George Vine, gentleman, as he was set down in the parish books and the
West-country directory, lived in a handsome old granite-built residence
that he had taken years before, when, in obedience to his sister's wish,
he had retired from the silk trade a wealthy man. But there he had
joined issue with the lady in question, obstinately refusing to make
France his home, and selecting the house above named in the old Cornish
port for two reasons: one, to be near his old friend Godfrey Van Heldre,
a well-to-do merchant who carried on rather a mixed business, dealing
largely in pilchards, which he sent in his own ships to the Italian
ports, trading in return in such produce of the Levant as oranges,
olives, and dried fruit; the other, so that he could devote himself to
the branch of natural history, upon which he had grown to be an
authority so great that his work upon the Actiniadae of our coast was
looked forward to with no little expectation by a good many people, in
addition to those who wrote F.Z.S. at the end of their names.
The pleasant social meal known as high tea was spread in the long low
oak-panelled dining-room, whose very wide bay window looked right over
the town from its shelf upon the huge granite cliffs, and far away
westward from whence came the gales which beat upon the old mansion,
whose granite sides and gables had turned them off for the past two
hundred years.
It was a handsomely furnished room, thoroughly English, and yet with a
suggestion of French in the paintings of courtly-looking folk, which
decorated the panels above the old oak sideboard and dressers, upon
which stood handsome old chased cups, flagons and salvers battered and
scratched, but rich and glistening old silver all the same, and looking
as if the dents and scratches were only the natural puckers and furrows
such venerable pieces of plate should possess.
There was another suggestion of the foreign element, too, in the glazing
of the deeply embayed window, for right across and between all the
mullions, the leaden lattice panes gave place, about two-thirds of the
way up, to a series of artistically painted armorial bearings in stained
glass, shields and helmets with their crests and supporters, and beneath
the scutcheon in the middle, a ribbon with triple curve and fold bearing
the words _Roy et Foy_.
The furniture had been selected to be thoroughly in keeping with the
antiquity of the mansion, and the old oak chairs and so much of the
table as could be seen for the long fine white linen cloth was of the
oldest and darkest oak.
The table was spread with the abundant fare dear to West-country folk;
fruit and flowers gave colour, and the thick yellow cream and white
sugar were piled high in silver bowls. The great tea urn was hissing
upon its stand, the visitors had arrived, and the host was dividing his
time between fidgeting to and fro from the door to Van Heldre, who was
leaning up against one of the mullions of the great bay window talking
to Leslie upon subjects paramount in Cornwall--fish and the yielding of
the mines.
The young people were standing about talking, Louise with her hand
resting on the chair where sat a pleasant-looking, rosy little woman
with abundant white hair, and her mittened hands crossed over the waist
of her purple velvet gown enriched with good French lace.
"Margaret Vine's keeping us waiting a long time this evening," she said.
"Mamma!" said Madelaine reproachfully.
"Well, my clear, it's the simple truth. And so you go back to business
to-morrow, Harry?"
"Yes, Mrs Van Heldre. Slave again."
"Nonsense, my boy. Work's good for every one. I'm sure your friend,
Mr Pradelle, thinks so," she continued, appealing to that gentleman.
"Well," he said, with an unpleasant laugh, "nobody left me a fortune, so
I'm obliged to say yes."
"Ah, here she is!" said Mr Vine, with a sigh of relief, as the door
opened, and with almost theatrical effect a rather little sharp-looking
woman of about sixty entered, gazing quickly round and pausing just
within the room to make an extremely formal old-fashioned courtesy--
sinking nearly to the ground as if she were a telescopic figure
disappearing into the folds of the stiff rich brocade silk dress, of a
wonderful pattern of pink and green, and cut in a fashion probably
popular at Versailles a hundred years ago. She did not wear powder, but
her white hair turned up and piled upon her head after the fashion of
that blooming period, produced the same effect; and as she gave the fan
she held a twitch which spread it open with a loud rattling noise, she
seemed, with her haughty carriage, handsome aquiline face with long
chin, that appeared to have formed the pattern for her stomacher, like
one of the paintings on the panelled wall suddenly come to life, and
feeling strange at finding herself among that modern company.
"I hope you have not waited for me," she said, smiling and speaking in a
high-pitched musical voice. "Louise, my child, you should not. Ah!"
she continued, raising her gold-rimmed eye-glass to her thin arched nose
and dropping it directly, "Mrs Van Heldre, Mr Van Heldre, pray be
seated. Mr Victor Pradelle, will you be so good?"
The young man had gone through the performance several times before, and
he was in waiting ready to take the tips of the gloved fingers extended
to him, and walking over the thick Turkey carpet with the lady to the
other end of the room in a way that seemed to endow him with a court
suit and a sword, and suggested the probability of the couple continuing
their deportment walk to the polished oak boards beyond the carpet, and
then after sundry bows and courtesies going through the steps of the
_minuet de la cour_.
As a matter of fact, Pradelle led the old girl, as he called her, to the
seat she occupied at the end of the table, when she condescended to
leave her room; the rest of the company took their seats, and the meal
began.
Harry had tried to ensconce himself beside Madelaine, but that young
lady had made a sign to Duncan Leslie, who eagerly took the chair beside
her, one which he coveted, for it was between her and Louise, now busy
with the tea-tray; and in a sulky manner, Harry obeyed the motion of the
elderly lady's fan.
"That's right, Henri, _mon cher_," she said, smiling, "come and sit by
me. I shall miss you so, my darling, when you are gone back to that
horrible London, and that wretched business."
"Don't, don't, don't, Margaret, my dear," said Mr Vine,
good-humouredly. "You will make him unhappy at having to leave home."
"I hope so, George," said the lady with dignity, and pronouncing his
Christian name with the softness peculiar to the French tongue; "and,"
she added with a smile, "especially as we have company, will you oblige
me--Marguerite, if you please?"
"Certainly, certainly, my dear."
"Is that Miss Van Heldre?" said the lady, raising her glass once more.
"I beg your pardon, my child; I hope you are well."
"Quite well, thank you, Miss Marguerite Vine," said Madelaine quietly,
and her bright young face looked perfectly calm, though there was a
touch of sarcasm in her tone.
"Louise, dearest, my tea a little sweeter, please."
The meal progressed, and the stiffness produced by the _entree_ of the
host's sister--it was her own term for her appearance--soon wore off,
the lady being very quiet as she discussed the viands placed before her
with a very excellent appetite. Mrs Van Heldre prattled pleasantly on,
with plenty of homely common-sense, to her host. Van Heldre threw in a
word now and then, joked Louise and his daughter, and made a wrinkle on
his broad forehead, which was his way of making a note.
The note he made was that a suspicion which had previously entered his
brain was correct.
"He's taken with her," he said to himself, as he glanced at Louise and
then at Duncan Leslie, who seemed to be living in a dream. As a rule he
was an energetic, quick, and sensible man; on this occasion he was
particularly silent, and when he spoke to either Madelaine or Louise, it
was in a softened voice.
Van Heldre looked at his daughter. Madelaine looked at her father, and
they thoroughly read each other's thoughts, the girl's bright grey eyes
saying to him as plainly as could be--"You are quite right."
"Well," said Van Heldre to himself, as he placed a spoonful of black
currant jam on his plate, and then over that two piled-up
table-spoonfuls of clotted cream--"she's as nice and true-hearted a girl
as ever stepped, and Leslie's a man, every inch of him. I'd have said
_yes_ in a moment if he had wanted my girl. I'm glad of it; but, poor
fellow, what he'll have to suffer from that terrible old woman!"
He had just thought this, and was busy composing a _nocturne_ or a
_diurne_--probably the latter from its tints of red and yellow--upon his
plate, which flowed with jam and cream, when Aunt Marguerite, who had
eaten all she wished, began to stir her tea with courtly grace, and
raised her voice in continuation of something she had been saying, but
it was twenty-four hours before.
"Yes, Mr Pradelle," she said, so that every one should hear; "my
memories of the past are painful, and yet a delight. We old Huguenots
are proud of our past."
"You must be, madam."
"And you too," said the lady. "I feel sure that if you will take the
trouble you will find that I am right. The Pradelles must have been of
our people."
"I'll look into it as soon as I get back to town," said the young man.
Harry gave him a very vulgar wink.
"Do," said Aunt Marguerite. "By the way, I don't think I told you that
though my brother persists in calling himself Vine, our name is Des
Vignes, and we belong to one of the oldest families in Auvergne."
"Yes, that's right, Mr Pradelle," said the host, nodding pleasantly;
"but when a cruel persecution drove us over here, and old England held
out her arms to us, and we found a kindly welcome--"
"My dear George!" interposed Aunt Marguerite.
"Let me finish, my dear," said Mr Vine, good-temperedly. "It's Mr
Pradelle's last evening here."
"For the present, George, for the present."
"Ah, yes, of course, for the present, and I should like him to hear my
version too."
Aunt Marguerite tapped the back of her left hand with her fan
impatiently.
"We found here a hearty welcome and a home," continued Mr Vine, "and we
said we can never--we will never--return to the land of fire and the
sword; and then we, some of us poor, some of us well-to-do, settled down
among our English brothers, and thanked God that in this new Land of
Canaan we had found rest."
"And my dear Mr Pradelle," began Aunt Marguerite, hastily; but Mr Vine
was started, and he talked on.
"In time we determined to be, in spite of our French descent, English of
the English, for our children's sake, and we worked with them, and
traded with them; and, to show our faith in them, and to avoid all
further connection and military service in the country we had left, we
even anglicised our names. My people became Vines; the D'Aubigneys,
Daubney or Dobbs; the Boileaus, Drinkwater; the Guipets, Guppy.
Vulgarising our names, some people say; but never mind, we found rest,
prosperity, and peace."
"Quite right, Mr Pradelle," said Van Heldre, "and in spite of my name
and my Huguenot descent, I say, thank Heaven I am now an Englishman."
"No, no, no, no, Mr Van Heldre," said Aunt Marguerite, throwing herself
back, and looking at him with a pitying smile. "You cannot prove your
Huguenot descent."
"Won't contradict you, ma'am," said Van Heldre. "Capital jam this,
Louise."
"You must be of Dutch descent," said Aunt Marguerite.
"I went carefully over my father's pedigree, Miss Marguerite," said
Madelaine quietly.
"Indeed, my child?" said the lady, raising her brows.
"And I found without doubt that the Venelttes fled during the
persecutions to Holland, where they stayed for half a century, and
changed their names to Van Heldre before coming to England."
"Quite right," said Van Heldre in a low voice. "Capital cream."
"Ah, yes," said Aunt Margaret; "but, my dear child, such papers are
often deceptive."
"Yes," said Van Heldre, smiling, "often enough: so are traditions and
many of our beliefs about ancestry; but I hope I have enough of what you
call the _haute noblesse_ in me to give way, and not attempt to argue
the point."
"No, Mr Van Heldre," said Aunt Margaret, with a smile of pity and
good-humoured contempt; "we have often argued together upon this
question, but I cannot sit in silence and hear you persist in that which
is not true. No; you have not any Huguenot blood in your veins."
"My clear madam, I feel at times plethoric enough to wish that the
old-fashioned idea of being blooded in the spring were still in vogue.
I have so much Huguenot blood in my veins, that I should be glad to have
less."
Aunt Margaret shook her head, and tightened her lips.
"Low Dutch," she said to herself, "Low Dutch."
Van Heldre read her thoughts in the movement of her lips.
"Don't much matter," he said. "Vine, old fellow, think I shall turn
over a new leaf."
"Eh? New leaf?"
"Yes; get a good piece of marsh, make a dam to keep out the sea, and
take to keeping cows. What capital cream!"
"Yes, Mr Pradelle," continued Aunt Margaret; "we are Huguenots of the
Huguenots, and it is the dream of my life that Henri should assert his
right to the title his father repudiates, and become Comte des Vignes."
"Ah!" said Pradelle.
"Vigorous steps have only to be taken to wrest the family estates in
Auvergne from the usurpers who hold them. I have long fought for this,
but so far, I grieve to say, vainly. My brother here has mistaken
notions about the respectability of trade, and is content to vegetate."
"Oh, you miserable old vegetable!" said Van Heldre to himself, as he
gave his friend a droll look, and shook his head.
"To vegetate in this out-of-the-way place when he should be watching
over the welfare of his country, and as a nobleman of that land,
striving to stem the tide of democracy. He will not do it; but if I
live my nephew Henri shall, as soon as he can be rescued from the
degrading influence of trade, and the clerk's stool in an office. Ah,
my poor boy, I pity you, and I say out boldly that I am not surprised
that you should have thrown up post after post in disgust, and refused
to settle down to such sordid wretchedness."
"My dear Marguerite! our visitors."
"I must speak, George. Mr Van Heldre loves trade."
"I do, ma'am."
"Therefore he cannot feel with me."
"Well, never mind, my dear. Let some one else be Count des Vignes, only
let me be in peace, and don't fill poor Harry's head with that stuff
just before he's leaving home to go up to the great city, where he will,
I am sure, redeem the follies of the past, and prove himself a true man.
Harry, my dear boy, we'll respect Aunt Margaret's opinions; but we will
not follow them out. Van, old fellow, Leslie, Mr Pradelle, a glass of
wine. We'll drink Harry's health. All filled? That's right. Harry,
my boy, a true honest man is nature's nobleman. God speed you, my boy;
and His blessing be upon all your works. Health and happiness to you,
my son!"
"Amen," said Van Heldre; and the simple old-fashioned health was drunk.
"Eh, what's that--letters?" said Vine, as a servant entered the room and
handed her master three.
"For you, Mr Pradelle; for you, Harry, and for me. May we open them,
Mrs Van Heldre? They may be important."
"Of course, Mr Vine, of course."
Pradelle opened his, glanced at it, and thrust it into his pocket.
Harry did likewise.
Mr Vine read his twice, then dropped it upon the table.
"Papa!--father!" cried Louise, starting from her place, and running
round to him as he stood up with a fierce angry light in his eyes, and
the table was in confusion.
"Tidings at last of the French estates, Mr Pradelle," whispered Aunt
Margaret.
"Papa, is anything wrong? Is it bad news?" cried Louise.
"Wrong! Bad news!" he cried, flashing up from the quiet student to the
stern man, stung to the quick by the announcement he had just received.
"Van Heldre, old friend, you know how I strove among our connections and
friends to place him where he might work and rise and prove himself my
son."
"Yes, yes, old fellow, but be calm."
"Father, hush!" whispered Louise, as she glanced at Leslie's sympathetic
countenance. "Hush! Be calm!"
"How can I be calm?" cried the old man fiercely. "The Des Vignes! The
family estates! The title! You hear this, Margaret. Here is a fine
opportunity for the search to be made--the old castle and the vineyards
to be rescued from the occupiers."
"George--brother, what do you mean?" cried the old lady indignantly, and
she laid her hand upon her nephew's shoulder, as he sat gazing straight
down before him at his plate.
"What do I mean?" cried the indignant father, tossing the letter towards
her. "I mean that my son is once more dismissed from his situation in
disgrace."
Volume 1, Chapter V.