from India, accompanied by two ladies named Fraser, of whom we shall
presently have occasion to speak. Colonel Redgrave had for many years
maintained a somewhat desultory correspondence with our bachelor. The
officer was an elderly man, and not in the enjoyment of very good
health. On his arrival at Southampton, he proceeded to the residence of
his female cousins at Shanklin, and accepted their invitation to make
Oswald Villa his temporary home until he could decide on his future
arrangements. Naturally, Mr Redgrave paid a visit to his military
cousin. They had not met since they were boys; and the astute colonel
was evidently much perplexed at the singular combination of simplicity
and shrewdness presented by his London kinsman. Whether the impression
created was favourable or the reverse, it is the object of this
narrative to show.
Six weeks after the arrival of Colonel Redgrave in England, his cousin
was seated at breakfast in his apartments in Bury Street, seriously
cogitating the advisability or the reverse of a lengthened tour on the
continent for his autumn holiday, when the question was settled in a
somewhat unexpected manner. Miss Jones appeared with a black-edged
letter in her hand. The writing was that of Miss Redgrave, and the
post-mark ‘Shanklin.’ With trembling fingers, Septimus opened the
envelope. ‘Colonel Redgrave had died suddenly of heart disease at
Oswald Villa.’ This was the gist of the epistle; and Mr Redgrave was
required forthwith at Shanklin, to be present at the funeral and to
hear the contents of the will of the deceased. Miss Jones was duly
acquainted with the sad news; and in response to her inquiry as to
the probable destination of the wealth of the late Colonel Redgrave,
Septimus professed entire ignorance; and having given vent to some
expressions of impatience and vexation at this marring of his Swiss and
Italian tour, gave instructions to Miss Jones to see to the packing
of his portmanteau without any delay; for the fair Martha was not
only a quasi-valet, but secretary and librarian, the catalogue of Mr
Redgrave’s books being carefully kept up to date.
In less than a week, the funeral obsequies of the late Colonel Redgrave
had been duly performed, the will read; and Septimus Redgrave,
considerably to his astonishment, found himself sole legatee, and the
fortunate possessor in round figures of twenty thousand pounds!
* * * * *
Two months have elapsed since the death of Colonel Redgrave, and
Septimus is still in residence at Shanklin. His continental tour
has been indefinitely postponed; but his soul now yearns for his
accustomed London haunts, in spite of the attentions lavished upon him
by his sisters. And if the truth must be told, he misses the constant
watchfulness of Martha, that keen anticipation of his slightest wish,
so uniformly displayed by the housekeeper of St James’s. It is a lovely
morning in September, and from the drawing-room windows of Oswald
Villa, the blue waters of Sandown Bay can be seen in charming contrast
to the white cliffs of Culver, while above, the sky rivals that of
Naples in its cerulean tint. Miss Redgrave and her sister Lavinia are
nominally engaged in crewel-work, but actually their attention is
concentrated on the immediate future of their beloved brother under
the altered condition of his affairs. Miss Redgrave is tall and thin,
with a severe expression of countenance, which belies her excellent
qualities of head and heart. Her sister Lavinia is short and stout,
with a very submissive manner, and presents a striking contrast to her
somewhat imperious sister. Her vocation in life appears to consist of
approving and indorsing the views and plans of her elder sister. Like
the French Senate during the Imperial _régime_, she never originated a
course of action, but expressed entire approval of the acts submitted
to her. Occasionally, when especially pressed by her sister for an
opinion, she would give vent to an original notion, which excited the
outward contempt of Miss Redgrave, but inwardly created considerable
feelings of alarm, as these occasional lapses from her ordinary course
by Lavinia were of the nature of second-sight, and the prophecies of
the younger sister invariably came to pass.
‘Septimus talks of returning to London,’ exclaimed the elder sister
with a keen glance at Lavinia, who smiled assent. ‘You do not seem to
realise what mighty issues hang on that event,’ continued Miss Redgrave
in a tone of considerable asperity.
Lavinia still remained mute, though her countenance expressed keen
interest.
‘You are very provoking, Lavinia, considering you are by no means
deficient in penetration as to motive, and analysis of character.’
‘Explain, dear Penelope.’
‘Septimus must not return to London a free man. I mean, he must present
himself in Bury Street an engaged man.’
‘I am afraid that will be a somewhat difficult task to accomplish,’
replied Lavinia with an irritating acid smile.
‘Nevertheless, it must be done,’ said Penelope with a tone of decision
worthy of the Iron Duke.
‘But how?’ inquired Lavinia.
‘Surely you remember the existence of that creature—Martha Jones. The
fact of our brother having inherited a fortune will inspire her with
fresh courage. New methods of attack will at once be resorted to, and
the assault will never cease till she has reduced the fortress to
submission. I never saw Miss Jones but once, but that was sufficient.’
‘I fully agree with you, my dear sister,’ said Lavinia; ‘but where do
you propose to find a suitable partner for Septimus?’
‘We have no occasion to look far. Under this very roof is a lady
adapted in every sense to make dear Septimus a suitable partner.’
‘I suppose you mean Mrs Fraser?’ mildly observed Lavinia.
‘Precisely. Mrs Fraser is, I should say, forty, possessed of a
comfortable income, clever, and just the kind of woman to shield our
brother from all the evils and temptations of this mortal life.’
‘I only see two difficulties,’ responded Lavinia: ‘Septimus may not
like Mrs Fraser, and Mrs Fraser may not like Septimus.’
‘Ridiculous!’ said Penelope. ‘Who ever heard of a widow scarcely out
of her thirties who would not jump at a man of fifty with nearly two
thousand a year!’
‘I admit the chief difficulty will lie with Septimus,’ placidly replied
Lavinia. ‘He is very self-willed at times.’
‘Leave that part of the affair to _me_,’ exclaimed Penelope with
haughty confidence.
Further discussion was summarily put an end to by the entrance of
the individual in question. We must confess that although he wore
‘the livery of woe,’ the countenance of Septimus was not expressive
of any considerable grief for the loss of his ‘well-beloved cousin.’
Constantly before his mental vision floated the Bank Stock, India
Bonds, and Three per Cents of which he had so recently become the
possessor. Frequently during the day he checked himself in the middle
of a lively air of Offenbach or Sullivan, which he found himself
humming with considerable gusto. He would pause suddenly, and mould his
features into a becoming expression accordingly. Mr Redgrave looked
considerably older than his years, his hair and whiskers being quite
gray, and his features somewhat wrinkled. But he was always dressed
with scrupulous care, and in the days of the Regency would have been
dubbed a ‘buck’ of the first water.
‘Have you seen the Frasers this morning, Septimus?’ inquired Penelope.
‘I mean, since breakfast.’
‘They have gone as far as Luccombe Chine with young Lockwood. I
preferred a quiet read of the _Times_.’
‘Septimus, will you give us a few minutes of your valuable time?’
Mr Redgrave, accustomed to defer to the wishes of his elder sister
in most things, submissively seated himself in front of Penelope and
prepared to listen accordingly.
‘Lavinia and I have been discussing your improved fortune and
prospects. Although your sisters have led a very retired and secluded
life, they have some knowledge of human nature, and are quite prepared
to learn that their only brother has been the target for every selfish
and intriguing woman with whom he has been brought in contact. The only
safeguard appears to us to be an engagement with some suitable person.’
The aquiline features of Septimus flushed somewhat as he replied: ‘If
you mean that I am to sacrifice my liberty when I am best prepared
to enjoy it, you will excuse my saying that you are tilting at a
windmill. If you think so highly of matrimony, why don’t you swallow
the prescription yourself?’
If it be objected that this retort can scarcely be considered such as
should proceed from the lips of a gentleman, it must be borne in mind
that Septimus was an irascible man, and that when he lost command of
his temper he always lost at the same time command of his tongue.
‘The relative positions of a woman and a man are vastly different, so
far as matrimony is concerned,’ replied Penelope. ‘The woman must sit
at home till she receives an offer; the man can seek a wife in every
circle of society.’
This was a great admission on the part of Penelope, who would never
have avowed to any man—except a brother—that her spinsterhood was aught
but the result of her own free-will. It will be observed that both the
sisters ignored all danger from such a quarter as the ambitious damsel
of St James’s; at anyrate they would have considered it derogatory to
their own self-respect to own (to Septimus) such a fear.
‘You are no longer a young man, Septimus. We are both your seniors. Our
last days would be inexpressibly soothed if we could feel that your lot
in life was fixed, and that the fortune you have inherited would not
become the prey of intriguing adventuresses. There is a lady in this
house who entertains strong feelings of regard for you. She is young,
handsome, and accomplished. You do not require money in a wife; but
the lady we allude to is not by any means a beggar. Let us both advise
you to lose no time in making up your mind, or a certain good-looking
lawyer may be before you. No more at present. The lady, who will, I
devoutly trust, eventually become our sister, is even now approaching
the house.’
Septimus turned his eyes in the direction of the garden. Two ladies and
a gentleman were slowly walking along the path. Presently, the younger
one suddenly left her companions and tripped into the drawing-room
through the open French-window.
CHAPTER II.
Mrs Fraser was the widow of Major Fraser, and quite came under the
description of being ‘fat, fair, and forty.’ Her late husband had
been the lifelong associate of Colonel Redgrave; so, when the widow
announced her intention of quitting India for England, there to take
up her permanent abode, her sole companion being her only child, a
girl of some nineteen years, the colonel decided to accompany her.
The gossips in the cantonments had quite decided that after a decent
interval Mrs Fraser would become the wife of Colonel Redgrave; but all
such speculations were put an end to by his sudden death. The Frasers
were now staying at Oswald Villa, the elder Miss Redgrave, as the
reader has just seen, having formed a plan of uniting her brother in
marriage to the handsome widow. Blanche Fraser was a miniature copy
of her mother. The same dazzlingly fair complexion, the same laughing
blue eyes, the same luxuriant light hair; and, if the truth must be
told, the same love of admiration and flirting, distinguished alike
both mother and daughter. There was only one alloy to the happiness
of the widow—the dreadful conviction that youth was slowly but surely
deserting her. The fact might perhaps have been concealed somewhat, but
for the visible presence of a marriageable daughter. So, with many a
sigh, the widow yielded to the inevitable, and determined to choose a
partner in life while a certain portion of youth and good looks still
remained to her. At the present moment, her choice had fallen on the
handsome companion of her walk to Luccombe Chine. Mr Frank Lockwood
had been the lawyer of the Redgrave family ever since his father had
vacated that position by death. He was now about three-and-thirty, was
agreeable and good-looking. As it was now the vacation, the lawyer
was staying at Oswald Villa, in response to the pressing invitation
of Miss Redgrave. The widow had acted on the principle of making hay
while the sun shines, and had exerted all her fascinations on the man
of law; but in vain. Mr Lockwood was very gallant, but the heart of Mrs
Fraser whispered that hitherto her efforts had been void of success.
Still, perseverance, as we all know, achieves wonders, and so the widow
resolved to adopt as her motto—_Perseverando vinces_, and hope for the
best. Blanche, as we have said, tripped into the room, exclaiming as
she did so, ‘O Mr Redgrave, you have lost such a treat! I did so miss
you; you were the one thing needful to complete our enjoyment during
our delightful walk.’
Septimus gazed keenly at the fair speaker; she was certainly very
pretty, and decidedly clever, and palpably partial to his society.
He might do worse than pass the remainder of his days with such a
delightful companion. To be sure, there was a certain disparity in
years; but every one knows that women age faster than men, and there
were innumerable instances in public life of similar disproportions as
to age. He would certainly treasure up the advice of his sister as to
the choice of a wife. So it was with more than his customary urbanity
that Septimus replied: ‘An old man such as I am would have been but a
poor acquisition, Miss Fraser.’
Blanche peered with an expression of mock gravity into the gray eyes of
Septimus. ‘An old man! Have you never heard of the old saying?—A man is
as old as he feels, a woman as old as she looks. How old do you feel,
Mr Redgrave?’
‘I feel almost a boy, Miss Fraser, when in your society; I feel a
centenarian when I am ill in my solitary rooms in London.’
‘Then the deduction from that observation,’ replied Blanche, ‘is, that
to enjoy perpetual youth, you should be perpetually in my society.’
‘A charming prescription, Miss Fraser; I wish it were a possible one.’
Mrs Fraser and Mr Lockwood here entered the room. ‘Take care, Mr
Redgrave,’ said the widow; ‘you will find Blanche a sad flirt. I have
only just been warning Mr Lockwood against her.’
This was a double shot, intended equally for Blanche and Mr Lockwood,
who had, in the widow’s opinion, been somewhat too attentive to Blanche
recently.
Penelope here intervened. ‘My brother is hankering after the fleshpots
of Egypt, Mrs Fraser; in other words, is longing for “the sweet shady
side of Pall Mall.” Can you not persuade him to remain?’
‘Let me try _my_ influence,’ interposed Blanche coquettishly. ‘You will
remain, will you not, _dear_ Mr Redgrave?’
Septimus felt a thrill pass through his frame as Miss Fraser took
hold of one of his hands and looked up in his face with a beseeching
look, while Mr Lockwood threw himself with an air of vexation into an
armchair and made an attempt to read yesterday’s _Times_.
‘You _must_ promise, Mr Redgrave,’ said Blanche.
‘I promise to obey you in all things,’ said Septimus, as, with an air
of old-world gallantry, he raised her fingers to his lips.
From that hour, one thought and one only occupied the mind of Mr
Redgrave: Should he adopt the advice of Penelope, and make Miss Fraser
an offer of his hand and heart? It was a tremendous step for one who
had passed the greater part of his life in studying how best he could
minister to his own selfish comfort and happiness. But on the morning
of the second day after the scene we have just described, Septimus
determined to put his fortune to the test. He chanced to find the fair
Blanche alone sitting under the jessamine-covered veranda, engaged in
reading a novel. Attired in white, with a blue sash round her slender
waist, her light brown hair falling in careless profusion on her
well-turned shoulders, Miss Fraser presented a bewitching spectacle.
As Septimus approached, Blanche shot a captivating glance from beneath
her long dark lashes, and with a graceful movement, invited Septimus to
seat himself beside her on the bench.
‘I hope you are not in the crisis of your tale, Miss Fraser?’
‘No; I am in the second volume only, which is always flat and
uninteresting and skippable.’
‘I am glad to hear it, for I am anxious to have a little serious chat
with you.’
Blanche placed her hands together in the form of supplication. ‘Oh,
please, don’t, Mr Redgrave! I have just had a lecture of half an hour’s
duration from mamma, and that was serious enough, in all conscience.
Why will our parents and guardians expect us to have the wisdom of
Solomon and the virtues of Dorcas before we are out of our teens!’
‘Perhaps I used a wrong word; I wished to speak to you about love.’
‘Oh! how delightful! Have you fallen in love _at last_, Mr Redgrave?’
Septimus did not like the phrase ‘at last,’ but he continued: ‘Also I
wished to speak about matrimony.’
Blanche shook her head gravely. ‘That is a very serious subject.’
‘And yet matrimony is the natural sequence of love.’
‘Alas! yes,’ sighed Blanche.
So far the discussion was not encouraging; but Septimus resolved to
persevere. ‘I have fallen in love with a lady who is at present under
this roof.’
Blanche clasped her hands in wondering surprise, and gasped forth one
word—‘Mamma!’
‘No, Miss Fraser; my affections are settled on her lovely daughter.’
‘Me!’ exclaimed Blanche. ‘Impossible! Oh, Mr Redgrave, you are joking!’
‘I was never more serious in my life, Miss Fraser. Why should you think
it impossible that I should have fallen in love with you? I am in the
prime of life; I have sufficient means’——
‘O pray, Mr Redgrave, forbear! What you ask is impossible; I am
engaged, indeed I am, although mamma does not know it. You won’t tell
her, will you, Mr Redgrave? Promise me you will not.’
‘Certainly not; but I must inform my sisters, for it was owing to their
encouragement that I have made this proposal. They led me to suppose
that you were favourable to my suit.’
‘What a singular delusion! no; I don’t mean that—misapprehension.’
Septimus rose from the seat. ‘Then we resume our former relations, Miss
Fraser?’
Blanche rose, and as she made a low courtesy, said: ‘If you please, Mr
Redgrave.’
Septimus strode away in a towering rage with his sisters for having
inflicted upon him such unnecessary humiliation, and entering
the drawing-room, found Penelope and Lavinia calmly engaged in
tambour-work. One glance was sufficient to inform the sisters that
their brother was not in the best of tempers.
‘Septimus, what has happened?’
‘Everything that is disgusting and unpleasant. I have been fool enough
to take your advice. I have proposed to the lady selected by you for my
wife two days ago, and have been refused with ridicule and contempt.’
‘Impossible, Septimus!’
‘The lady is already engaged.’
‘Impossible, Septimus!’
‘But I have promised to keep her engagement a secret from her mother.’
‘From her mother! Of whom are you speaking, Septimus?’
‘Why, of Blanche Fraser, to be sure.’
‘Blanche! It was her mother we alluded to as our future sister-in-law!’
Tableau!
* * * * *
By a singular coincidence, Mrs Fraser was closeted with Mr Lockwood
in the library of Oswald Villa during the love-scene of Septimus with
Blanche. The widow had gone to the library under the pretence of
fetching a particular volume, well knowing that she would find the
handsome solicitor in that apartment. Mr Lockwood was deeply immersed
in Burton’s _Anatomy of Melancholy_, but rose from his seat as Mrs
Fraser entered.
‘I did not mean to disturb you, Mr Lockwood; I merely wanted a volume
of Tennyson.’
‘Pray, don’t apologise, Mrs Fraser. Your visit is very apropos, for I
was very anxious to have a few minutes’ private conversation with you
on a matter affecting all my future life.’
The widow gracefully accepted the chair Mr Lockwood placed for her, her
cheek flushing, and her pulse throbbing as a small voice whispered:
‘The moment has at length arrived; and Frank is neither made of stone,
nor so impervious to my fascinations as I supposed.’
‘It is in your power, my dear Mrs Fraser, to make me the happiest of
men.’
A film passed over the eyes of the widow at this sudden statement of
the lawyer.
‘With your keen penetration and knowledge of the human heart, you must
have long since perceived that I am hopelessly in love, and that the
object of my affections is at this moment a resident of Oswald Villa.’
‘I suspected as much; I will not deny it, dear Frank.’
Mr Lockwood took the plump and trembling fingers of the widow in his
own and gently pressed them. The widow cordially and instinctively
returned the squeeze. ‘May I hope, dear Mrs Fraser?’
‘Dear youth, you may!’ murmured the widow, as her head gently sank on
his shoulders.
The countenance of Mr Lockwood expressed some considerable surprise
at the phraseology adopted by Mrs Fraser, but he attributed it to the
natural emotion of the situation.
‘Then I may tell dear Blanche at once?’ said Frank.
‘Yes; she must know it sooner or later,’ said Mrs Fraser.
‘Blanche already knows of my attachment,’ said Mr Lockwood.
‘Was she not very much surprised, dear Frank?’
‘Well, I cannot say that she was, exactly.’
‘I feared she might think there was too much disparity of age,’ said
the widow.
‘Only fourteen years,’ replied Lockwood.
‘No, Frank, you are joking,’ said the widow, playfully tapping his
cheek; ‘not more than seven.’
‘Pardon me, Mrs Fraser. I am thirty-three, and Blanche is nineteen.’
The room and its contents spun round before the horrified gaze of the
unhappy widow. All was clear to her now. For a few brief happy moments
she had been living in a fool’s paradise. The dream was over. But,
like a judicious woman of the world, Mrs Fraser collected her agitated
thoughts and rapidly executed a change of front.
‘You will make some allowance, Mr Lockwood, for my natural agitation at
the idea of losing a beloved daughter. Blanche is a dear good child,
and you gained a treasure when you won her young affections. But you
must have patience. I cannot afford to lose her yet, she is still so
young.’
‘My dear Mrs Fraser, I am the happiest of men,’ replied the enraptured
Lockwood, overjoyed at the speedy success of his suit.
MISTLETOE.
A cold dark night,
Some falling snow;
A gleam of light,
A ruddy glow.
A quaint old hall,
Some warriors grim,
Whose shadows fall
Grotesque and dim.
A maiden fair,
A gleam of gold
Upon her hair—
The story old.
While the storm’s breath
Sweeps o’er the snow,
One kiss beneath
The mistletoe.
Ten Christmas Eves
Have come and gone,
And each one leaves
Me still alone.
That fair sweet maid
Of years ago
Has long been laid
Beneath the snow.
While the wind drives
Against the pane,
In fancy lives
My love again.
The firelight fades,
The embers glow,
One kiss beneath
The mistletoe.
NORA C. USHER.
* * * * *
Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON,
and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.
* * * * *
_All Rights Reserved._