THE FARRINGTON FAMILY.
Farrington Court was the dower-house of the Farrington family,
where dowagers and heirs apparent resided, according as it might
happen to suit. The Lady Farrington mentioned in the last chapter
had occupied it for years--ever since the death of her husband and
her sons, when the bulk of the property, with the title, had passed
to Rupert Farrington, the late baronet’s nephew. Sir Rupert lived
now at Farrington Hall, with his wife and one son of his own.
Old Lady Farrington, in her losses and her loneliness, was a woman
much to be pitied. She had seen her children die, all of them but
one. He also was dead, but miserably, and at a distance probably
from home. Her husband she had mourned last of all, at a time when
she had most needed strength and support. The new baronet did not
treat her well. She was no doubt fortified by ample settlements.
Farrington Court was hers also, by right inalienable, during her
lifetime. Yet Sir Rupert had had it in his power to put her to
infinite pain, and wittingly or unwittingly had not spared her in
the least. The ejectment from the Hall--her once happy home, the
scene of her married life, where all her children had been born,
and where all were buried, save one--had been carried out with an
almost brutal abruptness, which cut the poor afflicted soul to the
quick. Sir Rupert had driven hard bargains with her also in taking
over the house and the estate; had insisted upon the uttermost
farthing, had denied her many possessions, small and great, which
she valued as reminding her of the past, but which were his,
according to the strict letter of the law. His unkindness pursued
her even to the house which she might still call her own. But hers
was only a life-interest, after all; and, as Farrington Court must
in due course lapse back to the family, Sir Rupert felt bound, he
said, for his own and his son’s sake, to see that the place came to
no harm. His interference and inquisitiveness were, in consequence,
constant and vexatious. He insisted upon inspecting the house
regularly; he must satisfy himself that the repairs were duly
executed, that the gardens and glass houses were properly kept up,
and that no timber was cut down. He did not scruple to tell Lady
Farrington that he looked upon her as a tenant, and by no means a
good one, to whom he would gladly give notice to quit if he could.
These first causes for irritation and dislike deepened in time to
positive hatred. Lady Farrington came by degrees to fear Sir Rupert
with a terror that was almost abject; and when we fear others to
this extent we undoubtedly hate them very cordially too. Her terror
was not difficult to explain. It had its grounds in the conviction
that she was more or less in his power. There was a secret which
she had as she thought kept hitherto entirely to herself, but
which he, as time passed and brought him opportunities for close
observation, had eventually discovered. She herself knew, and by
degrees she felt that he also knew that her mind was a little
unsound.
Lady Farrington had been an eccentric woman even in her husband’s
lifetime. Her ways had been odd; her manners strange. She was
given to curious likes and dislikes, which showed themselves in
extraordinary ways. Thus she hated the wife of a neighbouring
squire--an upstart woman, certainly, but nothing worse than
_gauche_ or ill-bred. Whenever this lady called at the hall the
chair on which she had sat was sent to the upholsterers to be
re-covered. On one occasion, when she came at the time of afternoon
tea, Lady Farrington threw the cup and saucer her visitor had used
into the fire, declaring it should never be drunk out of again. A
more unnatural antipathy was that which she long entertained for
her second son--a dislike which had caused him much misery, and
her much subsequent anguish of mind. As against all this, she had
been extravagantly fond of her husband and her first-born. When
the former left her even for a few hours, she kept his hat and
walking-stick in the room with her, as though to cheat herself into
the belief that he was really in the house; the latter she coddled
and cossetted to such an extent that he grew up weakly and died
young.
But after all her bitter trials and heavy blows, her eccentricity
had developed so rapidly that it might fairly be called by a
stronger name. At first she shut herself up in a private chamber,
surrounded by the relics of happier days, and brooded sorrowfully
over riding-whips, cricket-bats, and all manner of childish toys.
Then she went to the other extreme; threw off her widow’s weeds
and decked out in gay colours, and with a long white veil, drove
about the country lanes in a carriage with grey horses, as though
she were a newly-married bride. When Sir Rupert’s persecution
had grown into a serious annoyance, she concentrated upon him all
the aversion she had once levelled at more innocent objects of
dislike. She never would have admitted him to the house, but as he
would take no denial she consoled herself by throwing open all the
windows and doors, whatever the weather, directly he had left the
house, insisting that the place was unfit for habitation until it
had been thoroughly aired. Then, saying his threats and menaces put
her in bodily fear, she got into the habit of packing all her most
treasured belongings in one or two trunks which she kept locked
in her bedroom, under her own eye, in readiness as it were for
immediate flight.
For a long time Sir Rupert seemed to take but little notice of her
vagaries. When the county folk commiserated him, and inquired
after poor Lady Farrington, he merely shrugged his shoulders and
touched his forehead in a melancholy pitying way. She had had
so much trouble in her time, poor soul. It was very dreadful of
course. But what could be done? She had every care and attention he
could secure for her. He went to see her frequently in spite of her
strange dislike, so did his wife. He did his duty by her as well as
he possibly could. She was harmless, and as he thought perfectly
safe. She had good servants about her; he himself saw to that, and
there was no necessity to put her under restraint--unless indeed,
she became very much worse. If her malady increased to the extent
of endangering the safety of those about her or of the house--by
no means a secondary consideration with him--why then, as a last
alternative, she must be shut up.
He did not conceal from her, however, that this would ultimately be
her fate. More than once he warned her that he knew her condition,
and would some day be compelled to take steps to make her secure.
But he said this with no object but to prove his power, and Lady
Farrington would probably have been left to pursue the curious
tenour of her ways, had not her mania taken a direction which
threatened to be distinctly inconvenient to Sir Rupert.
Of all the woes which Lady Farrington suffered, the keenest perhaps
was remorse for her treatment of her second son. As has been said,
she had looked upon him always with disfavour; Herbert never could
please. Where another more tenderly cared for would have been
gently corrected, he was called wilful, obstinate, perverse, and
sharply chided and admonished. He it was who was always in the
wrong; he it was who led the other boys into mischief. It was
his fault, or said to be his, when the boat upset, or the ice
broke, or the gun went off, or any mishap occurred. As he grew
to man’s estate his mother’s indifference did not soften into
warmer feelings. Poor Herbert failed at school and college, the
obvious consequence of early neglect. He could not pass the army
examination, although he longed to wear a red coat. All he could do
was to roam the woods with dog and gun at Farrington, consorting
with grooms and keepers, enjoying an open air life the more because
he thereby escaped from the house and his mother’s sneers. But
these last, although thus rarely encountered, became at length
unbearable, and one fine morning Herbert was not to be found.
He had gone off, leaving a note to say that pursuit or inquiry
would be fruitless, as he meant to leave England for good and all;
nothing should induce him to return to Farrington Hall.
The blow fell heaviest upon Lady Farrington, who felt that she
had been principally to blame. Prompt search was accordingly
instituted, but all to no purpose.
Some said that he had emigrated, some that he had enlisted, others
that he had gone to sea. No one ever saw him in the flesh again.
Only Lady Farrington, in whom the catastrophe had worked a strong
revulsion of feeling, was positive that she had seen him in the
spirit more than once. He had appeared to her, last of all, just
after the death of Algernon, the eldest son. Nor had he appeared
alone. Hand-in-hand with him was a comely fair-haired girl, with a
baby in her arms. Herbert had pointed significantly to the child,
and Lady Farrington interpreted the gesture to mean that he and
his son were now the rightful heirs of the Farrington title and
estates. This vision she tremulously described to her husband and
to others, but it was treated even by Sir Algernon as a mere dream,
or the hallucination of an over-wrought brain.
Nothing more would have been thought of the circumstances of
Herbert’s disappearance and shadowy return, except as a great and
irreparable sorrow, but for the arrival of a mysterious packet,
a year or two later, which contained a lock of light curly
hair--Herbert’s?--and a scrap of paper, on which was written, in
Herbert’s handwriting, ‘Be kinder to my boy.’
After this, a frantic desire to discover and do justice to her
injured son possessed Lady Farrington, to the exclusion of
all other objects in life. The family lawyers were called in;
detectives, public and private, were employed; advertisements were
inserted in the agony columns of the journals with the largest
circulation in the world. As substantial rewards were offered,
numbers of sons were promptly forthcoming. But not one of them
was the right one; nor was any information which could be relied
upon obtained, neither as to whether Herbert Farrington himself
was alive or dead, or whether, in the latter case, he had left
any heirs. Lady Farrington endured another and a more bitter
disappointment than any she had hitherto experienced in life.
It was not till long after the death of her husband and her
occupation of Farrington Court, that the old theory as to the
existence of a grandson was revived by her. Why or wherefore no one
could understand. Had she come upon any traces of the long-lost
son? Or was it merely that her mind, in its increasing weakness,
worked back into old grooves? Be the cause what it might, Lady
Farrington seemed at times strangely positive that she should find
the missing dear one, or his representative, after all. She often
hinted, darkly and mysteriously, that there was a great surprise in
store for Sir Rupert. Something he little expected would assuredly
come to pass when matters were properly ripe. There was no hurry.
It was better to make all sure before the mine was sprung. No link
in the chain must be wanting. But all would be ready ere long. Then
let Sir Rupert look to himself.
All this gave the baronet, who was really the man in possession,
but little uneasiness. As the next heir, he had heard long ago
of the eager inquiries for the missing Herbert; and although he
had resented them then, he had accepted their impotent conclusion
as an unanswerable proof that his presumptive rights were not
to be impugned. On the death of Sir Algernon his title had not
been disputed, and he had succeeded, as a matter of course. Lady
Farrington had made no protest. There was no shadow of foundation
for a protest. And if not then, would any person in his sober
senses think of disputing his rights now, when he had a firm grip
of the title, property, and place? Only an old mad woman would
harbour such an idea. Even she would hardly dare to raise the
question openly, after such a lapse of years. And who would believe
her if she did?
He told her so, very roughly, when her allusions became more
and more significant. He warned her too that ‘she had better be
careful what she said or did. It was a fact well known to the whole
country-side that she was quite unable to take care of herself,
that she was not responsible for her actions, that her proper place
was an asylum, and she might come to that yet if--’
One day, when he had been taunting thus longer and more bitterly
than usual, she was goaded into making an incautious reply.
‘The cup is nearly full to the brim, Rupert. Your time is fast
drawing to a close.’
‘What new craze is this, Lady Farrington?’ he said, laughing
scornfully, but with a black look on his face.
Sir Rupert’s was a hard dark face, with full eyes rather
prominent, and a long, drooping, black moustache. When he looked
black it was not a pleasant face to see.
‘It is nothing new, Rupert. I have waited patiently, hopefully. I
thought the end would never come. It is near at hand now, although
the consummation has been long delayed.’
‘Your ladyship’s language is, as usual, clear and perspicuous, yet
you will forgive me if I ask you to explain.’
‘Listen,’ she said, as she laid her hand upon his arm, and hissed
out her words slowly one by one. ‘Within a few short months, nay
weeks, whenever I choose, I can produce the rightful heir of the
Farringtons; and he shall come to his own.’
‘This is mere rhapsody, mere raving. You cannot touch me, you know
that.’
‘I can, ay, and I will, miserable fool! You have not the shadow
of a claim to the title and estates. My grandson, Herbert’s son,
lives, and you must make way for him.’
‘Psha! Herbert’s son? How do you know that? What proof have you?’
‘The youth himself. He has been under my charge these five years
past, and more. I found him--I myself found him. I knew I could not
err. He had Herbert’s eyes, he is Herbert’s image; he--’
‘He must have more proof than this if he is to make good his case
in a court of law,’ said Sir Rupert coolly.
‘I know it, and the proof shall be forthcoming. Every link in the
chain.’
‘All right. If it is to be war to the knife, so let it be. But I
tell you plainly that no one will believe a word you say.’
‘They will believe my beautiful boy, my own Herbert’s boy, when
they hear his story from his own sweet lips. He shall come forward
himself when the occasion is ripe for him to speak.’
‘Where is he now?’ asked Sir Rupert, carelessly, but with deeply
cunning intent.
She laughed in his face.
‘No, no, Sir Rupert, I am not to be so easily beguiled. He is safe,
quite safe, to be produced at exactly the right time.’
Sir Rupert gave her another fierce look, which boded her no good,
but he said nothing more. He was not exactly disconcerted by her
positive assertions, which he only half believed, yet his peace
of mind had been rudely assailed. That he must discover the
whereabouts of this mysterious claimant, and test the accuracy
of Lady Farrington’s far-fetched statements, was clear. It was
equally clear that he must, if possible, put a gag upon the old
woman, and remove her where she could work no further harm.