Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

“You would have it,” said the keeper, hoarsely. “You made me forget my place; so don’t blame me for it. Have I hurt you, sir?”

The rage had departed as quickly as it came, and the young man went down on one knee by Trevor, who was half-stunned, but recovered himself quickly, and got up.

“No. I’m not much hurt,” he said, hoarsely.

“You made me do it, sir,” said Humphrey, pitifully. “You shouldn’t have laid hands on me, sir – it made me mad.”

“Made you mad!” said Trevor, angrily. “This is a pretty way to serve your master.”

“You’re no master of mine, sir, from now,” cried Humphrey. “I can’t stand to serve you no more. I’d have stuck to you, sir, through thick and thin, if you’d been a gentleman to me, but – ”

“Do you dare to say I’ve not been a gentleman to you, you scoundrel?” cried Trevor, menacingly, as he clenched his fists.

“Now, don’t ’ee, sir,” cried Humphrey, appealingly. “I don’t want to hurt you, and if you drive me to it I shall do you a mischief.”

“You thick-headed, jealous dolt!” cried Trevor, restraining himself with difficulty. “How can you be such an ass?”

“I don’t blame you, sir,” cried Humphrey, “not so much as that silly old woman who has set it all going.”

“Then it is all true?” cried Trevor, angrily. “Humphrey,” he said, “you’re as great a fool as that mother of yours; and – there, I’ll speak out, though you don’t deserve it: as to little Polly, you great dolt, I never said a tender word to her in my life.”

“Why, I saw you with her hand in yours, not ten minutes ago,” cried Humphrey, indignantly.

“I’ve been calling you fool and dolt, Humphrey,” said Trevor, cooling down, “when I’ve been both to let my passion get the better of me, as it has. There’s a wretched mistake over this altogether; and more mischief done,” he continued, bitterly, “than you can imagine. You think, then, that Mrs Lloyd has that idea in her head?”

“Think, sir!” cried the keeper, hotly, “I know it. Hasn’t she forbidden me to speak to the poor girl? Hasn’t she half-broken her heart?”

“Humphrey,” said Trevor, “you had good reason for feeling angry, but not with me.”

Humphrey looked at him searchingly.

“You doubt me?” said Trevor.

“Will you say it again, sir?” cried the young man, pitifully – “will you swear it?”

“I give you my word of honour as a gentleman, Humphrey, that I have never given the girl a thought; and that this afternoon, when I spoke to her, it was to ask her if she came there to meet you; and she owned her aunt had sent her.”

“Master Dick – Master Dick!” cried the young man in a choking voice, “will you forgive me, sir? If I had known that, sir, I’d sooner have cut my right hand off than have done what I did.”

“It was all a mistake, Humphrey. There – that will do.”

“But I said, sir, you were no master of mine – Master Dick – Mr Trevor, sir. We were boys together here – at the old place – don’t send me away!”

“There, go now; that will do. Yes, it’s all right, Humphrey. I’m not angry. Send you away? No, certainly not; only go now, and don’t make a scene,” said Trevor, incoherently, his eyes the while turned in another direction; for he had heard footsteps, and at the turn of the lane he could see through the trees that Mr Mervyn was coming, with his two companions.

Trevor hurried off through the wood, so as to gain the path a hundred yards in advance, and then he sauntered along so as to meet them.

“If I can get a few words with her I can explain,” he said; and then they were close at hand.

“Ah, Mr Trevor!” cried Mervyn, gaily, for he seemed elated, and he held out his hand.

Before Trevor could take it, Fin had looked straight before her and marched on, her little lips pinched together, and her arm tight in that of her sister; while Tiny met Trevor’s gaze in one short, sad look – piteous, reproachful, and heartbroken – before she hurried away.

Invitations

Trevor returned home in no very enviable frame of mind. The look Tiny Rea had given him troubled him more than he could express, and he felt ready to rail at Fortune for the tricks she had played him. Old Lloyd came, smiling and deferential, into the room with some letters, which his master snatched up and threw on the table.

“In which room are Captain Vanleigh and Sir Felix?”

“I think they’re gone up to Tolcarne, sir,” said the butler.

Worse and worse: they were evidently liked there, too, and that was the reason why they prolonged their stay without a word of leaving.

“Is there anything I can get for you, sir?” said the butler.

“No,” said Trevor, sharply.

And he walked out of the room, to encounter Mrs Lloyd, who was ready to smile and give him a curtsey; but he passed her with such an expression of anger that the blood flushed into her face, and she stood looking after him as, with his letters crumpled in his hand, he walked out into the grounds, to think over what he should next do.

“I’ll send them both away,” he thought. “That old woman’s insolence is intolerable. It’s plain enough. Pratt’s right. Where is the little humbug? Out of the way just when I want him. I’ll give that old woman such a setting down one of these days – but I have not time now.”

He sat very still for a time, thinking of what he should do – Tiny’s soft eyes haunting him the while, with their sad reproachful look.

He had seen very little of her, but, sailor-like, his heart had gone with a bound to her who had won it; and he was even now accusing himself of being dilatory in his love.

“Yes,” he said, “I do love her, and very dearly. I’ll see her, tell her frankly all, take her into my counsel, and she will believe me. I’m sure she will, and forgive me too. Humph! Forgive me for doing nothing. But I must talk to the old gentleman – propose in due form, ask his permission to visit his daughter, and the rest of it. Heigho! what a lot of formality there is in this life! I think I may cope with her, though. She looked so gently reproachful I could wait; but no, I mustn’t do that. I’ll call this afternoon and suffer the griffin. But those two fellows, why should they go up this morning? Evident that they did not see the ladies, for they were out. No wonder Van takes to making calls, seeing how I’ve neglected him and Flick. I wish Pratt were here. Where did he go?”

“Thy slave obeys,” said Pratt, who had approached unobserved upon the soft turf! “Should you have liked Van to hear what you said just now?”

“No. Was I talking aloud?” said Trevor.

“You were, and very fast,” was the reply.

“But what’s the matter, Franky? What’s the letter?”

And he pointed to an open missive in his friend’s hand.

“It’s about that I’ve come to you,” said Pratt. “Read.”

Trevor took the note, glanced over it, and found it was an invitation to Mr Frank Pratt to dine at Tolcarne on the following Friday. This brought Trevor’s thoughts back to the letters Lloyd had given him, and he hastily took them from his pocket, to find a similar invitation to the one Pratt had had placed in his hand.

“That’s lucky,” he said, brightening.

“Lucky – why?” said Pratt.

“Because I want to go. But why are you looking so doleful?”

“Natural aspect, Dick. I only came to tell you I should not go.”

“Not go! Why?”

“Because I am going back to town.”

“Are you upset, Franky? Is anything wrong? I’ve been rude, I suppose, and said something that put you out this morning.”

“No – oh no!”

“But I’m sure that must have been it. But really, old fellow, I was much obliged. Franky, you were quite right – it is as you say; so if I said anything when I was hipped, forgive me.”

“Dick, old fellow,” cried Pratt, grasping the extended hand, “don’t talk of forgiveness to me. I have been here too long; this idle life don’t suit me, and I’ve got to work.”

“Work, then, and help me through my troubles. I can’t spare you.”

“Dick, old fellow, I feel that I must go. Don’t ask me why.”

“No, I won’t ask you why,” said Trevor, eyeing him curiously; “but, to oblige me, stay over this Friday, and go with me to the dinner.”

Pratt hesitated a moment.

“Well, I will,” he said; and the conversation ended.

During the intervening days Trevor was too much excited to say anything to Mrs Lloyd. He called at Tolcarne twice, but the ladies were out. He tried every walk in the neighbourhood, but without avail; and at last, blaming himself bitterly for his neglect of his guests, and thinking that the opportunity he sought must come on the Friday, he determined to try and make up for the past by attending to Vanleigh and Landells.

“I’ll talk to Lady Rea about it – that’s; how I’ll manage,” he said. “She’s a good, motherly soul, and will set me right, I’m sure. I know – tell her I want advice and counsel; ask her to help me counteract Mrs Lloyd’s designs.”

Trevor laughed over what he considered the depth of his plans, and after dinner that night was in excellent spirits, losing thirty guineas to Vanleigh in a cheery way that made Pratt shudder for his recklessness, and bite his lips with annoyance at the cool manner in which the money was swept up.

“By the way,” said Trevor, as they sat smoking, “what do you say to a sail to-morrow? – the yacht’s in trim now, and the weather delightful.”

“Thanks – no,” said Vanleigh. “I don’t think we can go, eh, Landells?”

“Jove! – no; drive, you know, with the old gentleman.”

Trevor looked inquiringly from one to the other.

“Fact is,” said Vanleigh, coolly, “Sir Hampton Rea has asked us to join him in a little picnic excursion to the north coast – drive over, you know, to-morrow. Yes, Thursday,” he said, looking at his little note-book – one which usually did duty for betting purposes – “Yes, Thursday, and Friday we all dine there, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” said Trevor, in a quiet, constrained way, which made Sir Felix, who had already felt rather hot and confused, colour like a girl.

“Mustn’t mind our running away from you so much, Trevor,” continued Vanleigh, with a smile, which the former felt carried a sneer, and an allusion to his own playing of the absentee. “Fact is, the old gentleman seems to be rather taken with Flick here.”

“’Sure you, no,” said Sir Felix, excitedly; “it’s the other way, Trevor. Makes no end of Van, showing him over grounds, asking ’vice, you know, and that sort of thing.”

“I am glad you find the place so much more agreeable than you expected,” said Trevor, gravely.

“Never s’ jolly in m’ life, Trevor,” said Sir Felix, excitedly, and speaking nervously and fast. “Fine old fellow, S’ Hampton. Fitting up b’liard-room. ’L have game after come back.”

“Take another cigar,” said Trevor, and his voice was very deep, as he seemed now to be exerting himself all that he could to make up for his past neglect to those whom he had invited down as his friends. “Vanleigh, you are taking nothing.”

“I’m doing admirably, dear boy,” said the captain, in the most affectionate of tones; and then to himself – “What does that little cad mean by watching me as he does?”

He smiled pleasantly, though, all the while, and when, to pass the time away, and conceal his trouble, Trevor once more proposed cards, the captain condescended to take “that little cad” as his partner, and between them they won fifty pounds of Trevor and Sir Felix – the latter throwing the cards petulantly down, and vowing he would play no more.

“Good night, dear boy,” said Vanleigh, rising and yawning a few minutes after smilingly taking his winnings. “It’s past one, and we shall be having our respected friend, Mrs Lloyd, to send us to bed.”

A sharp retort was on Trevor’s lip, but he checked it, and with a courtesy that was grave in spite of his efforts, wished him good night, saying —

“There is no fear of that; Mrs Lloyd and I understand each other pretty well now.”

“Ya-as, exactly,” said Vanleigh; and he went out whistling softly.

“Good night, Trevor,” said Sir Felix, in turn. “’Fraid we’re doocid bad comp’ny. Too bad, I’m sure, going ’way as we do.”

“Good night, Flick,” said Trevor, smiling; and then, as the door closed, he turned to find Pratt leaning against the chimneypiece, counting over his winnings. “Well, my lad!” continued Trevor, trying to be gay.

“Twenty-five pounds, Dick,” said Pratt, laying the money on the table. “I shan’t take that.”

“Nonsense, man,” said Trevor; “keep it till Van wins it back. But what’s the matter? Have you found another of your mare’s-nests?”

“I was thinking, Dick,” said Pratt, gravely, “that you must be very sorry you asked any of us here.”

Trevor’s lips parted to speak; but without a word he wrung his friend’s hand, took his candle, and hastily left the room.

Before Dinner

It was a busy day at Tolcarne, that of the dinner party. The picnic had not been a success. In fact, at one time, when very much bored by the attentions of Vanleigh, Tiny had gazed out to sea at a pretty little yacht gliding by, and longed to be on board – innocent, poor girl! of the fact that Dick Trevor was lying on the deck with a powerful lorgnette, seeing the party distinctly, and plainly making out the captain leaning on the rock by her side.

Fin, too, was no wiser – though, for quite a quarter of an hour Frank Pratt was gazing, with knitted brow, through a second lorgnette at the little rocky cove where Sir Felix Landells was pestering her with attentions, and evidently labouring under the impression that unless she partook of lobster salad every five minutes she must feel faint.

Aunt Matty was the only really happy person in the party. She had, to the dismay of all, announced her intention of going, feeling sure that the change would benefit Pepine; and the way in which Vanleigh and Landells tried in emulation to gratify her whims was most flattering to her.

Not that she was deceived by the attentions, and imagined them extorted by her charms; she knew well enough the visitors’ aims, and was gratified at their discernment.

“They know how much depends upon my opinion,” she said to herself; and she smiled graciously upon them both as one carried Pepine down the rocks, the other her shawl, and gave his arm; ending by playfully sending them afterwards to the girls.

“Old girl’s warm, I know,” said Vanleigh to himself.

“We must keep in with the old nymph, Van,” said Sir Felix to him at the end of the day; just about the same time that Tiny was crying silently in her bedroom; and Fin striding up and down like a small tragedy queen.

“He’s a born idiot, Tiny!” she exclaimed; “and what pa can mean by making such a fuss over him, and telling me it’s a proud thing to become a lady of title, I don’t know. Ahem! – Lady Landells – fine, isn’t it? I don’t see that dear ma’s any happier for being Lady Rea.”

“Papa seems infatuated with them,” said Tiny, bitterly.

“Yes; and when he found that black captain paying you such attention, I saw him smile and rub his hands.”

“Oh, don’t Fin!” exclaimed Tiny, shuddering.

“I believe he’s a regular Bluebeard. Look at the little blue-black dots all over his chin. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he’s got half a dozen wives in a sort of Madame Tussaud’s Blue Chamber of Horrors, preserved in waxwork.”

“Pray don’t be so foolish, Fin.”

“Foolish? I don’t call it foolish to talk about our future husbands.”

“Fin!” cried her sister.

“Well, you see if that isn’t what pa means! I saw Aunt Matty smirking about it and petting the captain; and ma was almost in tears about their goings on.”

“Oh, Fin! don’t talk so,” said Tiny, sadly; “I shall never marry.”

“Till you say Yes at the altar, and the bevy of beauteous bridesmaids dissolve in tears,” laughed Fin. “I say, though, Tiny, I’m not going to be bought and sold like a heroine of romance. I wouldn’t have that Sir Felix – no, not if he was ten thousand baronets; and if you listen to Bluebeard, Tiny, you are no sister of mine.”

“Do you think papa seriously thinks anything of the kind?”

“I’m sure of it, dear, and – and – and – oh! Tiny, Tiny – I do feel so very, very miserable!”

To the surprise of her sister, she threw herself in her arms, and they indulged in the sweet feminine luxury of a good cry, ending by Fin declaring that she shouldn’t go back to her own room; and more than once, even in sleep, the pillows upon which the two pretty little flushed faces lay, side by side, were wet with tears that stole from beneath their eyelids in their troubled dreams.

And now the day of the dinner had arrived, and Lady Rea had had such a furiously red face that Sir Hampton told her she ought to be ashamed of herself, and made the poor little woman, who had been fretting herself to death to do honour to his guests, shed tears of vexation.

Next there was a furious ringing of Sir Hampton’s bell, about six o’clock, and a demand whether the house was to smell of cabbage like that.

As the odour did not pass away, Sir Hampton sought his lady, who had gone to dress, and again made her shed tears by exclaiming against his mansion being made to smell like a cookshop.

“It’s that dreadful prize kitchener, Hampton, dear,” said poor Lady Rea. “The smell comes into the house instead of going up the chimney.”

“It’s nothing of the sort – its your stupid servants!” exclaimed the knight, and he bounced off to his room to prepare for the banquet.

“I’ve a good mind to make myself ugly as sin, Tiny,” said Fin, pettishly. But she did not, for she looked very piquante in her palest of pale blue diaphanous dresses, while her sister looked very sweet and charming in white.

“Why, Tiny, you look quite poorly,” cried Fin, in alarm. “Pray, don’t look like that, or that wretch Trevor will see that you’ve been fretting. If he prefers little servant-girls to my dear sister, let him have them.”

“Fin, dear, you hurt me,” said Tiny, simply; and there was such a tender, reproachful look in her sweet eyes that Fin gave a gulp, and, regardless of her get-up, threw herself on her sister’s breast.

“I’m such a thoughtless wretch, Tiny; I won’t say so any more.”

“Please, Miss, your par says are you a coming down?” said the maid sent to summon them; and they went down, to find Sir Hampton in so violently stiff a cravat, that the wonder was how it was possible that it could be tied in a bow, and the spectator at last came to the conclusion that it had been starched after it was on.

Aunt Matty had, in her Irish poplin, a dress that was fearfully and wonderfully made, and dated back to about a quarter of a century before. It was of the colour of the herb whose perfume it exhaled – lavender; and every time you approached her you began to think of damask – not roses, but table-cloths and household linen, put away in great drawers, in a country house.

This is not a wardrobe style of story, but we must stay to mention the costume of Frances, Lady Rea, who came into the room with her cheeks redder than ever, although she had tried cold water, hot water, lavender water, and every cooling liquid she could think of. She was in peony red – a stiff silk of Sir Hampton’s own choice, and she sought his eye, trembling lest he should be displeased; but as he emitted a crackle, produced by his cravat, as he bent his head in satisfactory assent, a bright smile shot across the pleasant face, dimpling it all over, and she exclaimed —

“Lor’, my dears, how well you look. There, they may come now as soon as they like.”

“Mind your dress, Fanny,” said Aunt Matty, austerely, as she sat minding her own. “Sh!”

She held up her fan to command silence, as Sir Hampton cleared his throat, chuckled violently, and spoke —

“Er-rum, I think our guests will not find our circle much less attractive than – er-rum! – Ah, here they are!”

After Dinner

Sir Hampton was right – the visitors had arrived; and almost directly after the ordinary greetings, during which Tiny never raised her eyes, and Fin was so short that Sir Hampton darted an angry glance at her, the dinner was announced. Trevor took in Lady Rea; Vanleigh, Tiny; Landells, Fin; and Pratt, Aunt Matty – Sir Hampton bringing up the rear.

The dinner was good, and passed off with no greater mishaps than a slight distribution of the saccharine juices in a dish in the second course down the back of Aunt Matilda’s poplin – Edward being the offender; but the sweetly gracious smile with which the lady bore her affliction was charming, and Fin looked her astonishment at her sister.

But the dinner was not a pleasant one, even if good; there was too much, “Thompson, that hock to Sir Felix Landells;” “Thompson, the dry champagne to Captain Vanleigh” – it was hard work to Sir Hampton not to add “of the Guards;” “Thompson, let Mr Trevor taste that Clos-Vougeot;” and it was a relief when the ladies rose.

“If he will talk about his cellar, Felix, punish it,” whispered Vanleigh, as they drew closer; but Sir Felix Landells’s thoughts were in the drawing-room, and though Sir Hampton persisted in talking about his cellar – how many dozens of this he had laid down, how many dozens of that; how he had been favoured by getting a few dozens of Sir Magnum O’pus’s port at the sale, and so on ad infinitum – Sir Felix refrained from looking upon the wine when it was red; and as soon as etiquette allowed they joined the ladies in the drawing-room, where Trevor had the mortification of seeing Vanleigh resume his position by Tiny, while Landells loomed over Fin like an aristocratic poplar by a rose-bush.

Trevor consoled himself, though, by sitting down by pleasant Lady Rea, while Sir Hampton crackled at Pratt, talked politics to him, and his ideas of Parliament, and Aunt Matty fanned herself, as she treated Pepine to the sensation of lavender poplin as a couch.

“What a nice little man your friend is, Mr Trevor,” began Lady Rea; “I declare he’s the nicest, sensiblest man I ever met.”

“I’m glad you like him, Lady Rea,” said Trevor, earnestly; “but I want to talk to you.”

“There isn’t anything the matter, is there?” said Lady Rea, anxiously.

Trevor looked at her for an instant, and saw that in her face which quickened his resolve, already spumed into action by the markedly favoured attentions of Vanleigh to the elder daughter of the house.

“Lady Rea,” he said, “I’m in trouble.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, with simple, genuine condolence. “Can I help you?”

“Indeed you can,” said Trevor; and he proceeded to tell her what he had discovered respecting Mrs Lloyd’s designs.

“Well, I never knew such impudence!” cried Lady Rea, indignantly.

“You will sing now to oblige me,” said Vanleigh; but for the time, Tiny declined, and Fin was carried off to the piano by Sir Felix.

“Do you know ‘Won’t you tell me why, Robin?’” said Sir Felix, beaming down at the little maiden.

“Yes,” said Fin, sharply.

“Then do sing it.”

“I shall sing ‘Maggie’s Secret’ instead,” said Fin, sending the colour flushing into her sister’s face, as she rattled it out, with tremendous aplomb given to the words —

So I tell them they needn’t come wooing to me.

Meanwhile, Trevor went on pouring his troubles into Lady Rea’s attentive ears, as Sir Hampton prosed, Aunt Matty dozed with a smile on her countenance, Pepine snoozed in her lap in a satin tent made of his mistress’s fan, and Poor Tiny longed for the hour when she could be alone.

“Lady Rea,” said Trevor, at last, “I will not attempt to conceal my feelings – I think you can guess them, when I tell you that my trouble is that your daughter passed me in the wood talking to – questioning the little girl I have mentioned, and I read that in her face which seemed to say that she despised me.”

“Then that’s what’s made Tiny so low-spirited for the last few days,” said Lady Rea.

“God bless you for that!” said Trevor, in a low, hoarse voice, “you’ve made me very happy. Lady Rea, will you take my part? If I have no opportunity of explaining, will you do it for me? I am very blunt, I know – recollect I am a sailor; so forgive me if I tell you that since I first met Miss Rea, I have scarcely ceased to think about her.”

“I’m not cross with you for it,” said Lady Rea, “and I will tell Tiny; but you mustn’t ask me to interfere – I couldn’t think of doing so. There,” she whispered, “go and talk to her yourself.”

And she gave the young fellow so pleasant a look, as their eyes met, that he knew that if the matter depended upon her, Tiny Rea would be his wife.