Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

Sir Hampton Rea stopped short for a moment or two, and then gasped, seemed as if he would choke, and ended by snatching his coat away from Pratt’s grasp.

“Darley, Sanders, come back – go back,” he said at last. “These people shall hear from me.”

The rat-trap man stood looking evilly at the young keeper, and the Scotch gardener took a pinch of snuff. Then they slowly followed their master, and the coast was clear.

“You’re sure, I suppose, about this tongue of land?” said Pratt. “By Jove! what a rage, though, the old boy was in.”

“Sure? yes – oh yes,” said Trevor. “Wasn’t it here that they sunk the shaft for the copper mine, Humphrey?”

“Yes, sir, twenty yards farther on, under that clump. It’s ’most filled up, though, now.”

“To be sure, I recollect the spot well enough now. But this is a bad job, Franky,” he continued, in an undertone. “I wanted to be on the best of terms with my neighbours.”

“’Specially that neighbour,” said Pratt, meaningly.

“With all my neighbours,” said Trevor.

“You’ve made a nice beginning, then,” said Pratt.

“If there is any fresh upset, Humphrey, let me know; but don’t pick a quarrel,” said Trevor. “I shall not go any farther to-day.”

“Very well, sir,” said the keeper; and then in an undertone, as he stooped and patted the dog, “Kick you, would he, Juno, lass? Never mind, then, he shall have it back some day.”

The dog whined and leaped up at him, as he rose again, and looked after his master.

“Well, he’s grown into a fine, bold-speaking gentleman,” he said to himself; “but I should have liked it better if he’d tackled to and helped me to thrash them two ill-looking blackguards.”

Meanwhile Trevor and his old schoolfellow had been walking sharply back towards the house, where they were evidently being watched for by the old butler, Lloyd – the remains of a fine-looking man, for he was bent now, though his eyes were clear and bright.

“I saw you coming across the park, Master Dick,” he said, his face shining with pleasure. “You’ll have a bit of lunch now, won’t you?”

“Early yet, isn’t it?” said Pratt.

“I don’t think so, sir,” said the old butler, austerely. “I am sure Master Dick requires something after his long walk.”

“Yes, yes – that he does,” said a rather shrill voice; and an active, grey-haired woman of about fifty came bustling out. She was very primly dressed in black silk, with white muslin kerchief, white holland apron, in whose pockets her hands rested; and her grey hair was carefully smoothed back beneath her plain white muslin cap.

“No, no; it’s only twelve o’clock, Mrs Lloyd,” said Trevor, good-humouredly. “I lunch at one.”

“You take my advice, Master Dick, and have it now,” said the butler.

“Yes, Lloyd, have it brought in, and ask Master Dick if he’ll have some of the old claret,” said the woman.

“My dear Mrs Lloyd,” said Trevor, smiling, “this is very kind of you – of you both – but I’m not ready for lunch yet. You can both go now. I’ll ring when I’m ready.”

He led the way into his handsomely furnished study, the beau ideal of a comfortable room for a man with a mingling of literary and sporting tastes.

“Here, let’s sit down and have a cigar,” he said, pushing a great leather-covered chair to his friend; “it will smooth us down after our encounter.”

“No; I’ll fill my pipe,” said Pratt, suiting the action to the word, and lighting up, to send big clouds of smoke through the large room.

“You mustn’t take any notice of the old butler and housekeeper, Frank,” said Trevor, after a pause.

“Don’t mean to.”

“You see, they’ve had their own way here since I was a child.”

“And now they don’t like to give it up?”

“I suppose not. But they mean well. They were always, I can remember, most affectionate to me.”

“Yes; they seem to like Master Dick.”

“Pish! yes, of course – their way. Sounds stupid, though, Franky; but you can’t wonder at it.”

“I don’t,” said Pratt. “But I should put my foot down, I think.”

“That I most decidedly shall, and before Van and the little Baronet come down.”

“Oh, by Jove!” said Pratt, starting, “why those two fellows are coming to-morrow.”

“Yes; they’ll be here about five.”

“And what in the world are you going to do with them?”

“Oh, there’s plenty to do – billiards, and cards, and smoking indoors; fishing and yachting out of doors.”

“Yes,” said Pratt, with a sigh; “but they’ll both be murmuring after the flesh-pots of Pall Mall. You’ll have your hands pretty full.”

“Never fear,” said Trevor; “I shall be able to entertain them. How strange it all seems, though – such a little while since we were boys at Eton, and now Van a perfect exquisite.”

“Landells an imperfect ditto.”

“You a barrister.”

“Yes,” said Pratt, “very barrister, indeed; and you altered into a tawny tar, regularly disguised by Nature.”

Here there was a tap at the door. “Come in,” said Trevor, who was sitting in a low, big-backed chair. And then, as the door opened, “Who is it?”

“Hebe!” said Pratt, softly.

“Eh?” said Trevor.

“If you please, sir, Mrs Lloyd said I was to bring this in,” said a pleasant little voice; and Trevor swung himself round in his chair, to gaze upon a pretty little very round-faced girl of about seventeen or eighteen, with smooth brown hair, clear white complexion, rather large eyes, ruddy lips, and a face like fire with confusion. There were the faint traces, too, of tears lately wiped from her eyes, and her pleasant little voice had a plaintive ring in it as, in answer to Trevor’s “Eh?” and wondering stare, she repeated her words —

“If you please, sir, Mrs Lloyd said I was to bring this in.”

“And pray what is this?” said Trevor, glancing at the salver the girl carried, bearing a good-sized silver flagon, with chased lid, and a snowy napkin placed through the handle.

“If you please, sir, it’s a pint of new milk beat up with three eggs, three glasses of sherry, and some lump sugar,” said the girl.

“And who’s it for?” said Trevor.

“For you and the gentleman, sir; Mrs Lloyd said the sea air must have made you faint.”

“Well,” said Trevor, “hand it to Mr Pratt, there.”

The girl bore the flagon to Pratt, who took it, but emitted such a volume of strong tobacco smoke that the girl sneezed, and choked, and then looked more scarlet and confused than ever.

“I beg your pardon,” said Pratt; and then he raised the flagon to his lips, and took a long draught, wiping the brim afterwards with the napkin. “Splendid, old fellow!” he said. “Take it to – your master.”

“And pray who may you be, my dear?” said Trevor, looking critically at the girl, but relieving her from his gaze the next moment, in compassion for her confusion.

“If you please, sir, I’m Aunt Lloyd’s niece,” said the girl.

“And are you anything here – housemaid, or – ?”

“Oh no, sir, if you please. I am here on a long visit to my aunt; and she said I was to help her.”

“Well,” said Trevor, setting down the flagon, “tell her the milk was excellent; but she is not to send anything in again without I ring for it. Well, what’s the matter?”

The girl was looking in a pitiful way at him, and she remained silent for a few moments, when he spoke again.

“Is anything the matter?”

“Must – must I tell her that, sir?”

“Yes. Why not?” said Trevor.

“Because – because, if you please, sir, I…”

The girl did not finish, but uttered a sob, and ran out of the room.

“Cornwall promises to be a queer place,” said Pratt; “but that stuff was heavenly – did you finish it, Dick?”

“Not quite, I think,” said Trevor.

“And you sent it away. Oh, Dick!”

The little maid had hardly got outside the door, when Mrs Lloyd came across the hall, followed at a short distance by the butler, rubbing his hands, smiling feebly, and looking anxious.

“Crying?” said Mrs Lloyd, sharply. “You little goose!”

“I – I – couldn’t help it, aunt, indeed,” sobbed the girl.

“’Sh! not a sound,” said Mrs Lloyd, sharply; and she caught the girl by the arm. “Did he drink the milk?”

“Yes, aunt.”

“Did that other gentleman take any?”

“Yes, aunt – a lot.”

“As if he couldn’t come home without bringing such a pack with him. Now come into my room, and I’ll talk to you, madam. Lloyd, take that waiter.”

She led the way into the housekeeper’s room, as her husband obediently bore off the flagon to his pantry; and then, shutting the door, she took her seat in a stiff, horse-hair-covered chair, looking as hard and prim as the presses and cupboards around.

“Now listen to me,” she said, harshly.

“Yes, aunt.”

“I’m not going to boast; but what have I done for you?”

“Paid for my schooling, aunt, and kept me three years.”

“Where would you have been if it hadn’t been for me?”

“Living with Aunt Price at Caerwmlych.”

“Starving with her, you mean, when she can hardly keep herself,” said Mrs Lloyd, sharply. “Now, look here, Polly, I’ve taken you from a life of misery to make you well off and happy; and I will be minded. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, aunt.”

“Then do as I tell you exactly. Do you hear?”

“I’ll try, aunt.”

“Try? You must. Now, then: Did he speak to you?”

“Yes, aunt.”

“What did he say? Come, speak, child!”

“He asked me who I was, aunt; and what I had come for.”

“Of course, you silly little thing. There, no more tears. It’s dreadful treatment, isn’t it, to make you go in and attend to him a little?”

“Please, aunt, I don’t mind that,” said the girl.

“No, I should think not, indeed,” said Mrs Lloyd. “He’s an ogre to look at, isn’t he?”

“No, aunt, I think he’s a fine, handsome man.”

“Not a finer, nor a handsomer, nor a nicer in all Cornwall: and you ought to be fine and pleased to be in the house. And now look here, madam – no more tears, if you please.”

“No, aunt.”

“And you’re always to be nicely dressed, and do your hair well.”

“Yes, aunt.”

“And keep yourself to yourself, madam. Recollect, please, that you’re my niece, staying in the house, and not one of the servants.”

“Yes, aunt.”

The door opened, and the butler put in his head.

“It’s lunch-time now, and I am having the things taken in again.”

“That’s quite right.”

“Do you want to come?”

“Not now; only Mary shall bring in the vegetables.”

“Hadn’t William better help?” said the butler.

“No, not to-day. There will be a pack more people here to-morrow, and she can’t come then. Here, child, take these clean napkins and be ready to carry them into the dining-room.”

“But my face, aunt – won’t they see?”

“What – that you have been crying?” said the housekeeper, critically. “No; they won’t. Stop here a minute while I go out into the hall.”

The girl, from being scarlet, was now pale, but quite a little “rustic beauty” all the same; and she stood by the linen press looking very troubled, while Mrs Lloyd went back into the hall, where Trevor had stepped out to speak to the butler.

“Oh, there you are, Mrs Lloyd,” he said, in a quiet, decided tone of voice. “I was just speaking to Lloyd about one or two little matters. Of course, I feel the highest respect for both you and your worthy husband.”

“Thank you, Master Dick,” said the housekeeper, stiffly.

“Yes, that’s it,” said Trevor. “And of course you can’t help looking upon me as the boy you were almost father and mother to at one time.”

“Of course not,” said Mrs Lloyd, stiffly; “but you don’t mean to turn us away now you have grown a man?”

“God forbid!” said Trevor, earnestly. “While I live, this is your home, and I shall interfere but little with you in the conduct of the house. But I take this opportunity of saying that I must ask of you both to remember – old friends as well as old servants of the family – that I have now come back to take my position here as the master of Penreife, and that, in speaking to me before visitors, ‘Master Dick’ sounds rather childish. That will do, Mrs Lloyd. Yes, Lloyd, you can bring in some of the claret.”

He walked into the dining-room, the quiet, calm man of the world, with enough dignity and self-assertion to show the housekeeper that the days of her rule had departed for ever.

“That’s going to sea, that is,” she muttered. “That’s being used to order people about, and being an officer. But we shall see, Master Dick – we shall see!”

And with a quick, spasmodic twitching of her hands as she smoothed down her apron, she went back muttering to her own room.

Mishaps

Lunch at Tolcarne that day was not one of the most pleasant of meals. Sir Hampton had come in, looking purple instead of red with his walk, to pause at the hall door and dismiss Sanders, the gardener, who stood mopping his face.

“Er-rum! Look here, Sanders!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, sir,” said Sanders.

“Yes, Sir Hampton, man!”

“Yes, Sir Hampton,” said Sanders, slowly and impressively, as if he were trying to fix the formula in his mind.

“I’ll see you in the morning about a new bed on the lawn, and – er-rum – don’t let this affair be talked about.”

“No, sir – Hampton,” said Sanders.

He went heavily down the new path, while his master stood apparently loading himself – that is to say, he thrust what seemed to be a white gun-wad into his mouth, before turning into the hall, and letting off a tremendous “Er-rum,” which echoed through the house. The wad, however, was only a digestive tablet, an antidote to the heartburn, from which Sir Hampton suffered; and he strode into the dining-room, where the family was already assembled for luncheon.

“Oh, dad – papa,” cried Fin, “such news for you.”

“Don’t worry your papa, my dear,” said Miss Matilda, smoothing her handkerchief, which, from being sat upon, resembled a cambric cake; “wait till he has had some refreshment. He is tired. Hampton, will you take a cutlet?”

“Don’t, pa. Have some chicken pie.”

“Shall I send you a poached egg, dear?” said Lady Rea, who was in difficulties with the mustard-pot, the protruding spoon of which had entangled itself with her open lace sleeve, and the yellow condiment was flowing over the table.

“No,” said Sir Hampton, gruffly.

“Tut, tut, tut,” said Lady Rea, making matters worse by trying to scrape up the mustard with a spoon.

“Hadn’t you better let Edward do that, dear?” said Miss Matilda, with a pained expression of countenance, as she played pat-a-cake once more with her handkerchief.

“They do make the mustard so horribly thin,” said Lady Rea. “Finetta, give papa some of the pie.”

Fin looked mischievously across at her sister, and then cut a large portion of the patty, enough to have called forth an angry remonstrance at another time; but though Miss Matilda looked perfectly horrified, Sir Hampton was too angry and absorbed to notice it; he only went on eating.

“Well, Finetta, dear,” said Lady Rea, “what’s the grand news?”

“Seen the sailor, ma, dear; been introduced to him. Such a nice fellow.”

“Seen whom?” said Lady Rea, making a last scrape at the mustardy cloth.

“Mr Trevor, ma; met him at old Mrs Trelyan’s. Such fun.”

“My dear Finetta,” began Miss Matilda; but a shot fired by Sir Hampton stopped her in dismay.

“Er-rum – what’s that?” he asked. “Have you met that person?”

“What person, papa?” said Finetta. “That – that Penreife man – that Trevor, or whatever his name is?”

“Yes, pa, we met him this morning; and he’s the same – ”

“Er-rum, I know!” exclaimed Sir Hampton, upsetting a carafe in his excitement, and making Miss Matilda start back to save her silk. “I ought to have bought Penreife – it’s one of those persons we saw – I know; I met him this morning – trespass – an insulting – ugh! ugh! ugh!”

“Oh, pa!” cried Finetta, “you shouldn’t get in a passion with your mouth full; and so much pepper as there is in that pie.”

For Sir Hampton had begun to cough furiously, his face growing deeper in tint, and his eyes protruding, so alarming Lady Rea that she bustled round the table and began to hammer his back, while Miss Matilda offered a glass of water.

“Ugh! ugh! ugh! Sit down – sit down!” gasped Sir Hampton. “I – er-rum – I forbid all fixture communication with that – that fellow. If he calls here, I’ll have the door shut in his face. Insulted me grossly this morning, on my own grounds, and a dirty little jackanapes with him talked to me in such a way as I was never spoken to before.”

“Oh, Tiny, it’s the horrid little man,” whispered Fin.

“Why, my dear Hampy, whatever is it all about?” said Lady Rea. “There, do drink some water, and get cool.”

Sir Hampton glanced at his wife and sister, and poured himself out half a tumbler of sherry, which he drained, and then began to cough once more.

“Eat a bit of bread, dear,” said Lady Rea. “Quick, you won’t mind mine – I haven’t touched it.”

Saying which she held a piece out to him on a fork.

“Frances!” ejaculated Miss Matilda.

“Ugh! Any one would think I was a bear upon a pole,” coughed Sir Hampton; and he wiped his eyes as he grew better.

“But, Hampy, dear,” said Lady Rea, “it will be so strange. Suppose Mr Trevor calls?”

“Tell the servants to shut the door in his face,” growled Sir Hampton. “An insulting puppy!”

“Oh, pa, dear, don’t be so cross,” said Fin. “Take us out for a drive this afternoon, and let’s see if the box has come from Mudie’s.”

“Disgraceful – and on one’s own land, too,” growled Sir Hampton, not heeding his daughter, but still muttering thunder.

“But you will take us, papa?” said Fin, leaning on his shoulder.

“Such insolence!” muttered Sir Hampton.

“Was he trespassing, Hampton?” said Miss Matilda.

“Yes, and a pack of fellows along with him,” cried Sir Hampton, firing up once more.

“You’ll take us out, pa, dear?” said Fin, getting her cheek against his.

“No, no! well, there, yes,” said Sir Hampton; and then, looking like a half-mollified bull, he submitted to having his cheeks patted, and his stiff cravat untied and retied by the busy fingers of his pet child.

“In half an hour, dad?”

“Yes, yes; only don’t bother. Er-rum!” he ejaculated, as Fin flew to the bell, “tell them to bring round the waggonette.”

Sir Hampton rose and left the room, firing a shot as he crossed the hall. Then the footman came in to receive his orders, and directly after Lady Rea looked admiringly across at her daughter.

“Ah, Fin, my dear, I wish I could manage your papa as you do.”

“Really, Frances,” said Miss Matilda, bridling up, “I don’t think that is a proper way for you to speak respecting a parent to a child.”

Poor downright Lady Rea looked troubled and distressed.

“Really, Matty,” she began.

“Oh, it’s all right,” said Fin, coming to the rescue. “It’s because you don’t understand, Aunt Matty; only married people do. Why don’t you marry Mr Mervyn?”

Miss Matilda rose from her chair, smoothed her skirts, gazed in utter astonishment at her niece, and marched out of the room.

“Oh, Fin!” exclaimed her sister.

“You shouldn’t do it, my dear,” said Lady Rea, in whose gentle eyes the tears were gathering.

“I should!” said Fin, stamping her foot and colouring with passion. “I won’t stand here and hear my dear mother snubbed in that way by any one but papa; and if Aunt Matty only dares to do such a thing again, I’ll – I’ll – I’ll say something horrid.”

The next moment she had flung her impetuous little self into Lady Rea’s arms, and was sobbing passionately; but only to jerk herself free, and wipe her eyes directly in a snatchy fashion.

“It’s so vexatious, too, for papa to turn like that, when Mr Trevor’s one of the nicest, dearest, handsomest fellows you ever saw. Isn’t he, Tiny?”

“I thought him very pleasing and gentlemanly,” said Tiny, flushing slightly.

“She thought ever so much more of him than that, I know, ma,” said Fin, nodding her head. “But isn’t it vexatious, mamma, dear?”

“It’ll all come right, my dear,” said Lady Rea, kissing her child fondly. “There, now, go and get ready, or papa will be cross.”

Fin felt ready to say “I don’t care,” so rebellious was the spirit that invested her that day; but she set her teeth, and ran to the door.

“You’re coming, mamma?”

“No, my dear, Tiny will go with you. I shall stay in this afternoon.”

“And leave Aunt Matty to say disagreeable things to you. Then I shall stay, too.”

“No, no, dear, go – to please me,” said Lady Rea; and the girl ran off.

The waggonette was round, and Sir Hampton was drawing on his gloves, the image of punctuality, when Fin came rushing down, closely followed by her sister, and the party started for the little station town, Saint Kitt’s, passing on the road another handsome new waggonette, with a fine, well-paced pair of horses.

“I wonder whose turn-out that is?” said Sir Hampton. “Strange thing that everybody gets better horses than I do.”

“I know whose it is,” said Fin, demurely.

“Whose?” said Sir Hampton.

“Daren’t say,” replied Fin. “Ask Edward. Edward!” she cried, “whose carriage is that?”

“Think it’s Mr Trevor’s, ma’am,” said the footman, touching his hat.

“Er-rum,” ejaculated Sir Hampton, and Fin nudged her sister and made her colour.

The box was at the station, and it was put in the waggonette by a tall porter, whom Fin spoke of to her sister as the signal post, and then she proposed that they should wait and see if anything would come by the train due in a few minutes.

Now, Sir Hampton expected something by that train, but he had been so crossed that day, and was in such a contrary mood, that he exclaimed —

“Er-rum, absurd; certainly not. Drive back at once.”

Fin made a grimace at her sister, who replied with a look of remonstrance; Sir Hampton sat back and frowned at the landscape, as if he thought it too green; and away they bowled just as the whistle of the engine was heard in the distance.

Something has been said before about the Cornish lanes, and the way in which the granite bones of Mother Nature peer out and form buttresses to the banks, huge pillars, and mighty corners. The lane they were traversing on their way back was not one of the least rugged, though the road was good; and they had gone at a pretty sharp trot for about a mile, when a cart came rattling along just at a turn of the road where it was narrow; and in making way —click! the box of one wheel caught against a granite buttress pushed forth from the bank, the wheel wriggled about, and fifty Yards farther came off and went trundling down the hill – the coachman fortunately pulling his horses up short, so that the waggonette sidled over against the ferny bank, and no one was hurt.

“Such abominable driving,” exclaimed Sir Hampton.

“Very sorry, sir,” said the coachman.

“Oh, pa, it was those other people’s fault. I saw it all,” said Fin.

The coachman gave her a grateful look, and the footman helped all to alight.

Five minutes’ inspection showed that the wheel was so much injured that it would take time to repair, and there was nothing for it but to send to the little town to get assistance.

“Shall I send Edward with one horse, Sir Hampton, and ride the other home and fetch the barouche.”

“Yes – no – yes,” said Sir Hampton, waking to the fact that they were yet eight miles from home, and he had done quite as much walking as he cared for in one day.

At this moment the sound of wheels was heard, and the waggonette they had before passed came up, evidently from the station, with two gentlemen inside, the coachman pulling up on seeing that there was an accident, while the gentlemen leaped out.

“I trust,” said the elder, raising his hat, “that no one is hurt.”

“Er-rum! none; no one,” said Sir Hampton, stiffly.

“What misfortune!” said the younger, fixing his glass in his eye, and looking in a puzzled way at the ladies. “Under circumstances, Vanleigh?”

“Yes, of course,” said the other, and then raising his hat to the ladies, “as my friend here observes. You will allow me to place the carriage at your disposal?”

Sir Hampton looked at the speaker, then at the carriage, then at his own. That was Trevor’s carriage, but these were strangers, and he was not obliged to know. His legs ached; it was a long while to wait; and he was still pondering when the first speaker said —

“Allow me,” and offered his arm to Tiny, who glanced at her father, and seeing no commands against the act, suffered herself to be led to the whole waggonette, the other stranger offering his arm to Fin, who just touched it, and then leapt in beside her sister.