After having undergone the visit of the surgeon, Burrel, as we have
stated, changed his dress; and, having given some directions to his
servant, strolled out alone upon an expedition, in which it may be
necessary to follow him. Crossing the bridge--upon which he paused for
a moment to gaze up the long vista of the park--he proceeded to the
extremity of the wall which formed the enclosure, and then turning
through a shady lane, formed by that boundary on one side, and a steep
bank and hedge on the other, he strolled on with an air of absent
thoughtfulness, that made more than one milkmaid, whom he met
returning with her brimful pails from the neighbouring fields,
conclude, with the true sentimentality of a Molly, that "the gentleman
must be in love!"
Sad, however, to say, Burrel was not the least in love in the world;
and though of a somewhat enthusiastic and Quixotical character, he
would probably have been obliged, like the hero of La Mancha himself,
to think some time before he could possibly have discovered any one in
the sphere of his acquaintance, whom he would have considered worthy
of the honour and the trouble of falling in love with. Still more
melancholy to relate, so far from any fair image filling his mind with
dreams ambrosial, and making him stumble over the stones in his way,
he was at that moment thinking of money--base, unwholesome money. His
meditations were of Cocker; and many a sum, both of addition,
multiplication, and subtraction, together with various computations of
interest, and now and then a remote flash of vulgar fractions, passed
across his mind, in all of which he displayed a talent for accounts
somewhat more clear and accurate than that of Joseph Hume, thank
God--though not quite so neat and rapid as that of ever-lamented
Windham.
Thus he walked along under the wall of the park till the park wall
ended, and then taking a narrow and overhanging road, which descended
into a sweet wild valley--through which a brook meandered on, till it
lost itself in the sands upon the sea-shore, about five miles to the
east--he proceeded on his way without doubt or question, as if he had
known the whole country from his boyhood. The opposite bank of the
valley was thickly covered with trees and shrubs; and about half a
mile from the spot where the road entered it, the summit of what
seemed a tall old-fashioned farmhouse, of cold grey stone, rose above
this sort of verdant screen. Within a few hundred yards of this
building, the road climbed the bank, and passed before the door, which
was painted of a bluish gray, like that of a French country house, and
offered an aspect of untidiness and discomfort, not often seen in an
English dwelling. No roses decorated the porch, no clematis festooned
the windows; stone walls surrounded that which was, or had been
intended for, a garden; and the gruntings and squeaks which echoed
from within that boundary, spoke the character of the domestic animals
chiefly cultivated at Ryebury.
Undeterred, however, by the inhospitable appearance of the building,
or by the wailings of the beast that never chews the cud, Burrel
approached the door, and, laying his hand upon a bell, made sure that
if any one was within half a mile he must be heard; and then, turning
round to gaze upon the prospect, continued to hum "Dove sono," with
which he had been beguiling the way for the last ten minutes. While
thus employed, one of the high windows almost immediately above his
head was thrown open, and the upper part of a woman-servant, who would
have been pretty enough had she not been disguised in indescribable
filth, was protruded to reconnoitre the stranger's person. The moment
after, another head was added, almost as dirty, but neither pretty nor
young, being the dingy white superstructure of an old man's person,
who looked not at all unlike Noah, unwashed since the Flood.
A long and careful examination did these two respectable persons
bestow upon him who so disturbed the quiet of their dwelling, while
Burrel, though perfectly conscious, from the groaning of the upheaved
window-frame, that he was undergoing a general inspection, continued
indefatigably to hum "Dove sono," till opining that the inquisition
had continued sufficiently long, he again applied himself to the bell,
which once more responded to his will with "most miraculous organ."
"Run down, Sarah! Run down!" cried the elder phantom, "and open the
door.--Ask him who he is, and what he wants, and then come and tell
me.--But stay, I will go down with you to the parlour!"
The bell was once more in Burrel's hand, when the door yawned, and
displayed to his view a great part of the person and adjuncts
dependent upon the female head which had been criticising him from
above. It is scarcely necessary to say more than that she was a slut
of the first quality, with dirt, _ad libitum_, spread over the whole
person--various triangular tears in the printed cotton that covered
her--much white lining protruding through the chasms in her shoes--and
a cap as yellow as a pair of court ruffles. Without waiting for the
categories that were to be addressed to him, Burrel at once walked
into the house; and, telling the dirty maid to inform her master that
Mr. Burrel desired to speak with him, approached the door of the
parlour, where the person he sought--not confiding in his servant's
powers of recapitulation--was listening with all his ears to the
catechism he proposed that the stranger should undergo. As soon,
however, as he caught the name of Burrel, he emerged and met that
gentleman in the passage with many a bow. His dress was clean enough,
and in style and appearance was upon a par with that of a country
attorney's of about twenty or thirty years ago--black, jet-black from
head to heel, except the worsted stockings, which were dark grey. The
whole was well and economically worn, but his face evinced small
expense of soap, and his beard that he wore out no razors--upon his
chin at least. In person he was a short thin man, of about sixty-five
or six, with a reddish tip to a long nose, set on upon a pale
many-furrowed face. He stooped a little towards the shoulders, and
there was that sort of bending droop about the knees which betokens a
decrease of vigour. His clear grey eye, however, had something in it
both eager and active, and the heavy penthouse of long black and white
hair that overhung it, gave a sort of fierce intensity to its glance.
"Your name, sir, is Tims, I presume?" said Burrel, eyeing him with a
good deal of that cool nonchalance which is no doubt very
disagreeable. The other bowed to the ground, and his visiter
continued--"My name is Burrel, and Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson, my
solicitors, have doubtless written to you concerning"----
"Hush! Hush!" exclaimed the other in a subdued voice, at the same time
raising his eyebrows, and opening his eyes with a stare of wondering
deprecation. "We will speak about it presently, sir, if you please. I
received theirs in due course, and expected to have heard of your
coming sooner, sir; but shall be very happy, indeed, if we can do
business together. Do me the honour, sir, to walk in. Sarah, bring
this gentleman a glass of--of--wine," he added, after a moment's
hesitation and a glance at the stranger's dress; "but perhaps you
would prefer ale, Mr. Burrel, after your walk?"
"I take nothing, sir," answered Burrel, evidently to the great
satisfaction of the other, "and having but a few minutes to stay,
merely wish to speak with you concerning"----
But his host again cut across him, appearing to think that all matters
in which the very name of money was to be mentioned, had better be
talked of in private; and hurrying Burrel forward into the parlour, he
begged him to be seated, adding almost in the same breath--"Sad times,
indeed, sir, as you say--rate of interest falling terribly--hardly
four per cent to be got on good security,--sad times, indeed, sir, as
you say!"
"I do not say the times are bad at all, sir," replied Burrel gravely,
"nor that four per cent cannot be got for money on good security. You
must mistake me, I believe, for some more plaintive person. But to
the point, Mr. Tims. I think my solicitors wrote to you that I had
twenty-five thousand pounds lying uninvested, which I was willing to
lend at five or four and a half per cent. This sum they had heard you
were seeking for some gentleman in this neighbourhood who could give
good security--Sir Sidney Delaware, I think, was his name."
"Oh but, sir, I am afraid"--answered Mr. Tims, shaking his head, "I am
afraid that business is off. It won't do, sir, I am afraid--It won't
do--Can't manage matters there, I am afraid!"
"And pray why not, sir?" demanded Burrel. "I shall not feel very well
pleased if I have been brought down here by your report to examine the
matter myself, and am disappointed."
"Oh! no fear of that, sir," replied the other; "no fear of finding
plenty of others. Besides, I should think, with submission, that you
might make Sir Sidney pay--as you say--your expenses, loss of time,
&c. &c. He gave me full powers--and as you say"----
"I do not say any thing of the kind, sir," replied Burrel sternly. "Be
so good as not to put words into my mouth which I have never spoken.
Rather let me hear why, and how, the proposed arrangement cannot have
effect, and then we will consider other matters after we have fully
canvassed the first."
"Quite right, sir! Quite right!" replied Mr. Tims, not in the least
discomposed by Burrel's rebuke. "Quite right, indeed! Always right to
have every thing clear by itself! Why, you must know the simple fact
is this. The property of Emberton, as you say, is burdened with an
annuity to the amount of two thousand pounds per annum on the life of
the present Lord Ashborough, the sum given for which was only
twenty-five thousand pounds--and that nearly twenty years ago, when
Lord Ashborough was about forty, and his life was worth at least
twenty years' purchase. Well, having to speak with Sir Sidney some
time ago on some road business, the transaction came up, and I asked
him why he did not pay off the annuity, by raising money on mortgage,
which he could do at five per cent. His son, the Captain, too, was
present; and, as the entail ends with the Captain, the matter would be
easily done--though it had never struck them--always provided,
nevertheless, that the annuity was redeemable. The arrangement would
save them a thousand a-year you see, sir, and so they agreed to
give"----
"To give you how much, sir, for the job?" demanded Burrel.
"Only a fair commission for raising the money," replied the other;
"and as Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson, your worthy and excellent
solicitors, had been making enquiries about this very estate, as it
would happen--I cannot think how or why--I wrote to them about it,
and the matter was soon arranged; but then Captain Delaware was
obliged to go to London to speak with my Lord Ashborough--an
excellent gentleman--and on his return, it was found that the annuity
deed, by some strange accident, contained no clause of redemption.
Indeed, none could have been stipulated, for I know the person who
drew it, and who is as accurate as Duval."
"And pray, sir, who did draw it?" demanded Burrel.
"My own nephew, sir--my own nephew--Peter Tims, Esq." replied his
companion; "Peter Tims, who succeeded me in my chambers at Clement's
Inn; and who was fortunate enough to secure the patronage and
friendship of Lord Ashborough."
"Ha!" replied Burrel dryly; "so then you think the annuity cannot be
redeemed?"
"Afraid not, sir! Afraid not!" replied the retired lawyer, or, as he
was commonly called by the villagers, the miser. "Afraid not; but as I
was saying, there are plenty of other properties susceptible of
mortgage in this neighbourhood, and some," he added, closing one eye,
and fixing the other on Burrel's face with the look of a tame raven
that has just hidden a silver spoon, "and some where there is a strong
ultimate prospect of a foreclosure and sale at excessive reduction.
There is the estate of Sir Timothy Ridout--who wants now to borrow
twenty thousand pounds--well worth an hundred. By a little management
one might get hold of it, and"----
"I have no such views, sir," replied Burrel gravely; "and as the other
business cannot apparently be arranged, I shall invest the money in
other property. But, tell me, did Lord Ashborough refuse to redeem?"
"Yes, sir! Yes, flat, downright!" replied the miser; "and very right,
too. He could not get near the interest even now. But you had better
think of the business of Sir Timothy Ridout. Such a thing is not to be
got hold of every day."
"I shall never give it another thought," replied Burrel coldly; and,
rubbing his boot with his cane, unconscious of what he was about, he
remained for several minutes thinking deeply, while the miser sat upon
the edge of his chair, marvelling that any human being could let slip
the tempting bait of Sir Timothy Ridout's estate; and beginning to
entertain strong doubts as to whether Burrel was really a wealthy man,
from the indifference he showed to the prospect of increasing his
wealth. "I am sorry," he thought, "that I told that servant of his
that he might shoot over the Ryebury fields: I will write to Peter by
the next post, and make him fish out of Messrs. Steelyard and
Wilkinson whether he really has money. I might have made a cool five
hundred by that Ridout business."
While he thus thought, and Burrel's meditations continued, though of a
very different nature, a sudden ring of the bell roused them both from
their reveries; and, after a short _reconnoissance_ through the
window, the miser exclaimed, "It is Sir Sidney Delaware, I declare!"
"Then you will be so good, Mr. Tims," said Burrel, in a tone
sufficiently peremptory, "not to refer or allude to me, in any shape
or way, as the person who wished to lend the money."
"Oh, certainly not! certainly not!" replied the miser with a shrewd
glance; "it is a bad speculation that--but the Ridout business, if you
will but think over it--Will you see this Sir Sidney?"
"I have no objection," answered Burrel; and the miser bidding his
dirty maid show the gentleman in. Sir Sidney Delaware was ushered into
the parlour the moment after.
As soon as he saw that there was a stranger present, the baronet
paused, and for an instant seemed as if he would have drawn back,
saying, "You are engaged, Mr. Tims; I was not aware you had any one
with you."
"Not at all; not at all, my dear sir!" said Mr. Tims. "Sir Sidney, Mr.
Burrel--Mr. Burrel, Sir Sidney Delaware!"
"I am happy to have an opportunity, sir," said Burrel, "of returning
you my personal thanks for the permission to shoot over your grounds,
which you were kind enough to grant me."
"Where there is no obligation conferred, sir," replied the baronet
somewhat distantly, "there can be no occasion for thanks. I do not
shoot--my son has not this year taken out a license; and it is quite
as well that the game should be shot by you, who ask permission, as by
those who do not ask at all." He paused for an instant, while the
colour deepened in Burrel's cheek; but the baronet's heart instantly
reproached him for an uncourteous reply, and he added, "I hope you
have found sport."
"Plenty of game," answered Burrel; "but the birds are very wild."
"That is a very natural consequence," said Sir Sidney Delaware, "of
the immense number of persons whose notions of property are daily
growing more limited."
"I trust, indeed, that something may soon be done," replied Burrel,
"to correct the extensive system of poaching."
"Probably we shall soon have one of those beautiful pieces of
legislation on the subject," replied Sir Sidney, "which will prevent
people from committing the crime, by rendering it none in the eye of
the law--But, Mr. Tims, as I have a little business of a private
nature on which I must speak with you, I will probably call upon you
to-morrow if you are likely to be disengaged."
"No delay must take place on my account," said Burrel, rising. "My
business with this gentleman is over; and therefore I will leave you."
Thus saying, he turned, and, wishing the baronet good-morning, quitted
the house, ushered to the door by Mr. Tims; who, though still doubtful
as to the young stranger's wealth, followed him with many a lowly bow,
fearful of losing by any indiscretion the sums that might accrue from
the good management of the Ridout business. Burrel, in the mean time,
took his way once more through the valley, musing as he went upon his
late interview with Sir Sidney Delaware, with somewhat more deep and
curious speculation than entered into the thoughts he bestowed upon
the old miser, of whose general character he was before aware.
In the manner and tone of Sir Sidney Delaware, however, there was
something that he felt to be repulsive and unpleasant, which, to
a man of Burrel's character, was extremely painful. His first
determination--if that can be called a determination which, formed
upon impulse, does not last ten minutes--was to set out for London,
and forget that such a place as Emberton, or such a person as Sir
Sidney Delaware, was upon the face of the earth. Burrel, however, to
use Sterne's expression, was a great motive-monger, but with this
peculiarity, that he was fully as fond of examining his own motives as
those of other people; and, in the present instance, the small still
voice whispered something about offended pride, which made him enquire
into his own heart a little more strictly.
He found then, upon reflection, that however much he might fancy
himself perfectly indifferent, he was in fact angry, and the primary
cause of this anger was as usual mortified vanity. He--accustomed to
be courted and sought, to choose at will his acquaintances, and to
keep at arm's length all those he did not particularly like by a cool
tone of indifference, which had something in it of scorn--had come out
of his stronghold, and--as he could not but acknowledge--had gone as
far as he well could, to seek the acquaintance of Sir Sidney Delaware.
That gentleman was evidently not disposed to give it him; and though
Burrel felt in some degree the motives which might and did actuate
him, yet a knowledge of the degree of scorn which mingled with his own
coolness towards others, would not let him believe that some portion
of contempt did not also exist in the indifference with which Sir
Sidney Delaware treated his advances.
It is in general the natural refuge of mortified vanity, to persuade
itself that it retorts contempt upon those that show it, and to pass
off upon itself the anger it feels for the more dignified passion of
scorn. A slight touch of this sort of feeling had been experienced by
Burrel; for there are few bosoms, of whose passions we may not say,
_castigata remordent_; but his nature was too generous to entertain
such feelings long, and, before he had reached the door of good Mrs.
Wilson in Emberton, his first angry resolution was changed, and a more
firm determination adopted, to remain in the village the time he had
at first proposed, and without seeking any more an acquaintance which
was evidently withheld intentionally, to see whether chance might not
furnish him with some opportunity of gratifying a more generous
purpose.
"For the sake of that gallant lad," he thought, "I will not give it up
so easily."