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THE HEIR PRESUMPTIVE AND
THE HEIR APPARENT
Lovell’s International Series, No. 156.
THE HEIR PRESUMPTIVE AND
THE HEIR APPARENT
BY
MRS. OLIPHANT
AUTHOR OF
“FOR LOVE AND LIFE,” “A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN,” ETC., ETC.
_Authorized Edition_
NEW YORK
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY
150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE
COPYRIGHT, 1891,
BY
UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY.
THE HEIR PRESUMPTIVE AND THE HEIR APPARENT.
CHAPTER I.
Lord Frogmore was about sixty when his step-brother, John Parke, his
heir presumptive, announced to him one day his desire to marry. John was
thirty-five, the son of another mother, with whom, however, Lord
Frogmore had always lived in the best intelligence. A more indulgent
elder brother could not be. He had never himself married, or even
thought of doing so, so far as anybody knew. He had considered John’s
interests in everything. Had he been his father instead of his elder
brother he could not have been more thoughtful. Whether perhaps it was
John’s advantage he was thinking of when he remained unmarried was
another matter, though you would have supposed that was the elderly
peer’s only notion to hear how John’s mother spoke of it. At all events
it was very much to John Parke’s advantage. His creditors did not press
him, his tailor and he were the best friends in the world, everything
was in his favor in life, and in London, where even his little
extravagancies were greatly encouraged and smiled upon. Heir
presumptive, the Honorable John Parke: that one line in the “Peerage”
made life very smooth for John.
Lord Frogmore was not, however, so entirely actuated by consideration
for his brother as his stepmother thought. He was a man who took, and
had taken all his life, very great care of himself. Whatever was his
reason for not marrying, it was not on account of his brother John. No
doubt he was aware that in all probability his brother would be his
heir: but he did not dwell on that thought, or indeed contemplate the
necessity of an heir at all. He took great care of his health, which was
perfect, and had a system of life which secured him the utmost possible
comfort and pleasure with the least possible trouble. A man who has no
family to interfere with his liberty, plenty of money, perfect control
of his own time and actions, and no duties to speak of, can make himself
exceedingly comfortable when he sets his mind to it, and this was what
Lord Frogmore had done.
He was, however, a little startled but much more amused when John
announced to him his intentions. It was at the beginning of the season,
before as yet Mr. Parke could have been endangered by any of the
blandishments of society, and Lord Frogmore’s mind, which was a very
lively one, made a sweep over the country houses at which he knew his
brother to have been staying. “Do I know the lady?” he asked, with a
twinkle in his eye. He had not a very high opinion of his brother John,
in point of intellect at least, and he immediately leapt to the
conclusion that it was not John’s intention so much as the lady’s which
had decided this important step.
“I don’t think so,” said John. “She is of a good family, but very fond
of the country, and they don’t come much to town. She is a Miss
Ravelstone, of Grocombe--Yorkshire people--perhaps you may never even
have heard the name.”
“No, I can’t say I have ever heard the name,” said Lord Frogmore, with
his face lengthening: for there is this unconscious arrogance in people
who belong to what is called society that it seems to them as if it was
the same as not to exist at all, if you are not at once recognized and
identified by the mention of your name.
“No,” said John with something of a blush, “I did not expect you would.
Her father has got a nice little estate, but they don’t much mind
society. There’s several brothers. I don’t suppose I shall have very
much money with her. They’re chiefly a hunting family,” John said.
“Well, that is no harm. But it’s a pity if there is no money,” said Lord
Frogmore calmly. “You have not money enough yourself to make you
independent of that. What do you mean to do?”
Lord Frogmore looked with great composure at John, who in his turn
looked very blank at his brother. John was very much more warmly
conscious of being Frogmore’s heir than Frogmore was. He had taken it
for granted, though not without cold sensations, that Frogmore would do
something, nay, much for him in this emergency. The old gentleman would
feel that John was fulfilling a duty to the common family which he
himself (thank heaven!) had never taken the trouble to do. John felt
indeed that Frogmore ought to be grateful to him for marrying, which was
clearly a duty as he was almost the last of the race. Lord Frogmore saw
through this with very lively perceptions, but it amused him to play a
little on his brother’s fears.
“You will wish to get an appointment of some sort or another,” he said.
“It is a thing not very easy to get, but still we must see what can be
done for you. But I don’t know how you are to pull through those
examinations which are necessary for everything, John.”
John kept silence for a time with a very disconcerted countenance, then
he burst forth almost with an explosion. “I thought you would have been
pleased, Frogmore----”
“I am not displeased: you are old enough to judge for yourself, and to
choose for yourself. Of course, I am delighted that you should be
happy,” said Lord Frogmore with his bland smile which always took the
fortitude out of John. But when he had reduced the poor fellow almost to
a jelly, and made his purpose and his prospects look equally impossible,
which was not difficult to do, the elder brother relented: or else it
would be better to say he did for John what he had always intended to
do, notwithstanding that he could not resist the temptation of turning
him outside in. He inquired into the antecedents, or rather into the
family of Miss Ravelstone, for she had no antecedents, happily for
herself--and discovered that there was at least nothing against them if
they were scarcely of the caste of those who usually gave heirs to
Frogmore. Her father was a squire in Yorkshire though but of small
estate; whose family had been Ravelstones of Grocombe long before the
Parkes had ever been heard of. Unfortunately ancient family does not
always give refinement or elevation either of mind or manners, and
horses, though most estimable animals and the favorite pursuit of the
English aristocracy, have still less influence of that description.
Horses were the devotion, the vocation, and more or less the living of
the Ravelstone family. From father to son all the men of the house were
absorbed in the cultivation, the production, the worship of that noble
animal. Women there were none in the house save Miss Letitia, who was
only so far of the prevailing persuasion that she was an admirable
horsewoman. But in her heart she never desired to see a horse again, so
long as she lived. She had heard them talked of so long and so much that
she hated the very name. The stable talk and the hunting talk were a
weariness to her. Her mind was set on altogether different things. To
get into society and to make some sort of figure in the world was what
she longed for and aspired to. The county society was all she knew of,
and that was at first the limit of her wishes. But these desires rose to
higher levels after awhile as will hereafter be seen. She had as little
prospect of admission into the elevated society of the county as she had
of access to the Queen’s court at the moment when kind fate called her
forth from her obscurity.
This happened in the following way. A very kind and good-natured family
of the neighborhood, one of the few county people who knew the
Ravelstones, had as usual a party for the Doncaster races. It was not a
good year. There were no horses running which excited the general
expectation, nothing very good looked for, and various misfortunes had
occurred in the Sillingers’ usual circle. Some were ill and some were in
mourning, and some had lost money--more potent reasons for refraining
from their usual festivities than the buying of oxen or even the
marrying of wives--and the party at Cuppland was reduced in consequence
below its usual numbers. It was then that Lady Sillinger, always
good-natured, suggested to her daughters that they should ask
“Tisch”--which was the very unlucky diminution by which Letitia was
known. Poor Tisch had few pleasures in life. She had no mother to take
her about--hardly even an aunt. She would enjoy the races for their own
sake, the family being so horsey--and she could come in nobody’s way.
The Sillinger girls were young and pretty and careless, quite
unconcerned about the chance of anyone coming in their way, and very
sure that Tisch Ravelstone was the last person in the world to fear as a
rival. They agreed to the invitation with the utmost alacrity. Poor
Tisch never went anywhere. They were as pleased to give her a holiday as
if it had been of some advantage to themselves. And Letitia came much
excited and very grateful, with one new dress and something done to each
of the old ones to make them more presentable. The result was not very
satisfactory among all the fresh toilettes from London and Paris which
the Sillingers and their friends had for the races, but Letitia had the
good sense to wear dresses of subdued colors which were not much
remarked. She was not pretty. She had light hair without color enough in
it to be remarkable, and scanty in volume--hair that never could be made
to look anything. Her nose was turned up a little at the tip, and was
slightly red when the weather was cold. Her lips were thin. She herself
was thin, with an absence of roundness and softness which is even more
disadvantageous than the want of a pretty face. She was said by
everybody to be marked out for an old maid. So it may easily be
perceived that Lady Sillinger was right when she said that poor Tisch
would come in nobody’s way.
On the other hand, John Parke was a very eligible person, highly
presentable, and Lord Frogmore’s heir presumptive, a man about town who
knew everybody and who never could have been expected in the ordinary
course of affairs to be aware of the existence of such a homely person
as Tisch Ravelstone. He did not indeed notice her at all except to say
good-morning when they met, and good-night when she joined the
procession of ladies with candlesticks going to bed, until the third
day. On that fatal morning, before the party set out for the Races, Mr.
Parke had an accident. He twisted his foot upon the slippery _parquet_
of the breakfast-room, which was only partially covered by the thick
Turkey carpet; and though the twist was supposed not to be serious, it
prevented him from accompanying the party. He was very much annoyed by
this _contretemps_, but there was nothing for it but to submit. Before
Lady Sillinger set out for Doncaster she had everything arranged for his
comfort, so far as it could be foreseen. He was put on a sofa in the
library, with a table by his elbow covered with all the morning papers,
with the last English novels out of Mudie’s box, and the last yellow
books from Paris which had reached the country. There was an inkstand,
also a blotting book, pens and pencils--everything a disabled man would
be supposed to want.
“I would stay to take care of you,” said kind Lady Sillinger, “but Sir
Thomas----”
“Oh, don’t think of such a thing,” said John, “I shall be very
comfortable.”
They all came to pity and console him before they drove away--the girls
in their pretty dresses, the men all spruce and fresh. He felt it a
little hard upon him that after having been invited specially for the
Races he should have to stay at home, and he felt very angry with the
silly fashion, as he thought it for the moment, of those uncovered
floors and slippery polished boards. “What the blank did people have
those things for?” he said to himself. Still he did his best to grin and
bear it. He settled himself on his sofa and listened to the distant
sounds of the setting off, the voices and the calls to one and another.
“Tom will come with us----” “No, but I am to have the vacant place in
the landau.” “Oh, now, Dora, there is room for you here.” Dora was the
youngest of the Sillingers and the one he liked best. He wondered with
whom she was to be during the drive. There was another vacancy besides
his own. One of the ladies had stayed behind as well as himself. He
wondered which it was. If it was Mrs. Vivian, for example, he wished she
would come and keep him company. But, perhaps, it was some horrid cold
or other which would make her keep her bed.
The sound of their departure died away. They had all gone. No chance of
anyone now coming into the room to deliver John Parke from his own
society. He would have to make up his mind to spend his day alone. With
a great sigh, which nearly blew the paper which he held so carelessly
out of his hand, John betook himself to this unusual occupation. He read
the whole of the _Morning Post_ and _Standard_ from beginning to end,
and then he began upon the _Times_. There was nothing in the papers. It
is astonishing how little there is in them when you particularly want to
find something that will amuse you for an hour or two. He felt inclined
to fling them to the other corner of the room after he had gone over
everything from the beginning to the end. And it was just at this
moment, when he was thoroughly tired of himself and would have welcomed
anybody, that he heard a movement at the door. He looked up very eagerly
and Miss Ravelstone came in. To do her justice Letitia was quite
ignorant of the accident and that Mr. Parke had been left behind. She
had woke with a violent cold--so bad that she too had been compelled to
give up the idea of going out. She had put on her plainest dress,
knowing that no one would be back till it was time for dinner, and
feeling that her gray gown was quite good enough for the governess and
the children with whom she would have to lunch: she had indulged herself
by having breakfast in bed, which was quite an unusual luxury. Her nose
was more red than usual through the cold, her eyes were suffused with
unintended tears. She did not want to see anyone. When she met John
Parke’s eager look, Miss Ravelstone would have liked the substantial
library floor to open and swallow her up. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she
cried.
“Is that you, Miss Ravelstone,” said John. “Is it possible that you have
not gone with the rest?”
“I had such a bad cold,” stammered Tisch--for a moment she actually felt
as if she had done something wrong in going into the room.
“And here am I laid by the leg--I mean by the ankle,” said Mr. Parke.
Even then Letitia was not fully awakened to the magnitude of the chance
which her good fortune had thus put into her hands. She said she was
very sorry, and for a moment stood hovering at the door uncertain
whether she ought not to retire at once. But John was so much delighted
to have somebody to tell his story to that he would not let her go.
“It was all those confounded boards in the breakfast-room,” he said.
“Why can’t they have carpets all over the room. When one is abroad one
makes up one’s mind to that sort of thing, everything’s slippery and
shiny there: but in a house in Yorkshire! I came down like an elephant,
Miss Ravelstone. I wonder you did not feel the whole house shake.”
“I was in bed,” said Letitia, “nursing a bad cold.”
“A bad cold is a nasty thing,” said John, “but it is not so bad as a
twist in the foot. You can move about at least--and here am I stuck on a
sofa--not able even to ring the bell.”
“I will ring the bell for you with pleasure, Mr. Parke.”
“That’s just one of the last things one would ask a lady to do,” cried
John, “and I don’t know why you should ring the bell for me. If the
fellow was here I don’t know what I want. I couldn’t tell him to sit
down and talk to me. It’s such a bore to be left here alone, and
everyone else away.”
“I’ll sit down and talk to you if you like,” said Tisch, with a laugh.
Her eyes recovered in the most marvelous manner. She felt inclined to
sneeze, but shook it off. She began to wake up and see what was before
her. Heir presumptive to Lord Frogmore! She had made up her mind that
she was likely to meet somebody of importance on this great visit--and
had no intention of neglecting any opportunity--though she had never
even supposed, never hoped, to have such a captive delivered into her
hands in this easy way.
“I wish you would,” said John. “I’m afraid I’m not very lively, and this
confounded ankle hurts; but perhaps we can find something to talk about.
Are you fond of playing games, Miss Ravelstone? I wonder if there are
any here?”
“There is a chess board, I know,” said Letitia; “but I don’t know much
about chess: and there’s bezique, and I have a ‘go bang’ of my own.”
“Oh, if it’s not too much to ask, please fetch the go bang,” cried John.
Miss Letitia nodded her head, she disappeared, and in two minutes
returned a little out of breath with the box containing that
intellectual amusement in her hand. She had done something to herself in
the meantime, John felt, but though he was trained in the things that
ladies “do” to make themselves more attractive he could not make out
what it was. They played about twenty games at go bang, and time which
had been so leaden-footed flew. But everything exhausts itself after a
while. When an hour and a half had passed thus, John began to fidget
again, and wonder what o’clock it was, and if it would soon be time for
luncheon--which was at two in this late house: and it was now only one
o’clock, another lingering hour.
“Should you like,” said Miss Ravelstone, “to hear a great secret about
Cobweb?” Now Cobweb was the favorite for the next day’s race, and John
Parke had, as he would himself have said, a pot of money on that horse.
“Anything about the race? Why, to be sure, of all things in the world,”
he said.
It has already been mentioned that the Ravelstones were all horsey to
the last degree except Tisch, who was not of that persuasion; but she
had heard horses talked of all her life, and while she entered into the
biography of Cobweb, John Parke listened with eager eyes.