Smiling Spring, with her ever-changing episode of sunshine and tears,
had twice come and gone. The gorgeous fields of golden grain had for a
second time bent their heads beneath the harvest side, and the autumnal
tints of every hue and shade had again fallen on the rich foliage of the
magnificent old woods of Devon, while the whirr of the pheasant in the
preserves, and the popping at the partridges among the turnips,
indicated that the shooting season had once more commenced over the
broad lands around Vellenaux.
Things wore much the same aspect as they had done on Arthur's return
from College and prior to his departure for the sunny plains of
Hindostan some eighteen months since. Sir Jasper was apparently hale and
hearty. Edith had finished her education, on which her uncle had spared
no expense, for masters and professors had been procured from London to
superintend her studies. She was perfectly happy, occasionally receiving
letters from Arthur, which always afforded her much pleasure to peruse
and think over, and frequently would she detect herself gazing upon his
photograph in the pretty little locket he had sent her from Oxford by
Tom Barton, and which, since his departure, she constantly wore.
Ralph Coleman's visits had become more frequent of late; this at first
did not attract Edith's notice. She had never been prepossessed in his
favour, but as her uncle's kinsman, and being heir to the Baronetcy, her
deportment to him had ever been polite and affable, but subsequently his
attentions became so marked that they aroused her to a sense of his real
meaning. Yet she could scarcely bring herself to believe that such was
really the case, and but for the delicate hints and inuendos that
occasionally fell from the double dealing widow, she would, there is no
doubt, have remained for a much longer time unconvinced of his
intentions towards her. However, time was passing on and Ralph made up
his mind to bring matters to the point. One lovely afternoon, as he was
entering the conservatory, he espied the fluttering of a woman's dress
among the shrubs and flowers, and on coming nearer, though still at some
little distance, perceived a lady walking slowly and as if in deep
thought. Feeling quite certain that it was no other than the one he was
in quest of, and thanking the fates for giving him the long wished for
opportunity, he advanced more quickly and was soon beside Edith (for she
it proved to be) before she was aware that any one was near. Turning,
with something of a surprised look on her lovely face, she exclaimed,
"Oh, how you startled me. I thought you were on the way to London. I am
quite amazed to find you here."
"I hope my presence is not distasteful to you," he said, gently, at the
same time lifting his hat and bowing low before her. He really cared
nothing for the beautiful girl at his side, for he was thoroughly
selfish; nor did he care by what means or how low he had to stoop to
gain possession of the object wished for.
Edith, knowing her own feelings, and not wishing to say aught to hurt
or offend him more than was actually necessary, scarcely knew how to
answer him, disliking him as she did. Still she had nothing to complain
of, for he had ever paid her the most marked respect. Before she could
frame her answer he spoke again, "Edith, I have for some time been
wishing to speak to you on a subject very near my heart. I love you
dearly and have long done so, will you be my wife, or, at least, give me
some hope that my suit may be acceptable at some future time? only give
me one encouraging smile, one ray of hope, and I will drudge on
patiently until you bid me come to you."
"Oh no," Edith replied, "you must not wait, you must not hope, I can
never be yours. Go, leave me." Before she had well finished, Ralph
Coleman had seized her little white hands in his strong grasp, and said
in a deep, hoarse voice, "Edith, I ask you again will you be mine?"
Surprise, astonishment, and a feeling very like indignation took
possession of Edith.
"Mr. Ralph Coleman," she said, "before I answer any more questions,
release my hands." As he did so she raised her head proudly, and turning
towards him with a heightened color, said, "I have already told you that
I cannot love you, and am surprised that it is not sufficient. I thank
you for the honor you intended, but beg that you will never mention this
subject to me again."
As these words fell upon his ear, Ralph Coleman's face changed and
darkened visibly, an evil light came into his eyes, and an ugly frown
contracted his brow, then, with a smile, whose meaning could not be
mistaken, he said:
"Take care, proud girl, I have sworn that you shall be mine, and by the
Heavens above us, I intend to keep my vow, and neither man nor devil
shall turn me from my purpose!"
Edith's eyes flashed, her beautiful lips curled in scorn, and her whole
face beamed with intense disgust, and with a voice low and deep she
said,
"Have a care, sir, beware how you threaten the niece of Sir Jasper
Coleman. Before to-morrow my uncle shall be made acquainted with what
has just passed, and the character of the man who has partaken so often
of his hospitality, and been ever treated with kind attention, he has
yet to learn how these courtesies have been returned," and sweeping past
him with a look of supreme contempt, Edith was about to pass on.
It was evident that he had gone too far and that she was not a girl to
be intimidated by anything that he might say, and at once changed his
tactics--for he was an excellent actor--"Pardon me, Miss Effingham, I
know not what I am saying, I am mad. Yes, lady, mad! for your beauty
like the moon, makes all men mad, who comes within the sphere of its
attraction. Forgive me for thus offending you." Edith turned towards
him, and with calm dignity replied, "Promise me never again to revert to
this subject, and in no way further molest me, and what has just passed
shall be forgiven." He gave the required promise. Edith then pursued her
way to the end of the conservatory, passed through the doorway, and on
to the terrace where she was met by her Uncle. He observed her
heightened color, but as she made no complaint he allowed it to pass
without comment.
Ralph Coleman stood for a few moments irresolute. She must, he thought,
either be aware that her uncle has left her sole heiress, or else is in
love with another, Carlton perhaps. Fool that I was to run so great a
risk, and that, at the instigation of that scheming woman. Should she
say aught to her uncle on this matter, it would ruin me with him. I will
at once seek an interview and endeavour to wheedle him out of a promise
to make a codicil in my favor.
Failing in the attempt to secure the hand of the beautiful Miss
Effingham, and not daring to risk another trial, as it might spoil the
plans he had been contemplating since Edith's dismissal of him, he had
kept shy of that young lady during the remainder of his stay, and prior
to his departure for London, he had contrived to have a long interview
with the Baronet, during which he very ably showed the position that he
would hold should the Baronetcy eventually descend to him who was
totally unable to support the dignity of the rank that would thus be
thrust upon him. So well and ably did he argue this point, that ere he
left Vellenaux he extorted a sort of promise from Sir Jasper that he
would think the matter over and make a bequest in his favor.
He returned to his office, in deed court, annoyed and disheartened to a
considerable extent by the failure of his designs as far as related to
Miss Effingham, but his wounded vanity he could afford to bear and hide
within his own breast, as he now confidently believed that Sir Jasper
would adopt the suggestions he had made to him, and settle, at least,
two or three thousand per annum on the successor to the Baronetcy during
the said successor's life; and in this frame of mind the Lawyer
determined to de vote himself entirely to his profession, and to avoid
the pretty Edith, Mrs. Fraudhurst, and Vellenaux, until the present
owner should have been gathered to his fathers.
There is perhaps no season of the year in the South of England so
pleasing to the eye or more genial to the corporeal faculties than that
of early autumn, especially that part of Devonshire which we have
selected for the opening and closing scene of our story. Vellenaux, with
its varied and picturesque styles of architecture, embosomed, as it
were, in rich woodlands, with a perfect amphitheatre of hills on three
sides, and ever and anon the soft breezes of the ocean sweeping over the
downs, and through the beech woods on the other. It was, indeed, a
domain of which any one might have been proud.
It was a lovely evening, the sun had just commenced to dip behind the
crest of the adjacent hills, and was sending its golden rays through the
bright foliage of the trees and down the long paths that led to the
woods hard by. Edith had strolled, book in hand, to her favourite knoll,
beneath a stately elm, and was engaged in reading. Her two favourite
dogs, fine specimens of the Italian greyhound, chased each other in
circles which gradually grew smaller until it brought them to the very
feet of their mistress. One placed his small smooth nose in the little
white hand that was thrown carelessly on the moss grown roots beside
her, while the other, to attract her attention, placed his paw on the
page she was reading and looked up in her face. Suddenly their ears
elongated and away they bounded, as the noise of horses hoofs were heard
approaching in her direction, aroused her from her recumbent position,
as Julia Barton, on her quiet little pony, trotted up. She was off in an
instant, and running up to her friend, greeted her in the animated,
lively way, as was her custom when she had anything to communicate that
she thought would please or interest her. "At your studies," she said,
taking up the volume that Edith had let fall on her appearance. "Long
engagements, a tale of the Affghan war. Oh, oh, thinking of our old
playfellow are we?" and the merry girl laughed heartily, "we shall soon
hear more of him, for my sister-in-law, Pauline, has just most
unexpectedly arrived, and I wish you to know her. She is very charming
and improves wonderfully on acquaintance, is very good-natured, and
tells such funny stories about the people she lived among, and has a
great deal to say about Arthur Carlton. You will come to the Willows
to-morrow, will you not, and call on her?" Edith gave the required
assent, and Julia, mounting her pony, cantered down the avenue to the
lodge gate, where she was joined by a tall, gentlemanly looking man,
mounted on a small bay mare, and the two walked their horses at an easy
pace down the green lane in the direction of the Willows, and Edith
returned to the house in time to dress for dinner, well pleased with the
prospect of hearing something of him who was scarcely absent from her
thoughts for any great length of time. She did not attempt to analyze
her feelings on the subject. It was pleasant to think of her absent
friend, and that was sufficient for the present.
Mr. Barton, Sen., or old Mr. Barton as he was usually styled, for he was
upwards of eighty years of age, and had been born in the house he now
occupied, a good comfortable and substantial, but old fashioned
dwelling, which had passed from father to son for several generations.
His father had been what is termed a gentleman farmer, and attended
personally to the superintending of his acres. His son, the present
occupant, had followed his example. He married early in life, but the
lady of his choice died young, leaving one son to remind the sorrowing
widower of his loss. This was Horace Barton, whom we have already
introduced; he chose a different field for his labors, and managed to
secure, while yet young, on appointment in India. Our friend Tom and his
two sisters, Julia and Emily, were the result of a second marriage, and
although there was every comfort to be had, and a good home for all
during the life of the old couple, yet it was absolutely necessary that
Tom should make his own road through life, and that the girls should, by
early marriage, secure for themselves suitable establishments, as the
Willows would fall to Horace on the death of his father, and it would
not be many years before his term of service in the East would expire,
and he would then, doubtless, return to England and occupy the old house
in Devonshire.
The arrival of Mrs. Horace Barton from Calcutta had been quite
unexpected at the Willows, as no preparatory letter had announced her
intentions or arrival in England. Nevertheless she found all delighted
to receive her. She had spent the most of her visit to Europe in the gay
capitals of Paris and London, and a couple of months was all the time
she could spare to remain in Devonshire.
On her first visit she had not been introduced to Miss Effingham, and
had only caught a casual glance at her while crossing the lawn, as Edith
was returning from a visit to Julia Barton; but on this occasion was
determined to become acquainted with her, and find out if she really
deserved the high encomiums that had been bestowed upon her by Arthur
Carlton. She had anticipated seeing a pretty lively English country
girl, but was totally unprepared for the brilliant beauty and perfectly
self-possessed manners of Edith, and she always found an attentive
listener in her to all she had to relate on the subject of India and
Arthur Carlton whenever they met, which was now frequent, for an
introduction had taken place between them very shortly after her
arrival, and they consequently became on the most intimate and friendly
footing. The magnificence of the ancestral dwelling of the Colemans,
with its Parks, Parterres and grounds, was quite a novelty to Pauline
Barton, and with Edith she traversed the long corridors, picture
galleries, and armories with wonderment, for they contrasted strangely
with the Pagodas, Temples, and Bungalows in the country where the
greater part of her life had been spent (for she had been born there),
and she thought that Edith's life must be one of never-ending delight,
and for a time it was so, but a sad change was about to come over the
bright spirit of her dream of happiness for a time, and perhaps for
ever, and dash the cup of joyous light-heartedness from her grasp.
The event so much desired by the man of law took place at a much earlier
date than had been anticipated by that gentleman, or, indeed, by any one
of his acquaintances as the sequel will show.
"Reynolds," said the Baronet, one evening after dinner, some few weeks
after his interview with his worthy cousin, the heir to the title,
"place candles in my study, and you need not wait up for me. It is
likely that I shall sit writing to a late hour." The old servant bowed,
and retired to do the bidding of his master.
After affectionately wishing his niece good-night, and a passing remark
to Mrs. Fraudhurst, Sir Jasper entered his study, closing the door
quietly behind him.
For a considerable time he paced the room, with his hands crossed behind
his back, as was his custom when in a meditative mood. Finally, seating
himself at his escritoire, he placed the massive silver candlesticks,
with their wax lights, in such a position that the glow would not effect
his sight, and arranged his materials for writing to suit him. For a few
moments he leaned back in his chair, then selecting a small key from a
bunch he always carried, unlocked the centre drawer which contained only
a few memorandums and drew it completely out. He next touched a small
spring at the side, when a panel of the back slid open, disclosing an
aperture from which he took the packet he had brought from London the
evening previous to the opening of our story. This was the will and
testament of Sir Jasper Coleman, in which he had left his niece, Edith
Effingham, sole heiress of all he possessed, with the exception of a
gratuity of five thousand pounds to be paid to his _protégé_, Arthur
Carlton, within six months after his (the Baronet's) decease, and to be
free from all legacy or other duties. Having re-read the document, he
laid it on the table beside him and then commenced writing.
Sir Jasper had thus acted without the knowledge of his lawyer, the man
with whom he had consulted on every other matter since his succession to
the Baronetcy, consequently that gentleman was in ignorance of any such
will being in existence. It had been drawn by a competent lawyer
residing in one of the suburbs of London, and had been properly
witnessed, and was, in every particular, a regular, complete document.
The parties present on the occasion knew nothing of Sir Jasper, had
never heard of Vellenaux or its owner, and in all probability would
never hear of him again, as there was no likelihood of the will being
contested. Why he had acted in this manner is hard to say.
The Baronet had finished his letter, and was again musing, and muttering
to himself, "Ralph Coleman, you are an unprincipled man. Do you think
your attempt to coerce my darling niece to listen to your suit has
escaped me. You have failed in that quarter and now come to me to assist
you. Well, well as she is safe I can afford to forgive you, and let you
have a couple of thousand a year, to enable you to support yourself like
a gentleman when the title descends to you." Here the Baronet resumed
his pen and commenced the writing of a codicil in behalf of his cousin,
Ralph Coleman.
Perfect tranquility reigned throughout the house, all, with the
exception of Sir Jasper, had retired to rest, and there was no sound,
save the ticking of the old-fashioned time-piece, with its monotonous
and never varying tick, tick, and the scratching noise made by the quill
as it traced its inky characters on the yet incomplete codicil the
Baronet was preparing. The candles had burned low in their sockets, and
the fire on the hearth had died out unheeded by him who sat writing line
after line. Suddenly a spasm seized him. He, with great difficulty,
raised himself from the stooping position over the escritoire, but as he
did so, another spasm, more violent than the first, attacked him. He
tried to call for assistance, but his tongue clove to his mouth. He was
suffocating. He stretched his arm towards the silver bell, which stood
on the table, but it was beyond his reach. His head sank on the cushion
of the chair. His eyes closed, another convulsive start, and all was
over. Sir Jasper Coleman was no more.
For many months past it was customary whenever it was known that Sir
Jasper would sit up late, for Mrs. Fraudhurst, on passing the door of
his chamber before descending to the breakfast room, to tap and enquire
whether the Baronet would come down to his breakfast or have it sent up
to him. On the following morning the widow on stopping at the chamber
door discovered that it was ajar, and on pushing it gently open found
the room was vacant, the bed undisturbed and, it was quite evident from
its general appearance, that Sir Jasper could not have passed the
night--or any part of it--there. Though startled a little at first, Mrs.
Fraudhurst was not long in coming to a conclusion as to what really had
happened during the night. It had more than once occurred to her active
mind that such might be the manner in which the Baronet's life would
terminate. "And the hour I so feared may have come at last," thought
she, as the consequences that might accrue to herself, should such turn
out to be the case, rose up before her; but she was equal to the
emergency; quickly and noiselessly she descended to the private library
and, without rapping, entered, closing the door quietly after her.
The morning sun streamed through the stained glass windows, casting
their brilliant hues full on the face of the corpse, rendering the pale
features more ghastly to look on than the convulsions had left them.
Mrs. Fraudhurst was a woman of strong mind, but no feeling, and the
presence of death had no terrors for her. She had entered, prepared in
her own mind for the spectacle that now presented itself. Her plans had
been already arranged, but she had hardly counted on their being so
easily executed. With a firm hand she took up the will and unfinished
codicil, folded them, and placed them carefully in the bosom of her
dress. She now took up the bunch of keys, and replacing the centre
drawer, locked it and dropped the bunch of keys into one of the pockets
of Sir Jasper's dressing gown, and finding that the open letter related
to general business connected with the estate and some charitable
institution, left them as she found them, and without one look of pity
or regret on her now flushed face towards him to whose liberality she
had for years been indebted for a home, with all the comforts and
conveniences of life, left the apartment and regained her own chamber
without meeting or being seen by any one. Her first act was to securely
lock up the papers so feloniously obtained, then, applying cold water to
her heated brow, to wait for the ringing of the second bell for
breakfast. She could hear the voice of Edith, as her laugh rang out upon
the lawn beneath her open window, at the gambols of the two greyhounds.
"Reynolds, ascertain whether Sir Jasper will have his breakfast sent up
to him," said Mrs. Fraudhurst, as she and, Edith took their seats at the
table, some twenty minutes later.
Edith did not speak, but waited patiently to know if her uncle would
come down. There had been a growing coolness between her and the lady
who headed the table. She could not but think that there was some
complicity between her and Ralph Coleman with respect to herself. She
could not tell why this should be, but could not divest herself of the
idea, nevertheless.
"My master is not in his own room, and has not slept in his bed,"
hurriedly exclaimed Reynolds, re-entering the breakfast room. Edith
started up, visibly agitated, but not so with the widow, she coolly
said, "you had better look in at the library, he was writing there late
last night and may probably have thrown himself on the lounge, and
fallen asleep there."
"I will go with you," Edith said to the old servant, as she proceeded a
little in advance of him.
Mrs. Fraudhurst sat staring blankly out of the window waiting for the
result, which she knew must ensue. A loud shriek from Edith rang through
the house, and breathless with excitement, Reynolds entered and
announced Sir Jasper's death and that Miss Effingham had fainted.
The time for action had now arrived. "He may be only in a fit," said
Mrs. Fraudhurst. "I will myself drive over for Dr. Martin. Call Miss
Effingham's maid and let her be carried to her own room and properly
attended to. I will return with all speed; in the meantime, Reynolds, be
sure that no one enters the room. You had better lock the door and take
possession of the key as soon as Miss Edith has been removed." After
quickly dressing, she proceeded towards the stables to hurry forward the
harnessing of the pony phaeton, which was at all times at her disposal,
and drove rapidly to the house of Dr. Martin, though she well knew his
services would be of no avail, but it was a part of the plan she had
matured, and was now carrying out.
Fortunately for her the Rector and Sir Jasper's lawyer and general
business agent were at the time with the Doctor in his surgery,
consulting on some Parish business and without a moment's delay they
proceeded to Vellenaux, the Rector riding with Mrs. Fraudhurst, whose
appearance and conduct were well suited to the occasion.
Life was pronounced extinct, and the cause of death was supposed to be a
sudden attack of his old complaint, disease of the heart. The lawyer, in
the presence of all, placed seals on the escritoire and doors of the
study immediately after the body had been transferred to the bedchamber,
and wrote to Ralph Coleman, as the only male relation of the late
Baronet, acquainting him with what had occurred, and it was not long
before that gentleman presented himself at Vellenaux.