If the reader has chanced to read the two papers entitled "Chandler and
Chandler," he may be able to recall North Villa, and those who lived in
it.
It stood in the Islip Road--hardly a stone's throw from Crabb Cot.
Jacob Chandler's widow lived in it with her three daughters. She was
empty-headed, vain, frivolous, always on the high ropes when in company,
wanting to give people the impression that she had been as good as born
a duchess: whereas everyone knew she had sprung from small tradespeople
in Birmingham. The three daughters, Clementina, Georgiana, Julietta,
took after her, and were as fine as their names.
But you have heard of them before--and of the wrong inflicted by
their father, Jacob Chandler, upon his brother's widow and son. The
solicitor's business at Islip had been made by the elder brother, Thomas
Chandler; he had taken Jacob into partnership, and given him a half
share without cross or coin of recompense: and when Thomas died from an
accident, leaving his only son Tom in the office to succeed him when he
should be of age, Jacob refused to carry out the behest. Ignoring past
obligations, all sense of right or wrong, he made his own son Valentine
his partner in due course of time, condemning Tom, though a qualified
solicitor, to remain his clerk.
It's true that when Jacob Chandler lay on his death-bed, the full sense
of what he had done came home to him: any glaring injustice we may have
been committing in our lives does, I fancy, often take hold of the
conscience at that dread time: and he enjoined his son Valentine to give
Tom his due--a full partnership. Valentine having his late father's
example before him (for Jacob died), did nothing of the kind. "I'll
raise your salary, Tom," said he, "but I cannot make you my partner."
So Tom, thinking he had put up with injustice long enough, quitted
Valentine there and then. John Paul, the other Islip lawyer, was only
too glad to secure Tom for his own office; he made him his manager and
paid him a good salary.
About two years had gone on since then. Tom Chandler, a very fine young
fellow, honest and good-natured, was growing more and more indispensable
to Mr. Paul; Valentine was growing (if the expression may be used)
downwards. For Valentine, who had been an indulged son, and only made to
work when he pleased, had picked up habits of idleness, and other habits
that we are told in our copy-books idleness begets. Gay, handsome,
pleasant-mannered, with money always in his pocket, one of those young
men sure to be courted, Valentine had grown fonder of pleasure than of
work: he liked his game at billiards; worse than that, he liked his
glass. When a client came in, ten to one but a clerk had to make a rush
to the Bell Inn opposite, to fetch his master; and it sometimes happened
that Valentine would not return quite steady. The result was, that his
practice was gradually leaving him, to be given to Mr. Paul. All this
was telling upon Valentine's mother; she had an ever-haunting dread
of the poverty which might result in the future, and was only half as
pretentious as she used to be.
Her daughters did not allow their minds to be disturbed by anxiety as
yet; the young are less anxious than the old. When she dropped a word
of apprehension in their hearing, they good-humouredly said mamma was
fidgety--Valentine would be all right; if a little gay now it was only
what other young men were. It was a pleasant house to visit, for the
girls were gay and hospitable; though they did bedeck themselves like
so many peacocks, and put on airs and graces.
Jane Preen found it pleasant; had found it so long ago; and she
introduced Oliver to it, who liked it because he sometimes met Emma Paul
there. It took a very short time indeed after that first meeting by the
Inlets for him to be over head and ears in love with her. Thus some
weeks went on.
More pure and ardent love than that young fellow's for Emma was never
felt by man or woman. It filled his every thought, seemed to sanctify
his dreary days at Duck Brook, and made a heaven of his own heart. He
would meet her at North Villa, would encounter her sometimes in her
walks, now and then saw her at her own house at Islip. Not often--old
Mr. Paul did not particularly care for the Preens, and rarely gave Emma
leave to invite them.
Emma did not care for _him_. She had not found out that he cared for
her. A remarkably open, pleasant girl in manner, to him as to all the
world, she met him always with frank cordiality--and he mistook that
natural cordiality for a warmer feeling. Had Emma Paul suspected his
love for her she would have turned from it in dismay; she was no
coquette, and all the first love of her young heart was privately given
to someone else.
At this time there was a young man in Mr. Paul's office named Richard
MacEveril. He was a nephew of Captain MacEveril of Oak Mansion--a pretty
place near Islip. Captain MacEveril--a retired captain in the Royal
Navy--had a brother settled in Australia. When this brother died, his
only son, Richard, came over to his relatives, accompanied by a small
income, about enough to keep him in coats and waistcoats.
The arrival very much put out Captain MacEveril. He was a good-hearted
man, but afflicted with gout in the feet, and irascible when twinges
took him. Naturally the question arose to his mind--how was he to put
Richard in the way of getting bread and cheese. Richard seemed to have
less idea of how it was to be done than his uncle and aunt had. They
told him he must go back to Australia and find a living there. Richard
objected; said he had only just left it, and did not like Australia.
Upon the captain's death, whenever that should take place, Richard would
come into a small estate of between two and three hundred a-year, of
which nothing could deprive him; for Captain MacEveril had no son; only
a daughter, who would be rich through her mother.
Richard was a gay-mannered young fellow and much liked, but he was not
very particular. He played billiards at the Bell Inn with Valentine
Chandler, with young Scott, and with other idlers; he hired horses, and
dashed across country on their backs; he spent money in all ways. When
his own ready money was gone he went into debt, and people came to the
Captain to ask him to liquidate it. This startled and angered the old
post-captain as no twinge of gout had ever yet done.
"Something must be done with Dick," said Mrs. MacEveril.
"Of course it must," her husband wrathfully retorted; "but what the
deuce is it to be?"
"Can't you get John Paul to take him into his office as a temporary
thing? It would keep him out of mischief."
Mrs. MacEveril's suggestion bore fruit. For the present, until something
eligible should "turn up," Dick was placed in the lawyer's office as
a copying clerk. Mr. Paul made a favour of taking him in; but he and
Captain MacEveril had been close friends for many a year. Dick wrote a
bold, clear hand, good for copying deeds.
He and Oliver became intimate. It is said that a fellow-feeling makes us
wondrous kind, and they could feel for one another. Both were down in
life, both had poverty-stricken pockets. They were of the same age,
twenty-one, and in appearance were not dissimilar--fair of face, slight
in person.
So that Oliver Preen needed no plea for haunting Islip three or four
times a week. "He went over to see Dick MacEveril," would have been his
answer had any inquisitive body inquired what he did there: while, in
point of fact, he went hoping to see Emma Paul--if by delightful chance
he might obtain that boon.
Thus matters were going on: Oliver, shut up the earlier part of the day
in the Buttery with his father, answering letters, and what not; in the
latter part of it he would be at Islip, or perhaps with Jane at North
Villa. Sometimes they would walk home together; or, if they could have
the gig, Oliver drove his sister back in it. But for the love he bore
Emma, he would have found his life intolerable; nothing but depression,
mortification, disappointment: but when Love takes up its abode in the
heart the dreariest lot becomes one of sunshine.