LORD ALFRED'S COURTSHIP.
The Hall, as the great house at Humblethwaite was called, consisted
in truth of various edifices added one to another at various periods;
but the result was this, that no more picturesque mansion could be
found in any part of England than the Hall at Humblethwaite. The
oldest portion of it was said to be of the time of Henry VII.; but it
may perhaps be doubted whether the set of rooms with lattice windows
looking out on to the bowling-green, each window from beneath its
own gable, was so old as the date assigned to it. It is strange how
little authority can usually be found in family records to verify
such statements. It was known that Humblethwaite and the surrounding
manors had been given to, or in some fashion purchased by, a certain
Harry Hotspur, who also in his day had been a knight, when Church
lands were changing hands under Henry VIII. And there was authority
to prove that that Sir Harry had done something towards making a
home for himself on the spot; but whether those very gables were a
portion of the building which the monks of St. Humble had raised for
themselves in the preceding reign, may probably be doubted. That
there were fragments of masonry, and parts of old timber, remaining
from the monastery was probably true enough. The great body of the
old house, as it now stood, had been built in the time of Charles
II., and there was the date in the brickwork still conspicuous on the
wall looking into the court. The hall and front door as it now stood,
very prominent but quite at the end of the house, had been erected in
the reign of Queen Anne, and the modern drawing-rooms with the best
bedrooms over them, projecting far out into the modern gardens, had
been added by the present baronet's father. The house was entirely
of brick, and the old windows,--not the very oldest, the reader will
understand, but those of the Caroline age,--were built with strong
stone mullions, and were longer than they were deep, beauty of
architecture having in those days been more regarded than light. Who
does not know such windows, and has not declared to himself often
how sad a thing it is that sanitary or scientific calculations
should have banished the like of them from our houses? Two large
oriel windows coming almost to the ground, and going up almost to
the ceilings, adorned the dining-room and the library. From the
drawing-rooms modern windows, opening on to a terrace, led into the
garden.
You entered the mansion by a court that was enclosed on two sides
altogether, and on the two others partially. Facing you, as you drove
in, was the body of the building, with the huge porch projecting on
the right so as to give the appearance of a portion of the house
standing out on that side. On the left was that old mythic Tudor
remnant of the monastery, of which the back wall seen from the court
was pierced only with a small window here and there, and was covered
with ivy. Those lattice windows, from which Emily Hotspur loved to
think that the monks of old had looked into their trim gardens, now
looked on to a bowling-green which was kept very trim in honour of
the holy personages who were supposed to have played there four
centuries ago. Then, at the end of this old building, there had been
erected kitchens, servants' offices, and various rooms, which turned
the corner of the court in front, so that only one corner had, as
it were, been left for ingress and egress. But the court itself was
large, and in the middle of it there stood an old stone ornamental
structure, usually called the fountain, but quite ignorant of water,
loaded with griffins and satyrs and mermaids with ample busts, all
overgrown with a green damp growth, which was scraped off by the
joint efforts of the gardener and mason once perhaps in every five
years.
It often seems that the beauty of architecture is accidental. A great
man goes to work with great means on a great pile, and makes a great
failure. The world perceives that grace and beauty have escaped him,
and that even magnificence has been hardly achieved. Then there grows
up beneath various unknown hands a complication of stones and brick
to the arrangement of which no great thought seems to have been
given; and, lo, there is a thing so perfect in its glory that he who
looks at it declares that nothing could be taken away and nothing
added without injury and sacrilege and disgrace. So it had been, or
rather so it was now, with the Hall at Humblethwaite. No rule ever
made for the guidance of an artist had been kept. The parts were out
of proportion. No two parts seemed to fit each other. Put it all on
paper, and it was an absurdity. The huge hall and porch added on by
the builder of Queen Anne's time, at the very extremity of the house,
were almost a monstrosity. The passages and staircases, and internal
arrangements, were simply ridiculous. But there was not a portion
of the whole interior that did not charm; nor was there a corner of
the exterior, nor a yard of an outside wall, that was not in itself
eminently beautiful.
Lord Alfred Gresley, as he was driven into the court in the early
dusk of a winter evening, having passed through a mile and a half
of such park scenery as only Cumberland and Westmoreland can show,
was fully alive to the glories of the place. Humblethwaite did not
lie among the lakes,--was, indeed, full ten miles to the north of
Keswick; but it was so placed that it enjoyed the beauty and the
luxury of mountains and rivers, without the roughness of unmanageable
rocks, or the sterility and dampness of moorland. Of rocky fragments,
indeed, peeping out through the close turf, and here and there coming
forth boldly so as to break the park into little depths, with now and
again a real ravine, there were plenty. And there ran right across
the park, passing so near the Hall as to require a stone bridge in
the very flower-garden, the Caldbeck, as bright and swift a stream
as ever took away the water from neighbouring mountains. And to the
south of Humblethwaite there stood the huge Skiddaw, and Saddleback
with its long gaunt ridge; while to the west, Brockleband Fell seemed
to encircle the domain. Lord Alfred, as he was driven up through the
old trees, and saw the deer peering at him from the knolls and broken
fragments of stone, felt that he need not envy his elder brother if
only his lines might fall to him in this very pleasant place.
He had known Humblethwaite before; and, irrespective of all its
beauties, and of the wealth of the Hotspurs, was quite willing to
fall in love with Emily Hotspur. That a man with such dainties
offered to him should not become greedy, that there should be no
touch of avarice when such wealth was shown to him, is almost more
than we may dare to assert. But Lord Alfred was a man not specially
given to covetousness. He had recognized it as his duty as a man not
to seek for these things unless he could in truth love the woman who
held them in her hands to give. But as he looked round him through
the gloaming of the evening, he thought that he remembered that Emily
Hotspur was all that was loveable.
But, reader, we must not linger long over Lord Alfred's love. A few
words as to the father, a few as to the daughter, and a few also as
to the old house where they dwelt together, it has been necessary to
say; but this little love story of Lord Alfred's,--if it ever was a
love story,--must be told very shortly.
He remained five weeks at Humblethwaite, and showed himself willing
to receive amusement from old Mrs. Crutchley and from young Mrs.
Latheby. The shooting was quite good enough for him, and he won
golden opinions from every one about the place. He made himself
acquainted with the whole history of the house, and was prepared to
prove to demonstration that Henry VII.'s monks had looked out of
those very windows, and had played at bowls on that very green. Emily
became fond of him after a fashion, but he failed to assume any
aspect of divinity in her eyes.
Of the thing to be done, neither father nor mother said a word to
the girl; and she, though she knew so well that the doing of it was
intended, said not a word to her mother. Had Lady Elizabeth known how
to speak, had she dared to be free with her own child, Emily would
soon have told her that there was no chance for Lord Alfred. And Lady
Elizabeth would have believed her. Nay, Lady Elizabeth, though she
could not speak, had the woman's instinct, which almost assured her
that the match would never be made. Sir Harry, on the other side,
thought that things went prosperously; and his wife did not dare to
undeceive him. He saw the young people together, and thought that he
saw that Emily was kind. He did not know that this frank kindness was
incompatible with love in such a maiden's ways. As for Emily herself,
she knew that it must come. She knew that she could not prevent it. A
slight hint or two she did give, or thought she gave, but they were
too fine, too impalpable to be of avail.
Lord Alfred spoke nothing of love till he made his offer in form. At
last he was not hopeful himself. He had found it impossible to speak
to this girl of love. She had been gracious with him, and almost
intimate, and yet it had been impossible. He thought of himself that
he was dull, stupid, lethargic, and miserably undemonstrative. But
the truth was that there was nothing for him to demonstrate. He had
come there to do a stroke of business, and he could not throw into
this business a spark of that fire which would have been kindled
by such sympathy had it existed. There are men who can raise such
sparks, the pretence of fire, where there is no heat at all;--false,
fraudulent men; but he was not such an one. Nevertheless he went on
with his business.
"Miss Hotspur," he said to her one morning between breakfast and
lunch, when, as usual, opportunity had been given him to be alone
with her, "I have something to say to you, which I hope at any rate
it will not make you angry to hear."
"I am sure you will say nothing to make me angry," she replied.
"I have already spoken to your father, and I have his permission. I
may say more. He assures me that he hopes I may succeed." He paused
a moment, but she remained quite tranquil. He watched her, and could
see that the delicate pink on her cheek was a little heightened, and
that a streak of colour showed itself on her fair brow; but there
was nothing in her manner to give him either promise of success or
assurance of failure. "You will know what I mean?"
"Yes, I know," she said, almost in a whisper.
"And may I hope? To say that I love you dearly seems to be saying
what must be a matter of course."
"I do not see that at all," she replied with spirit.
"I do love you very dearly. If I may be allowed to think that you
will be my wife, I shall be the happiest man in England. I know how
great is the honour which I seek, how immense in every way is the
gift which I ask you to give me. Can you love me?"
"No," she said, again dropping her voice to a whisper.
"Is that all the answer, Miss Hotspur?"
"What should I say? How ought I to answer you? If I could say it
without seeming to be unkind, indeed, indeed, I would do so."
"Perhaps I have been abrupt."
"It is not that. When you ask me--to--to--love you, of course I know
what you mean. Should I not speak the truth at once?"
"Must this be for always?"
"For always," she replied. And then it was over.
He did not himself press his suit further, though he remained at
Humblethwaite for three days after this interview.
Before lunch on that day the story had been told by Emily to her
mother, and by Lord Alfred to Sir Harry. Lady Elizabeth knew well
enough that the story would never have to be told in another way. Sir
Harry by no means so easily gave up his enterprise. He proposed to
Lord Alfred that Emily should be asked to reconsider her verdict.
With his wife he was very round, saying that an answer given so
curtly should go for nothing, and that the girl must be taught her
duty. With Emily herself he was less urgent, less authoritative,
and indeed at last somewhat suppliant. He explained to her how
excellent would be the marriage; how it would settle this terrible
responsibility which now lay on his shoulders with so heavy a weight;
how glorious would be her position; and how the Hotspurs would still
live as a great family could she bring herself to be obedient. And he
said very much in praise of Lord Alfred, pointing out how good a man
he was, how moral, how diligent, how safe, how clever,--how sure,
with the assistance of the means which she would give him, to be one
of the notable men of the country. But she never yielded an inch. She
said very little,--answered him hardly a word, standing close to him,
holding by his arm and his hand. There was the fact, that she would
not have the man, would not have the man now or ever, certainly would
not have him; and Sir Harry, let him struggle as he might, and talk
his best, could not keep himself from giving absolute credit to her
assurance.
The visit was prolonged for three days, and then Lord Alfred left
Humblethwaite Hall, with less appreciation of all its beauties than
he had felt as he was first being driven up to the Hall doors. When
he went, Sir Harry could only bid God bless him, and assure him that,
should he ever choose to try his fortune again, he should have all
the aid which a father could give him.
"It would be useless," said Lord Alfred; "she knows her own mind too
well."
And so he went his way.