"Nature never framed a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice:
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak."
SHAKSPEARE.
"MR. TREVETHLAN PENDARREL"--
The gentleman so addressed put down an untasted glass of wine with
which he was about to give zest to his luncheon, and he looked towards
the lady who spoke. She was reading a newspaper.
"Did you observe this?" she continued. "We regret to announce the
death of Henry Trevethlan, Esq., of Trevethlan Castle!"
"My poor nephew!" exclaimed the gentleman.
The lady flung a glance upon him, which made him lower his eyes, and
read on. "He is succeeded in his estates--his estates!--by his son
Randolph Trevethlan, Esq., who, with his sister, is now at the
castle."
Mr. Pendarrel, probably thinking of the look which had just rebuked
him, made no further observation.
"Have you nothing to remark upon this intelligence?" asked his wife.
"No commiseration for your great nephew and niece, as well as their
father?"
"They must be very poor," her husband answered. "Anything I can do--"
"Anything you can do, Mr. Trevethlan Pendarrel!" the lady exclaimed,
interrupting him sharply. "You must buy me the castle, and they may
live on the price.
'Pendar'l and Trevethlan shall own one name!'"
She laid aside the newspaper, and rising, walked to and fro in the
apartment, speaking in a tone free from the irony and scorn which had
given an unfeminine expression to her previous words.
"Let me see. Seventeen, ninety-six-seven--Randolph must be just of
age. And Helen a year or two younger. Poor! Indeed they must be poor.
The castle will be very ornamental as a ruin. Already it is more
picturesque than habitable. They will be relieved to have it taken off
their hands. And we can be generous. If not, what do they know? Why,
Randolph has never slept away. They must be as wild as mountain-goats.
And their society! What ideas can they have formed of life? Yet we may
be generous; if they like, friendly. There is a pleasant cottage on
the shore under Pendarrel: comfortable; suitable for straitened means;
in wild scenery, like Trevethlan. They might have it at an easy rent;
or in part purchase of the castle."
Thus, Alnaschar-like, Mrs. Pendarrel accomplished in reverie what had
long been the settled purpose of her mind. Such was the vision that
rose from her basket of crockery. She was a woman of genius, and knew
it, and loved the knowledge.
"Mr. Trevethlan Pendarrel, have you yet finished your luncheon? Then
follow me to the library. You must write to Randolph; and I shall go
down to Cornwall next week, and visit him and his sister."
In the library the lady dictated the letter which the reader has
already perused. When her husband looked over what he had written, he
ventured to remonstrate.
"Do you not think, my dear Esther, this is rather, just a little, the
least in the world; you know what I mean."
"No, I do not, Mr. Trevethlan Pendarrel. I am not initiated in the
mysteries of your office, where they use language to conceal their
thoughts."
"Nay, I know it is not your intention," continued her husband; "but
might it not be supposed? It would be quite wrong, of course. Still,
perhaps, they might think--people do form such curious ideas."
"Your ideas seem very curious indeed," said the lady. "What on earth
do you mean?"
"Why, my dear Esther, might not this letter, quite undesignedly,
quite--might it not wound Mr. Randolph Trevethlan's feelings?"
"Not if I appreciate them rightly, Mr. Trevethlan Pendarrel," answered
his wife; "and it will furnish me with a key to his character. If, as
I fully expect, that offer is regarded as kind, and gratefully
accepted, the heir of Trevethlan becomes my humble dependent. If, as I
think very unlikely, the letter is resented as an affront, then I know
that the old spirit still animates the old ruin, and I prepare
accordingly. Is it sealed? Well: remember to give the instruction to
Messrs ----."
And so saying, the lady withdrew. Her husband was the brother of the
late Henry Trevethlan's father, and, therefore, great-uncle to
Randolph; but having been born more than twenty years after his elder
brother, he was but little older than his nephew, and was brought up
in companionship with him at Trevethlan Castle. Rivalry for the hand
of Esther Pendarrel disturbed their affection soon after Henry
succeeded to the estates, and it gave place to hatred, when Philip
carried off the prize and assumed his wife's name. Rumour said, that
nothing but Henry's positive refusal to submit to this condition, led
to his rejection.
For once rumour was probably right. The families of Trevethlan and
Pendarrel had long lived in the usual friendship of neighbours,
frequently intermarrying, but never united under one head. When,
however, circumstances made Esther sole heiress of her house, it
seemed likely that this might at last occur, and that the name of
Pendarrel might merge in that of Trevethlan. The lady's own attention
was attracted to this contingency by a little altercation she happened
to overhear between two peasants, respecting the prophecy already
quoted.
"Well, Jem," said one, "ye see Pendar'l's like to come to Trevethlan
without a bride from under the thatch. 'T is a bonny lady whereby
they'll own one name."
"Do not ye think it, Robin," answered the other. "The saying's as old
as Carn Dew. My lady's not one to sink her name: there's that in her
eye tells another tale."
When Esther heard these remarks, the first rustic seemed to be much
nearer the truth than the second; for Henry Trevethlan was so close an
attendant upon her, that it could not be supposed that his assiduity
was unwelcome. But she had been trained in a sufficiently high sense
of her own importance; and the peasant's words made her ponder, and
roused the pride which had almost been laid to sleep by love. She
quarrelled with Henry, and married Philip.
Her first lover endeavoured to forget his disappointment in the
excitement of play. She, always hoping to realize the prediction in
her own sense, rejoiced in adding the estates which he sold, one after
another, to the already extensive domains of Pendarrel. By degrees,
she thus drove the enemy into his citadel, and beleaguered him on all
sides, trusting at last to starve him into submission. And now that
the defence had fallen into young and inexperienced hands, she rushed
eagerly to the assault, heralding it with the demand for a
capitulation, contained in the letter she caused her husband to write.
He, poor man, did not count for much in his wife's arrangements. At
home, he was nearly a nonentity; abroad, he held a subordinate place
of some importance under Government. His official consequence consoled
him for his domestic insignificance; and some such comfort he needed;
for he had no will of his own whenever Esther interfered, so rigorous
was the sway wherewith the strong mind ruled the weak.
Their family--a sore point was this with Mrs. Pendarrel, who foresaw
that in some shape her own manoeuvre must be repeated--consisted of
two daughters, Gertrude and Mildred. Gertrude was nearly thirty,
married, but without offspring: Mildred was not quite twenty. In
appearance, they both resembled their mother, and might be imagined to
exhibit traces of the ancient people said, in some legends, to have
founded Marazion.
Esther lost no time in fulfilling her purpose of visiting the orphans.
As soon as possible after the despatch of the letter, she started for
Pendarrel Hall, which, unlike Trevethlan Castle, was a modern mansion,
surrounded by a large park. The day after her arrival, she drove to
perform her errand.
Old Jeffrey had pondered much on the novel instructions received from
his young master; and every sound of the gate-bell roused him to a
great display of vigilance. First, he reconnoitred the party seeking
admission, through a loop-hole: if that scrutiny were satisfactory, he
opened a slit in the wicket, and held a parley: if this proved equally
free from danger, he unclosed the wicket itself, and allowed the
visitor to enter. Hitherto, he had not been called upon to pronounce
the message of exclusion.
But the sound of an approaching carriage awoke all the caution of the
old warder. Mrs. Pendarrel's chariot wound heavily up the now rugged
road, which led through the base-court to the main gateway of the
castle. The lady looked from side to side, and viewed the surrounding
desolation with some secret triumph, as betokening a necessity which
must be glad to accept relief. At length her carriage drew up in front
of the arched portal, and a servant alighted, and rang the bell with
correct violence.
Old Jeffrey had sufficient shrewdness to know that such an attack as
this could not be repelled from the loop-hole; so he descended to
parley through the opening in the wicket.
"Now, sir," said the invading servant, "how long is my lady to wait?"
"Who did you want to see?" asked the porter in turn.
"Open the gates, sir: let us drive to the hall-door."
"Troth," said Jeffrey, "this is the hall-door just now. Who did ye
want to see?"
Mrs. Pendarrel, slightly impatient, repeated her servant's demand from
the window of the carriage: Jeffrey met it with the same question.
"Mr. Trevethlan," said the lady.
"Mr. Trevethlan's not at home," said the obstinate warder.
"Not at home, sir! What do you mean? Where is he?"
"He's not at home," Jeffrey repeated.
Mrs. Pendarrel mused for a moment.
"Miss Trevethlan is at home, I suppose?" she asked.
"Miss Trevethlan is not at home," was again the reply.
"This is insolence," the lady said. "Do you know, sir, who I am?"
"I think I know the Pendar'l liveries," answered Jeffrey.
"Home," said Mrs. Pendarrel to her servant. And the carriage rattled
down the descent.
A young man was leaning on the gate of the base-court: as the chariot
approached, he opened it, and stood cap in hand while the lady drove
through. She pulled the check-string, and beckoned the stranger to the
window.
"Do you belong to the castle?" she asked, when he drew near.
"No, in good truth, ma'am," the youth replied with a peculiar smile:
"I am a tenant of Pendar'l."
"What is your name?"
"Sinson, ma'am; Michael Sinson at your service, ma'am; grandson of old
Maud Basset."
"What!" exclaimed the lady hastily, "a relation----"
"The late Mrs. Trevethlan's nephew, ma'am," said Michael.
"Come to the hall to-morrow," Mrs. Pendarrel said; "I may be able to
employ you."
Michael made a cringing bow, and the carriage drove on.
"So," mused its occupant, "it is war. The old spirit does animate the
old ruin. A pleasant pastime, Henry Trevethlan, have you bequeathed
to your children. Long shall your race rue the day, when you took a
woman at her first word. Was not Esther Pendarrel worth asking twice?
Was it impossible to conciliate her pride, except by the sacrifice of
your own? Was no allowance to be made for the petulance of a girl
nursed by flattery? Was there no middle course? Might not Trevethlan
have been preserved, yet Pendarrel not extinguished? I smiled when you
left me: I smiled when I saw your rapid gallop down the avenue: I
smiled still, when I heard you were departed to London. No falconer's
voice, methought, will be required, 'to lure my tassel-gentle back
again.' A week--and another, and another--and no news. A month, and
news. His kinsman comes. To intercede for him? Ah, no. To tell me of
his folly, and to plead for himself. 'There is no fury like a woman
scorned.' I listened, but it was long before I consented. A bold
wooer truly was my worthy lord! Did he not venture to urge, that his
nephew's passion was so ardent, it would prevent him from any other
union? That therefore the castle would descend to him? That so the
properties would be united in my name? That he loved me more--oh, cant
and hypocrisy, how I loathed you at the time! Yet I listened, and
listened, and in my wrath and for my sorrow, consented. Did I drive
you to ruin, Henry Trevethlan? Did I embitter your days? Alas! mine
have been equally dark. Proud man, I ask again, why did you trample on
me? Why might we not minister to our mutual happiness, instead of
running a race for revenge? I could not, you knew I could not,
unasked, revoke my words. Might I not have had the opportunity? And
should I submit to my doom in patience?
"And you have bequeathed your hatred to your children. To the children
of Margaret Basset. And, verily, they seem worthy of the trust. But
they shall find their match in Esther Pendarrel. And now the plan of
the campaign. I must learn the nature of the ground. Then, sound
trumpets, and no quarter."
The following morning young Sinson fulfilled Mrs. Pendarrel's behest,
by calling at the hall, where he had an interview of some length with
its mistress. One of the park lodges, Wilderness gate, happened to be
vacant at the time, and was assigned to Michael as a residence, in
consideration of services, either past or to come, which were a
mystery to the retainers of the family, among whom some jealousy was
created by the preference.
Within a few days afterwards, Mrs. Pendarrel returned to London.