BEREFORD CASTLE.
In a beautifully remote district, between the celebrated towns of
Hastings and Brighton, may be found the quaint old structure known as
Bereford Castle. From the style of architecture it may be dated to the
time of Edward the Third, bearing a striking resemblance to the castle
re-erected in that monarch's reign by the Earl of Warwick. The castle of
this period had degenerated or become more modernized. The closed
fortress was rapidly assuming a mixture of the castle and mansion.
Instead of the old Norman pile, with its two massive towers and arched
gateway, thick walls, _oilets_ and portcullis, Bereford Castle comprised
stately and magnificent halls, banqueting rooms, galleries, and
chambers. The keep was detached from the building, a stronghold in
itself, surrounded by smaller towers and the important and necessary
moat. During the civil wars it had stood many sieges, but, after
repeated attacks, in the course of time it fell into decay. Much labor
had been spent in repairing the part occupied as a residence until, at
the present time, it was in good condition. The fine old park contained
a valuable growth of trees--fir, spruce, pine, birch, elm, and the
stately oak--which grew in luxuriant profusion. The north side of the
castle commanded an extensive view of the surrounding hills, valley, and
the winding river, with its numerous small inlets and tributaries.
The owners of Bereford Castle prided themselves upon their extensive
gardens, for which purpose many obstructions had been removed. An
artificial labyrinth of choice trees was contrived with marvellous
effect, producing echoes of unceasing variety. In this enclosure,
comprising many acres, were the most beautiful designs of parterres,
borders, walks, galleries, cabinets, pavilions, porticoes, and many more
intricate inventions of landscape gardening. Fountains gushed forth with
untiring and fantastic wreaths of crystal foam; grottoes, cascades,
mounts and precipices, seemed to steal away thought and quietly bear one
to sleep to the music and dreams of fairyland.
The interior of the castle was in keeping with the grounds. The great
hall which, in olden time, formed the most important part of the whole,
was somewhat reduced in its dimensions. The windows of stained glass
were emblazoned with the armorial bearings of the family, while the
walls were adorned with life-size portraits of their ancestors. The
richly carved roof, with its massive timbers and pillars supporting it;
the old relics, in the shape of banners, helmets, swords, shields, and
other implements of warfare, were arranged on every side. On each wing
of the main building were spacious, modern rooms, occupied by the family
as private apartments, viz: the drawing-room, dining-room, and sleeping
apartments.
But perhaps the most attractive feature of the castle is the extensive
library--an octagonal room in a small tower, apparently built at a
recent date. The stained glass of its oriel window is very beautiful;
the handsomely gilded ceiling and pannelled walls have a fine and
striking effect; the floor is paved in marble, with inlaid mosaic; the
shelves of rosewood and oak are filled with the most costly productions
of literature, ancient and modern. This ancient family had cherished a
fond taste for letters and science. The present lord, uncle of Lady
Rosamond, still found leisure to devote many hours in his favorite
resort--the library. Gerald Bereford cultivated a taste likewise. He was
a young man of strong literary preferences, showing a desire for
learning, with a keen appreciation of the pleasures and pastimes of
daily life.
The drawing-room of Bereford Castle was indeed a superb display of
taste, grace, wealth and classic design. Though firmly believing that a
description will dispel the charm lingering around those beautiful
rooms, I cannot resist the inclination to give one.
Lofty ceilings, frescoed and gilded, blazing in gold, with the arms of
the family in bold relief; walls with wainscoting, arras and gorgeous
tapestry. Furniture polished, carved and decorated; chairs embroidered
in crimson and gold; Turkey carpets of fabulous price and texture;
statuary, the work of ages; pictures, the work of a lifetime. Mediæval
grandeur in every niche and corner. Add to this a view of the gardens
from the deep embayed windows, and you have a faint conception of the
drawing-room scene at Bereford Castle, the intended home for Lady
Rosamond Seymour.
Within this apartment are two occupants. Seated, or rather reclining,
near the lower window is Maude Bereford, a young girl, graceful and
intelligent, but possessing no claim to rare beauty. A second glance
increases your approbation. Goodness of heart is indelible upon that
face. The other occupant is a lady about sixty years of age. Time had
been generous in its demands by drawing small usury from his allotted
spoliations. Lady Bereford had been a beauty in her day, and, judging
from the skilful devices practised, wished yet to retain her passing
glories. Her fair complexion still showed a lingering bloom, the haughty
eye still preserved a kindling glance, while her countenance and mien
gave evidence of a stronger and more spirited cast of character than that
of the young girl here mentioned.
"Maude," said her ladyship, "what news from Lady Rosamond?"
"Here is the letter, mamma, which you can read," said the young girl, at
the same time placing a daintily folded letter in the lap of Lady
Bereford.
With elevated eyebrows her ladyship looked over the contents of the
letter. An occasional frown showed the displeasure which some sentences
gave to the reader.
"It does not seem to please you, mamma," ventured Maude.
"I cannot think that Lady Rosamond is very complimentary to her friends
in England. She makes no very kind allusions to her former companions
here. You certainly will admit that fact."
"Oh, mamma, I am inclined to believe that you have formed mistaken
opinions of dear Lady Rosamond. You see that she refers to scenes
wherein all took a part, and I am sure that she is still my friend now
as before she left us."
"Allow me, Maude," exclaimed Lady Bereford with impatient gesture, "you
have neither age nor experience on your side; but I feel convinced that
Rosamond has formed some attachment in New Brunswick, which she has
cleverly concealed. Throughout her whole letter there is a want of
earnestness that betrays her--an unsettled and vague uncertainty
dictates every sentence. Sir Thomas did a very foolish action when he
gave consent to his daughter's separation at a time when her nature is
most susceptible to the temptations and flatteries of society."
"Mamma, I do not like to hear you speak thus of dear Rosamond. I love
her dearly, and I could not bear the thought of her forming any
attachment outside our family."
"That is one reason why I have been thinking so deeply upon the matter.
That Gerald loves his pretty cousin, we know full well, and the
mortification of his being refused would be a heavy blow to our pride as
well. From a conversation with Sir Thomas a few weeks ago, he gave us
every assurance of an alliance of the families. Gerald is living on the
consummation of his hopes being realized, while I would fain remind him
of the line--'Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.'"
"Mamma, dear, you always seem to prefer the dark side," returned Maude.
"Let us change the subject, as it is surely unjust to Rosamond."
"It is to be hoped that your fond dream may serve you aright," said her
ladyship, with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice.
At that moment Maude Bereford arose and playfully approached the door
wherein stood the future Lord Bereford, the heir of Bereford Castle.
Tall, handsome, and affable, Gerald Bereford bore a strong resemblance
to her ladyship, but lacking that severity which predominated in the
latter. Bold, regular features stamped the face of the young man. There
was firmness about the mouth that indicated a strong energy and
perseverance, at the sacrifice of much feeling. On the whole there was
much in favor of Gerald Bereford's preferences; his clear, grey eye
showed keen intellect, combined with mirth and humor; a deep manly
voice, with purity of tone, spoke of truth and conscientious
convictions. Such was the character and personal appearance of the
nephew and favorite of Sir Thomas Seymour.
Maude led her brother to a seat beside Lady Bereford, and seated herself
on a stool at his feet.
"Is this not a golden evening, Gerald?" questioned the young girl,
looking up in her brother's face.
"Yes," replied Gerald, "but to enjoy the golden beauty, as you term it,
I enforce strict and immediate attention to my wishes, and request your
ladyship, and this little girl, will accept the escort of your liege
lord."
"My liege lord will need those gallantries in reserve," returned the
sister, in arch and naive tones.
Lady Bereford waived the imperative demand by desiring to remain. Maude
accepted the proffered arm of Gerald to stroll beneath the inviting
branches of the dear old oaks, so firmly interwoven in the scenes of
innocent childhood and succeeding girlhood. The tender, sensitive girl
loved her brother too deeply to believe that any could supplant his
place in the love of Lady Rosamond. Her true criterion was the pure,
innocent, and trusting love of a sister.
"Gerald, my dear, I am glad this opportunity has been so timely chosen,"
said the fond sister in an earnest tone, placing her delicate little
hand upon her brother's shoulder.
"Pray, what has happened, Maude, that you look so sad?" said Gerald,
breaking out into a hearty laugh.
"Nothing has happened," answered Maude; "really, if I look sad I do most
wrongfully disavow my intention, having news for you--good news, too, I
assure you," said Maude, again looking at her brother wistfully. "Can
you not guess?" said she.
"How should I?" returned Gerald; "that would be a fruitless task."
"Since you have exercised such patience I will tell you," said Maude: "I
have just received a letter from Rosamond."
A blush quickly overspread Gerald's face as he bowed acknowledgment.
Maude did not produce the letter which had been the cause of such
annoyance to Lady Bereford, but she disclosed part of the contents and
part she kept for herself. Together they talked long and earnestly.
Though she took no liberty in showing the relationship in which she
considered Lady Rosamond, her simple and earnest nature seemed to give
assurance to Gerald. He listened to his sister's repeated praise of her
companion--of their girlish attachment--and heartily hoped that Lady
Rosamond would return the deep love which he had unreservedly placed at
her disposal--his heart, name, riches--all were given the absent and
beautiful maiden.
Musing awhile, Gerald was aroused by his sister, who almost petulantly
exclaimed:
"Oh, Gerald, I do wish that Rosamond was home again, never to leave us.
Two years separation seems a long time in the future. I grow so
impatient. Do you know, Gerald," added Maude, with a bright eagerness,
"I am going to write and urge her to shorten this lengthy probation. I
cannot endure the thought. _Two years!_" repeated she, a second time,
with strong emphasis.
"But you must remember the fable of the boys and the frogs," said
Gerald, with an amused smile.
This remark reminded Maude of the sentiments of her mother, but she
would not repeat them in the presence of her brother. She did not wish
to cherish or countenance anything that would be disloyal to Lady
Rosamond. In her sincerity she would not believe any views relating to
her friend unless they received her direct sanction.
Gerald Bereford had misgivings regarding his hopes, but trusted that
time and the favor of Sir Thomas would eventually disclose a brighter
prospect. No jealousy had crossed his mind. Had Lady Bereford expressed
her opinion in his presence he might have formed a far different view of
the matter. At present all was tranquil. Maude's earnestness momentarily
affected him--nothing more.
Lord Bereford, the present incumbent, was a man of sterling integrity--a
firm friend of his brother-in-law, Sir Thomas Seymour. Though a man of
high birth, distinguished, and sought by the great and learned, he was
gentle, unassuming, and benign.
From her father Maude Bereford inherited the quiet and unobtrusive
demeanor, so strongly in contrast to the haughty and obsequious bearing
of Lady Bereford. Gerald was a strange compound of both--a fact that
gave birth to the honest convictions of his nature.
Lord Bereford was an ardent admirer of Lady Rosamond--"a true
Bereford,"--the counterpart of her mother, Maria Bereford, whose beauty
had been the theme of unusual admiration. For hours could he gaze upon
his sister's child and recall the past, when a beautiful girl wandered
through the old familiar spots and looked to him for brotherly sympathy
when any annoyance rose before her. When the young girl grew to
womanhood and gave her affection to his boyhood friend, Sir Thomas
Seymour, he bestowed his blessing. Was he to repeat that blessing upon
the child? Many times did Lord Bereford dwell upon this subject. His was
a nature endowed with lasting qualities, true sympathy was the key note
to his heart. He loved Lady Rosamond with devout, tender solicitude as
his only daughter, and her happiness was his. If the love that Gerald
Bereford bore towards his niece was not entirely reciprocated, and at
the great sacrifice, would the true-hearted nobleman have urged upon Sir
Thomas the error of his conduct? Such liberalism upon his part provoked
the resentment of Lady Bereford, who could not brook any interference
with the strictly defined principles of conservatism so long entailed
upon every branch of her family. Sir Thomas Seymour was a staunch
worshipper of his sister-in-law's doctrine. He cherished every idea with
fondness, occasionally bringing them forth to view as opportunity
favored. While Lady Rosamond is sadly watching the days and months drag
slowly along within the bosom of Sir Howard Douglas' happy household,
such are the motives actuating each of those who endeavor to seek her
welfare; such is the state of their respective feelings, such their fond
hope--their brightest dreams--laboring under the fatal delusion of
giving happiness to her future.
Ah, your ladyship! were a kind fairy, in the form of a godmother, to
breathe a few words into the ear of your loving and tender uncle, Lord
Bereford, his kind heart would go forth to meet thee and save thee from
a world of misery--from the fiery ordeal through which thou must pass!