NORA.
VOL. II.
NORA.
BY
THE LADY EMILY PONSONBY,
AUTHOR OF
“THE DISCIPLINE OF LIFE,”
_&c._, _&c._
Fierce passions discompose the mind
As tempests lash the sea.
COWPER.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1870.
_The right of Translation is reserved._
LONDON
PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL,
BLENHEIM HOUSE.
NORA.
CHAPTER I.
Mr. Powderham was the famous attorney of the county in which the Spa
stood. He knew everyone’s affairs, was everyone’s counsellor, and the
master of many minds. In his hands was the property Mr. Fanshawe wished
Nora to purchase. As soon as he had heard from Nora that she liked the
looks of the country, her guardian, anxious to bring the matter to a
decision, wrote to Mr. Powderham on the subject, and hearing from him
that in his hands the affair had been placed, and that an immediate
settlement was agreeable to him, desired him to wait on Nora and learn
her wishes.
His visit roused her from the apathy into which Henry’s departure had
thrown her. For he did depart. Miss Willis had assured her that he would
return, that when his passion was past he would be sorry for the
language he had used. She had herself hoped it might be so. But he went
the morning after the scene had occurred, and a day or two afterwards
his departure was mentioned by Mrs. Elliott.
Mrs. Elliott was a lady who was always suspecting, perhaps hoping for
the discovery of incipient romances. She had suspected one on the
present occasion, but Henry’s sudden departure puzzled her. On the
evening of the day of his visit to Nora he appeared at dinner grave and
gloomy. She accused him of abstraction, and archly suggested that he had
left his thoughts with some inhabitant of the Spa. He shortly replied
that he had left the Spa long before she did, and had been to a
neighbouring town. Which was true, for he had walked there and back as a
means of quieting his excited thoughts. She was surprised, but said no
more. A few people came to dinner, and Henry was allowed to be as gloomy
as he pleased.
The following morning he told her he must go to London. When asked why,
he replied, “On disagreeable business.” There was nothing more to be
said, and Mrs. Elliott was obliged to lay by her suspicion of a dawning
romance. When next she saw Nora she mentioned his departure. She had
given up her romancing, and mentioned it casually. After a moment’s
thought, Nora said,
“Did Mr. Devereux tell you that he had discovered we were relations?”
“No,” Mrs. Elliott cried, in surprise. “He came home in a very odd, a
very gloomy state of mind, but he said nothing of the sort. The
discovery was not unpleasing, was it?” And she smiled confidently.
“It annoyed him,” Nora said, “and perhaps with justice. There were old
feuds between our families, and he was displeased at having been forced
into friendliness without his consciousness and without his will.”
Mrs. Elliott looked full of curiosity, but she only said,
“That was not very wise on Mr. Henry’s part, was it?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he had cause to complain, though, indeed, I did
not intend to mislead. Has he ever spoken to you of a Miss Smythe?”
“Once--only once. Are you Miss Smythe?” with a sudden burst of
intelligence. “Oh, yes, of course you are. That explains it all!”
“I changed one letter of my name when I came of age.”
“And why? Forgive me if I ask curious questions.”
“I dislike the name of Smythe,” Nora said resolutely; then, with a
slight pink on her cheek, added, “I always hoped also to meet, as I have
done most unexpectedly, a relation. I grieve for our quarrels, and I
wished we might be friends before prejudice and hate interfered. But it
has been in vain.”
“I know very little,” Mrs. Elliott observed after a moment. “He once
spoke to me about Miss Smythe; and, to say the truth, what he said was
so foolish, that I have avoided the subject ever since.”
She had paused to consider what words she should use. Henry had, in
fact, in speaking once of his future prospects, alluded to the enormous
riches which only “one life” withheld from him; and when Mrs. Elliott
had sagely said, “One life is as good as another--I advise you not to
dwell on such an unchristian thought,” he had entered excitedly on his
defence, speaking bitterly of the Miss Smythe whom he had little reason
to love, but whose life, he assured her, was a matter of total
indifference to him. She might live as long as she liked for anything
he cared; but if she died he should not mourn in sackcloth----; and a
good deal more to this purpose.
Nora soon changed the subject. Her conscience had reproached her for the
little mystery she had made; and, as a point of duty, she had determined
to tell Mrs. Elliott who she was; but the subject was annoying, and she
escaped from it, after begging her not to talk of what she had heard.
The knowledge that Henry was gone did not raise her spirits, and, as was
said, depression stole over her, until aroused by Mr. Powderham’s visit.
She had felt that life was over, that in her failure to win her cousin,
every purpose of existence was at an end; and it was not until he began
to speak, and to point out all on which she must decide, that she found
life was not yet begun.
Mr. Powderham had been amused at the idea of coming to converse with a
young lady of eighteen; still more was he surprised at finding that she
had an opinion. His idea of the capacity of his fellow-creatures was not
high, and instead of thinking the gift of common sense a common one, he
was accustomed to say that there was not above one sensible man in a
century. He, of course, was the representative of that rare class in the
nineteenth century.
Nora did not enter on business--not, that is to say, on the buying and
selling part of the business; but finding that her guardian had decided
on the purchase, and that the settlement would be immediate, she had
many questions to ask regarding the state of the property--questions
which showed Mr. Powderham that he had to deal with an independent mind,
not with that which he preferred, a puppet.
The property belonged to a bad family. Mr. Powderham was anxious to
dispose of it without much talk on the subject. A good price was, of
course, desirable; but an immediate sale--a sale without
advertisement--was still more desirable. This Mr. Fanshawe knew, and
Nora, therefore, was to become the possessor before the world in general
knew that a sale was decided on.
She suddenly found herself the mistress of an enormous property--one on
which the responsibilities of property had never been felt. There was
also another weighty question pending. There was no house. She must
decide on the spot where she would build, on the style of building, and
the thousand questions which such an important subject must raise. It
was indeed like the beginning of life, and for the moment her
disappointment faded away.
It was on the subject of this house that Mr. Powderham found her capable
of an independent opinion. He had his own opinion--a strong one. There
was a house for sale belonging to a private person, which was capable of
becoming the groundwork of a large family mansion, and which a small sum
might make suitable for immediate occupation.
But this house was distasteful to Nora. It was close to the Spa; it was
several miles from the part of the property which attracted her--a poor
and populous part--and it was built in the style of a modern villa; a
style for which, in her residence at Cheltenham, she had acquired a
great dislike. One of these objections might have been overruled, but
the three together formed a phalanx that was invincible, and Mr.
Powderham, to his great surprise, found himself foiled. Not that he had
any personal interest in the matter, but when he gave advice he liked to
have it taken; he was not fond of man or woman who differed from him.
Nora, accustomed to have her own way, and having no knowledge of Mr.
Powderham’s character, spoke out her opinions fearlessly, and attempted
no sweetening of her rebellion. She was very civil and very much obliged
for his advice, but she did not like it, and so the matter ended. He was
perfectly civil also, and showed no vexation; but he disliked her, took
a prejudice against her, and thenceforward saw all she did through a
prejudiced medium.
Nor was he conciliated when, three or four days afterwards, she wrote to
ask his advice on a site she had found and chosen for her house. It was
five miles from the Spa. On the other side of the property there lay
some beautiful green and sloping meadows, which seemed born, if such an
expression may be used, to be enclosed for a cultivated demesne. On
these meadows, in a pretty position, stood an old farm-house, from which
the present inhabitant, Nora had ascertained, would be glad to be
removed. This farm-house was built of white brick, with a dark red roof,
lightened by tall chimneys and pointed windows. It took her fancy, and
she planned to make it the private portion of the intended house, and to
add the rest in the same style.
“Here is my plan,” she said to Miss Willis, having sketched and lightly
coloured the future mansion. The old part formed one side of a square.
Then was added a long low front, and then another side to the square.
It looked, on paper, as large and roomy as Aladdin’s palace, and Miss
Willis opened her eyes.
“It will be a long while before your family can inhabit such a house,”
she said.
“_My_ family,” Nora said, laughing. “Yes, indeed, I hope it will. But I
must have a house for my friends, must I not?” She stopped, and then
added, “Perhaps you are thinking, as I do myself, that I have no
friends. But I must be ready for them in case they come. If my mother
and her children should want a home, must I not be prepared? And should
my cousins, the young Devereux, need amusement and change, I would offer
it if I could. Though I have been disappointed, I do not mean to give
them up. What should I care for this house, or any other thing, if it
was not to give pleasure to others?”
“You are quite like Mr. Fanshawe,” observed Miss Willis, and she sighed
as she spoke.
The site, with the plan, was, as has been said, submitted to Mr.
Powderham; but though approved, he was not conciliated by it. The place
was so well chosen, the plan so feasible, and the inquiries that had
been made so very much to the point, that he was quite disgusted. Had he
suggested it to Nora, and she accepted it from him, he would have loved
her much; but, since the contrary was the case, he loved her little; and
though perhaps the inference he drew was not a logical one, he spoke of
her thenceforward as “that foolish woman,” tapping his forehead when
her schemes and plans were talked of in his presence.