BLANCHE HERIOT.
On one of those promising days that we now and then see in February,
which seem all the more warm and lovely in contrast with the passing
winter, the parsonage of White Littleham put on its gayest appearance
within--perhaps in response to the fair face of nature without. A
group of four girls had collected in the drawing-room. One was taking
the brown holland covers from the chairs, sofa, and footstools;
another was bringing out certain ornaments, elegant trifles, displayed
only on state occasions; the other two were filling glasses with
evergreens and hot-house flowers. It was the same room in which you
once saw poor Mrs. Strange lying on her road to death. The parsonage
received three young ladies to share in the advantages of foreign
governesses, provided for the education of its only daughter, Cecilia.
Whilst the girls were thus occupied, a middle-aged lady entered, the
mistress of the house, and wife of the Reverend John Ravensworth.
"Oh, Mrs. Ravensworth, why did you come in? We did not want you to see
it until it was all finished."
Mrs. Ravensworth smiled. "My dears, it will only look as it has looked
many a time before; as it did at Christmas--"
"Mamma, you must excuse my interrupting you," cried the young girl who
was arranging the ornaments; "but it will look very different from
then. At Christmas we had wretched weather, and see it to-day. And at
Christmas we had not the visitors we shall have now."
"We had one of the two visitors, at any rate, Cecilia."
"Oh, yes, we had Arnold. But Arnold is nobody; we are used to him."
"And Major Carlen is somebody," interposed the only beautiful girl
present, looking round from the flowers with a laugh. "Thank you, in
papa's name, Cecilia."
Very beautiful was she: exceedingly fair, with somewhat haughty blue
eyes, delicate features, and fine golden hair. Blanche Heriot (as
often as not called Blanche Carlen at the Rectory) stood conspicuous
amidst the rest of the girls. They were pleasing-looking and
lady-like, but that was all. Rather above middle-height, slender,
graceful, she stood as a queen beside her companions. Under different
auspices, Blanche Heriot might have become vain and worldly; but,
enshrined as she had been for the last few years within the precincts
of a humble parsonage, and trained in its doctrines of practical
Christianity, Blanche had become thoroughly imbued with the
influences around her. Now, in her twentieth year, she was simple and
guileless as a child.
It was so long since she had seen her father--as she was pleased to
call Major Carlen--that she had partly forgotten what he was like. He
was expected now on a two days' visit, and for him the house was being
made to look its best. The other visitor, coming by accident at the
same time, was Arnold Ravensworth, the Rector's nephew.
Major Carlen's promised visit was an event to the quiet Rector and his
wife. All they knew of him was that he was step-father to Blanche, and
a man who moved in the gay circles of the world. The interest of
Blanche Heriot's money had paid for her education and dress. The Major
would have liked the fingering of it amazingly; but to covet is one
thing, to obtain is another. Blanche's money was safe in the hands of
trustees; but before Mrs. Carlen died she had appointed her husband
Blanche's personal guardian, with power to control her residence when
she should have attained her eighteenth year. That had been passed
some time now, and Major Carlen had just awakened to his
responsibilities.
The first to arrive was Arnold Ravensworth, a distinguished-looking
man, with a countenance cold, it must be confessed, but full of
intellect. And the next to arrive was not the Major. The day passed on
to night. The trains came into the neighbouring station, but they did
not bring Major Carlen. Blanche cried herself to sleep. She remembered
how kind her papa used to be to her--indulging her and taking her
about to see sights--and she had cherished a great affection for him.
In fact, the Major had always indulged little Blanche.
Neither had he come the next morning. After breakfast, Blanche went to
the end of the garden and stood looking out across the field. The
shady dingle, where as a little child she had sat to pick violets and
primroses, was there; but she was gazing at something else--the path
that would bring her father. Arnold Ravensworth came strolling up
behind her.
"You know the old saying, Blanche: a watched-for visitor never comes."
"Oh dear, why do you depress me, Arnold? To watch is something. I
shall cross the field and look up the road."
They started off in the sunshine. Blanche had a pretty straw hat on.
She took the arm Mr. Ravensworth held out to her. Very soon, a
stranger turned into the field and came swinging towards them.
"Blanche, is this the Major?"
It was a tall, large-limbed, angular man in an old blue cloak lined
with scarlet. He had iron-gray hair and whiskers, gray, hard eyes, a
large twisted nose, and very white teeth. Blanche laughed merrily.
"That papa! What an idea you must have of him, Arnold! Papa was a
handsome man with black hair, and had lost two of his front teeth.
They were knocked out, fighting with the Caffres."
The stranger came on, staring intently at the good-looking young man
and the beautiful girl on his arm. Mr. Ravensworth spoke in a low
tone.
"Are you quite sure, Blanche? Black hair turns gray, remember; and he
has a little travelling portmanteau under that cloak."
Even as he spoke, something in the stranger's face struck upon Blanche
Heriot's memory. She disengaged herself and approached him, too
agitated to weigh her words.
"Oh--I beg your pardon--are you not papa?"
Major Carlen looked at her closely. "Are you Blanche?"
"Yes, I am Blanche. Oh, papa!"
The Major tucked his step-daughter under his own arm; and Mr.
Ravensworth went on to give notice of the arrival.
"Papa, I never saw anyone so much altered!"
"Nor I," interposed the Major. "I was wondering what deuced handsome
girl was strolling towards me. You are beautiful, Blanche; more so
than your mother was, and she was handsome."
Blanche, confused though she felt at the compliment, could not return
it.
"Who is that young fellow?" resumed the Major.
"Arnold Ravensworth; Mr. Ravensworth's nephew. He lives in London, and
came down yesterday for a short visit."
"Oh. Does he come often?"
"Pretty often. We wish it was oftener. We like him to be here."
"He seems presuming."
"Dear papa! Presuming! He is not at all so. And he is very talented
and clever. He took honours at Oxford, and--"
"I see," interrupted Major Carlen, displaying his large and regular
teeth--a habit of his when not pleased. He had rapidly taken up an
idea, and it angered him. "Is this the parson, Blanche? He looks very
sanctimonious."
"Oh, papa!" she returned, feeling ready to cry at his contemptuous
tone. "He is the best man that ever lived. Everyone loves and respects
him."
"Hope it's merited, my dear," concluded the Major, as he met the hand
of the Reverend John Ravensworth.
Ere middle-day, the Major had scattered a small bombshell through the
parsonage by announcing that he had come to take his daughter away.
Blanche felt it bitterly. It was her home, and a happy one. To
exchange it for the Major's did not look now an inviting prospect.
Though she would not acknowledge it to her own heart, she was
beginning to regard him with more awe than love. That the resolution
must have been suddenly formed she knew, for he had not come down with
any intention of removing her.
"Papa, my things can never be ready," was her last forlorn argument,
when others had failed.
"Things?" said the Major. "Trunks, and clothes, and rattle-traps?
They can be sent after you, Blanche."
"I have a bird," cried Blanche, her eyes filling. "There it is, in the
cage."
"Leave it as a souvenir to the Rectory. Blanche, don't be a child. I
have pictured you as one hitherto, but now that I see you I find my
mistake. You must be thinking of other things, my dear."
And thus Blanche Heriot was hurried away. All the parsonage escorted
her to the station, the girls in tears, and she almost heart-broken.
Of late years Major Carlen had been almost always in debt and
difficulty. His property was mortgaged. His only certainty was his
half-pay; but he was lucky at cards, and often luckier at betting. He
retained his club and his visiting connection, and dined out three
parts of his time. Just now he was up in the world, having scored a
prize on some winter racecourse, and he was back in his house in
Gloucester Place. It had been let furnished for three years, portions
of which time the Major had spent abroad.
"It will be very dull for me, papa," sighed Blanche, as they were
whirling along in an express train. "I dare say you are out all day
long, as you used to be."
"Not dull at all," said the Major. "You must make Mrs. Guy take you
out and about."
"Mrs. Guy!" exclaimed Blanche, her blue eyes opening widely. "Is she
in London?"
"Yes, and a fine old guy she is; more ridiculously nervous than ever,"
replied the Major. "She arrived unexpectedly from Jersey one evening
last week, and quartered herself upon Gloucester Place; for an
indefinite period, no doubt. She did this once before, if you
remember, in your poor mamma's time."
"She will be something in the way of company for me," said Blanche
with another sigh.
"Aye! She is a stupid goose, but you'll be safer under her wing and
mine than you would have been ruralising in the fields and the
parsonage garden with that Arnold Ravensworth. I have eyes, Miss
Blanche."
So had Blanche, especially just then; and they were wide open and
fixed upon the Major.
"Doing what, papa?" cried she.
"I saw his drift: 'Blanche' this, and 'Blanche' the other, and his arm
put out for you at every turn! No, no; I do not leave you there to be
converted into Mrs. Arnold Ravensworth."
Blanche clasped her hands and broke into merry laughter. "Oh, papa,
what an idea!--how could you imagine it? Why, he is going to marry
Mary Stopford."
Major Carlen looked blank. Had he made all this inconvenient haste for
nothing?
"Who the deuce is Mary Stopford?"
"She lives in Devonshire. A pale, gentle girl with nice eyes: I have
seen her picture. Arnold wears it attached to a little chain inside
his waistcoat. They are to be married in the autumn when the House is
up. The very notion of my marrying Arnold Ravensworth!" broke off
Blanche with another laugh. A laugh that was quite sufficient to prove
the fact that she was heart-whole.
"The House!" repeated the Major. "Who is he, then?"
"He is very well off as to fortune, and is--something. It has to do
with the House, not as a Member, though he will be that soon, I
believe. I think he is secretary to one of the Ministers. His father
was the elder brother, and the Reverend John Ravensworth the younger.
There is a very great difference in their positions. Arnold is
well-off, and said to be a rising man."
Every word increased Major Carlen's vexation. Even had his fear been
correct, it seemed that the young man would not have been an
undesirable match for Blanche, and he had saddled himself with her at
a most inconvenient moment!
"Well, well," thought he; "she will soon make her mark, unless I am
mistaken, and there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of
it."
Mrs. Guy, widow of the late Admiral Guy, vegetating for years past
upon her slight income in Jersey, was Major Carlen's younger sister,
and a smaller edition of himself. She had the same generally
fair-featured face, with the twisted nose and the gray eyes; but while
his eyes were hard and fierce, hers were soft and kindly. She was a
well-meaning, but indescribably silly woman; and her nervous fears and
fancies had so grown upon her that they were becoming a disease. Lying
before the fire on a sofa in her bedroom, she received Blanche with a
flood of tears, supplemented by several moans. The tears were caused
by the pleased surprise; the moans at her having come home on a
Friday, for that must surely betoken ill-luck. Blanche was irreverent
enough to laugh.
* * * * *
Major Carlen still counted a few acquaintances of consideration in the
social world, and Miss Heriot was introduced to them. Mrs. Guy was
persuaded to temporarily forget her ailments, and to act as chaperon.
The Major gave his sister a new dress and bonnet, and a cap or two;
and as she had not yet quite done with vanity (has a woman _ever_ done
with it?), she fell before the bribe.
He had been right in his opinion that Blanche's beauty would not fail
to make its mark. So charming a girl, so lovely of face and graceful
of form, so innocent of guile, had not been seen of late. Before the
spring had greatly advanced, a Captain Cross made proposals for her to
the Major. He was of excellent family, and offered fair settlements.
The Major accepted him, not deeming it at all necessary to consult his
daughter.
Blanche rebelled. "I don't care for him, papa," she objected.
The Major gave his nose a twist. He did not intend to have any trouble
with Blanche, and would not allow her to begin it.
"Not care!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What does that matter? Captain
Cross is a fine man, stands six feet one, and you'll care for him in
time."
"But, before I consent to marry him, I ought to know whether I shall
like him or not."
"Blanche, you are a dunce! You have been smothered up in that
parsonage till you know nothing. Do you suppose that in our class of
society it is usual to fall in love, as the ploughboys and milkmaids
do? People marry first, and grow accustomed to each other afterwards.
Whatever you do, my dear, don't betray _gaucherie_ of that kind."
Blanche Heriot doubted. She never supposed but that he whom she called
father had her true interest at heart, and must be so acting. Mrs.
Guy, too, unconsciously swayed her. A martyr to poverty herself, she
believed that in marrying one so well-off as Captain Cross, a girl
must enter upon the seventh heaven of happiness. Altogether, Blanche
yielded; yielded against her inclination and her better judgment. She
consented to marry Captain Cross, and preparations were begun.
Meanwhile, Arnold Ravensworth had been an occasional visitor at Major
Carlen's, the Major making no sort of objection, now that
circumstances were explained: indeed, he encouraged him there, and was
especially cordial. Major Carlen had invariably one eye on the world
and the other on self-interest, and it occurred to him that a rising
man, as Arnold Ravensworth beyond doubt was, might prove useful to him
in one way or another.
One evening, when it was yet only the beginning of April, Mr.
Ravensworth called in Gloucester Place, and found the Major alone.
"Are Mrs. Guy and Blanche out?" he asked.
"They are upstairs with the dressmaker," replied the Major. "We sent
to her to-day to spur on with Blanche's things, and she has come
to-night for fresh orders."
"Is the marriage being hurried on, Major?"
"Time is creeping on, sir," was the gruff answer.
"Are they getting ahead with the settlements? When I saw you last
week, you were in a way at the delay, and said lawyers had only been
invented for one's torment."
"They got on, after that, and the deeds were ready and waiting for
signature. But I dropped them a note yesterday to say they might burn
them, as so much waste paper," returned the Major.
"Burn the settlements!" echoed Mr. Ravensworth.
The Major's eyes, that could look pleasant on occasion, glinted at his
astonishment. "Those settlements are being replaced by heavier ones,"
he said. "Blanche does not marry Captain Cross. It's off. A more
eligible offer has been made her, and Cross is dismissed."
Mr. Ravensworth doubted whether he heard aright. Major Carlen resumed.
"And she was making herself miserable over it. She cannot endure
Cross."
"What a disappointment for Cross! What a mortification! Will he accept
his dismissal?"
"He will be obliged to accept it," returned the Major, pulling up his
shirt-collar, which was always high enough for two. "He has no other
choice left to him. A man does not die of love nowadays; or rush into
an action for breach of promise, and become a laughing-stock at his
club. Blanche marries Lord Level."
"Lord Level!" Mr. Ravensworth repeated in a curious accent.
"You look as though you doubted the information."
"I do not relish it, for your daughter's sake," replied Mr.
Ravensworth. "She never can--can--like Lord Level."
"What's the matter with Lord Level? He may be approaching forty,
but----"
Mr. Ravensworth laughed. "Not just yet, Major Carlen."
"Well, say he's thirty-four; thirty-three, if you like. Blanche, at
twenty, needs guiding. And if he is not as rich as some peers, he is
ten times richer than Cross. He met Blanche out, and came dangling
here after her. I did not give a thought to it, for I did not look
upon Level as a marrying man: he has been somewhat talked of in
another line----"
"Yes," emphatically interrupted Mr. Ravensworth. "Well?"
"Well!" irritably returned the Major: "then there's so much the more
credit due to him for settling down. When he found that Cross was
really expecting to have Blanche, and that he might lose her
altogether, he spoke up, and said he should like her himself."
"Does Blanche approve of the exchange?"
"She was rather inclined to kick at it," returned the Major, in his
respectable phraseology, "and we had a few tears.--But if you ask
questions in that sarcastic tone, sir, you don't deserve to be
answered. Not that Blanche wanted to keep Cross; she acknowledged
that she was only too thankful to be rid of him; but, about behaving
dishonourably, as she called it. 'My dear,' said I, 'there's your
absurd rusticity coming in again. You don't know the world. Such
things are done in high life every day.' She believed me, and was
reconciled. You look black as a thunder-cloud, Ravensworth. What right
have you to do so, pray?"
"None in the world. I beg pardon. I was thinking of Blanche's
happiness."
"You had better think of her good," retorted the Major. "She likes
Level. I don't say she is yet in love with him: but she did not like
Cross. Level is an attractive man, remember."
"Has been rather too much so," cynically retorted Mr. Ravensworth.
"Here she comes. I am going out; so you may offer your congratulations
at leisure."
Major Carlen went away, and Blanche entered. She took her seat by the
fire, and as Mr. Ravensworth gazed down upon her, a feeling of deep
regret and pity came over him. Shame! thought he, to sacrifice her to
Level. For in truth that nobleman's name was not in the best odour,
and Arnold Ravensworth was a man of strict notions.
It has been asserted that some natures possess an affinity the one for
the other; are irresistibly drawn together in the repose of full and
perfect confidence. It is a mysterious affinity, not born of _love_:
and it may be experienced by two men or women who have outlived even
the remembrance of the passion. Had Blanche Heriot been offered to
Arnold Ravensworth, he would have declined her, for he loved another,
and she had as much idea of loving the man in the moon as of loving
him. Nevertheless, that never-dying, unfathomable part of them, the
spirit, was attracted, like finding like. Between such, there can be
little reserve.
"What unexpected changes take place, Blanche!"
"Do not blame me," she replied, with a rising colour, her tone
sinking to a whisper. "My father says it is right, and I obey him."
"I hope you like Lord Level?"
"Better than I liked someone else," was her answer, as she looked into
the fire. "At first the--the change frightened me. It did not seem
right, and it was so very sudden. But I am getting over that feeling
now. Papa says he is very good."
Papa says he is very good! The old hypocrite of a Major! thought Mr.
Ravensworth. But it was not his place to tell her that Lord Level had
not been very good.
"Oh, Blanche!" he exclaimed, "I hope you will be happy! Is it to be
soon?"
"Yes, they say so. As soon, I think, as the settlements can be ready.
Papa sent to-day to hurry on my wedding things. Lord Level is going
abroad immediately, and wishes to take me with him."
"They say so!" was his mental repetition. "This poor child, brought up
in the innocence of her simple country home, more childish, more
tractable and obedient, more inexperienced than are those of less
years who have lived in the world, is as a puppet in their hands. But
the awakening will come."
"You are going?" said Blanche, as he rose. "Will you not stay and take
tea? Mrs. Guy will be down soon."
"Not this evening. Hark! here is the Major back again."
"I do not think it is papa's step," returned Blanche, bending her ear
to listen.
It was not. As she spoke, the door was thrown open by the servant.
"Lord Level."
Lord Level entered, and took the hand which Mr. Ravensworth released.
Mr. Ravensworth looked full at the peer as he passed him: they were
not acquainted. A handsome man, with a somewhat free expression--a
countenance that Mr. Ravensworth took forthwith a prejudice against,
perhaps unjustly. "Who's that, Blanche?" he heard him say as the
servant closed the door.
Lord Level was a fine, powerful man, of good height and figure; his
dark auburn hair was wavy and worn rather long, in accordance with
the fashion of the day. His complexion was fair and fresh, and his
features were good. Altogether he was what the Major had called him,
an attractive man. Blanche Heriot had danced with him and he had
danced with her; the one implies the other, you will say; and a liking
for one another had sprung up. It may not have been love on either
side as yet--but that is uncertain.
"How lovely!" exclaimed Blanche, as he held out to her a small bouquet
of lilies-of-the-valley, and their sweet perfume caught her senses.
"I brought them for you," whispered Lord Level; and he bent his face
nearer and took a silent kiss from her lips. It was the first time;
and Blanche blushed consciously.
"You did not tell me who that was, Blanche."
"Arnold Ravensworth," she replied. "You have heard me speak of him."
"An ill-tempered looking man!"
"Do you think so? Well, yes, perhaps he did look cross to-night. He
had been hearing about--about _us_--from papa; and I suppose it did
not please him."
Archibald Baron Level drew himself up to his full height; his face
assumed its haughtiest expression. "What business is it of his?" he
asked. "Does he wish to aspire to you himself?"
"Oh, no, no; he is soon to be married. He is a man of strict honour,
and I fear he thinks that papa--that I--that we have not behaved well
to Captain Cross."
They were standing side by side on the hearth-rug, the fire-light
playing on them and on Blanche's shrinking face. How miserably
uncomfortable the subject of Captain Cross made her she could never
tell.
"See here, Blanche," spoke Lord Level, after a pause. "I was given to
understand by Major Carlen that when Captain Cross proposed for you,
you refused him; that it was only by dint of pressure and persuasion
that you consented to the engagement. Major Carlen told me that as the
time went on you became so miserable under it, hating Captain Cross
with a greater dislike day by day, that he had resolved before I spoke
_to save you by breaking it off_. Was this the case, or not?"
"Yes, it was. It is true that I felt wretchedly miserable in the
prospect of marrying Captain Cross. And oh, how I thank papa for
having himself resolved to break it off! He did not tell me that."
"Because I have some honour of my own; and I would not take you
sneakingly from Cross, or any other man. You must come to me
above-board in all ways, Blanche, or not at all."
Blanche felt her heart beating. She turned to glance at him, fearing
what he might mean.
"So that if there is anything behind the scenes which has been kept
from me; that is, if it be not of your own good and free will
that you marry me; if you gave up Captain Cross _liking_ him,
because--because--well, though I feel ashamed to suggest such a
thing--because my rank may be somewhat higher than his, or for any
other reason: why then matters had better be at an end between us. No
harm will have been done, Blanche."
Blanche's face was drawn and white. "Do you mean that you wish to give
me up?"
"_Wish_ it! It would be the greatest pain I could ever know in life.
My dear, have you failed to understand me? I want you; I want you to
be my wife; but not at the sacrifice of my honour. If Captain
Cross----"
Blanche broke down. "Oh, _don't_ leave me to him!" she implored. "Of
course, I could never, never marry him now; I would rather die.
Indeed, I do not quite know what you mean. It was all just as you have
been told by papa; there was nothing kept behind."
Lord Level pillowed her head upon his arm. "Blanche, my dear, it was
you who invoked this," he whispered, "by talking of Mr. Ravensworth's
reflection on you in his 'strict honour.' Be assured I would not leave
you to Captain Cross unless compelled to do so, or to any other man."
Her tears were falling. Lord Level kissed them away.
"Shall I _buy_ you, my love?--bind you to me with a golden fetter?"
And, taking a small case from his waistcoat-pocket, he slipped upon
her marriage finger a hoop of gold, studded with diamonds. His
deep-gray eyes were strained upon her through their dark lashes--eyes
which had done mischief in their day--and her hand was lingering in
his.
"There, Blanche; you see I have bought you; you are my property
now--my very own. And, my dear, the ring must be worn always as the
keeper of the marriage-ring when you shall be my wife."
It was a most exquisite relief to her. Blanche liked him far better
than she had liked Captain Cross. And as Lord Level pressed his last
kiss upon her lips--for Mrs. Guy was heard approaching--Blanche could
never be sure that she did not return it.
A few more interviews such as these, and the young lady would be in
love with him heart and soul.
* * * * *
And it may as well be mentioned, ere the chapter quite closes, that
Mr. Charles Strange was out of the way of all this plotting and
planning and love-making. The whole of that spring he was over in
Paris, watching a case involving English and French interests of
importance, that was on before the French courts, and of which
Brightman and Strange were the English solicitors.