MR. TRESHAM POTTS.
THE Lord of Holmcastle had left directions that his funeral should
be a grand one, and that no expense should be spared. All that venal
undertakers; all that red-nosed mutes, with a prevailing smell of
gin and beer pervading their dingy habiliments; all that six black
cart-horses, with long, waving tails and manes; all that cloaked
tenants _could_ do to minister to human pride, and folly, and vile
taste, _was_ done in his behalf. For him the “Family Vault,” which
polluted the consecrated House of God, was opened wide, with all its
foul and fusty recesses, in front of the very Altar itself; and there,
amidst dead men’s bones, and oozing coffins of bursten lead, and shreds
of tattered velvet, and rottenness, and all uncleanness, they left the
mortal remains of the proud old Squire, in the company of obscene efts
and bloated toads; while without, in the breezy churchyard, the green
grass waved, and flowers blossomed, and throstles sang over the simple
green graves of the village dead.
Better indeed were it for the human frame to be engulphed in the great
sea, there “to toss with tangle and sea shells,” than to be subjected
to such degradation as this!
Leaning on the friendly arm of Lucy Elthorne, Evelyn attended her
father’s pompous obsequies; and when the ceremony was concluded, and
the vault which never more should receive the bones of a Manwaring
was shut, she returned to the now lonely house of her childhood. Very
sad were her thoughts--her tenderly-loved brother buried beneath the
waves of the “mournful and misty Atlantic;” her father, whom her own
sweetness of disposition rather than his parental sympathy had taught
her to love, consigned to the tomb; her eldest brother exposed to a
thousand dangers amidst the difficulties of an ignominious campaign in
South Africa! To that sole living brother she must now write and unfold
the sorrows which had befallen their house, and until his return she
must nerve herself to discharge the new duties which would now devolve
upon her as his representative. Little did the lonely girl know that
the cup of her many sorrows was not yet full to the brim! Yet so it
was. A letter arrived from Lionel, written in high spirits, to tell her
of his promotion, and how he hoped, “when they had given those black
fellows their final thrashing, he would get leave of absence, and come
home to dear old Holmcastle and his little pet sister.” Then followed
a long and dreary interval without any letter at all, and then the
_Gazette_ announced that the gallant Captain Manwaring, while with
a few soldiers making a desperate resistance against overwhelming odds,
had fallen in the fight, pierced by almost innumerable assegais. The
General in command added that no more brave, promising, and valuable
officer could be found in the British army, and that, had he survived,
it had been his intention to recommend him for further honours.
This terrible news was broken to Evelyn by Mr. Elthorne, and so great
was the shock, that it was feared at first her health would give way
under it. But it was not so. Evelyn Manwaring had learned fortitude
in the school of adversity, and her loving heart had early received
the teaching of the old Rector, that she had a Father in Heaven, who
loved her with more than an earthly father’s love. And amidst her
natural grief she had much to comfort her. Her high spirit, chastened
but not subdued by sorrow, led her to glory in her eldest brother’s
heroic death; and when, in the course of a post or two, she received
letters not a few from his brother officers and from privates in his
regiment, all testifying to the love and honour in which he was held,
she was led to feel that, after all, it was, perchance, better as it
was, and she was able to exclaim--“_Father, not my will, but Thine
be done._” As to her younger brother, she came to regard him as a
martyr to his own nobleness of spirit, and she never doubted that he
was happier where he was. Evelyn, you see, had not learned the doctrine
of the Communion of the Saints in vain. Nevertheless, she kept her room
for a week after the receipt of the fatal news, tended always by Lucy
Elthorne, and visited daily by the Rector. Then she nerved herself to
come down, and set about those needful preparations which had to be
made for her departure from her home; for, as the reader is already
aware, the Holmcastle estate was entailed upon her Cousin Tresham. Nor,
indeed, was that gentleman disposed to forego his legal claims a moment
longer than he could help. Evelyn had been about again for a few days
only, when a hack chaise drove up to the door of the Manor, and from it
descended Mr. Tresham Potts _in propriâ personâ_, who, depositing
a bulky portmanteau in the hall, much to Pinfold’s indignation, sent in
his card, and demanded an immediate interview with his cousin.
Evelyn nerved herself to receive this unwelcome and untimely visitor,
who, after a somewhat brusque salutation, began thus:--“I’ve come,
cousin, because, as I suppose you know--not that women ever _do_
understand matters of business--this tumble-down old shop and all that
belongs to it is now Mine; and as I intend to rub it up a little before
I bring Mrs. Tresham and my gals, I thought I’d best be on the spot
to look arter the alterations. I hear from Merivale that you are left
precious well off, but I don’t want to hurry you to move, and so I hope
you’ll stay and be my housekeeper for the next three weeks or so.”
Evelyn, who was pale and worn enough when her cousin entered the room,
was as white as a sheet when she replied that she believed he was right
as to his being the heir of the Holmcastle estate, now that her eldest
brother had been killed in battle, and her younger brother had been
drowned at sea (“Rum start, that!” interpolated the visitor), so she
hoped he would do as she liked, but that as, in her affliction, she
could make but a poor hostess, she trusted he would excuse her company
as much as possible.
“Well,” was the polite rejoinder, “you must have your own way, of
course; and, to tell you the truth, if you are likely to make a
scene--women are _such_ fools, and always _will_ make
scenes--I’d a deuced deal sooner be without you than with you. Now,
by-bye for the present; and, look here, don’t forget to have something
hot for luncheon. I’m not one as can put up with cold meat--cold meat
be blowed, say I. And as for drink, I daresay you’ve a tolerably good
tap, and anything wet will suit me.”
Thus speaking, the new proprietor stalked majestically out of the room.
In a minute, however, he put his head in at the door, and said, “I say,
cousin, there’s one thing I forgot to say; as I’m boss now, I’ll take
the old Squire’s room--I ain’t afraid of his walking, you see--and mind
you have the sheets well aired, for I don’t mean to let Mrs. Tresham be
a widow just yet, I can assure you.” With this agreeable speech, Mr.
Tresham Potts closed the door, and again disappeared.
When he was quite gone, poor Evelyn threw herself on a couch, and
buried her sweet face in her white hands; but no tear did she shed, so
strong was her indignation at her cousin’s heartless brutality. After
some little time, she heard a gentle tap at the glass door which opened
into the garden, and, looking up, she saw the kindly face of the old
Rector.
“My dearest girl,” he cried as he entered the room, and seizing her by
both hands kissed her on the forehead--“my dearest girl, I have only
this moment heard of the shameless invasion to which you have been
subjected, and I came to offer you the shelter of the Rectory, and to
see whether in any way I could be of any help and comfort to you. God
bless you, my bairn, and be your support, for He is a very Present Help
in trouble. Bear up, my child, as becomes the sister of one with whose
fame all England is ringing.”
The girl, who, during her interview with her cousin, had sat motionless
as a statue, now shook like an aspen leaf, and falling into the old
man’s arms, she sobbed aloud. The Rector laid her gently down upon
a sofa, but did not try to restrain her tears. Presently he kneeled
down beside her, and said a few prayers which he deemed suitable to
the occasion. This soothed her wounded spirit, and she was soon able
to talk calmly and cheerfully to the old and faithful friend who had
baptised her, and had been her spiritual father from childhood upwards,
and whom, after her brothers and her father, she had loved more than
anyone in the world.
Mr. Elthorne, it is proper to mention here, was Evelyn’s guardian,
and, as one of her father’s executors, was fully acquainted with the
business matters of the family. He knew that Evelyn would have a
bare £200 a-year to live upon, and the furniture of her own boudoir,
ante-chamber, and bedroom, which had been her mother’s; for it had been
a fad of the late Mr. Manwaring to make as many things as possible
heirlooms, and these, of course, would now become the property of Mr.
Tresham Potts.
When the Rector heard what had passed between Evelyn and her cousin,
his indignation knew no bounds, and he expressed a wish, which he
certainly felt, that his peaceful profession did not admit of his
administering the personal chastisement which Mr. Potts so richly
deserved. As Evelyn’s guardian, however, he claimed the right to
expostulate with him upon the indecency of his conduct, and to try to
get him to forego his intention of remaining at the Manor, until such
time as she was able to form plans for her future life, and to secure
a new home. To this, however, Evelyn would not consent, asserting that
the effort to entertain her cousin, who, after all, was within the
letter of the law, would brace her up, and be of service in accustoming
her to the new state of affairs which her brother Lionel’s death had
entailed upon her.
After a long and consoling talk, Mr. Elthorne took his leave, having
first extracted from Evelyn a promise to come to the Rectory at the end
of the time allotted for her remaining at the Manor, and he promised
that Lucy would be to her as a sister, and that she would meet with the
affection of a mother from his at present invalid and bed-ridden wife.