The events which immediately succeeded to those recorded in the last
chapter I must pass over somewhat rapidly; for there was nothing that
would much interest the reader in detail. Smeaton's letter to the Earl
of Stair was written and despatched, and it may be sufficient to say
that it never reached its destination.
Sir John Newark, on the pretence of great courtesy and attention,
hardly lost sight of his young guest for a moment, except during the
times when he was giving Richard instruction in the use of the sword.
Smeaton thus had no opportunity whatever of speaking in private with
Emmeline, and the feelings of which the two were conscious kept them
more reserved when in the presence of others than they had been before
those feelings became known to them. The restraint was very painful to
both, and day by day it became more irksome, till, with the impatience
natural to youth--impatience that can never bide its time--Smeaton
felt inclined to do anything rash to put an end to so oppressive a
state of things. Richard, indeed, on the third day, afforded him some
means of relief; for, when they were practising in one of the old
halls with the doors shut, the lad took advantage of a momentary pause
for repose, to say--
"Ay, Colonel, you don't talk to me about it; but I know very well what
is going on in your thumper."
"What do you call my thumper, Richard?" demanded Smeaton, with a
smile.
"Oh, folks call it 'heart,'" answered Richard, "though there is no
meaning in that word, and a great deal in 'thumper'; but what I mean
is, that I know very well you are dreaming all this time about our
dear little Emmeline. My father takes care that you shall not whisper
sugar to her. So, if you have anything to say, you had better tell me,
and I will say it for you, because I am sent out with her every day to
walk, like Shock, the lap-dog. I may as well talk to her about you as
anything else; for she is thinking about you all the time, and falling
into such brown studies that, if you ask her what o'clock it is, she
looks up in your face, and says, 'Tuesday, I believe.'"
"I wish to Heaven I could speak to her alone for about half-an-hour,"
observed Smeaton.
"Ay, you cannot do that," returned Richard Newark; "and I must not
help you; for, if my father were once to find out that I did, there
would be a south-westerly gale and an end of all; but; if you will
only tell me anything you want to say, I'll say it for you, word for
word, upon my honour."
Smeaton had a great objection to confidants, though, in the countries
which he had most inhabited, as well as in the plays and romances of
the day, they were almost indispensable accessories to every love
affair; but there was something in his love for Emmeline too pure, too
delicate, to suffer the idea of entrusting his thoughts towards her to
any one. There was no resource, however, and many a message to her did
he send by her cousin, cautiously worded indeed, but expressive in
some degree of the feelings in his heart.
On the same day that the above conversation occurred, a little after
the hour of noon, a gay cavalcade appeared before the house. Sir John
Newark affected surprise and some alarm at first; but then, suddenly
perceiving that it was Sir James Mount, he left his young guest to say
whether he would be present during that worthy gentleman's visit, or
not.
Smeaton consented to receive him, without the slightest hesitation,
and, the moment Sir James entered the room, recognized a person whom
he had seen at the small court of the exiled Stuarts in Lorraine,
though but for a few minutes. The worthy magistrate, however, advanced
at once toward him, and, taking him respectfully by the hand,
congratulated him on his return to England, not indeed addressing him
by his real title, for Sir James piqued himself on his policy, but yet
with marks of reverence which the old Tory courtier showed to nothing
under the estate of a lord. His language also was so circumambulatory
and reiterative, that it might have puzzled a very keen spy,
unacquainted with his peculiar style, to make out what on earth he
meant, and indeed he rather flattered himself that he spoke, on all
occasions of difficulty, in such a way as to be utterly unintelligible
to ears not initiated.
"I am truly delighted--delighted--delighted," he said, "to see you,
sir, in what may be considered your native country--country--country;
and although, habit being second nature, which is sometimes
better--better--better than first--for why, if second thoughts
are best, should not nature--nature--nature be in the same
predicament?--you may consider other lands--other lands--other lands
to be more your indigenous--indigenous--indigenous soil, nevertheless,
we may felicitate ourselves upon having restored to our country a
distinguished personage--personage--personage, who, like a borrowed
gem--borrowed gem, illuminated a foreign crown--crown--crown."
Smeaton, though somewhat surprised, replied courteously, that he was
exceedingly glad to see a gentleman whom he understood to be an old
friend of his family; and the conversation went on for about half an
hour, as easily as it could do with the sort of hurdle-race talking of
the worthy magistrate. In the course of that conversation, Sir John
Newark took a small but not unimportant part, throwing in a few words
here and there, to guide Sir James Mount in the direction which he
wished him to take. By his management, though that management was not
very apparent, not only was the subject of Keanton introduced, but Sir
James was led to expatiate upon the advantages of that estate, its
close proximity to his own, its charming sites for building, and the
great improvements which might be effected if it had the advantage of
a resident proprietor. Smeaton thought, with a smile--
"The worthy knight seems really anxious to purchase it; and one knows
not, in the state of affairs here, whether it might not be better to
humour him."
Next came a cordial invitation to Mount Place, seconded by some such
words as--
"I trust you will not be under the least apprehension, sir,
in doing me the honour--the honour--the honour of returning my
visit; for I am very discreet--very discreet--very discreet.
The place shall be kept quite solitary--solitary--solitary for the
next three weeks--three weeks, to wait your convenience. Your
excellent lady-mother--mother--mother would assure you of my
discretion; and in case you should be desirous--desirous--desirous of
taking a little--a little peep at Keanton, you can do so--do so--do so
in half an hour, with great privacy. The road is quite lonely, through
quiet lanes--quiet lanes. No Peeping Toms there; all still and
comfortable; not a village or a hamlet on the way; and you can see
what is going on--what is going on--what is going on, without any
risk."
Smeaton declared that his kind friends entertained more apprehensions
for his safety than he did himself, feeling that he had in fact
nothing to fear beyond a short temporary inconvenience.
"All danger even of that," he added, "will be over in a few days; and
I shall therefore have the greatest pleasure in waiting upon Sir James
Mount before my departure from Devonshire."
"Care and caution, noble sir--care and caution--care and caution,"
said the worshipful gentleman, "are always highly expedient under all
circumstances--circumstances. We can never tell what may turn up
to-morrow--turn up to-morrow--turn up to-morrow; and therefore it is
better to take care what we are about to-day."
"Very true, indeed," replied Smeaton, with a smile. And, with this
aphorism fresh upon his lips, Sir James Mount took his leave, never
doubting that he had made a very favourable impression.
Emmeline had been in the room during the above conversation, but had
not received the slightest notice from Sir James Mount, who was too
much taken up with the important secret entrusted to him to think of
anything else for the time. Sir John Newark, however, went out with
his visitor to see him to his horse's back, according to the
courtesies of those times; and Smeaton immediately advanced towards
his fair companion with some laughing comment upon the peculiarities
of the old man's manners. Emmeline, however, held up her finger, as if
to call his attention to what she had to say, and then whispered--
"I wish I could speak with you!--Oh! I wish I could speak with you!
Good Mrs. Culpepper came to me for an hour this morning before I rose.
She is a friend to me, not a spy upon me, as Richard thinks, and I
have much to tell you. Hush! he is coming back!"
Smeaton drew a little farther from her; but yet Emmeline could not
altogether banish the eagerness from her look; and the eye of Sir John
Newark rested on her fair face the instant he entered the room. He
took no notice, however, if he observed anything, but only said in a
gay tone,
"Come, Emmeline, let us ride out this breezy day. Colonel Smeaton,
will you accompany us?"
"With all my heart!" replied the young nobleman; "but I must put on
other apparel."
"So must I," said Emmeline.
"Well, then, to your toilet," cried Sir John. "I will order the horses
in the meanwhile. It needs a good gallop to shake off the load of
worthy Sir James Mount's words, he piles them upon us so rapidly.
Quick, Colonel Smeaton! The horses will not be long."
The moment they were gone, Sir John Newark hurried towards that part
of the house inhabited by the servants; and, ordering the horses as he
passed, entered the room of the housekeeper. Mrs. Culpepper was busily
engaged with an account-book; but she rose when her master entered,
and laid down the pen.
For an instant, Sir John Newark gazed at her in silence, with a look
not altogether placable; but the old lady bore it with perfect
calmness, knowing very well the man she had to deal with.
"I have observed something I do not like," said Sir John, after he had
seen that the door was completely closed; but there he paused, and
turned his eyes to the ground, as if meditating what he should say
next.
"Pray what may it be, sir?" asked the old lady, after waiting a
moment. "Nothing in my conduct, I hope."
"No," said her master; "no. I think you would take care; and yet there
was a look of consciousness on Emmeline's face just now, when I
returned to her and this young man, which has awakened a doubt."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Culpepper. "What could cause that? Had they been
talking long?"
"Only for a moment," replied Sir John Newark; "and I heard him
laughing just as I quitted the room."
"Then, depend upon it, there was nothing to be afraid of," rejoined
Mrs. Culpepper. "People don't laugh when they are talking secrets. Do
you think he was laughing at anything you had said or done? For then
very likely the lady might look conscious, thinking you might judge
she had taken part in what was offensive to you."
It was happily turned; and, after a moment's thought, her master
answered--
"It may be so. Not, indeed, that it was me he laughed at, but,
probably, the old man, Sir James Mount."
"The old fool!" muttered Mrs. Culpepper, between her teeth. "I would
have him as little as possible in my house, if I had one. He is sure
to make mischief, if he meddles with any one's affairs."
A dark smile came upon Sir John Newark's face; and he thought, though
he did not say it,
"That is what I desire."
There is no tool in a knave's hands so useful sometimes as the
innocent mischief-maker who is dangerous to honest people; and,
although Sir James Mount's inquisitiveness and indiscretion were
usually annoying and sometimes embarrassing to his more astute
neighbour, yet he had often been rendered very serviceable to Sir John
Newark's plans and purposes. Sir John was very confident in his own
abilities, in his knowledge of the world and of the man; and he did
not in the least fear to employ him as a tool in any work where it was
necessary to lead others into difficulty. He seemed, however, to
ponder on his good housekeeper's word's; but his mind soon reverted to
the former subject of his thoughts; and he said, with a sterner air:
"I hope you have relaxed none of the care which I enjoined upon you,
Culpepper. People occasionally get negligent of such charges in the
course of time; and, if I find that such is the case, I must have
fresher service for the same purpose. So beware."
"I don't think you have cause to blame me, Sir John," replied Mrs.
Culpepper, in her usual quiet tone. "I have performed exactly
everything that I promised to perform. I never undertook to watch when
you were in the house; but, when _you_ were absent, or when I am with
her at any distance from your own sight, I will undertake to say that
there is not a step she takes, and hardly a word she utters, that is
unknown to me. If there is anything between her and this gentleman who
is here, the fault is your own, not mine; first, in bringing him
hither, and, secondly, in not watching sufficiently what was passing
under your own eyes."
"You are mistaken, woman," retorted Sir John, sharply. "I _do_ watch
with care that you little know. When did I ever neglect to watch?"
"During the four or five first days that he was here," answered Mrs.
Culpepper, putting a pickling-pot on one of the shelves behind her,
and not losing her composure in the slightest degree. "The second or
third day he was alone with her for an hour in the saloon while you
were talking with Martin, the horse-couper, about some horses you
wanted to buy--"
"And other much more important things," added Sir John, significantly.
"I know nothing about that," replied the housekeeper. "All I know is,
that they were there together; but I do not believe that any harm is
done as yet; for, from words and actions which I have heard and
remarked, I judge they have said little to each other. The
conversation I speak of I contrived to break in upon three times,
though I had no business to meddle with it, you being in the house. I
wonder he is not smitten, indeed; for she is as pretty a creature as
ever eye saw; but then I suppose it is that he has seen a great number
of finer-dressed beauties in foreign lands where you say he has been;
and, if he is poor himself, I suppose he will want money, which he is
not likely to get here. Indeed, he cannot tell that there ever was a
chance of it. These foreign soldier-captains are not the people to
fall in love with ladies without fortunes. No, no, that is not
likely."
She shook her head gravely, as she spoke these words in a moralising
tone; and Sir John smiled again as he felt his suspicions give way
before the old woman's arguments.
"There is much truth in what you say, my good lady," he observed; "but
be pleased to remember that no caution can be too great. I had my own
reasons for bringing this gentleman here; but I have been deceived in
one particular, ay, and helped to deceive myself. They told me he was
married--at least, gave me to understand so. Now, however, I find that
he is not; and, although I do not think he is of a mind, nor in a
condition, to do so foolish a thing as to wed a penniless girl, when
he might do better, yet I will not have the slightest care neglected
to ensure that he has no opportunity whatever offered him of filling
her ear with lover's prattle. I have told you Emmeline must marry
Richard. It is necessary to me and to both of them."
"Very well, Sir John," answered the housekeeper, drily. "I have no
interest in the matter."
"I will give you an interest," said Sir John, laying his finger on
Mrs. Culpepper's arm. "Now mark me; I promise you, upon my honour,
that, the very day which sees Richard's marriage to Emmeline, I will
give you one hundred guineas."--
"Ay, now you _do_ give me an interest," answered the housekeeper, with
a brighter face; "but you will have a hard matter to bring it about,
Sir John; Master Richard is so very young--two years younger than the
lady Emmeline herself--and then you know again that he is really
younger than his years. It is true the young lady likes him well
enough to marry him, I dare say; and, if he were but to fall in love
with her, as I dare say he will by-and-by--for if you keep them always
caged up together what can they do?--she will like him better still.
As to this gentleman here, I don't think there is anything in it. I
must have seen it, I must have known it. They cannot hoodwink me,
though they might blind you."
"How happens it your eyes are so much sharper than mine?" asked Sir
John, with a sneer. "I should like to know your secret, if it is so."
"How happens it?" echoed the housekeeper. "First, because I am a
woman, and next, because you have a great stake in the matter. Men
never see these things; and, when suspicions come across them, always
fix upon the wrong person; and then, when they have much at stake,
they are sure to be blind altogether, or to see crooked. I have not
lived sixty years in the world for nothing, Sir John; and I know men
and women both well."
She shook her head oracularly as she spoke; and, although in
self-confidence there is something rather annoying to others, yet
there is something very impressive too. If a person possessed of it
have any talents, it is sure to double them in the estimation of
others, while it may treble them in his own. Thus, at all events,
something is gained. Even a fool does not suffer by that possession;
for, if it does nothing else, it serves to cover his folly from the
eyes of more modest fools than himself. Sir John Newark knew Mrs.
Culpepper to be nearly as acute as she represented herself, and he
took the rest for granted upon her own showing.
With renewed injunctions, then, to watch everything that passed, not
only during his absence, but when he was in the house, he left her,
and the old lady took up her account-book again, murmuring to herself,
"The knave! He thinks that a hundred guineas will do everything."