Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

But there was no opportunity as yet, for Tiny had been unwillingly led to the piano, vacated by Fin, Sir Felix being buttonholed by Sir Hampton, and Pratt taking his place, and talking to the sharp-tongued little maid in a way that made her exclaim —

“How solemn you are!”

“Hush!” said Pratt. “Listen! What a sweet voice!”

“Yes, Tiny can sing nicely,” replied Fin.

And they listened, as did Trevor, while, in a sweet, low voice, Tiny sang a pathetic old ballad with such pathos that a strangely sweet sense of melancholy crept over Trevor, and he stood gazing at her till the last note had ceased to thrill his nerves, when Vanleigh led her to her seat, and crossed to pay his court to Aunt Matty, awakened by the song.

“Now,” whispered Lady Rea, “go and tell her how it was.”

In strict obedience to the indiscreet advice, Trevor crossed to where Tiny was seated, offered his arm, and together they strolled into the handsome conservatory.

“Miss Rea,” said Trevor, plunging at once in medias res, as Tiny made one or two constrained replies to his remarks, “I have been explaining to Lady Rea what trouble I am in.”

“Trouble, Mr Trevor?” said Tiny, coldly.

“Yes: how I had ventured to hope that I had won the friendship of two ladies, and with the vanity, or weakness, of a sailor, I trusted that that friendship would ripen into something warmer.”

“Mr Trevor,” said Tiny, her voice trembling, “I must request – ”

“Tiny, dear Tiny,” cried Trevor, passionately, “I may have but a few moments to speak to you. Don’t misjudge me, I have explained all to Lady Rea, and she will tell you. If I am mad and vain in hoping, forgive me – I cannot help it, for I love you dearly; and this that I see – these attentions – these visits – madden me.”

“Mr Trevor, pray – pray don’t say more!” exclaimed Tiny, glancing in the direction of the drawing-room.

“I must – I cannot help it,” he whispered, passionately. “Tell me my love is without hope, and I will go back to sea and trouble you no more; but give me one little word, tell me if only that we are friends again, and that you will not misjudge me, or think of me as you did the other day in the wood. Tell me – confess this: you thought me wrong?”

“I had no right to judge you, Mr Trevor,” said Tiny, in a trembling voice; “but – but my sister – and I – ”

“Tiny,” whispered Trevor, catching her land in his, “my darling, I could not have a thought that you might not read. Give me one word – one look. Heaven bless you for this.”

Young men are so thoughtless, so full of the blind habits of the sand-hiding ostrich at such times, and so wrapped up was Richard Trevor, sailor and natural unspoiled man, in the soft, gentle look directed at him from Tiny’s timid, humid eyes, that, regardless of the fact that they were close to the drawing-room, the chances are that he might have gone farther than kissing the little blue-veined hand he held in his, had not, from behind a clump of camellias, a harsh voice suddenly exclaimed —

“Now, then, am I right?”

Sir Hampton Rea and Aunt Matty appeared upon the scene.

Dear Aunt Matty had had her way, and was satisfied. Quiet as she was, she had her suspicions of Trevor’s earnest talk to Lady Rea; and when Vanleigh drew her attention to the fact that the two imprudent young people had strolled off into the conservatory, by saying, “I suppose Miss Rea finds the room too close?” she gave him a significant look.

“Sit down and hold Pepine for me, Captain Vanleigh,” she said, in a low voice, “and I’ll soon put a stop to that.”

Vanleigh said something very naughty, sotto voce, and then, as he felt bound to flatter Aunt Matty, he seated himself, and nursed the wretched little dog, while Aunt Matty made her way to Sir Hampton, who was deep in a political speech, to which Sir Felix kept saying “Ya-as” and “Ver’ true,” eyeing Fin the while through his glass.

Fin’s sharp eyes detected something wrong, and she tried a flank movement.

“Go and tell my sister I want her directly, Mr Pratt,” she said – “in the conservatory.”

It was too late; Aunt Matty’s forced march had done it.

“Eh! what? Er-rum!” ejaculated Sir Hampton.

Then he followed his sister out into the conservatory, where she made the before-mentioned remark, and Sir Hampton, turning port wine colour, caught his daughter by the wrist.

“Go to bed this instant!” he exclaimed, reverting in his rage to the punishment inflicted years before. “As to you, sir – ”

“Excuse me, Sir Hampton,” said Trevor, boldly.

“Let me speak,” said Aunt Matty, with great dignity. “Hampton, this is neither the time nor the place to have words about the works of the wicked. I warned you, but you would not take heed. Valentina, you are not to go to bed, but to return to the drawing-room as if nothing had happened. Hampton, you must not disturb your other guests – the strangers sojourning in peace within your gates.”

At a time like this Aunt Matty was too much for Sir Hampton. She had girded herself as she would have termed it; and when Aunt Matty girded herself her words were like a strong solution of tracts, and she became a sort of moral watering-pot, with which she sprinkled the wicked and quenched their anger. Sir Hampton never so much as said “Er-rum!” at such times, and now seeing the wisdom of her words, he picked two or three flowers, and walked back into the drawing-room with Tiny, the poor girl trying hard to conceal her agitation.

Trevor was about to follow, but Aunt Matty stopped him.

“Sit down there, young man,” she said, severely.

“If you wish to speak to me, certainly,” said Trevor, politely; “but what I have to say must be to Sir Hampton, with all respect to you.”

“Sit down there for five minutes, young man, and then you can return.”

Trevor fumed – the position was so ridiculous; but he accepted it, glancing the while at his watch, and then fighting hard to preserve his gravity before the stiff figure in whose presence he sat. For, in spite of the annoyance, a feeling of joyous hilarity had come upon the offender against decorum: he knew that Tiny loved him, and doubtless a few words of explanation would be listened to when Sir Hampton was cool, and then all would come right.

“I think the five minutes are up, Miss Rea,” said Trevor, rising. “Perhaps you will take my arm, and we can stroll back as if nothing had happened. I will see Sir Hampton in the morning.”

Aunt Matty bowed, and then, wearing the aspect of some jointless phenomenon, she stalked by his side back into the drawing-room, where, in spite of the efforts of Lady Rea and Vanleigh, nothing could disperse the gloom that had fallen; and the party broke up with the departure of the gentlemen, who walked home on account of the beauty of the night – Vanleigh talking incessantly, and Trevor quiet, but striving hard to conceal his triumph.

“I’ll ease him as much as possible,” Trevor had said to himself, àpropos of Vanleigh.

“Poor brute! he little thinks how he’s shelved,” said Vanleigh to Landells.

“Little girl’s pos’tively b’witching,” said Landells.

“Who, Miss Rea?”

“Jove! No – sister. Sharp and bright as lit’ needle.”

“Just suit you, there, Flick.”

“Ya-as.”

“It came to a climax, then, Dick, eh?” said Pratt.

“Franky, old boy, I’m the happiest dog under the sun.”

These fragments of conversation took place at odd times that night; and the next morning, soon after breakfast, Trevor made an excuse to his friends, and started for Tolcarne.

“Gone to get his congé, Flick,” said Vanleigh.

“Poor Trevor! Sorry. Not bad ’fler,” said Sir Felix.

“Bah! every man for himself. But we shall have to clear out after this. We’ll go and stay at Saint Francis, and when the old boy finds we are there, he’ll ask us up to Tolcarne.”

“But seems so shabby to poor Trevor,” said Sir Felix.

“Pooh, nonsense! Every man has his crosses in this way. Let’s get out somewhere, though, so as not to be at hand when the poor beggar comes back; he’ll be in a towering fury. I hope he won’t make an ass of himself, and force a quarrel on me.”

Speaking to Papa

Meanwhile Trevor was on his way to Tolcarne, where he was shown into the library. He felt flushed and excited, but he had come with the confidence of a conqueror; and, besides, he could feel that he was no ineligible parti for the young lady.

“Poor Franky, I know he’s bitten by that little fairy,” he said, as he waited impatiently – the “directly” of Edward, who had announced that Sir Hampton was in the garden and would come, having extended to ten minutes.

“Hang the formality of these things!” said Trevor. “I could talk to that dear little woman, Lady Rea, by the hour without feeling uncomfortable; but as to pater – well, there; it’s only once in a man’s life. Here he is.”

The door leading into a farther passage opened this moment, and Trevor rose; but instead of encountering fierce Sir Hampton, in skipped petite Fin, to run up to him flushed and excited, but with her eyes sparkling with pleasure.

She placed both her little hands in his, and her words came in hurried jerks, as she exclaimed —

“Tiny told me all about it – last night – Oh, I’m so glad!”

“That’s right, little fairy,” laughed Trevor, smiling down on the pleasant little face.

“But there’s been such a rumpus, and I came to tell you before pa came.”

“Indeed,” said Trevor, retaining the little hands, though there was no effort made to remove them.

“Yes, pa’s been raging and bullying poor Tiny so. Those friends of yours came and proposed for us, and papa said they might come, and he is horribly cross about it. But you won’t give way?”

“Do I look as if I would?” said Trevor.

“No; and I am glad, because I think you do like Tiny.”

“Like?”

“Well, love her, then. Ma likes you, too.”

“And little Fin?”

“There’s little Fin’s answer,” said the girl, with tears in her eyes, and she held up her face and kissed him with quiet gravity. “Oh, let me go,” she cried, and she struggled from his arms and fled, leaving him to turn round and face Sir Hampton and Aunt Matty, who had entered by the other door.

“What does this mean, sir?” exclaimed Sir Hampton, furiously. “Er-rum! I am astounded!”

“Merely, Sir Hampton, that your daughter was willing to accord to me the licence that she would to a brother.”

Aunt Matty was heard to mutter something about vulgar assurance, and Trevor flushed as Sir Hampton motioned him to a chair, took one, and crossed his legs; but he was determined not to be angry, and he went on —

“Our meetings, so far, Sir Hampton, have been unfortunate, and I have come over this morning to try and set myself at one with you. I presume I am to speak before Miss Rea?”

“My sister is in my confidence, and is my adviser,” said Sir Hampton, in the tone he had prepared for the magisterial bench.

“Then, Sir Hampton, speaking as a frank, blunt sailor, I humbly ask your pardon for any lapses of politeness wherein I have been guilty, and also beg of you to forgive me for my conduct last night.”

“A perfect outrage – barbarous,” said Aunt Matty.

“Er-rum! – Matilda, let the young man speak,” said Sir Hampton, magisterially.

“It was, I am aware, very foolish of me, but I was carried away by my feelings. Sir Hampton Rea, I love your daughter, Valentina.”

“Absurd!” exclaimed Miss Matilda, who remained standing.

“I ventured to tell her so last night, in explaining away a little misapprehension that had existed between us.”

“I never heard such assurance!” said Miss Matilda.

“Matty – er-rum! Matilda, I mean, have the goodness not to interrupt the pris – I mean – er-rum – the statement that is being made.”

“If I could feel warrant for such a proceeding,” continued Trevor, calmly, “I intended to speak to you this morning, and ask your consent, even as I spoke to Lady Rea last night, before I addressed your daughter.”

“Just like Fanny – encouraging it!” muttered Aunt Matty.

“Go on, sir, I am listening,” said Sir Hampton, telling himself this was quite a preparation for the bench.

“I came, then, Sir Hampton, to formally propose for your daughter’s hand. Though comparatively a stranger to you, I am well known here – of one of the most ancient county families – and I have eight thousand a year. That, Sir Hampton, is putting the matter in a plain, business-like form. If I am wanting in the proper etiquette, my excuse is my seafaring life.”

“Exactly,” said Aunt Matty, satirically.

The words “prisoner at the bar” were on Sir Hampton’s lips, but he did not utter them; he only rolled his words nice and round, and infused as much dignity as was possible into his tones. “The young man” had insulted him, but he could afford to treat him with dignified composure.

“Mr Trevor,” he began, “I have listened to your remarks with patience” – magisterial here, very – “I have, er-rum I heard your application. For your friends’ sake, I was willing to condone” – capital magisterial word, and he liked it so much that he said it again – “er-rum! to condone that which was past. Er-rum! but under the circumstances, near neighbours as we are, I think it better that all communication” – the clearest magisterial tone here, and repeated – “er-rum! communication between us should cease.”

“Decidedly!” put in Aunt Matty, arranging her mittens.

“Er-rum – hear me out, sir” – a magisterial wave of the hand here, and a quiet settling down into the chair, as of one about to pass sentence – “Er-rum – as to your formal matrimonial proposals, they are quite out of the question. Captain Vanleigh has honoured me by proposing for my daughter Valentina’s hand, and he is accepted.”

“By the young lady?” exclaimed Trevor.

“Er-rum! there is no occasion for us to enter upon that point, Mr Trevor, for – tut! tut! what do you want here, Lady Rea? – this is business.”

“Fanny!” exclaimed Miss Matilda, as her sister-in-law entered the room, walked up to Trevor, shook hands very warmly, and then accepted the chair he vacated on her behalf.

“Thank you, Mr Trevor. Matty, I think any of my husband’s affairs that are business for you, are business for me,” said Lady Rea, firmly; “and as I know why Mr Trevor has visited us this morning, I came down.”

Aunt Matty looked yellow with anger, and for a few moments Sir Hampton’s magisterial dignity was so upset that he could only ejaculate “Er-rum” three times at a few seconds’ interval. It was awful, this manifestation of firmness on his wife’s part, and he could only glare fiercely.

“What have you been saying to Mr Trevor?” said Lady Rea, earnestly.

“Sir Hampton informs me that the young lady is irrevocably engaged to Captain Vanleigh,” said Trevor, quietly. “May I appeal to Miss Rea?”

“My daughters will leave us to discriminate as to – er-rum – what is good for them,” said Sir Hampton, stiffly. “Mr Trevor, we must bring this very unpleasant interview to an end. Sir – er-rum! – you have heard my – er-rum – ultimatum!”

Aunt Matty bowed, and smiled a wintry smile, that was as cold as her steely eyes.

Trevor directed a piteous look at Lady Rea, and without a moment’s hesitation she exclaimed —

“It’s all stuff and nonsense, Hampy! I won’t stand by and see either of my darlings made miserable!”

“Frances!” exclaimed Aunt Matty.

“Er-rum!” exclaimed Sir Hampton, and he sent at his wife a withering look.

“You can say what you like,” cried the little lady, ruffling up like a very bantam hen in defence of her chicks; and now, for the first time, Trevor saw a trace of Fin. “I say I won’t stand by and see my darlings made miserable. Tiny told me not ten minutes ago, crying up in her own room as if her heart would break, that she would sooner die than listen to Captain Vandells.”

“Vanleigh,” said Aunt Matilda, contemptuously.

“Vandells, or Vanleigh, or Vandunk, I don’t care a button what his ugly Dutch name is!” cried Lady Rea, angrily; “and I say it shan’t go on!”

“Hampton!” began Aunt Matty, “do you intend – ”

“Didn’t I tell you not to interfere, Matilda?” exclaimed Sir Hampton, pettishly.

Aunt Matty darted an indignant glance at him, gathered up her skirts, and sailed out of the room, Sir Hampton wiping his perspiring brow.

“I thank you for your kindness, Lady Rea,” said Trevor. “I will go now; perhaps another time Sir Hampton will accord me an interview.”

“No; don’t you go, my dear boy,” said Lady Rea, earnestly, and she took his hand. “I give way in nearly everything, but I’m not going to give way in this.”

“Fanny, this is foolishness,” said Sir Hampton, who looked as if in a state of collapse.

“It’s such foolishness as this that makes people happy,” said Lady Rea; “and if Mr Trevor loves my darling, as I know she loves him, no one shall stand in their way.”

“But, Fanny,” said Sir Hampton, “I…”

“Look here, Hampy, you used to be very fond of me. Now, how would you have liked my father to make me marry some one else?”

“May I come in?” said a little voice; and Fin peeped in, entered, and closed the door. “I saw Aunt Matty go, so I came. Oh, pa, dear, Tiny is in such trouble – how could you?”

She seated herself on his knee, nestled up to him, and the knight began to stroke her hair.

“There now,” said Fin, “I knew pa would be a dear kind old dad, as soon as he knew about Tiny. There now, I may fetch her down.”

“No, no, Finetta, certainly not, I…”

Fin was gone.

“There, Hampy,” said Lady Rea, going up to him, “you do love your children.”

“I don’t like it – I – I protest against it!” exclaimed Sir Hampton, struggling against the bonds his woman folk had wreathed around him.

“Sir Hampton,” said Trevor, holding out his hand, “say you relent.”

“And – er-rum! – how the deuce – devil am I to face those gentlemen?” exclaimed Sir Hampton.

“I’ll see them,” said Lady Rea, firmly. “Here’s Tiny.”

In effect that young lady entered, red-eyed, wet-cheeked, and blushing, to throw herself on her father’s breast, and cling there sobbing violently, while Fin took the precaution to lock the door.

“I don’t like it, Tiny, I – er-rum! – I…”

“Oh, dear papa, I could not marry him,” sobbed Tiny – and her emotion was so excessive that Sir Hampton grew frightened, and soothed and petted her till her sobs grew less violent, when Trevor approached and took her hand, and unresistingly drew her to him, till she hid her face in his breast.

Then there was a fine scene. Poor Lady Rea ran up to them, kissed Tiny, and tried to kiss Trevor, but could not reach, till he bent lower. After which she broke into a violent fit of sobbing, and plumped herself down in the nearest chair, Fin tending her for a moment, and then fetching Sir Hampton to her side, to ask forgiveness.

Next there was a general display of pocket-handkerchiefs. Fin gave a hysterical hurrah, and kissed everybody in turn, ending by exclaiming, as she sobbed aloud —

“And now we’re all happy!”

In fact there were smiles upon every face but Sir Hampton’s, and he, feebly saying he did not like it, was left alone as the party adjourned to the drawing-room.

“Lady Rea, I have you to thank for this,” said Trevor, affectionately. “How am I ever to show it?”

“By being very, very, very kind to my darling there,” said Lady Rea, pitifully; “for you’re a bad, cruel man to come and win away her love.”

Then, of course, there was a great deal more kissing, ending in a burst of merriment; for Fin dashed, wet-eyed, to the piano, and rattled off, “Haste to the Wedding,” running into Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March,” till Tiny went and closed the instrument.

At that moment Edward, the footman, knocked at the door, and entered, saying to Lady Rea —

“If you please, m’lady, Miss Matilda’s took bad, and wants the doctor. Who shall I send?”

“Gracious, Edward! what is it?” said Lady Rea.

“Please, m’lady, they think it’s spasms,” said the footman.

Lady Rea ran out, and the doctor was sent for from St Kitt’s; but, by the time he arrived, Aunt Matty’s spasms were better.

And so Richard Trevor, master of Penreife, became engaged to Valentina Rea, of Tolcarne.

Very Dreamy

Trevor heard it afterwards from Fin, how that mamma saw Captain Vanleigh when he called with Sir Felix; Sir Hampton leaving a note, and – so Fin declared – hiding in the gardener’s toolhouse till the visit was over; and that she had, at the earnest wish of Sir Felix, seen him in the drawing-room.

“Where he made the most downright booby of himself you ever saw,” said Fin.

And the result was that one morning, after the most elaborate fencing had been going on between Trevor and his guests, one vieing with the other in politeness, Pratt met his old schoolfellow on his return from Tolcarne with —

“Thank goodness, Dick, there’s peace in the grove.”

“What do you mean, Franky?” said Trevor, who was rather uneasy at having heard from Lady Rea that Sir Felix and Vanleigh had been up to the house while he was away with the girls, and had a long interview with Sir Hampton and Aunt Matty.

“Mean, Dick? Why, that the telegram has come at last – message from St Kitt’s – Vanleigh and Flick wanted directly in town – so sorry couldn’t stop to say good-bye, and that sort of thing.”

“Then they are gone?”

“Yes. I ordered round the waggonette; and Mrs Lloyd seems in ecstasies at the clear-out, and is getting ready to bestow a benediction on me – for I must be off next.”

“Nonsense, Franky; you are happy enough here.”

“No, old fellow – this Sybarite’s life is spoiling me, and I must go.”

“Why not follow my example, Franky?” said Trevor, laughing.

Pratt shrugged his shoulders, and the matter dropped for the time being.

The next evening the Reas dined at Penreife in great state and dignity – all but Aunt Matty, who steadily refused pardon, and turned her back upon Trevor; while Sir Hampton preserved a dignified composure upon the matter, as if submitting of necessity; for —

“Mark my words, Hampton,” his sister had said, “this ridiculous marriage will never take place. I should as soon expect Finetta to be espoused by that wretched little companion of the seafaring man.”

Sir Hampton grunted, and went to the dinner, which he thoroughly enjoyed, and softened a good deal over his wine; after which, the evening being delicious, he allowed himself to be inveigled into the grounds, where Trevor asked his advice respecting some new forcing-houses which he proposed having, listening to him with deference; and at last, when they strolled in through the open drawing-room window, Sir Hampton said aloud —

“Er-rum – yes, Trevor, I’ll come over with Sanders – say Wednesday – and he shall mark out the lines on the same plan as mine. I think I can put you in the way of many improvements.”

Directly after, he was settled in an easy-chair, with his handkerchief spread upon his knees, thinking – with his eyes closed; and while he thought, everybody spoke in a whisper, for it was a custom with Sir Hampton Rea to think for half an hour after dinner – with his eyes closed: he never took a nap.

Lady Rea, looking rosy, round, and warm, was presiding at the tea-table; and Tiny, blushing and happy, was rearranging some flowers, Frank Pratt helping her in a loving, deferential manner, very different from his general easy-going way; while Fin had caught Trevor by the arm, led him into the far window, and forced him back into a chair, before which she stood, holding up a menacing finger.

“I’m ashamed of you, Dick – I am indeed,” she said, sharply.

“Ashamed!” he exclaimed. “Why?”

“Such cunning, such artfulness! I didn’t give you credit for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Coaxing pa round like that, when you no more want hothouses than I do. There, go away, sir; I’m disgusted. Look! ma’s beckoning to you.”

In effect, Lady Rea was cautiously making signals from the tea-tray; and on Trevor going to her, Pratt slowly crossed to the window, and began to talk to Fin.

“Do you know, Miss Rea, I find I’ve been here six weeks,” he said awkwardly.

“You don’t say so, Mr Pratt,” said Fin, quietly.

Pratt stared, and went on.

“The time has gone like magic.”

“Has it really?” said Fin, demurely.

“Yes,” said Pratt a little bitterly; “and as I have decided upon returning to town in a day or two, I thought I’d take this opportunity of saying good-bye.”