LES NOUVEAUX RICHES.
Of course the Vansittarts occupied the biggest and most expensive house
they had been able to procure on taking up their residence in London.
They were _nouveaux riches_ of the very first water. John Vansittart,
the head of the family, was the son of a respectable Berkshire farmer,
who had given him a thousand pounds as a start in life, with which the
young man had gone out to New Zealand, and invested in a sheep run,
which had resulted in his becoming a millionaire. Yet no extraordinary
good luck had contributed to his success. He had simply been frugal
and painstaking, and kept his eyes open, and married a woman who
helped instead of hindered him. And now, at sixty years of age, he was
celebrated for being one of the largest sheepowners in New Zealand. He
had not married early, and his only child, a daughter called Grace, was
just twenty years old. She had been in England much longer than her
parents. They had sent her home to a fashionable boarding-school at
twelve years of age, and had not found time to join her until a year
before this story opens. They had returned to England with an idea of
remaining there, but they had soon changed their minds. Their bush life
had unfitted them for society. Satins and laces and shining broadcloth
sat uneasily upon them, and both Mr and Mrs Vansittart longed for the
moment when they should settle down in their New Zealand home again.
Not that they would admit, even to themselves, that the whirl and
bustle, the pomp and formality, of a London life were too much for
them. On the contrary, they blamed the great Metropolis for being slow
and stupid, and would not allow that anything it produced could equal
the same article in New Zealand. They were both very fat, and simple,
and goodnatured--extravagantly proud of their fashionable daughter
Grace, who did not acquiesce in the opinions of her parents--and ready
to spend their money like water, because they really did not know what
else to do with it. They lived in a splendid mansion overlooking the
park, which had been furnished from basement to attic, at the sweet
will of the upholsterer, and consequently bore the impress of wealth
upon every part of it. The hall was carpeted with bear and tiger skins,
and hung with armour and stuffed deers’ heads, interspersed with blue
and white Nankin China, and beaten brass from Benares. The drawing-room
was furnished in the style of Louis Quatorze, and opened into a vast
conservatory, rich with tropical plants. In the dining-room, the walls
of which were hung with stamped leather, and lighted by silver sconces,
were to be found as many portraits of gallant lords and lovely ladies,
figuring in the costumes of three and four hundred years before, as if
John Vansittart had come of a long line of noble ancestors, instead of
being unable to trace his pedigree beyond the loins of the Berkshire
farmer, whose father had been an unknown quantity. The whole house
reeked of money, but, strange to say, it did not oppress one as such
things usually do. The fact is, the owners of these extravagancies did
not value them one whit because they had cost money. They were ready
to leave them all behind to-morrow--indeed, they were going to do so;
and John Vansittart had remarked more than once to his wife, that it
was a pity they hadn’t some good friend to whom they could make over
the whole lot as a present, instead of letting them go for nothing at
auction. But that was just their trouble. They had no friends--hardly
any acquaintances. Grace had come home to them, fresh from her school,
and good, honest Mrs Vansittart was not the sort of woman to push her
way into society, even with the aid of her enormous wealth. She was too
shy and retiring to do so. That was the reason they had become intimate
with Godfrey Harland. He had met Mr Vansittart first in the city, and,
passing himself off as a bachelor, had been taken home to the big house
in the park by that gentleman, and introduced to his family. They had
all received him with open arms. He was good-looking, fashionable,
and very wide awake. He put the father up to all sorts of dodges. He
flattered the mother, and helped her out of all her difficulties, and
he (almost) made love to the daughter. At least he showed her a great
deal of attention, and Grace Vansittart repaid it in kind. It was
natural she should. He was about the only ‘swell’ (as she would have
expressed it) who came to their house, and her fashionable training
had taught her to discriminate, and to like ‘swells.’ She hated the
idea of settling in New Zealand, although she could not of course
go against her parents’ wishes, and would very much have preferred
marrying, and remaining in England. Had he been single, Harland would
have found it an easy game to play. He might even have been left in
possession of the palatial house and furniture. But the house would
not have suited his purpose, as we know. He was not actually planning
to commit bigamy--he was not even sure if he wished it--but he was
sorely in need of the father’s money, and at any rate he felt he must
make a friend of the daughter. But his friendship was conducted on such
sentimental terms it might easily have been mistaken for courtship.
Mr and Mrs Vansittart so mistook it. They were very fond and proud
of their one ewe lamb, and watched her carefully; and they had often
remarked to each other that if they didn’t mind it would come to a
match between their Grace and Mr Harland.
‘And he ain’t got much money, I don’t think! You must mind that,
father,’ the old lady would say.
‘Lor’! mother, and if he hasn’t--where’s the harm?’ Mr Vansittart
replied. ‘Haven’t we got enough for all? Not but what Harland’ (I am
afraid he said ’Arland) ‘dresses very particular, and always looks the
gentleman. However, I sha’n’t throw my gal away--you may make your
mind easy about that; but if the young feller likes to come out to New
Zealand with us, and shows me as he can work, and has no nonsense about
him, and our Grace sets her heart upon him--why, all I shall say is,
please yourself, my dear, and you’ll please me.’
And so it was that John Vansittart came to offer the position of
land-agent to Godfrey Harland.
‘Do you know anything of Mr Harland’s family or relations, John?’ said
his wife, when he told her what he had done.
‘Quite as much as I want to, my dear. I met the young man at Aintree,
walking about with Lord Sevenoaks and Colonel Fusee--good enough
credentials, I should think, for any one--and he gave me his opinion of
the horses that were running. I should have lost all round if it hadn’t
been for him. But he’s very wide awake--got his eyes well open--just
the very sort of man we want out there. Dash his family! What do we
care about family? We ain’t got none ourselves. And any one can see
he’s a gentleman born--and he’s got no encumbrances, and if he’s
willing to come with us, why, I’m the man to take him, that’s all.’
‘And I’m sure he’ll never repent his decision,’ said Mrs Vansittart,
plaintively; ‘for no one who once saw our Wellington or Canterbury
could ever wish to set his foot in this dull and dirty London again.’
When Godfrey Harland reached the Vansittart’s residence that evening,
he was at once ushered into the library, where the master of the house
was evidently awaiting him.
‘I told ’em to show you in here first, Mr Harland,’ he commenced,
cordially shaking hands, ‘as I thought you and me might settle this
little matter before joining the ladies. Of course, you’ve received my
letter.’
‘About an hour ago,’ replied Godfrey. ‘I came on as soon as ever I
could.’
‘Ah! I thought that would fetch you,’ chuckled the old man. ‘You
unmarried men are lucky dogs, to have no one to say, “With your leave,”
or “By your leave” to as you go in or out.’
‘We don’t always think so, sir.’
‘No, you don’t know when you’re well off. Well, if you take my advice,
you’ll remain as you are--for some time to come, at least. But this
ain’t business! What do you say to my proposal, Mr Harland?’
‘That if I can fulfil the duties, the position will suit me down to the
ground.’
‘Oh! the duties is easy enough. I shall want you to be under myself,
and do all the palavering and writing that I can’t manage. You see, Mr
Harland, I’m a rich man, but I’m a plain man, and I haven’t had much
education, so that when I want to invest money, or transact a heavy
sale, figures and such things are a trouble to me. I call the place
“a land-agent’s,” because I don’t know a better name for it. But, in
reality, it’s a friend and help that I want, and if you’re willing to
undertake the situation, why, it’s yours.’
‘I accept it with gratitude,’ replied Harland. ‘As I have told you
honestly, I have been living very much from hand to mouth lately, on
account of serious losses through the defalcations of a friend, and was
on the look-out for active employment. Your offer suits me exactly. I
have long wished to visit New Zealand, and am charmed at the prospect
of doing so in such company. I thank you very much for thinking of me.’
‘That’s settled then, sir; but we haven’t mentioned money yet. I will
pay your passage out, and give you six hundred pounds for the first
year. What I shall do afterwards, we’ll talk of afterwards. Will that
satisfy you for the present?’
‘Perfectly,’ said Harland, quietly. The game was in his own hands now,
and he was quivering with delight, but he did not want the old man to
see it.
‘And perhaps you’d like a little advance for your outfit,’ continued
Vansittart.
‘If it’s perfectly convenient,’ stammered Harland.
‘Of course, it’s convenient,’ replied the other, as he wrote a cheque
for fifty pounds, and pushed it across the table to him. ‘I expected
as you’d want it. And now, remember this, my boy. Though I like you
well enough, I’ve given you the appointment as much for the sake of my
wife and daughter as myself. For they’ve both taken a fancy to you,
and want you to go out with us, and so any little attention you can pay
them on the voyage--I being but a poor sailor--will be very thankfully
received, and valued accordingly.’
‘It will be my greatest pleasure to look after Mrs and Miss Vansittart
on board the _Pandora_, and supply your place as far as possible,’
replied Harland, gracefully.
‘Very good,’ said his host. ‘We’ve settled the matter now, and can join
the ladies.’
So Godfrey Harland, looking quite a ‘swell’ in his well-cut evening
suit, entered the drawing-room a minute afterwards, with fifty pounds
in his pocket, and something very much like _carte blanche_ to make
love to the heiress of the Vansittarts. The mother received him with
unfashionable cordiality, shaking his hand vehemently in token of the
new bond between them, whilst the daughter beamed welcome upon him
with her eyes, from the depths of a large arm-chair, half shrouded
from observation by a gigantic palm which rose six feet high from an
Etruscan vase of costly majolica.
Grace Vansittart, with the light weight of twenty summers on her brow,
was an attractive young woman, although her lowly origin was plainly
traceable in the style of her beauty. A prolonged and fashionable
training had done much to make a lady of her, and her milliners
contributed largely to the general effect. But nothing could do away
with the deep colouring, the large hands and feet, and the somewhat
coarse voice that remained to her as the heritage of her forefathers.
She had rich brown hair and eyes, a straight thick nose, a rather
full-lipped mouth, and a figure which, though very tempting under the
rounded lines of girlhood, would probably be too much of a good thing
ten years later. She was attired in an expensive dress of some _mauve_
material, much covered with laces and drapery, and her ears, arms,
neck, and fingers glittered with gold and jewellery. She threw a long
look at Godfrey from her full brown eyes, as he approached her chair,
which emboldened him to take a seat beside her.
‘So you are really going out with us to Tabbakooloo,’ she said, with a
smile.
‘Yes. Are you sorry?’
‘I don’t know. You may be useful on the voyage out. I shall want a
great deal of waiting on, I warn you.’
‘You cannot possibly want more than I shall be proud to render you,’
replied Godfrey.
‘That is really a very nice speech. You make me quite eager to start,
and put your gallantry to the test.’
‘Well, it will not be long now. I think Mr Vansittart told me the
_Pandora_ sails on the 24th.’
‘Three months at sea!’ exclaimed Grace, shrugging her shoulders. ‘What
an awful prospect. I hope you will think of something very nice, Mr
Harland, to make the time pass quickly.’
‘I will do my best. Are you fond of reading or playing games? Are you a
chess player? And if not, shall I teach you? I don’t know a better plan
to make time fly.’
‘I really have no choice. I shall leave that to you. But I hope we are
going to be great friends. Do you think we shall?’
‘I am _sure_ of it,’ replied Godfrey fervently.
‘Harland,’ interrupted Mr Vansittart at this juncture, ‘have you any
engagement for this evening?’
‘None, sir. I am completely at your service.’
‘Well, then, you had better stay here to-night, and go with me to the
shipping office the first thing to-morrow morning to secure your berth.
Time’s getting on, you know, and if we delay it, we may not be able to
get you a comfortable one.’
This proposal did not at all meet with Harland’s views. He had no wish
that a servant should be despatched from Mr Vansittart’s house to his
own, to bring back his morning clothes, and all the information Maggie
might choose to give him. And so he readily forged a lie to excuse
himself.
‘I should like it above all things, sir,’ he stammered, ‘but if you
will allow me to join you at the office to-morrow morning, I will be
there at any hour you name. The fact is, I _must_ sit up to-night
writing. This sudden stroke of fortune has brought a few cares with it.
There is a little property of mine in the north that I must put at once
into other hands, and my yacht--’
‘Oh, you keep a yacht then!’ exclaimed Vansittart, rather surprised at
the owner of such an expensive luxury jumping so readily at the offer
he had made him.
‘I _did_ keep one before I experienced the heavy losses of which I have
told you,’ resumed Godfrey, ‘and though she is let at present to a
friend, I must make arrangements for her going to the hammer when his
lease is up.’
In his anxiety to prevent any unlucky _contretemps_ revealing the
true state of his domestic affairs, Godfrey Harland would have given
himself a stable full of horses, and an opera box at Her Majesty’s,
and a few dozen carriages to dispose of, in another minute, if his
host, recognising the reasons he had already given as sufficient, had
not cheerfully consented to his proposal to meet him at the offices of
Messrs Stern & Stales on the morrow. And so, not quite knowing whether
to be confounded or elated by his sudden run of luck, Harland bade his
benefactors good-night.
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