RANFORD.
Master Charles, blessed with a placid temper and a splendid appetite,
throve amazingly. Before you knew where you were, he was in tops and
bottoms; before you had thoroughly realized that, he was learning his
letters; then there was hardly time to turn round, before he was a
rosy-cheeked boy of ten.
From the very first gleam of reason, he had been put solely and entirely
under the care of Mr. Snell, the old vicar, who had been with his mother
when she died, and a Protestant nurse, Mrs. Varley. Faithfully had these
two discharged their sacred trust; and, if love can repay such services,
right well were they repaid.
A pleasant task they had, though, for a more lovable little lad than
Charles there never was. His little heart seemed to have an infinite
capacity of affection for all who approached him. Everything animate
came before him in the light of a friend, to whom he wished to make
himself agreeable, from his old kind tutor and nurse down to his pony
and terrier. Charles had not arrived at the time of life when it was
possible for him to quarrel about women; and so he actually had no
enemies as yet, but was welcomed by pleasant and kind faces wherever he
went. At one time he would be at his father's knee, while the
good-natured Densil made him up some fishing tackle; next you would find
him in the kennel with the whipper-in, feeding the hounds,
half-smothered by their boisterous welcome; then the stables would own
him for a time, while the lads were cleaning up and feeding; then came a
sudden flitting to one of the keeper's lodges; and anon he would be down
on the sands wading with half a dozen fisher-boys as happy as
himself--but welcome and beloved everywhere.
Sunday was a right pleasant day for him. After seeing his father shave,
and examining his gold-topped dressing-case from top to
bottom--amusements which were not participated in by Cuthbert, who had
grown too manly--he would haste through his breakfast, and with his
clean clothes hurry down the village towards the vicarage, which stood
across the stream near the church. Not to go in yet, you will observe,
because the sermon, he well knew, was getting its finishing touches, and
the vicar must not be disturbed. No, the old stone bridge would bring
him up; and there he would stay looking at the brown crystal-clear water
rushing and seething among the rocks, lying dark under the oak-roots,
and flashing merrily over the weir, just above the bridge; till "flick!"
a silver bar would shoot quivering into the air, and a salmon would
light on the top of the fall, just where the water broke, and would
struggle on into the still pool above, or be beaten back by the force,
to resume his attempt when he had gained breath. The trout, too, under
the bridge, bless the rogues, they knew it was Sunday well enough--how
they would lie up there in the swiftest places, where glancing liquid
glorified the poor pebbles below into living amber, and would hardly
trouble themselves to snap at the great fat, silly stoneflies that came
floating down. Oh! it was a terrible place for dawdling was that stone
bridge, on a summer sabbath morn.
But now would the country folks come trooping in from far and near, for
Ravenshoe was the only church for miles, and however many of them there
were, every one had a good hearty West-country greeting for him. And,
as the crowd increased near the church door, there was so much to say
and hear, that I am afraid the prayers suffered a little sometimes.
The villagers were pleased enough to see the lad in the old carved
horsebox (not to be irreverent) of a pew, beneath the screen in the
chancel, with the light from the old rose window shining on his curly
brown hair. The older ones would think of the haughty beautiful lady who
sat there so few years ago, and oftentimes one of the more sagacious
would shake his head and mutter to himself, "Ah! if _he_ were heir."
Any boy who reads this story, and I hope many will read it, is hereby
advertised that it is exceedingly wrong to be inattentive in church in
sermon time. It is very naughty to look up through the windows at the
white clouds flying across the blue sky, and think how merrily the
shadows are sweeping over the upland lawn, where the pewits' nests are,
and the blackcock is crowing on the grey stones among the heather. No
boy has any right to notice another boy's absence, and spend sermon-time
in wondering whether he is catching crabs among the green and crimson
seaweed on the rocks, or bathing in the still pool under the cliff. A
boy had better not go to church at all if he spends his time in thinking
about the big trout that lies up in one of the pools of the woodland
stream, and whether he will be able to catch a sight of him again by
creeping gently through the hazel and king fern. Birds' nests, too, even
though it be the ringousel's, who is to lay her last egg this blessed
day, and is marked for spoliation to-morrow, should be banished from a
boy's mind entirely during church time. Now, I am sorry to say, that
Charley was very much given to wander in church, and, when asked about
the sermon by the vicar next day, would look rather foolish. Let us hope
that he will be a warning to all sinners in this respect.
Then, after church, there would be dinner, at his father's lunch time,
in the dark old hall, and there would be more to tell his father and
brother than could be conveniently got through at that meal; then there
was church again, and a long stroll in the golden sunshine along the
shore. Ah, happy summer sabbaths!
The only two people who were ever cold to Charley, were his brother and
Mackworth. Not that they were openly unkind, but there was between both
of them and himself an indefinable gulf, an entire want of sympathy,
which grieved him sometimes, though he was as yet too young to be much
troubled by it. He only exhausted all his little arts of pleasing
towards them to try and win them; he was indefatigable in running
messages for Cuthbert and the chaplain; and once, when kind grandaunt
Ascot (she was a Miss Headstall, daughter of Sir Cingle Headstall, and
married Lord George Ascot, brother of Lady Alicia, Densil's mother) sent
him a pineapple in a box, he took it to the priest and would have had
him take it. Mackworth refused it, but looked on him not unkindly for a
few minutes, and then turned away with a sigh. Perhaps he was trying to
recall the time so long, long ago, when his own face was as open and as
innocent as that. God knows! Charles cried a little, because the priest
wouldn't take it, and, having given his brother the best slice, ate the
rest in the stable, with the assistance of his foster brother and two of
the pad grooms. Thereby proving himself to be a lad of low and
dissipated habits.
Cuthbert was at this time a somewhat good-looking young fellow of
sixteen. Neither of the brothers was what would be called handsome,
though, if Charley's face was the most pleasing, Cuthbert certainly had
the most regular features. His forehead was lofty, although narrow, and
flat at the sides; his cheek bones were high, and his nose was aquiline,
not ill-formed, though prominent, starting rather suddenly out below his
eyes; the lips were thin, the mouth small and firmly closed, and the
chin short and prominent. The _tout ensemble_ was hardly pleasing even
at this youthful period; the face was too much formed and decided for so
young a man.
Cuthbert was a reserved methodical lad, with whom no one could find
fault, and yet whom few liked. He was studious and devout to an extent
rare in one so young; and, although a capital horseman and a good shot,
he but seldom indulged in those amusements, preferring rather a walk
with the steward, and soon returning to the dark old library to his
books and Father Mackworth. There they two would sit, like two owls,
hour after hour, appearing only at meals, and talking French to one
another, noticing Charley but little; who, however, was always full of
news, and would tell it, too, in spite of the inattention of the strange
couple. Densil began to respect and be slightly afraid of his eldest
son, as his superior in learning and in natural abilities; but I think
Charles had the biggest share in his heart.
Aunt Ascot had a year before sent to Cuthbert to pay her a visit at
Ranford, her son's, Lord Ascot's place, where she lived with him, he
being a widower, and kept house for him. Ranford, we all know, or ought
to know, contains the largest private racing stud in England, and the
Ascot family for many generations had given themselves up entirely to
sporting--so much so, that their marriages with other houses have been
to a certain extent influenced by it; and so poor Cuthbert, as we may
suppose, was quite like a fish out of water. He detested and despised
the men he met there, and they, on their parts, such of them as chose to
notice him, thought him a surly young bookworm; and, as for his
grandaunt, he hated the very sound of that excellent lady's voice. Her
abruptness, her homoeopathic medicines, her Protestantism (which she
was always airing), and her stable-talk, nearly drove him mad; while
she, on the other hand, thought him one of the most disagreeable boys
she had ever met with in her life. So the visit was rather a failure
than otherwise, and not very likely to be repeated. Nevertheless, her
ladyship was very fond of young faces, and so in a twelvemonth, she
wrote to Densil as follows:--
"I am one mass of lumbago all round the small of my back, and I find
nothing like opodeldoc after all. The pain is very severe, but I suppose
you would comfort me, as a heretic, by saying it is nothing to what I
shall endure in a few years' time. Bah! I have no patience with you
Papists, packing better people than yourselves off somewhere in that
free-and-easy way. By-the-bye, how is that father confessor of yours,
Markworth, or some such name--mind me, Ravenshoe, that fellow is a
rogue, and you being, like all Ravenshoes, a fool, there is a pair of
you. Why, if one of Ascot's grooms was to smile as that man does, or to
whine in his speech as that man does, when he is talking to a woman of
rank, I'd have him discharged on the spot, without warning, for
dishonesty.
"Don't put a penny on Ascot's horse at Chester; he will never stay over
the Cup course. Curfew, in my opinion, looks by no means badly for the
Derby; he is scratched for the Two Thousand--which was necessary, though
I am sorry for it, &c., &c., &c.
"I wish you would send me your boy, will you? Not the eldest: the
Protestant one. Perhaps he mayn't be such an insufferable coxcomb as his
brother."
At which letter Densil shook his honest sides with uproarious laughter.
"Cuthbert, my boy," he said, "you have won your dear aunt's heart
entirely; though she, being determined to mortify the flesh with its
affection, does not propose seeing you again, but asks for Charley. The
candour of that dear old lady increases with her age. You seem to have
been making your court, too, father; she speaks of your smile in the
most unqualified terms."
"Her ladyship must do me the honour to quiz me," said Mackworth. "If it
is possible to judge by her eye, she must like me about as well as a mad
dog."
"For my part, father," said Cuthbert, curling up the corners of his
thin lips sardonically, "I shall be highly content to leave my dear aunt
in the peaceable enjoyment of her favourite society of grooms,
horse-jockeys, blacklegs, dissenting ministers, and such-like. A month
in that house, my dear Charley, will qualify you for a billiard-marker;
and, after a course of six weeks, you will be fit to take the situation
of croupier in a low hell on a race-course. How you will enjoy yourself,
my dear!"
"Steady, Cuthbert steady," said his father; "I can't allow you to talk
like that about your cousin's house. It is a great house for field
sports, but there is not a better conducted house in the kingdom."
Cuthbert lay over the sofa to fondle a cat, and then continued speaking
very deliberately, in a slightly louder voice,--
"I will allow my aunt to be the most polite, intellectual,
delicate-minded old lady in creation, my dearest father, if you wish it;
only, not having been born (I beg her pardon, dropped) in a racing
stable, as she was herself, I can hardly appreciate her conversation
always. As for my cousin, I consider him a splendid sample of an
hereditary legislator. Charley, dear, you won't go to church on Sunday
afternoon at Ranford; you will go into the croft with your cousin Ascot
to see the chickens fed. Ascot is very curious in his poultry,
particularly on Sunday afternoon. Father, why does he cut all the cocks'
tails square?"
"Pooh, pooh," said Densil, "what matter? many do it, besides him. Don't
you be squeamish, Cuthbert--though, mind you, I don't defend
cock-fighting on Sunday."
Cuthbert laughed and departed, taking his cat with him.
Charles had a long coach journey of one day, and then an awful and
wonderful journey on the Great Western Railway as far as
Twyford--alighting at which place, he was accosted by a
pleasant-looking, fresh-coloured boy, dressed in close-fitting cord
trousers, a blue handkerchief, spotted with white, and a Scotch cap; who
said--
"Oh! I'm your cousin Welter. I'm the same age as you, and I'm going to
Eton next half. I've brought you over Tiger, because Punch is lame, and
the station-master will look after your things; so we can come at once."
The boys were friends in two minutes; and, going out, there was a groom
holding two ponies--on the prettiest of which Charley soon found himself
seated, and jogging on with his companion towards Henley.
I like to see two honest lads, just introduced, opening their hearts to
one another, and I know nothing more pleasant than to see how they
rejoice as each similarity of taste comes out. By the time these two
had got to Henley Bridge, Lord Welter had heard the name of every horse
in the Ravenshoe stables, and Charley was rapidly getting learned in
Lord Ascot's racing stud. The river at Henley distracted his attention
for a time, as the biggest he had seen, and he asked his cousin, "Did he
think the Mississippi was much bigger than that now?" and Lord Welter
supposed, "Oh dear yes, a great deal bigger," he should say. Then there
was more conversation about dogs and guns, and pleasant country places
to ride through; then a canter over a lofty breezy down, and then the
river again, far below, and at their feet the chimneys of Ranford.
The house was very full; and, as the boys came up there was a crowd of
phaetons, dog-carts, and saddle-horses, for the people were just
arriving home for dinner after the afternoon drive; and, as they had all
been to the same object of attraction that afternoon, they had all come
in together and were loitering about talking, some not yet dismounted,
and some on the steps. Welter was at home at once, and had a word with
every one; but Charles was left alone, sitting on his pony, feeling very
shy; till, at last, a great brown man with a great brown moustache, and
a gruff voice, came up to him and lifted him off the horse, holding him
out at arm's length for inspection.
"So you are Curly Ravenshoe's boy, hey?" said he.
"Yes, sir."
"Ha!" said the stranger, putting him down, and leading him towards the
door; "just tell your father you saw General Mainwaring, will you? and
that he wanted to know how his old friend was."
Charles looked at the great brown hand which was in his own, and thought
of the Affghan war, and of all the deeds of renown that that hand had
done, and was raising his eyes to the general's face, when they were
arrested half-way by another face, not the general's.
It was that of a handsome, grey-headed man, who might have been sixty,
he was so well _conservé_, but who was actually far more. He wore his
own white hair, which contrasted strongly with a pair of delicate thin
black eyebrows. His complexion was florid, with scarcely a wrinkle, his
features were fine and regular, and a pair of sparkling dark grey eyes
gave a pleasant light to his face. His dress was wondrously neat, and
Charles, looking on him, guessed, with a boy's tact, that he was a man
of mark.
"Whose son did you say he was, general?" said the stranger.
"Curly's!" said Mainwaring, stopping and smiling.
"No, really!" said the other; and then he looked fixedly at Charles,
and began to laugh, and Charley, seeing nothing better to do, looked up
at the grey eyes and laughed too, and this made the stranger worse; and
then, to crown the joke, the general began to laugh too, though none of
them had said a syllable more than what I have written down; and at last
the ridiculous exhibition finished up by the old gentleman taking a
great pinch of snuff from a gold box, and turning away.
Charles was much puzzled, and was still more so when, in an hour's time,
having dressed himself, and being on his way downstairs to his aunt's
room, who had just come in, he was stopped on a landing by this same old
gentleman, beautifully dressed for dinner, who looked on him as before.
He didn't laugh this time, but he did worse. He utterly "dumbfoundered"
Charley, by asking abruptly--
"How's Jim?"
"He is very well, thank you, sir. His wife Norah nursed me when mamma
died."
"Oh, indeed," said the other; "so he hasn't cut your father's throat
yet, or anything of that sort?"
"Oh dear no," said Charles, horrified; "bless you, what can make you
think of such things? Why, he is the kindest man in the world."
"I don't know," said the old gentleman, thoughtfully; "that excessively
faithful kind of creature is very apt to do that sort of thing. I should
discharge any servant of mine who exhibited the slightest symptoms of
affection as a dangerous lunatic;" with which villainous sentiment he
departed.
Charles thought what a strange old gentleman he was for a short time,
and then slid down the banisters. They were better banisters than those
at Ravenshoe, being not so steep, and longer: so he went up, and slid
down again;[1] after which he knocked at his aunt's door.
It was with a beating heart that he waited for an answer. Cuthbert had
described Lady Ascot as such a horrid old ogress, that he was not
without surprise when a cheery voice said, "Come in;" and entering a
handsome room, he found himself in presence of a noble-looking old lady,
with grey hair, who was netting in an upright, old-fashioned chair.
"So you are Charles Ravenshoe, eh?" she began. "Why, my dear, you must
be perished with cold and hunger. I should have come in before, but I
didn't expect you so soon. Tea will be here directly. You ain't a
beauty, my dear, but I think I shall like you. There never was but one
really handsome Ravenshoe, and that was poor Petre, your grandfather.
Poor Alicia made a great fool of herself, but she was very happy with
him. Welter, you naughty boy, be still."
The Right Honourable Viscount Welter wanted his tea, and was
consequently troublesome and fractious. He had picked a quarrel with his
grandmother's terrier, which he averred had bitten him in the leg, and
he was now heating the poker, in order, he informed the lady, to burn
the place out, and prevent hydrophobia. Whether he would have done so or
not, we shall never know now, for, tea coming in at that moment, he
instantly sat down at table, and called to Charles to do likewise.
"Call Miss Adelaide, will you, Sims?" said Lady Ascot; and presently
there came tripping into the room the loveliest little blonde fairy,
about ten years old, that ever you saw. She fixed her large blue eyes on
Charley, and then came up and gave him a kiss, which he, the rogue,
returned with interest, and then, taking her seat at the table, she
turned to Welter, and hoped he was going to be good.
Such, however, it soon appeared, was not his lordship's intention. He
had a guest at table, and he was bound in honour to show off before him,
besides having to attend to his ordinary duty of frightening his
grandmother as nearly into fits as was safe. Accordingly, he began the
repast by cramming buns into his mouth, using the handle of his knife as
a rammer, until the salvation of his life appeared an impossibility, at
which point he rose and left the room with a rapid, uneven step. On his
re-appearance he began drinking, but, having caught his grandmother's
eye over his teacup, he winked at her, and then held his breath till he
was purple, and she begun to wring her hands in despair. All this time
he was stimulated by Charles's laughter and Adelaide's crying out,
continually, "Oh, isn't he a naughty boy, Lady Ascot? oh, do tell him
not to do it." But the crowning performance of this promising young
gentleman--the feat which threw everything else into the shade, and
which confirmed Charley in his admiration of his profound talents--was
this. Just as a tall, grave, and handsome footman was pouring water into
the teapot, and while her ladyship was inspecting the operation with all
the interest of an old tea-maker, at that moment did Lord Welter
contrive to inflict on the unfortunate man a pinch on the leg, of such a
shrewdly agonising nature as caused him to gnash his teeth in Lady
Ascot's face, to cry aloud, "Oh, Lord!" to whirl the kettle within an
inch of her venerable nose, and finally, to gyrate across the room on
one leg, and stand looking like the king of fools.
Lady Ascot, who had merely seen the effect, and not the cause, ordered
him promptly to leave the room, whereupon Welter explained, and
afterwards continued to Charles, with an off-hand candour quite his own,
as if no such person as his grandmother was within a hundred miles--
"You know, Charley, I shouldn't dare to behave like this if my tutor was
at home; she'd make nothing of telling him, now. She's in a terrible
wax, but she'll be all right by the time he comes back from his
holidays; won't you, grandma?"
"You wicked boy," she replied, "I hope Hawtrey will cure you; Keate
would have, I know."
The boys slid on the banisters; then they went to dessert. Then they
went upstairs, and looked over Welter's cricket apparatus, fishing
tackle, and so on; and then they went into the billiard-room, which was
now lighted up and full of guests.
There were two tables in the room, at one of which a pool was getting
up, while the other was empty. Welter was going to play pool, and
Charles would have liked to do so too, being a very tolerable player;
only he had promised his old tutor not to play for money till he was
eighteen, and so he sat in the corner by the empty table, under the
marking-board, with one leg gathered under him, and instantly found
himself thinking about the little girl he had seen upstairs.
Once or twice he was surprised to find himself thinking so much about
her, but he found it a pleasant subject, too, for he had sat in his
corner more than half an hour without changing it, when he became aware
that two men were taking down cues from the rack, and were going to play
at his table.
They were his two friends of the afternoon, General Mainwaring and the
grey-headed man who laughed. When they saw him they seemed glad, and the
old gentleman asked him why he wasn't playing.
"I musn't play pool," he answered. "I should like to mark for you."
"Well said, my hero," said the general: "and so Jim's an honest man, is
he?"
Charles saw that the old gentleman had told the general what had passed
on the stairs, and wondered why he should take such an interest in him;
but he soon fell to thinking about little Adelaide again, and marking
mechanically though correctly.
He was aroused by the general's voice--"Who did you mark that last miss
to, my little man?" he said.
"To the old gentleman," said Charles, and then blushed at the
consciousness of having said a rude thing.
"That is one for you, Methuselah," said the general.
"Never mind," said the old gentleman, "I have one great source of pride,
which no one can rob me of; I am twelve years older than I look."
They went on playing. "By-the-bye," said the general, "who is that
exceedingly pretty child that the old lady has got with her?"
"A child she has adopted," said the old gentleman. "A grand-daughter of
an old friend who died in poverty. She is a noble-hearted old soul, the
jockey, with all her absurdities."
"Who was she?" said the general. "(That was rather a fluke, was it
not?)"
"She? Why, a daughter of old Cingle Headstall's, the mad old Cheshire
baronet--you don't remember him, of course, but your father knew him.
Drove his tandem round and round Berkeley square for four hours on a
foggy night, under the impression he was going home to Hounslow, and
then fired at the watchman who tried to put him right, taking him for a
highwayman. The son went to France, and was lost sight of in the
revolution; so the girl came in for what money there was: not very much,
I take it. This poor thing, who was pretty and clever enough, but
without education, having been literally brought up in a stable,
captivated the sagacious Ascot, and made him a capital wife."
"I suppose she'll portion this girl, then; you say she had money?"
"H'm," said the old gentleman, "there's a story about the aforesaid
money, which is told in different ways, but which amounts to this, that
the money is no more. Hallo, our marker is getting sleepy."
"Not at all, sir," said Charles. "If you will excuse me a moment, I will
come back."
He ran across to Lord Welter, who was leaning on his cue. "Can you tell
me," said he, "who is that old gentleman?"
"Which old gentleman?"
"That one, with the black eyebrows, playing with General Mainwaring.
There, he is taking snuff."
"Oh _him_?" said Welter; "that is Lord Saltire."