THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.
Plas Abertewey was a fine old country seat, that had been in Colonel
Vaughan's family for generations. Miss Gwynne was not the only scion of
the good old county gentry who was disgusted at seeing it in the
possession of a son of old Griffey Jenkins, the miser. But so it was to
be. Howel took the place, nominally for a term, but with the avowed
intention of purchasing it, or the first place of any note that should
be for sale in the county.
He made liberal proposals to Colonel Vaughan's agents as regarded
improvements and repairs, the house having been much neglected for some
years; and in the course of a few months after his marriage with Netta,
workmen of all kinds were employed in adorning Plas Abertewey for his
expected arrival with his bride.
This did not take place, however, until the following spring, by which
time the house and grounds were in as fine order as money could make
them. Howel sent down a person from London to superintend the work, and
remained with Netta in Paris until it was nearly completed; then he
brought her over to England, left her in London with his friends the
Simpsons, and ran down into Wales, accompanied by Captain Dancy, who had
been his companion during a great portion of his Paris trip.
They remained only a few days, and then returned to town to superintend
the purchase of furniture, plate, and the various appurtenances of a
country establishment, which were duly despatched to the _charge
d'affaires_ in the country, and vigilantly guarded by Mrs Griffith
Jenkins, who took up her abode at Abertewey for the time being.
As bell-ringers do not pause to consider the cause and effect of the
events they are ordered to commemorate, but rather think of the amount
of money and liquid they are likely to receive for their labour, the
chime of Llanfawr rang a merry peal when the future master and mistress
of Plas Abertewey drove through the town. There was, moreover, a small
show of fireworks on the occasion. Blue balls, crackers, rockets and the
like blazed and hissed about to the no small danger of the thatched
roofs of some of the houses. Mrs Griffith Jenkins undrew her purse
strings on that day, and the cheering and shouting were great as the
bride and bridegroom appeared. Howel bowed and smiled as all great men
do on such occasions, and Netta laughed, and was proud. One of the blue
balls made the fine pair of horses that drew Howel's new carriage take
fright, but the London coachman showed the superiority of his driving by
pulling them in' and the crowd shouted amain.
Captain Dancy and Miss Simpson, who accompanied the pair, were duly
impressed with the loyalty of Howel's subjects, and were not
particularly shown the little shop to which he owed their sudden
devotion. 'Jenkins, the miser,' was quite swallowed up in 'Howel
Jenkins, Esq.,' and 'Netta Prothero, Glanyravon,' was engulphed in his
wife. So goes the world. Shout on, little boys, for so will it be when
you are in your turn big men, and 'adore the rising, rather than the
setting sun,' as the French proverb hath it.
Fortunately, Abertewey was in the parish of Llanfawr, and some seven or
eight miles from Glanyravon, therefore Mr and Mrs Prothero knew nothing
of the demonstrations in honour of their children.
Mrs Griffith Jenkins received them, dressed in a new _moire antique_,
quite in baronial style, under the portico of their dwelling, and the
proper complement of retainers was in the background. More shouts were
heard from some of the immediate neighbours, who had gathered round the
door to see the arrival; and as Netta alighted from her carriage,
attired like a Paris doll, she felt that she was now a grand lady, and
could conscientiously look down on Miss Rice Rice, and be on an equality
with Miss Nugent.
Howel gave some orders in a very commanding tone to the various
lords-in-waiting, and then the door closed upon their majesties, and the
admiring crowds saw them no more.
It is no wonder that the world without Plas Abertewey was much engaged
in talking of, and speculating on, the world within. Howel's horses,
Netta's dress, Miss Simpson's father's baronetcy, Captain Dancy's
regiment, Plas Abertewey's appointments, the footmen's liveries, the
reputed wealth of the miser, even Mrs Griffith Jenkins' _moire antique_,
mourning ornaments and gold watch were variously remarked upon, and
doubtless with great good nature and deserving approbation. We all know
how we rejoice when our neighbours rise to wealth or eminence. There was
not one breakfast-table within twenty miles of Abertewey, from that of
my lord and my lady to Jim Davies and his wife, shoemakers, over which
the arrival of Howel Jenkins, the miser, as he was called, according to
his father before him, was not pulled to pieces, from the first sound of
the bells to the last shout at his hall door.
'Shall we call?' were the words on the lips of all heads of families,
generally settled by the said 'heads' driving in their very best
equipages and gayest clothes, to pay the wedding visit to the reputed
millionnaire and his pretty, elegantly attired wife.
Money, as I have somewhat commonplacedly remarked elsewhere, is the
master-key to most hearts, and Howel found that nearly all the hearts in
his native county were opened by his wealth. The exceptions were
principally those of his wife's family, and even in some of these he
managed to turn the key.
It was shortly after the arrival at Plas Abertewey that Owen and Gladys
simultaneously left the farm, and we find the former on that same
morning, standing at a little distance from this residence of his sister
and Howel, surveying it, and ruminating on the family fortunes.
'Well done, Howel,' he said to himself; 'if money hasn't done something
for you, I don't know for whom it has done anything. I declare I will
try and make some myself, and come back and marry Gladys in spite of the
world.'
Then he began to ask himself, whether it was kind and brotherly to pass
by his only sister's door without saying good-bye to her, and whether
his father had any right to expect all her relations to give her up,
because he chose to do so? His reflections were suddenly cut short by
the appearance of Howel and another gentleman, bound, apparently, on a
fishing expedition.
'Owen, come at last!' cried Howel, hastening up to him with great good
will. 'Better late than never. I am very glad to see you, so will be
Netta. Travelled early to hide your carpet bag, or whatever it is?'
'Knapsack,' said Owen, shaking his cousin's offered hand; 'I'm off to
sea again.'
'A queer road to take; but you come to see us on your way, of course.
Let me introduce you to Mr Simpson, Sir John Simpson's son. My cousin,
Mr Simpson, my wife's brother.
Owen nodded, and Mr Simpson bowed.
'We're going out fishing, but you'll find Netta--in bed, I'm afraid, but
she'll be glad to see you anywhere. Go up the avenue, and let Netta know
you've come. We shall be home to dinner at seven. Good-bye for the
present.'
Owen did not stay to consider, but walked past the handsome lodge, and
up the drive, according to Howel's direction.
'Mighty condescending and very patronising, cousin Howel!' he
soliloquised; 'but I will go and see how Netta gets on, and how your
highness treats her.'
He reached the house, and rang stoutly at the bell. A servant answered
it, who was adjusting his coat just put on, he not having expected such
early visitors.
'The back entrance is round the corner there, young man,' were his words
on perceiving Owen, whose pride was greatly roused thereby.
'Tell Mrs Howel Jenkins that her brother, Mr Owen Prothero, is here,'
said Owen, intending to electrify the man.
But he did not succeed. The servants knew very well that their
mistress's family was not of 'county rank,' and that its members were
not upon terms with the Aberteweys, therefore had no very high opinion
of them. He turned on his heel, and told a female servant to tell
Lucette, the French maid, to tell her mistress that Mr Owen Prothero was
at the door.
In a few minutes the man reappeared, and, with a great increase of
civility, asked Mr Prothero to walk into the breakfast-room, and said
his mistress would be down as soon as possible. Whilst he was admiring
the room and its costly furniture, and considering the tea service, a
smart little French-woman came to him and asked him in French, whether
he would stay to breakfast; as he knew something of the language he
replied in the affirmative. Then appeared an equally smart and
fascinating French valet, who begged to be allowed the honour of
conducting Monsieur to a bedroom, to arrange his toilet.
Owen laughed heartily and followed the man, who took up his knapsack
daintily, and led him to a very handsome bedroom, where Owen brushed his
hair as becomingly as he could, arranged his beard, and made himself as
smart as his wardrobe would allow of his doing. He was, as we have
before said, a very handsome young man, and sufficiently well mannered
to pass muster anywhere.
'What is the next act, I wonder?' said he, as he found his way into the
breakfast-room. He was quite taken aback as he entered, when he saw a
pale young lady sitting in one of the windows, reading. He made his bow,
she curtseyed, and said,--
'Mrs Howel Jenkins' brother, I believe? My name is Simpson.'
Owen bowed again, and not being of a shy turn, and having seen ladies of
various degrees during his travels, began to make himself agreeable.
In a few minutes, a little French fairy flitted into the room, with her
hair off her face to display such eyes and complexion as are rare in all
times; and muslins, laces, and ribbons so blended, as to set off a
petite figure to the very best advantage. Owen was going to bow again,
when a little affected laugh, and a 'Ma foi! he doesn't know me, Miss
Simpson,' proclaimed the fairy to be his sister Netta.
'Owen, you naughty boy, not to know me,' the little thing continued,
more naturally, running up to her brother, who took her, despite
muslins, laces, and ribbons, almost up in his big arms, and kissed her.
'How you have rumpled me, Owen? did you ever see such a thing, Miss
Simpson?' she cried, half laughing, half in tears, as she smoothed down
the point-lace sleeves and collar.
Just then a tall man entered, and Netta disengaging herself from Owen,
who was on the point of kissing her again, and asking her what she had
done to herself, simpered out an introduction between 'Captain Dancy and
my brother, Captain Prothero.'
'Not quite that yet,' began Owen, anxious to disclaim the captaincy,
when he was interrupted by the entrance of one or two other men, who
were, in their turn, named to him as Sir Samuel Spendall and Mr Deep.
Owen did not like their appearance and looked towards his really lovely
little sister, to see how she received them. Her manners had a mixture
of affectation and simplicity that was rather taking than otherwise. And
Owen wondered how Howel could leave one so young and pretty amongst
three men of the world, which he soon discovered his new acquaintances
to be. True, Miss Simpson was with her, and in the middle of breakfast,
to which, in due time, they sat down, another lady came upon the scene,
by name Madame Duvet, who turned out to be the English widow of a
Frenchman. She was young, handsome, but over-bold for the taste of a man
who was in love with Gladys.
She was at once taken with Owen's handsome face, and talked to him
incessantly, whilst Captain Dancy seated himself near Netta, and devoted
himself to her much more closely than Owen liked. However, he was very
hungry, and managed to make a good breakfast.
He heard Netta telling Captain Dancy that her brother had been at sea
all his life, and knew nothing of the fashionable world; at which he
thought the ham he was eating would have choked him, in his effort to
repress a laugh. He longed very much to knock down one of the
'Jeames's,' who would stand gazing at him, and did so far betray his
indignation, as to ask him, when he came behind his chair, whether he
saw anything remarkable in his appearance, which so amused Madame Duvet,
that she exclaimed '_Charmant! brava!_ you make me _crever de rire_.'
Owen was astonished at everything, but at nothing so much as at his
sister. Netta had always aped the fine lady, and made the most of her
few accomplishments; but now it was all like a fairy-tale, and the
heroine was Netta, transformed by some fairy into a princess. By turns
coquettish, affected, simple, languishing, accordingly as she feared she
was too like her natural self--the Netta of the Farm was no more, and
her representative was, to Owen at least, an anomaly. How she could have
acquired such an amount of small talk, and such a mincing speech in nine
months, was an enigma to him. London, Paris, the opera, the fashions,
even the picture galleries, were alternately in her mouth; and she
poured out tea and coffee, and laughed a silly laugh, much to her own
satisfaction, and Owen's disgust, whilst all the men were looking at
her; for assuredly she was very pretty.
'Owen,' she said, during a sudden pause in rather a noisy conversation,
'I hear Rowland is quite a fashionable preacher. Howel means to ask him
down here, I believe. Miss Simpson went to hear him--didn't you, Miss
Simpson?'
This was drawled out, and Owen felt very much disposed to get up and
shake his sister, as he had often done when she came from school with
any new airs and graces. But he contented himself with saying,----
'Rowly's a capital fellow, Netta, fach, and doing his best. Whether he's
a fashionable preacher or not I don't know, but he kept us all awake at
Llanfach one Sunday for half-an-hour, which is something.'
'Your brother is so amusing! so _naif_! I die of him!' said Madame
Duvet.
'Very original!' remarked Miss Simpson; 'I do like originality--'
'Then you must like Netta,' said Owen; 'for there was never any one of
our family the least like her.'
'Oh yes! you are, about the eyes. _Malin!_' said Madame Duvet.
After breakfast, Owen tried to get Netta a little to himself, but there
were distant calls to make, and drives and rides to be arranged, which
caused him to be unsuccessful in his efforts. So he fell to the lot of
Mr Deep, who took him to see Howel's hunters and dogs, and all the other
wonders of Abertewey.
'Deep by name, and deep by nature,' was Owen's reflection, after his
morning with his new acquaintance. 'He has managed to get all my secrets
out of me, one excepted; but he has not confided any to me in return.
One thing I suspect, however, that he has a turn for horse-racing and
betting.'
Howel and Mr Simpson came home about six o'clock; and the whole party,
with the addition of Mr Rice Rice, assembled at dinner. Howel had
ordered his valet to see that 'Captain Prothero' was properly dressed;
and, accordingly, Owen was obliged to put on a smart waistcoat and tie
belonging to Howel, which greatly embellished his outer man, and gave
him increased favour in the eyes of Madame Duvet and Miss Simpson.
He was more astounded than ever when he saw his sister in her evening
costume.
'What do you think of her, Owen?' whispered Howel, as he stood literally
gazing at her before dinner.
'I can't exactly say,' was the reply; 'but she is no longer Netta
Prothero of the Farm.'
'I should imagine not!' said Howel. 'Pray don't let us talk of farms
here, Owen. I don't like conversation that smells of the shop.'
'Not even of the old place where we used to steal lollilops?' asked
Owen, maliciously.
Howel turned away for fear of being overheard, and devoted himself quite
as much to Madame Duvet, as Captain Dancy still did to Netta; and Owen
wondered on.
Again he looked at Netta, as she sat curled up on a sofa, a mere child
in appearance, but so pretty, in white, with some sort of
cherry-coloured ornaments for dress and head, that no one could possibly
have recognised her as the country belle of twelve months ago. 'Her own
mother would not know her!' thought Howel. 'Poor mother, she would
scarcely care for all this grandeur, though one can't help envying it a
little. I will be off to California, and come home and buy a place, and
see whether Gladys would not be as good a fine lady as Netta.'
The dinner was grand; the servants were grand; all was grand to Owen's
bewildered imagination. Madame Duvet made such very decided attempts to
talk to him, however, that he was obliged to cease wondering, and to
bring his usually versatile genius into play, in the light of all the
grandeur. He got on so well with the lady, that Howel wondered in his
turn, and after dinner told Owen that he verily believed if he played
his cards well, he might make an impression on the pretty widow.
'One can do that, I should say, without any cards at all,' said Owen,
showing his white teeth from amidst his big black beard.
When the ladies had left the dinner-table, Owen began to gain some
insight into the characters and pursuits of Howel's guests. He had not
spent thirteen or fourteen years amongst men of all ranks and all
nations, without having acquired a shrewd judgment, and a tolerable
knowledge of mankind.
The conversation turned at once upon hunting, racing, steeple-chasing,
billiards, bets, and the like. It was evident that Howel, too, was well
initiated into such matters. Mr Rice Rice asked him when the question of
the hounds was to be decided, and Howel said that kennels were in
preparation, and that he hoped to have a first-rate pack by the winter.
There arose a dispute about a celebrated racer that Howel appeared to
possess in London, and that was expected daily at Abertewey. Howel
declared his intention of letting her run at the Carmarthen races.
Captain Dancy, having heavy stakes on the mare, vowed it might disable
her for the Derby, and words ran high; but Mr Deep interposed, and
changed the subject to that of _rouge et noir_.
They sat over the dinner-table till nearly eleven o'clock, by which time
they were all more or less exhilarated. Howel's wines were good, his
cellar was well stocked, and he was lavish of everything that might give
him a reputation amongst the Welsh squires that surrounded him, many of
whom still worshipped at the shrine of Bacchus.
When they joined the ladies, Owen thought the conversation was rather
too loud and boisterous. Captain Dancy alone was quite himself, and made
Netta sing some little French songs to Owen's great amusement. After tea
and coffee had been carried round, a card table appeared, and
_vingt-et-un_ was proposed. The stakes were so high that Owen trembled
for his small stock of wealth? but to his astonishment again, he found
himself, at the end of the evening, a gainer of nearly five pounds,
although he had been most moderate in his own stakes. He was struck with
the eagerness of Madame Duvet and Netta, who entered into the game with
all the avidity of accomplished gamblers.
It was very late when they finished the game, and nominally retired for
the night, but not late enough to prevent Howel, Captain Dancy, Mr Deep,
and Sir Samuel Spendall from sitting down again to whist. Owen left them
at it, not altogether satisfied with himself or his companions.
The following day, Owen again tried to get some private conversation
with Howel or Netta, but in vain. The breakfast was even later than the
previous morning, as Howel did not go out fishing, and afterwards there
were more distant calls to make, and Netta was engaged in preparing her
dress with her maid for a dinner-party at Mr Rice Rice's, at which she
desired to appear particularly grand. The gentlemen were playing
billiards part of the day, and riding the rest, in neither of which
amusement Owen joined. Madame Duvet did her best to amuse him, and
succeeded very well, for Owen was far from insensible to the charms of
beauty, and, in spite of Gladys, could not resist flirting a little, in
his own matter-of-fact way, with a pretty woman.
The three ladies, Captain Dancy and Howel, were the dinner guests at Mr
Rice Rice's, the other gentlemen were invited for the dance in the
evening. Young Rice Rice had given Owen a lame invitation the previous
day, which he had declined; never having been in the habit of visiting
him when at home, he did not choose to do so under Howel's countenance.
Owen's astonishment was brought to a climax that evening when his sister
appeared dressed for this, her first public appearance on the small
stage of a country-neighbourhood, or, to speak more respectfully, county
visiting. It was Howel's pleasure that she should make it in point lace
and diamonds. Not even to Owen was it whispered that the lace was a
wonderfully good imitation, or that the diamonds, instead of being of
the first water, were first-rate paste; and no one suspected the
deception. The great millionnaire, Howel Jenkins, could well afford to
give his pretty wife the real jewels and lace, and had the credit of so
doing; and as no one, save himself and the jeweller, knew that they were
false, he thought himself a very clever fellow for gaining the
reputation of unbounded liberality upon very small means. Be it said,
however, that his own studs, pin and ring, were real.
The French maid had eclipsed herself in Netta's toilet, and Owen felt
that if she were not his sister, he must have fallen in love with her
himself. The black roguish eyes sparkled like the brilliants she wore,
and the complexion was scarcely rivalled by the roses she had in her
bouquet.
Howel looked really proud of her, and it is not surprising that he felt
greatly elevated as he took the reins from the coachman and drove off in
his fine new carriage, drawn by capital horses, and attended by liveried
servants.
His last whisper to Netta, before they entered Mr Rice Rice's
drawing-room was, 'Keep up your consequence, and don't say, "Yes,
indeed!" every minute.'
He was determined to keep up his own consequence, and began at once by
patronising everybody present. There were some of the county gentry who
had demurred as to calling on the old miser's son, and who were
astonished at the kind of tone he assumed. They, who had been gravely
considering whether they could possibly shake hands with him, found
themselves on a level with, if not beneath him, at once, by mere
effrontery. There is some truth in the saying that, 'Accordingly as you
think of yourself, others will think of you;' and impudence and riches
combined, together with a certain amount of talent and personal
appearance, can overcome vast worldly obstacles. Besides did he not
bring an unmarried baronet with him--one of the very ancient family of
Spendalls--and the son and daughter of a man of title, and a captain of
the dragoon guards? to say nothing of that fashionable widow, reputed a
fortune. And were there not plenty of young ladies, poor if proud, in
the county, wanting partners, either for dancing or life, or both?
After that evening, people sneered at home perhaps, but they called and
invited and made much of the master and mistress of Plas Abertewey,
forgetting or ignoring their origin.
Netta, too, obeyed Howel's last injunction to the best of her ability.
Her youth and beauty were greatly in her favour, and her affectation
covered the shyness and awkwardness that she felt in being suddenly
thrown amongst people upon whom she had formerly looked with awe. The
Nugents were there, but the Gwynnes were absent, and she had the
pleasure of feeling that she had as many, if not more, partners than the
heiress, Miss Nugent, and was much more grandly dressed. As for Miss
Rice Rice, she fell quite into the shade before her.
Her old friend, Sir Hugh Pryse, was particularly attentive, and talked
to her of Miss Gwynne; and Captain Dancy was as much devoted to her
abroad as at home. Her head was quite turned, and nothing but the
consciousness that Howel was present kept it on her shoulders at all;
but the fear of a lecture for some mistake in manners kept her so much
on her guard, that she got through the evening wonderfully, and achieved
what Mme. Duvet called _un grand succes_.
And Howel danced, and talked, and introduced his friends, and patronised
everybody, much as if he had been a feudal monarch amongst his barons.
Here and there might have been seen a suppressed smile, as one of the
company whispered to another, 'Where is Mrs Griffey Jenkins to-night?
What would old Griff, the miser, say to those diamonds? I wonder his
very ghost doesn't appear?' but still money won its usual way. And when
Howel's chariot came to the door, there were more surprised and admiring
eyes fixed upon it from the bystanders without, than on that of any
other of the assembled party. As Mrs Griffey Jenkins said when she heard
of the evening gaieties,--
'Deet to goodness, and my Howel's was grander than any one. I do answer
for that. Now his is a beauty carriage and horses, and servants as grand
as Queen Victoria's or Prince Albert's, for I did be seeing them in
London myself.'