CHANDOS MOUNT.
In the course of our drive, Aunt Jane gave us some account of the
Chandos family. Mr. Chandos had been for some years a widower, with a
large family, but not a large fortune. His first wife, who had no
fortune of her own, had been a good manager, and contrived to sustain in
some degree the respectability of the family, which was one of the
oldest in the county; but various losses, and the heavy incumbrances on
the property left by his father, rendered the task of making both ends
meet, at the end of the year, very difficult to a person of Mr.
Chandos’s average capacity.
So, after his first wife’s death, his affairs soon got into sad
confusion, and debts became more and more pressing, in spite of the
efforts of his eldest daughter, Norah, who had lost her mother when she
was only thirteen years old. She had endeavoured to follow her dear
mother’s example, and kept the house-accounts with the greatest care and
regularity; but the brothers were extravagant, and unforeseen school and
college bills came in, and their father was over-indulgent, so that two
years before, they had been on the verge of utter ruin.
The chief mortgage on the old property had been taken up by a rich
tallow-chandler, who was the happy and triumphant father of one blooming
daughter. Of course he wished that she should marry an earl at least;
but his wife was so vulgar that he found it difficult to make his
daughter acquainted with any; and, at last, they all thought it would be
a good thing if the blooming girl were to become mistress of Chandos
Mount, and take her place among the best families in the county.
Aunt Jane did not at all know what kind of girl the young heiress was,
as she had not been in that part of the country while the projected
marriage was on the _tapis_. All she knew was that poor Norah had
apprehended the change most sadly, because, in spite of all their
difficulties, she had a most happy home with her father; that some few
people pitied her very, very much, while others declared that Mr.
Chandos had done the very best thing he could for himself and all his
starving family.
“Then you must feel the greatest curiosity to see what kind of person
this new Mrs. Chandos is like?” said I.
“That may not be so easy as you think, my dear child, for I believe she
is only twenty-three, and with such a very disadvantageous training as
she must have had, she may turn out a very different kind of person from
what she probably will now appear to be--that is, if dear little Norah
can ever succeed in obtaining any influence over her.”
When we arrived at the gate of Chandos Mount, Aunt Jane and Mrs.
Mordaunt both exclaimed that the place was quite spoilt; for a beautiful
grove of beech-trees, which had ornamented the Mount behind the house,
had been cut down, and was replaced by a large kitchen-garden, and a
variety of hot-houses and conservatories. Then some fine oaks, which had
adorned the lawn in front of the house, were also cut down, and replaced
by a few diodaras and arocarias, and highly-fashionable garden-beds.
“Oh! then she has her own way in everything, I fear,” said Aunt Jane, as
she lifted up her hands in dire dismay. “All money!--dear, dear, how
much harm this nasty money does, when it is not guided by good taste and
good feeling!”
“Really?” inquired I, who had been gradually led to think that money did
everything, because the rich Englishmen had such beautiful places, and
everything seemed so expensive.
“Yes; and look! they have spoilt the house, too; the only nice old bit
is gone--that old west wing, which was the only part of the original
mansion, and they have built some fine modern rooms, I suppose, instead
of the dear old south wainscoted parlour, with its polished and
carpetless oak floor and lattice windows. Oh! dear, I am afraid I hate
the woman already!” she said, with a deep sigh, as we drove up to the
door.
It was answered by a finely-dressed butler and several tall footmen in
powder. “Mrs. Chandos was at home, but Miss Chandos was out riding with
Mr. Chandos,” was the reply. So we all got out and walked through some
rooms, magnificently furnished; but they smelt so new, and everything
was so heavy-looking and alike in them, that I did not at all admire
them. At last we came to one which, as Aunt Jane whispered to me, had
replaced her dear old oak parlour; and here great masses of yellow satin
and gold oppressed our sight, and we walked on a thick carpet full of
colours that seemed to clash the eye; yet, though it was over-crowded,
there was a bareness, a want of habitableness in it I did not like.
No one was there, and we had time to look round on the bare walls--I
mean, bare of everything but the green damask satin, which had been
strained so tight over them that it looked like glazed paper. No
picture, not even a print, diversified the expanse of bareness. The
ceiling was heavy with some kind of gilt tracery-work, which seemed to
dazzle without embellishing.
A few books in fine bindings, which looked as if they had never been
read, were laid in a precise pattern on one of the inlaid tables; on
another was a costly vase, filled with some choice exotics. The costly
chairs were placed at such long distances from each other, that one felt
it impossible to be really sociable in the room; so we all sat down in
different parts, and waited for the arrival of the owner. She was
probably changing her dress, for a long time elapsed before she
appeared.
And then a great rustling of silk was heard, the door opened, and Mrs.
Chandos made us a remarkably elaborate and grave bow, as she stopped
short, after shutting the door. Her studied walk across the room would
probably have satisfied any dancing or deportment-master, as also her
greeting of the guests. She sat down as near as the large chair would
permit to Mrs. Mordaunt, and expressed, in well-selected terms, the
pleasure she experienced at seeing her.
“And I have often heard Miss Chandos speak of Miss Stanway,” said she,
turning her head, with chin well raised, towards Aunt Jane.
“I am sorry not to find her at home,” said Aunt Jane; “for Mrs.
Mordaunt and we all had a project of trying to persuade you to let us
take her home with us.”
“I am sure Miss Norah will be greatly honoured by your proposal. I will
tell her of your projected kind intentions, if you will commission me to
do so,” she said, in slow and probably studied accent.
At this moment a sound of children’s voices was heard in the garden
near, and an angry frown was visible on the fair lady’s countenance.
“I must apologize for their bad behaviour,” she said. “I hope the boys
will be kept in better order when the new tutor comes. We thought it
advisable to have one to supplement their education after their first
school, before they go to College.”
“And have you a governess, too, for the little girls?” inquired Aunt
Jane.
“There has been a slight difficulty in that respect, for the one we had
engaged did not turn out so well as we were induced to suppose, from the
high situations in which she had resided, so we were obliged reluctantly
to part with her, and are now endeavouring to find another. We have
commissioned Lady Horatia Somerton to inquire, as we should prefer a
French, or, rather, Italian one,” she added, as she turned round towards
me with another bow and smile, that was probably intended for a
compliment to the country from which I came. “Italian is such a
beautiful language, it would be a pity that the girls should not acquire
a pure accent. The Roman is considered the best, is it not?” she
inquired.
“I don’t know,” said I, “for I never was in Rome.”
“Never in Rome! That is strange. We passed a month there last Winter,
and my admiration of all I saw was extreme.”
After a few more commonplace remarks, we got up and took leave of Mrs.
Chandos. Mrs. Mordaunt expressing a hope that we should soon have the
pleasure of seeing her and Mr. Chandos at the Priory; at which she
twisted her head about, and said, with an elaborate smile,
“I thank you for the honour of the observation.”