disposed herself to reign like
a princess, making her husband's old house the centre of a new palace,
fit for a duke at least. The old man, her father, always thrifty and
sparing in his own person, would have her stinted in nothing; and
perhaps, had she lived long, her husband would have had little enough
left him of the huge fortune which she had brought into the family. But
fortunately (for the family), after she had alarmed him beyond measure
by unbounded expenditure for a few years, and had completed the new
house and filled it with costly furniture, in all of which her father
encouraged her, the death of both within a year of each other relieved
the owner of Tinto of his fears, and left him free to complete the
training of his son as he pleased. He made him much such a man as he had
himself been, but without the brains, which are not transmitted so
easily as money. Patrick Torrance had indeed been sent to Oxford to have
the regulation mark stamped upon him as an educated man: but those were
days in which so much as this meant was easier than now; and it is not
very hard even now, as may be seen. He came back more horsey, more doggy
than he had been before, if possible,--a man without an intellectual
taste or higher instinct, bored to death, as he himself avowed, with the
grand house, full of pictures, and statues, and marble, and porcelain,
which the taste of his mother had accumulated. Never was such a
magnificent place in the quietude of such a homely country. The daughter
of the railway man was as extreme in her taste for art as the daughter
of one of her father's navvies might have been in dress. There was not a
wall, not a passage or staircase, that was not laden with decoration.
Great artists had designed the chimney-pieces and cornices. The velvet,
the satin, the embroidery, were all the most costly, and, according to
the lights of that period, the most correct that money could buy. The
old man, whose money had bought all this, went about the gorgeous rooms
rubbing his hands with a continual chuckle of satisfaction so long as he
lived; and the poor woman who had created the luxurious house swept
through in dresses to correspond, with satisfaction not less than if she
had been a daughter of the Medici,--who, to be sure, made their money in
business too. But when that fine Renaissance lady died, and all her
friends were scattered, and the place fell back into the possession of
the commonplace country laird and his boy, coming in ruddy from the
fields or damp from the hill, afraid to tread in their shooting boots
on the luxurious carpets or throw themselves down in the satin chairs,
the incongruity of the establishment was manifest to every eye. Mr
Torrance, the father, had been deeply impressed by the cost of
everything his wife had bought and planned. He had been horrified and
indignant in the first instance; but when it had been proved that he had
no power to resist, and that the money must be expended for all these
luxuries, he had taken what satisfaction he could from the price. "Do
you know what she gave for that?" he would say; "it's all dash'd
extravagance. I cannot away with it; but it was her doing, and as she
had plenty, she had to please herself." It was in this way that he spoke
of his wife. And when she died, the splendid house she had built was
shut up,--not from sentiment, but because the set of rooms still
remaining, which belonged to the old house of Tinto, was much more in
harmony with the habits of the master of the house.
Now that he too was dead, his son followed his example in preferring the
old den of the race. But he had more appreciation of the dignity of
owning a house such as no one in the country could "hold a candle" to.
The fine decorations had not all stood the neglect of twenty years, but
still there was enough of magnificence to overawe the district; and
Patrick Torrance had enough of his mother's blood in him to enjoy the
consciousness of so much luxury and costliness. He lived in the old
library, which was low and dingy, and looked out upon the dark bit of
shrubbery behind the house and the road that led to the stables; but
periodically he threw the grand empty rooms open, and had a great
dinner-party or a ball, which excited all the gentry for miles round. It
would be vain to say that there was not on these occasions more
excitement than was natural solely in view of a great entertainment.
While society is constituted as it is, it will not be possible that a
great matrimonial prize, such as Mr Patrick Torrance unquestionably was,
should thus be shown, as open to public competition, without a certain
excitement. If a great post worth thousands a-year could be won by the
most attractive and brilliant appearance in a ball-room, what a flutter
there would be among the golden youth of society! and the master of
Tinto was more valuable than most of the very finest appointments. He
was as good as a Viceroyship of India without the necessity of
expatriation. Consequently it is not to be supposed that the young
ladies of the neighbourhood could prepare for their appearance in these
gilded if somewhat tarnished halls of his without a good deal of
agitation, or that the mothers, or even the fathers of possible
competitors, could escape some share of the same excitement. Some of the
girls, let us do them the justice to say, were as much alarmed lest Pat
Torrance, as he was called, should cast his big projecting eyes upon
them, as others were anxious for that notice. He was not in himself much
adapted to please a maiden's eye. He was very dark, strongly bearded,
with large eyes _à fleur de tête_ and somewhat bloodshot. His friends
maintained that he had "a good figure," and it certainly was tall and
strong. His voice was as large as his person, and somewhat hoarse--a
deep bass, which made a vibration in the air. He was an excellent shot,
and hunted indefatigably, though it was beginning to be said,
notwithstanding his youth, that Pat was too heavy for distinction in the
hunting-field. With all these qualities he had an eye to his interest,
rich though he was; and, though not clever, was said to be very
fortunate in his investments, and to keep a careful hand over his money.
Now and then he would be lavish, outdoing all that was known in these
parts in the way of extravagance; but for the most part he lived as his
father had done before him, in the old rooms of the old mansion-house of
Tinto, where not a carpet or a curtain had been removed since the time
of his grandfather. There was perhaps a touch of humour, somehow struck
out by the contact of the two races, which made the contrast of these
two manners of living pleasant to his fancy and to his rude and
elementary pride; or perhaps it was mere instinct, and had no meaning
in it at all--the habits of the limited and uncultured countryman,
diversified by that delight in an occasional "blow out," which is the
compensation of the navvy for his rude toils. There was no doubt that
from the time of his father's death, which occurred when he was about
twenty-eight, Pat Torrance had made up his mind to marry. And he had
inspected all the marriageable girls in the country with a serious
intention which disgusted some and amused others, and filled a few with
breathless hope. In the latter class were ladies of very different
pretensions indeed, from Miss Webster of Thrums, who was the greatest
rider in the country, and never wanting when anything was going on, down
to the bold, handsome, black-eyed daughter of the landlord of the Bear
at Dunearn, which was the inn Mr Torrance used when he went into the
county town. He was just as likely, people thought, to make such a match
as any other; his style of courtship was more in harmony with a bar-room
than a drawing-room. This conviction made the balls at Tinto less
exciting to the feminine community generally as time went on; but still
there is never any telling what caprice may sway a sultan's choice.
And alas! it is a fact that, whether by their own will or by that of
their parents, Pat Torrance might have married almost any lady in the
county. He was not himself to them, but such a cluster of worldly
advantages as scarcely any mortal woman could resist. He was, as we have
said, far beyond in value the best of the appointments for which they
could not, and their brothers could try. He meant a fine position, a
magnificent house, a great fortune. To be sure there was a drawback to
this, which only a few acknowledged. When Mrs Sempill pointed out to her
daughter Agnes, whom he had honoured with some passing notice, that in
case she married him she would have "everything that heart could
desire--at least everything that money could buy,"--Agnes, who was a
clever girl, put forth a condition. "I should have just as much as Pat
Torrance thought proper of the things that money can buy," the young
woman said, with sudden insight. I am afraid, however, that Agnes
Sempill would have married him all the same, her family being so poor,
if he had put himself at her disposal. But he did not, and she was glad.
Indeed he made himself of all the greater importance in the county that
he came to no decision, but went on giving his balls three or four times
a-year, and examining with a critical eye every girl who appeared on the
horizon, every new _débutante_. And he was asked everywhere in those
days. His importance was fully recognised.
This was the condition in which things were when the new family came to
the Castle. Mr Torrance was one of the first callers, partly because his
pride as at once the head of an old family and the richest man in the
county made him eager to assert his position with the new Earl as a
leader of the local society--a position which not even the chances their
daughters might have of sharing it would have prevailed on the other
county magnates to permit him,--and partly because of the new candidates
for his favour who were to be found in the family of Lindores.
Notwithstanding the prevalent idea that Bessie Runciman at the Black
Bear in Dunearn had just as good a chance for the prize as any
competitor, nothing could be further from the fact or the intentions of
the hero. His determination all along had been to procure himself a wife
who should be in harmony, not so much with himself as with the grandeur
of his house and what he believed to be his position; and the hunting
lady and the publican's daughter had been equally out of the question.
For himself, he might have liked either of them well enough; but as a
matter of fact, it was not too much refinement, but not refinement
enough, which this rude squire found among his country neighbours. None
of them was fine enough for Tinto. He wanted somebody who would be at
home in the grand rooms overloaded with decoration--who would be, if
possible, superior to the killing splendour which made himself feel so
small. And no woman yet had impressed Pat as sufficiently magnificent
for this purpose. He wanted some one more imposing,--a lady of Tinto who
might, as he desired in his heart, receive the Prince of Wales on
occasion, or even the Queen herself. When he paid his first visit to
Lindores, the Earl alone received him, and he had no chance of
inspecting the daughters of the house; but he had met them as he rode
home again, coming back from their drive in the little pony-carriage, of
which they had just become possessed. Edith, new to all these delights,
was driving her sister; and her bright little face, full of life and
smiles, turned curiously upon him as he stood aside on his big black
horse to let them pass. But that was not what caught his eye. Beside her
was a pale and gentle countenance, unlike anything which had hitherto
been presented to his notice. Pat's heart, if he had a heart, or the big
pulse that did service for it, gave a bound as he looked. It seemed to
him at the first glance that this new face was more aristocratic, more
distinguished, for not being pretty. The lilies and roses of the other
were familiar to him. Bright eyes and fine complexions were by no means
rare in the county. They were to be found everywhere, in the cottages as
well as in the castles. He was not impressed by them. The smiles and
animation were common things; but Lady Caroline with her gentle
paleness, her slim form pliant and bending,--even her nose, which was a
little too long, was the impersonation of refinement and rank, and fine
superiority. His imagination, if he had an imagination, took fire. He
thought he could see her moving about with languid grace through his
fine _salons_, far more fine than they, lending them an air of delicacy
and importance which they had never possessed before. He felt himself to
be "struck" by Lady Caroline as he never had been "struck" till now.
That was rank, he said to himself admiringly. To be sure, rank was what
he had wanted; he had never realised it before, but now he perceived it
as plain as daylight. He had been wiser than he was aware of in his
fastidiousness; and now he saw suddenly presented before him the very
object of which he had been in search. Lady Caroline Torrance!--that was
what it was.
This chance meeting, and the instant conviction that followed, had taken
place some time before the interview between the sisters which we have
described. How it was that the suitor communicated his wishes to the
Earl, or the Earl to poor Carry, it is impossible to tell--or if,
indeed, up to this time, any communication had been made on the subject.
Most likely there had been no communication; but the proposal, which
turned the light into darkness for Carry, was in the air, overshadowing
everything. Her father saw it in the dark face of Pat Torrance, and she
surmised it in her father's eyes. Before a word had been said she knew
her fate, struggling dumbly against it like a creature fascinated and
magnetised in the grip of a monster, but without any possibility or hope
of escape. There was something more terrible in this silent certainty
than there would have been in any conflict. She felt herself sucked in
as to a whirlpool, overpowered,--all her forces taken from her in the
giddy rush with which the days and hours were carrying her on,
irresistible, to that climax. It was this fatal consciousness which made
her cry out, "I will never give him up;" which was the cry, not of
resolution, but of despair. All that she could do in her sick and
failing soul was to grasp at and cling to the weeds on the bank, while
the current carried her wildly on, plucking them out of her hands.
Edith, who was of so different a nature, stood by appalled, astonished,
not knowing how to account for her sister's helplessness. She was
positive, as her mother said, not visionary, incapable either of
divining what was going to happen or of yielding to it. Why Carry could
not simply make up her mind to refuse, to stand fast, to resist
whatever powers might be brought to bear upon her, was a thing which
Edith could not understand.
And stranger still, Lady Lindores had not even found it out. She
disliked Mr Torrance, and made no secret of her dislike. "If that is
your type of a Scotch laird, I cannot say I like the species," she said,
eliciting a soft, "Oh, mamma!" from Edith, who remembered very well a
statement of an entirely contrary character which her mother had once
made. "If young Erskine is a type of a young Scotch laird, I am disposed
to fall in love with the class," was what Lady Lindores had then said.
Edith remembered it distinctly, but gave her tongue a little malicious
bite, and would not recall it to her mother's mind; for was not young
Erskine coming back? But Lady Lindores's feeling about Torrance was more
than passive. She took care to let him see that he was not a favourite
in the house. She wondered audibly, even after the eyes of Edith had
been opened, what that odious man wanted here; and indeed did all but
refuse to ask him to a _dîner intime_, at which her husband desired his
presence. "Torrance of Tinto," she cried, with a cloud on her face; "why
Torrance of Tinto? He has already dined here. Why should we have him
again?"
"Why not?" said the Earl, with a still deeper shadow on his face. Lady
Lindores saw very clearly when her attention was aroused; but she was a
high-minded woman, slow to be awakened to suspicion, and scorning to
think evil. It seemed to her an evidence of a poor nature to suppose any
one else capable of an act you would not have done yourself.
"Why not? I think that jumps at the eyes," she said. It was Lady
Lindores's weakness to employ idioms which, being translated idioms,
sounded very strange to ordinary ears. This was so far comprehensible
because she had lived abroad the greater part of her life, and she
thought the polyglot chatter which is so common, especially among the
English abroad, vulgar; so she translated her French, and thought it
less objectionable. "That jumps at the eyes," she said; "he is not a
friend of the house--only a recent acquaintance--and he has dined here
already. Why have him again? He is not an attractive person. You cannot
care for him, Robert; and he is no favourite with the girls."
"The girls must learn to receive the people I approve of," said the
Earl, "or we shall quarrel. You must make them aware of that."
"Quarrel! for the sake of Mr Torrance! That is carrying clanship a great
way."
"There is no clanship in it. You ought to know better, my dear. Your
English fallacies are quite out of place here. If I had a clan (which I
have not--we are purely Norman, not Celtic at all), Pat Torrance could
have had as little to do with it as John Smith."
"My dear Robert," said Lady Lindores, for she had not learned to address
her husband by his title, "you take it very seriously. I meant your
kindness for your own people. But for a kind prejudice, which I admire
and respect, for your old neighbours, you never would put up with a
being like this Tinto, as they call him,--a rich fox-hunter, with the
mind of a ploughman."
"You will oblige me, Mary," said her husband, coldly, "by restraining
your opinion--at all events until you have a better right to express it.
What do you know of Pat Torrance? I should very much prefer that you did
not commit yourself on the subject. You might regret it after."
"Commit myself!--regret it!" Lady Lindores gazed at her husband with
consternation. She had absolutely no guide to what he could mean; but as
he stood to his point and would not yield, and as one must certainly
yield when such a question arises, she found herself unwillingly obliged
to give in. She was behind her children in comprehension, strange as it
seems to say so. Lady Lindores had not been unfavourable to Beaufort's
claims when first he made his suit to Carry; but she had been perhaps a
little disappointed in him as the years passed on. He had not shown the
energy, the determination, which a man in such circumstances ought to
show. He had made no passionate effort to obtain his bride, such as
Carry's mother felt her child was worth. And it was a long time now
since Lady Lindores had taken any notice of the lingering engagement
which her husband had never positively sanctioned, but which had
lingered on for a year or two, coming to nothing. She had thought it
best not to interfere. Perhaps Mr Beaufort might think it his duty to
release Carry, now that her position was so much changed. The mother did
not feel that she could ask him to do so; but if anything had happened
to the tardy lover--had he been ill, or died, or proved fickle, she
would have felt that Providence was interfering on their behalf. In the
meantime, she thought it the best policy to say nothing about it. And it
was this reticence which she intended for wisdom, which prevented any
explanation between them, and kept her ignorant of what even Edith knew.
It did not occur to her to connect her child, so delicate and refined,
with the rough and coarse squire, whom she could not tolerate. How her
husband could put up with him Lady Lindores could not conceive. He
certainly meant something by it, she thought; but what did he mean? Was
it some scheme of tactics in respect to the next election? which
already, she knew, gave Lord Lindores great concern. Perhaps the Earl,
who had a devouring ambition, now that he found an opening for it,
thought it well to have the richest man in the county under his
influence. This was all that she had yet divined. "Your father insists
upon having that Mr Torrance," she said to the girls. "What he can see
in him, I cannot imagine. But that does not look at us. We are not
called upon to make martyrs of ourselves for papa's political friends."
Carry looked up eagerly as her mother spoke. "Political!" she said, with
a quiver of hopeful eagerness in her voice. "Is that the reason?" This
eager tone and broken question would have made Lady Lindores wonder had
she not been full of the subject from her own point of view.
"What else?" she said. "You cannot suppose a man like your father can
find anything else in Mr Torrance to attract him. Politics are very
entrancing, but, like necessity, they bring you acquainted with strange
bedfellows. Papa thinks, no doubt, that he ought to turn his influence
to account."
"Oh, if that is the reason!" said Carry, clasping her hands together,
with something like an ecstasy of prayer and thankfulness in her face.
Lady Lindores, though she thought the emotion excessive--but then Carry
was always visionary--understood that her daughter's delicate soul had
been wounded by her father's regard for so unattractive a person. She
patted her child upon the cheek tenderly.
"You must not consider yourself responsible for all the things we do in
the prosecution of our several parts," she said. "I feel, for my own
part, that I take a great deal too much notice of old Gardener. I am
getting much too fond of him. This is more innocent, I allow, than your
father's fancy for Mr Torrance; for I don't insist on asking old
Gardener to dinner."
"That I never should object to!" cried Carry, kissing her mother with
sudden enthusiasm. She was cheered beyond measure by the comparison, and
by Lady Lindores's absolute ignorance of any other pretension on the
part of Torrance. Perhaps she had been deceiving herself, and
attributing to her father intentions that had never entered his mind.
Carry was too thankful to think that this might be how it was. But
Edith, the clear-sighted, avoided her sister's eye. She made no comment
on what her mother said. Edith felt that, however others might be
deceived, she _knew_.