THE COLONEL.
The next day it was evident to every one that Mrs Prothero was very ill.
She had never had any very extraordinary misfortunes or troubles, and
the elopement of an only daughter was an event to her so dreadful and
unexpected that it seemed as bad, or worse, than her death. As nothing
more was to be gleaned concerning Netta, and further inquiries were
literally useless--indeed, Mr Prothero would not hear of their being
made--Mrs Prothero gave way to her grief, and her husband's most
passionate demonstrations of displeasure failed to frighten her into her
usual calm submission to him and his humours.
Owen paid a visit to Mrs Jenkins' abode, and heard from the servant left
in charge that she was not expected home for some time. Owen bribed the
woman to let him know when her mistress returned, and comforted his
mother by assuring her that he would find out all about Netta from Aunt
'Lizbeth, whose tongue was too well oiled to stop going.
Mr and Mrs Jonathan offered to remain at the farm, but as they rather
irritated Mr Prothero by their evident inclination to take up the
defence of the offenders, Owen told his aunt that she had better write
to Lady Payne Perry about Netta, as there was always a chance of great
people hearing the news. Owen was very well aware that his aunt could
not possibly write to her aristocratic cousin with the pens, ink, and
paper in general use at the farm, and that she would be obliged to go
to her davenport at the vicarage, where he already saw her, in
imagination, with the finest satin letter paper before her, mending her
pen into the most delicate of points.
Accordingly they took their leave, with a promise to return on Monday,
and were soon succeeded by Miss Gwynne, who, having heard of the
elopement, came to see Mrs Prothero.
'If you could prevail on the mistress to go to bed, ma'am,' said Gladys
when she opened the door to her, 'I would be for ever thankful to you;
she is much too ill to be about, and she has done nothing but mope and
fret all day.'
Miss Gwynne went straight into the dairy, where Mrs Prothero was making
butter.
'So Netta has taken the law into her own hands, Mrs Prothero. So much
the better; I shouldn't grieve about it if I were you. It is a grand
thing for her.'
'Not to disobey us and run away, Miss Gwynne? she would be better doing
her father's bidding than marrying a lord, much less Howel.'
'But you are not going to make yourself ill and miserable about it.
Since it is done, you may as well make the best of it; but you must go
to bed and keep quiet, to-day at least. You are not fit to see all the
people who are already on their way to condole or congratulate. You will
have half the parish here before night; I passed old Nancy, Cwmriddle,
hobbling down the lane, and she will be here shortly.'
'Oh, I couldn't see them, Miss Gwynne.'
'Then you must go to bed to avoid it. Do be advised, you look so ill.'
'When Miss Gwynne so far forgot herself as to be persuasive instead of
commanding, she was irresistible. She put her hand so gently on Mrs
Prothero's shoulder, and looked so kindly into her tearful eyes, that
the poor woman began to cry afresh. The sound of a stick knocking at the
back door completed the victory, and Mrs Prothero went sobbing upstairs,
whilst Gladys opened the door to admit Nancy, Cwmriddle, and another
gossip who had overtaken her. Mr Prothero came into the yard at the same
time.
'Well, sir, to be sure; only to think of Miss Netta,' began the old
woman in Welsh.
'If you're come here to talk about her, I'll thank you to go away again,
and tell everybody you meet that they may have their nine days' wonder
about us anywhere but here,' roared Mr Prothero into Nancy's ear, who
was very deaf.
The old crones, knowing Mr. Prothero well, turned away quicker than
they came, and soon began to do his bidding, perceiving that he was in
an 'awful way.'
'Mr Prothero, do you know I have sent Mrs Prothero to bed,' began Miss
Gwynne, advancing towards him; 'she looks so very ill and unlike herself
that I am sure you must be careful of her for a time.'
'All that ungrateful, good-for-nothing daughter of ours, Miss Gwynne.
What would she care if she were to kill her mother? I know you are a
true lady and a kind friend, miss, and have more sense than all the rest
of the country put together, so I don't mind telling you what I think.
Those that disobey their parents'll be seure to come to a bad end.'
'We will hope the best, Mr Prothero; and you must remember that you have
your sons to comfort you.'
'Fine comfort to be seure. There's Owen as wild as an untrained colt,
and Rowland such a grand man up in London that he 'ont know his own
father by-and-by. Dining with bishops and rectors, and as fine as my
lord. I always told my wife that all Mrs Jonathan's eddication was too
much for us, and so it is turning out. We shall be left in our old age
to shift for ourselves; one son at sea, without a shirt to his back;
another preaching upon a hundred a-year--gentleman Rowland I call him;
and the third in a workhouse, maybe. And all this because brother Jo
must needs bring a fine lady amongst us, and with her nothing but
grammar-schools, boarding-schools, and colleges. My wife always spoilt
that girl.'
'Perhaps you helped a little bit, Mr Prothero,' said Miss Gwynne,
smiling, to stop the farmer's flow of words. 'But one couldn't help
spoiling poor--'
'There, don't you go for to take her part, miss. Name o' goodness, let
alone the girl. Beg pardon for being so rude.'
Here Gladys appeared, who had followed her mistress upstairs.
'Sir, the mistress is very ill. I think she would like to see you.
Perhaps you had better have a doctor.'
'Never had a doctor in my house since Netta was born, that's the trouble
she brought with her; I'd as soon have an undertaker. Send you for a
doctor, and everybody in the house is seure to be ill. He's infectious.
Excuse me, Miss Gwynne, whilst I go and see what's the matter.'
Miss Gwynne waited until she heard Mr Prothero come down from his wife's
room, calling busily for Owen, who was in the wheat-field, and telling
him to go and fetch Dr Richards. She then called Gladys, and said she
should have whatever her mistress could fancy from the Park, and that
she would come again in the afternoon and see how she was.
This done, Miss Gwynne went her own erratic way, which led her over
stiles, and through fields, and into various cottages, where she
alternately scolded, lectured, and condoled, accordingly as she thought
their inmates deserved the one or the other. She rarely left them,
however, without giving some substantial proof of the interest she felt
in their wants and trials, either by promises of food or clothing, or by
money given then and there. She finally anchored in a pretty
school-house that she had lately prevailed on her father to build, close
by the Park, where she found Miss Hall patiently superintending the
needlework of the girls. She gave two or three quick nods to the
children, and they curtseyed and bowed on her entrance, and then told
Miss Hall it was twelve o'clock, and she had had quite enough teaching
for one morning.
'I don't see what use it is having a school, if half the children are to
stay away,' she said to the mistress.
'It is the harvest, ma'am; they stay at home to take care of the younger
children; that is why we have so few.'
'Yes, and half go to the Dissenting schools; I see them creeping out.
Now, children,' turning to the terrified urchins, who were just about to
leave the room, if I see any of you going to any other school but this,
or going away from church to the meeting-houses, you shall neither have
new frocks, hats, nor shawls, nor shall you come to the tea-party I am
going to give you soon; do you hear?'
'Yes, ma'am--yes, ma'am,' muttered the children as they curtseyed and
bowed and slipped away.
As Freda and Miss Hall walked through the park to the house, the former
grew very excited in her manner.
'I tell you what it is, Nita,' she said, 'Lady Nugent is doing
everything in her power to win papa, and as soon as Miss Nugent marries,
or rather as soon as somebody marries her fortune, she will get papa to
marry her, I am sure of it. She must propose for him herself, for he
will never have the courage to do so; I see through her, and I am sure
you must do the same. He is flattered by the constant attentions, and
little notes, and insinuating manners of a very handsome, fashionable,
agreeable woman; and she thinks Glanyravon Park and a man of fortune
that she will be able to turn round her fingers, better than the
jointure she will have to live upon when her daughter leaves her. I was
actually disgusted with her yesterday; it was what I call a dead set; if
he marries her I shall hang myself, for live with her I never will; I
positively detest her.'
'Oh! Freda; those are the old expressions of years gone by. But you are
jumping at a conclusion.'
'Not at all; papa always stands up for Lady Nugent and her insipid
daughter. You know he is a thorough gentleman himself and does not
understand such a maneuvering woman. I told him so the other day, and he
was quite angry; and I am sure she sets him against me. Why will you not
try to marry papa, if he must marry again? and you are the only person I
could tolerate for a step-mother.'
'My dear Freda,' said Miss Hall, laughing, 'your papa would as soon
think of Miss Rice Rice as of me.'
'You are quite mistaken, he has always admired you very much, only you
are so dreadfully reserved with him. You won't see that he wants some
one who can talk to and for him, to save him the trouble. This Lady
Nugent does with the most contemptible tact; and does it so cleverly
that nobody sees through her. If you will only try, and just propose at
the right moment, I am convinced papa would have you. If he marries her,
I say good-bye to Glanyravon for ever.'
'You are so impetuous, Freda; I am sure your papa has never thought of
it.'
'Not exactly in a downright way, nor will he till Lady Nugent makes the
proposal; then he will be rather frightened at first, and finally think
that she will head his table more gracefully than I shall, and be less
dictatorial--and I shall go into a convent.'
'Better marry yourself, my dear.'
'Marry who? The only person who would really care to have me, whether I
had a fortune or not, is Sir Hugh Pryse, and I could no more marry him
than--than--Mr Rice Rice, or Major Madox, who thinks only of the heiress
of Glanyravon.'
'But you have refused half-a-dozen more, and have not even taken the
trouble to try to like any one of them!'
'They were all in love with the Park, not with me; and I certainly never
mean to try to like any one. It must be true love with me, or none at
all. I shall die an old maid, and unless you will, just for my sake, try
to cut out Lady Nugent, I daresay you and I will nurse the black cat
together.'
Freda's conversation was checked by the sound of horses' hoofs behind;
she turned sound and saw a gentleman riding slowly up the drive. He soon
overtook them, and raising his hat, said,--
'Miss Gwynne! I am sure it must be Miss Gwynne; am I right?'
Freda bowed.
'You do not remember me! twelve years make a great difference! and you
were a child when I left.'
'Colonel Vaughan! Oh! I am so glad to see you!' claimed Freda. 'And
papa will be charmed; we heard you were in England, but did not know you
were in this county.'
Colonel Vaughan dismounted, and shook hands with Freda, evidently with
all his heart, then glancing at Miss Hall, started, and said,--
'Yes--no--I beg your pardon, surely not Miss Hall.'
'Yes,' said Miss Hall, colouring slightly, and holding out her hand, I
am very glad to welcome you home again, but can well imagine you did not
expect to see me here.'
By this time they were at the house, and Freda was planning introducing
Colonel Vaughan to her father as a stranger, and seeing whether he would
recognise him or not.
She accordingly preceded him to the study, and said to Mr Gwynne, 'A
gentleman wishes to see you, papa.'
Mr Gwynne rose and made his bow, and motioned to a seat in his usually
nervous manner.
'How do you do, Mr Gwynne? Don't you know me?' said the colonel,
standing up before him.
'I beg your pardon--no--I do not think I have ever--impossible! It
cannot be my godson, Gwynne Vaughan?'
'The very same!' said the colonel. 'I only came down last night, and
this is the first place I have visited.'
'I am very glad to see you, my dear fellow,' said Mr Gwynne, absolutely
rising from his chair.
'And this was what the bells were ringing for last night?' said Freda,
looking flushed and handsome.
'In spite of my poverty they did me that honour,' said the colonel. 'I
heard the old place was likely to be let again, and so ran down to have
a look at it first, and beat up my old friends. It was years ago that I
went, a youth of nineteen, into the army, and twelve since I have been
here, and I have been all the world over since then; but I come back and
find everything much as I left it.'
'But surely you will not go away again?' said Mr Gwynne.
'I am not rich enough to keep up the old place as it ought to be kept,
and the debts are not half wiped off yet, so I don't mean to settle down
at present.'
'But a little economy and that sort of thing would soon clear the
property. You had better settle down.'
'I don't think I should like it; besides, I hear there are negotiations
going on between my attorneys and some other persons for a fresh
tenant.'
The luncheon-bell rang, and the party went into the dining-room; and
whilst they are eating and talking we will examine the new comer.
He is decidedly a handsome man. The most fastidious judge of masculine
beauty could scarcely deny this fact. Tall, well made, of commanding
figure and aristocratic appearance, black hair, a high rather than a
broad forehead, well marked eyebrows, and black lashes so long that they
half conceal the grey eyes beneath; an aquiline nose, and a well-defined
mouth, with an expression slightly sarcastic; a chin so deeply indented
with a dimple that, if the old saw be true, he must be a flirt or a
deceiver; and withal, a manner so perfectly easy and self-possessed that
you say at once court, camp, or cottage must be equally accessible to
that man.
There is a certain power in him that even a reader of character would
scarcely understand for some time. Is it intellect? There is decidedly
intelligence in the face, yet it is not highly intellectual; there are
no disfiguring lines and cross lines, the furrows of study or thought.
Is it mere health and animal spirits? He is neither particularly rosy
nor overpoweringly cheerful. Does he read your mind at a glance? His
eyes are penetrating, but not uncomfortably so. It is, we are inclined
to think, that general and instinctive knowledge of the characters and
tendencies of those with whom he converses, which commerce with the
world, and a keen observation of men and manners, alone can give. He is,
in short, a man of the world.
When he first entered the army his father and an elder brother were
alive. They, dying about three years after, left him in possession of a
large but greatly encumbered property. It was estimated that it would
take twenty years at least to clear the estate, and that only by letting
it and never drawing upon the proceeds.
The young heir was wise enough to retain his post as officer in Her
Majesty's service, though not to sequester all his income for the
payment of his father's, grandfather's, and great-grandfather's debts or
mortgages. He spent about a fourth of it annually, and consequently the
property was still greatly encumbered and he knew that to reside on it
and clear it he would be obliged to live in a very humdrum style, or
else add to the burden of debt already incurred. He preferred, remaining
in the army, and being a general favourite in society, and having no
near relations in Wales, it never occurred to him to spend his furloughs
in his native county. He had always some distant land to visit, and
either with his regiment or on leave had travelled nearly all over the
world.
His return was therefore an event of considerable interest to the
neighbourhood in which his place and property lay; and, doubtless, Mr
Gwynne was not the only person who wished Colonel Vaughan to settle at
Plas Abertewey.
When he was last at Glanyravon Park Mrs Gwynne was alive, Freda was a
child of eight, and Miss Hall a very elegant and pretty young woman. Mr
Gwynne Vaughan was then one of her numerous admirers; but there was
apparently no remnant of his early passion left, if you can judge of the
heart of a man, or his character at least, by his face or manner. Miss
Hall was much more confused when she suddenly met him than he was when
he first recognised her.
Freda had always had a pleasant recollection of him. He had been very
kind to her when she was a child, and an occasional letter to her
father, or the intelligence, through the papers, of his distinguishing
himself in India, or his gradual rise in the army, had kept alive a
certain amount of interest in her mind for this old friend.
She showed it at once, and delighted Colonel Vaughan by the perfectly
natural manner with which she welcomed him, and the frank heartiness of
her expressed wish that he should remain in the country now he had
returned to it.
'We have never had any one we cared for at Abertewey,' she said.
'Sometimes it was an English family who came to ruin themselves in
mining speculations; sometimes a sporting man who came for the hunting,
shooting, and fishing; and now, if you don't stay, I daresay it will be
a Manchester mill owner or some such person.'
'Much nearer home, I fancy; but I believe it is a kind of secret, only I
am so much like a woman that I cannot keep a secret. To my utter
astonishment I find it is to be a son of old Jenkins, the miser! I
remember the father, but the son was some years my junior. You need not
mention this, however, as it may fall to the ground. He wanted to buy
the place, but I am too patriotic still to wish to sell.'
'Howel Jenkins! little Netta! at Abertewey!' exclaimed the trio in
concert.
'True it is that mountains fall and mushrooms rise,' said the colonel
laughing. 'But he has money, and as far as negotiations have gone, seems
willing to pay, so I am content.'
'And I am not,' said Freda. 'It will be odious, and I shall be so sorry
for poor Mrs Prothero. You must settle there yourself, Colonel Vaughan.'
'A poor lonely bachelor with no money!'
'Hem--hem, you might find a wife, I should think,' suggested Mr Gwynne.
'There is a beautiful girl in this neighbourhood with thirty thousand
pounds at her disposal.'
'Oh, papa!' said Freda frowning perceptibly, 'such an empty-headed,
insipid idiot would be dear at a hundred thousand.'
Colonel Vaughan looked at Freda to see whether she was jealous, but
could not quite understand the frown.
Soon after luncheon he took his leave, with promises to make Glanyravon
his head-quarters if he remained any time in the country.