It was between eight and nine o'clock of a wintry evening near
Christmas; a cold drizzle of rain was falling, which on the mountains
might have been snow, as Mr. Drayton, the butler at the great house, as
Castello was called in the village, stood austerely with his back to the
fire in the dining-room, and, as he surveyed the table, wondered within
himself what could possibly have detained the young gentlemen so late.
The hounds had met that day about eight miles off, and Colonel Bramleigh
had actually put off dinner half an hour for them, but to no avail; and
now Mr. Drayton, whose whole personal arrangements for the evening
had been so thoughtlessly interfered with, stood there musing over
the wayward nature of youth, and inwardly longing for the time when,
retiring from active service, he should enjoy the ease and indulgence
his long life of fatigue and hardship had earned.
“They're coming now, Mr. Drayton,” said a livery-servant, entering
hastily. “George saw the light of their cigars as they came up the
avenue.”
“Bring in the soup, then, at once, and send George here with another
log for the fire. There'll be no dressing for dinner to-day, I 'll be
bound;” and imparting a sort of sarcastic bitterness to his speech,
he filled himself a glass of sherry at the sideboard and tossed it
off,--only just in time, for the door opened, and a very noisy, merry
party of four entered the room, and made for the fire.
“As soon as you like, Drayton,” said Augustus, the eldest Bramleigh,
a tall, good-looking, but somewhat stern-featured man of about
eight-and-twenty. The second, Temple Bramleigh, was middle-sized, with
a handsome but somewhat over-delicate-looking face, to which a simpering
affectation of imperturbable self-conceit gave a sort of puppyism; while
the youngest, Jack, was a bronzed, bright-eyed, fine-looking fellow,
manly, energetic, and determined, but with a sweetness when he smiled
and showed his good teeth that implied a soft and very impressionable
nature. They were all in scarlet coats, and presented a group strikingly
good-looking and manly. The fourth of the party was, however, so
eminently handsome, and so superior in expression as well as lineament,
that the others seemed almost vulgar beside him. He was in black coat
and cords, a checked cravat seeming to indicate that he was verging, so
far as he might, on the limits of hunting costume; for George L'Estrange
was in orders, and the curate of the parish in which Castello stood. It
is not necessary to detain the reader by any lengthened narrative of the
handsome young parson. Enough to say, that it was not all from choice he
had entered the Church,--narrow fortune, and the hope of a small family
living, deciding him to adopt a career which, to one who had a passion
for field-sports, seemed the very last to gratify his tastes. As a
horseman he was confessedly the first in the country round; although
his one horse--he was unable to keep a second--condemned him to rare
appearance at the meets. The sight of the parson and his black mare,
Nora Creina, in the field, were treated with a cheer, for he was a
universal favorite, and if a general suffrage could have conferred the
episcopate, George would have had his mitre many a day ago.
So sure a seat and so perfect a hand needed never to have wanted a
mount. There was not a man with a stable who would not have been well
pleased to see his horse ridden by such a rider; but L'Estrange declined
all such offers,--a sensitive fear of being called a hunting parson
deterred him; indeed, it was easy to see by the rarity with which he
permitted himself the loved indulgence, what a struggle he maintained
between will and temptation, and how keenly he felt the sacrifice he
imposed upon himself.
Such, in brief, was the party who were now seated at table, well pleased
to find themselves in presence of an admirable dinner, in a room replete
with every comfort.
The day's run, of course, formed the one topic of their talk, and a
great deal of merriment went on about the sailor-like performances of
Jack, who had been thrown twice, but on the whole acquitted himself
creditably, and had taken one high bank so splendidly as to win a cheer
from all who saw him.
“I wish you had not asked that poor Frenchman to follow you, Jack,”
said Augustus; “he was really riding very nicely till he came to that
unlucky fence.”
“I only cried out, 'Venez donc, monsieur,' and when I turned my head,
after clearing the bank, I saw his horse with his legs in the air and
monsieur underneath.”
“When I picked him up,” broke in L'Estrange, “he said, 'Merci mille
fois, monsieur,' and then fainted off, the poor fellow's face actually
wearing the smile of courtesy he had got up to thank me.”
“Why will Frenchmen try things that are quite out of their beat?” said
Jack.
“That's a most absurd prejudice of yours, Master Jack,” cried the
diplomatist. “Frenchmen ride admirably, now-a-days. I've seen a
steeple-chase in Normandy, over as stiff a course, and as well ridden,
as ever Leicestershire witnessed.”
“Yes, yes; I've heard all that,” said the sailor, “just as I 've heard
that their iron fleet is as good, if not better, than our own.”
“I think our own newspapers rather hint that,” said L'Estrange.
“They do more,” said Temple; “they prove it. They show a numerical
superiority in ships, and they give an account of guns and weight of
metal dead against us.”
“I 'll not say anything of the French; but this much I will say,” cried
the sailor; “the question will have to be settled one of these days,
and I 'm right glad to think that it cannot be done by writers in
newspapers.”
“May I come in?” cried a soft voice; and a very pretty head, with long
fair ringlets, appeared at the door.
“Yes. Come by all means,” said Jack; “perhaps we shall be able, by your
help, to talk of something besides fighting Frenchmen.”
While he spoke, L'Estrange had risen, and approached to shake hands with
her.
“Sit down with us, Nelly,” said Augustus, “or George will get no
dinner.”
“Give me a chair, Drayton,” said she; and, turning to her brother,
added, “I only came in to ask some tidings about an unlucky foreigner;
the servants have it he was cruelly hurt, some think hopelessly.”
“There's the culprit who did the mischief,” said Temple, pointing to
Jack; “let him recount his feat.”
“I 'm not to blame in the least, Nelly. I took a smashing high bank, and
the little Frenchman tried to follow me and came to grief.”
“Ay, but you challenged him to come on,” said Temple. “Now, Master
Jack, people don't do that sort of thing in the hunting-field.”
“I said, 'Come along, monsieur,' to give him pluck. I never thought for
a moment he was to suffer for it.”
“But is he seriously hurt?” asked she.
“I think not,” said L'Estrange; “he seemed to me more stunned than
actually injured. Fortunately for him they had not far to take him,
for the disaster occurred quite close to Duckett's Wood, where he is
stopping.”
“Is he at Longworth's?” asked Augustus.
“Yes. Longworth met him up the Nile, and they travelled together for
some months, and, when they parted, it was agreed they were to meet here
at Christmas; and though Longworth had written to apprise his people
they were coming, he has not appeared himself, and the Frenchman is
waiting patiently for his host's arrival.”
“And laming his best horse in the mean while. That dark bay will never
do another day with hounds,” said Temple.
“She was shaky before, but she is certainly not the better of this
day's work. I 'd blister her, and turn her out for a full year,” said
Augustus.
“I suppose that's another of those things in which the French are our
superiors,” muttered Jack; “but I suspect I 'd think twice about it
before I 'd install myself in a man's house, and ride his horses in his
absence.”
“It was the host's duty to be there to receive him,” said Temple, who
was always on the watch to make the sailor feel how little he knew of
society and its ways.
“I hope when you've finished your wine,” said Ellen, “you'll not steal
off to bed, as you did the other night, without ever appearing in the
drawing-room.”
“L'Estrange shall go, at all events,” cried Augustus. “The Church shall
represent the laity.”
“I 'm not in trim to enter a drawing-room, Miss Bramleigh,” said
the curate, blushing. “I would n't dare to present myself in such a
costume.”
“I declare,” said Jack, “I think it becomes you better than your Sunday
rig; don't you, Nelly?”
“Papa will be greatly disappointed, Mr. L'Estrange, if he should not
see you,” said she, rising to leave the room; “he wants to hear all
about your day's sport, and especially about that poor Frenchman. Do you
know his name?”
“Yes, here's his card;--Anatole de Pracontal.”
“A good name,” said Temple, “but the fellow himself looks a snob.”
“I call that very hard,” said Jack, “to say what any fellow looks like
when he is covered with slush and dirt, his hat smashed, and his mouth
full of mud.”
“Don't forget that we expect to see you,” said Ellen, with a nod and a
smile to the curate, and left the room.
“And who or what is Mr. Longworth?” said Temple.
“I never met him. All I know is, that he owns that very ugly red-brick
house, with the three gables in front, on the hill-side as you go
towards Newry,” said Augustus.
“I think I can tell you something about him,” said the parson; “his
father was my grandfather's agent. I believe he began as his steward,
when we had property in this county; he must have been a shrewd sort of
man, for he raised himself from a very humble origin to become a small
estated proprietor and justice of the peace; and when he died, about
four years ago, he left Philip Longworth something like a thousand a
year in landed property, and some ready money besides.”
“And this Longworth, as you call him,--what is he like?”
“A good sort of fellow, who would be better if he was not possessed by
a craving ambition to know fine people, and move in their society. Not
being able to attain the place he aspires to in his own county, he has
gone abroad, and affects to have a horror of English life and ways, the
real grievance being his own personal inability to meet acceptance in
a certain set. This is what I hear of him; my own knowledge is very
slight. I have ever found him well-mannered and polite, and, except a
slight sign of condescension, I should say pleasant.”
“I take it,” said the sailor, “he must be an arrant snob.”
“Not necessarily, Jack,” said Temple. “There is nothing ignoble in
a man's desire to live with the best people, if he do nothing mean to
reach that goal.”
“Whom do you call the best people, Temple?” asked the other.
“By the best people, I mean the first in rank and station. I am not
speaking of their moral excellence, but of their social superiority, and
of that pre-eminence which comes of an indisputable position, high name,
fortune, and the world's regards. These I call the best people to live
with.”
“And I do not,” said Jack, rising, and throwing his napkin on the
table, “not at least for men like myself. I want to associate with my
equals. I want to mix with men who cannot overbear me by any accident of
their wealth or title.”
“Jack should never have gone into the navy, that 's clear,” said
Augustus, laughing; “but let us draw round the fire and have a cigar.”
“You'll have to pay your visit to the drawing-room, L'Estrange,” said
Jack, “before we begin to smoke, for the governor hates tobacco, and
detects it in an instant.”
“I declare,” said the parson, as he looked at his splashed cords and
dirty boots, “I have no courage to present myself in such a trim as
this.”
“Report yourself and come back at once,” cried Jack.
“I 'd say, don't go in at all,” said Temple.
“That's what I should do, certainly,” said Augustus.
“Sit down here. What are you drinking? This is Pomare, and better than
claret of a cold evening.”
And the curate yielded to the soft persuasion, and, seated around the
fire, the young men talked horses, dogs, and field sports, till the
butler came to say that tea was served in the drawing-room, when,
rising, they declared themselves too tired to stay up longer, and
wishing each other good night they sauntered up to their rooms to bed.