Cradock Nowell: A Tale of the New Forest. Volume 3 of 3

Only in one important matter – so far at least as he knew yet, not having heard of Jemʼs discovery, and Mr. Huttonʼs advance upon it – had fortune been against him; that one was the crashing of his locked cupboard, and the exposure of the broken gun–case to Rufus Huttonʼs eyes. And now it was an adverse fate which brought Mr. Chope upon the stage, and yet it was a kindly one which kept him apart from Hutton. For Simon Chope and Rufus Hutton disliked one another heartily; as the old repulsion is between cold blood and hot blood.

As it happened, Mr. Chope was Mrs. Corklemoreʼs pet lawyer: he had been employed to see that she was defrauded of no adequate rights uxorial upon her second marriage. And uncommonly good care he took to secure the lionʼs share for her. Indeed, had it been possible for him to fall in love at all with anything but money, that foolish lapse would have been his, at the very first sight of Georgie. Sweetly innocent and good, she did so sympathize with “to wit, whereas, and notwithstanding;” she entered with such gush of heart into the bitter necessity of making many folios, and charging for every one of them, which the depravity of human nature has forced on a class whose native bias rather tends to poetry; she felt so acutely (when all was made plain to her, and Mr. Corklemore paid the bill) how very very wrong it was not to have implicit confidence – ”in being cheated,” under her breath, and that shaft was Cupidʼs to Mr. Chope – in a word, he was so smitten, that he doubled all his charges, and inserted an especial power of appointment, for (Mr. Corklemore having the gout) he looked on her as his reversion.

“Hang it,” he said, for his extreme idea of final punishment was legal; “hang it, if I married that woman, our son would be Lord Chancellor. I never saw such a liar.”

Now it was almost certain that, under Sir Cradock Nowellʼs settlement upon marriage, an entail had been created. The lawyers, who do as they like in such matters, and live in a cloud of their own breath, are sure to provide for continuance, and the bills of their grandchildren.

“Alas, how sad!” thought Georgie, as she lay back in the Nowelhurst carriage on her way to Cole, Chope, and Co.; “how very sad if it should be so. Then there will be no cure for it, but to get up the evidence, meet the dreadful publicity, and get the poor fellow convicted. And they say he is so good–looking! Perhaps I hate ugly people so much, because I am so pretty. Oh, how I wish Mr. Corklemore walked a little more like a gentleman. But as a sacred duty to my innocent darling, I must leave no stone unturned.”

Fully convinced of her pure integrity, Georgie drove up in state and style to the office of Cole, Chope, and Co., somewhere in Southampton. She would make no secret of it, but go in Sir Cradock Nowellʼs carriage, and then evil–minded persons could not misinterpret her. Mr. Chope alone could tell her, as she had said to “Uncle Cradock” (with a faint hope that he might let slip something), what really was the nature and effect of her own marriage–settlement. Things of that sort were so far beyond her, so distasteful to her; sufficient for the day was the evil thereof; she could sympathize with almost any one, but really not with a person who looked forward to any disposal of property, unless it became, for the sake of the little ones, a matter of strict duty; and even then it must cause a heart–pang – oh, such a bitter heart–pang!

“Coleʼs brains” was not the man to make himself too common. He always required digging out, like a fossil, from three or four mural septa. Being disinterred at last from the innermost room, after winks, and nods, and quiet knocks innumerable, he came out with both hands over his eyes, because the light was too much for him, he had been so hard at work.

And the first thing he always expressed was surprise, even though he had made the appointment. Mr. Simon Chope, attorney and solicitor, was now about five–and–thirty years old, a square–built man, just growing stout, with an enormous head, and a frizzle of hair which made it look still larger. There was a depth of gravity in his paper–white countenance – slightly marked with small–pox – a power of not laughing, such as we seldom see, except in a man of great humour, who says odd things, but rarely smiles till every one else is laughing. But if Chope were gifted, as he may have been, with a racy vein of comedy, nobody ever knew it. He was not accustomed to make a joke gratis, neither to laugh upon similar terms at the jokes of other people. Tremendous gravity, quiet movements, very clear perception, most judicious reticence – these had been his characteristics since he started in life as an office–boy, and these would abide with him until he got everything he wanted; if any man ever does that.

With many a bow and smile, expressing surprise, delight, and deference, Mr. Chope conducted to a special room that lady in whom he felt an interest transcending contingent remainder. Mrs. Corklemore swam to her place with that ease of movement which was one of her chief fascinations, and fixed her large grey eyes on the lawyer with the sweetest expression of innocence.

“I fear, Mr. Chope – oh, where is my husband? he promised to meet me here – I fear that I must give you, oh, so much trouble again. But you exerted yourself so very kindly on my behalf about eighteen months ago, that I cannot bear to consult any other gentleman, even in the smallest matter.”

“My services, such as they are, shall ever be at the entire disposal of Madame la Comtesse.”

Mr. Chope would always address her so; “a countess once, a countess for ever,” was his view of the subject. Moreover, it ignored Mr. Corklemore, whom he hated as his supplanter; and, best reason of all, the lady evidently liked it.

“You are so very kind, I felt sure that you would say so. But in this case, the business is rather Mr. Corklemoreʼs than my own. But he has left it entirely to me, having greater confidence, perhaps, in my apprehension.”

She knew, of course, that so to disparage her husband, by implication, was not in the very best taste; but she felt that Mr. Chope would be pleased, as she quite understood his sentiments.

“And not without excellent reason,” answered the lawyer, softly; “if any lady would be an ornament to our profession, it is Madame la Comtesse.”

“Oh no, Mr. Chope, oh no! I am so very simple. And I never should have the heart to do the things you are compelled to do. But to return: this little matter, in which I hope for your assistance, is a trifling exchange of mixed land with Sir Cradock Nowell.”

“Ah, to be sure!” said Chope, feeling slightly disappointed, for he had some idea that the question would be more lucrative; “if you will give me particulars, it shall have our best attention.”

“I think I have heard,” said Georgie, knowing thoroughly all about it, “that there is some mode of proceeding, under some Act of Parliament, which lightens, perhaps, to some extent, the legal difficulties – and, oh yes, the expenses.”

Mrs. Corklemore knew how Mr. Chope had drawn her a very long bill – upon his imagination.

“Oh, of course,” replied Mr. Chope, smitten yet more deeply with the legal knowledge, and full of the future Lord Chancellor; “there is a rough and ready way of dealing with almost anything. What they call a statutory proceeding, shockingly careless and haphazard, and most ungermainely thrust into an Enclosure Act. But we never permit any clients of ours to imperil their interests so, for the sake, perhaps, of half a sovereign. There is such a deal of quackery in all those dabblesome interferences with ancient institutions. For security, for comfort of mind, for scientific investigation, there is nothing like the exhaustive process of a good common law conveyance. Look at a proper abstract of title! A charming thing to contemplate; and still more charming, if possible, the requisitions upon it, when prepared by eminent counsel. But the tendency of the present age is to slur and cut short everything. Melancholy, most melancholy!”

“Especially for the legal gentlemen, I suppose, Mr. Chope?”

“Yes. It does hurt our feelings so to see all the grand safeguards, invented by men of consummate ability, swept away like old rubbish. I even heard of a case last week, where a piece of land, sold for 900l., actually cost the purchaser only 50l. for conveyance!”

“Oh, how disgraceful!” cried Georgie, so nicely, that Chope detected no irony: “and now, I presume, if we proceed in the ordinary way, we must deliver and receive what you call ‘abstracts of title.’”

“Quite so, quite so, whichever way you proceed. It is a most indispensable step. It will be my duty and privilege to deduce Mr. Corklemoreʼs title; and Mr. Brockwoodʼs, I presume, to show Sir Cradock Nowellʼs. All may be completed in six months’ time, if both sides act with energy. If you will favour me with the description of parcels, I will write at once to Mr. Brockwood; or, indeed, I shall see him to–night. He will be at the Masonsʼ dinner.”

For a moment Mrs. Corklemore was taken quite aback. It is needless to say that no interchange of land had ever been dreamed of, except by herself, as a possible method of learning “how the land lay;” and indeed there was no intermixed land at all, as Mr. Chope strongly suspected. Neither was he, for the matter of that, likely to meet Mr. Brockwood; but when it becomes a professional question, a man can mostly out–lie a woman, because he has more experience.

“Be guided by me, if you please,” said Georgie, smiling enough to misguide any one; “we must not be premature, lest we seem too anxious about the bargain. And, I am sure, we have done our very best to be perfectly fair with Sir Cradock. Only we trust you, of course, to be sure that he has reposing, composing – oh, how stupid I am! I mean disposing power; that there is no awkward entail.”

Here she looked so preternaturally simple, which she would never have done but for her previous flutter, that Simon Chope in a moment knew exactly what her game was. Nevertheless, he answered nicely in that tantalizing way which often makes a woman flash forth.

“We shall see, no doubt, ere long. Of course Sir Cradock would not propose it, unless he had full power. Is it quite certain that poor Clayton Nowell left no legitimate offspring?”

Oh, what a horrible suggestion! Such a thing would quite upset every scheme. Georgie had never thought of it. And yet it might even be so. There was something in the tone of Mr. Chopeʼs whisper, which convinced her that he had heard something.

And only think; young men are so little looked after at Oxford, that they can get married very easily, without anything being heard of it. At least, so thought Mrs. Corklemore. And then oh, if poor Clayton had left a child, how his grandfather would idolize him! Sir Cradock would slip from her hands altogether; and scarcely any hope would remain of diverting the succession. Even if the child was a daughter, probably she would inherit, and could not yet have committed felony. Oh, what a fearful blow it would be!

All this passed through that rapid mind in about half a second, during which time, however, the thinker could not help looking nonplussed. Mr. Chope of course perceived it, and found himself more and more wide–awake.

“Well, what a strange idea!” she exclaimed, with unfeigned surprise. “There has not been the slightest suggestion of anything of the kind. And indeed I have lately heard what surprised me very much, that he had formed an – an improper attachment in a quarter very near home.”

“Indeed! Do you know to whom?” It was Mr. Chope who was trying now to appear indifferent.

“Yes. I was told. But it does not become me to repeat such stories.”

“It not only becomes you in this case, but it is your absolute duty, and – and your true interest.”

“Why, you quite frighten me, Mr. Chope. Your manner is so strange.”

“It would grieve me deeply indeed to alarm Madame la Comtesse,” answered the lawyer, trying in vain to resume his airiness; “but I cannot do justice to any one who does not fully confide in me. In a case like this, especially, such interests are concerned, the title is so – so complicated, that purely as a matter of business we must be advised about everything.”

“Well, I see no reason why I should not tell you. It cannot be of any importance. Poor Clayton Nowell had fallen in love with a girl very far beneath him – the daughter, I think she was, of a Mr. Garnet.”

“Oh, I think I had heard a report of that sort” – he had never heard, but suspected it – ”it can, of course, signify nothing, if the matter went no further; nevertheless, I thank you for your gratifying confidence. I apologize if I alarmed you; there is nothing alarming at all in it. I was thinking of something very different.” This was utterly false; but it diverted her from the subject.

“Oh, yes, I see. Of something, you mean, which might have caused a disagreement between the unfortunate brothers. Now tell me your opinion – in the strictest confidence, of course – as to that awful occurrence. Do you think – oh, I hope not – ”

“I was far away at the time, and can form no conclusion. But I know that my partner, Mr. Cole, the coroner, was too sadly convinced, – oh, I beg your pardon, I forgot for the moment that Madame la Comtesse – ”

“Pray forget my relationship, or rather consider it as a reason; oh, I would rather know the sad, sad truth. It is the suspense, oh the cruel suspense. What was Mr. Coleʼs conclusion?”

“That if Cradock Nowell were put on his trial, he would not find a jury in England but must convict him.”

“Oh, how inexpressibly shocking! Excuse me, may I ask for a glass of water? Oh, thank you, thank you. No wine, if you please. I must hurry away quite rudely. The fresh air will revive me. I cannot conclude my instructions to–day. How could I think of such little matters? Please to do nothing until you hear from me. Yes, I hear the carriage. I told Giles to allow me ten minutes only, unless Mr. Corklemore came. You see how thoroughly well I know the value of your time. We feel it so acutely; but I must not presume; no further, if you please!”

Having thus appraised Mr. Chope, and apprised him of his distance, from a social point of view, Georgie gave him a smile which disarmed him, at least for the moment. But he was not the lawyer, or the man, to concede her the last word.

“We lawyers never presume, madam, any more than we assume. We must have everything proved.”

“Except your particulars of account, which you leave to prove themselves.”

“Ha, ha! You are too clever for the whole profession. We can only prove our inferiority.”

He stood, with his great bushy head uncovered, looking after the grand apparatus, and three boys sitting behind it; and then he went sadly back, and said, “Our son might have been Lord Chancellor. But I beat her this time in lying.”

CHAPTER IX

Two months of opening spring are past, and the forest is awaking. Up, all we who love such things; come and see more glorious doings than of man or angel. However hearts have been winter–bound with the nip of avarice, and the iron frost of selfishness, however minds have checked their sap in narrowness of ideal, let us all burst bands awhile before the bright sun, as leaves do. Heavenʼs young breath is stirring through crinkled bud and mossy crevice, peaceful spears of pensioned reeds, and flags all innocent of battle. Lo, where the wind goes, while we look, playing with and defying us, chasing the dip of a primrose–bank, and touching sweet lips with dalliance. Lifting first the shining tutsan, gently so, and apologizing, then after a tender whisper to the nodding milkwort, away to where the soft blue eyes of the periwinkle hesitate. Last, before he dies away, the sauntering ruffler looks and steps into a quiet tufted nook, overhung with bank, and lintelled with the twisted oak–roots. Here, as in a niche of Sabbath, dwells the nervous soft wood–sorrel, feeding upon leaf–mould, quivering with its long–stalked cloves, pale of hue, and shunning touch, delicate wood–sorrel, coral–rooted, shamrock–leafed, loved and understood of few, except good Fra Angelico.

Tut – we want stronger life than that; and here we have it overhead, with many a galling boss and buff, yet, on the whole, worth treeʼs exertion, and worth manʼs inspection. See the oak–leaves bursting out, crimped and crannied at their birth, with little nicks and serrate jags like “painted lady” chrysalids, or cowries pushing their tongues out, throwing off the hidesome tuck, and frilled with pellucid copper. See, as well, the fluted beech–leaves, started a full moon ago, offering out of fawn–skin gloves, and glossed with waterproof copal. Then the ash – but hold, I know not how the ash comes out, because it gives so little warning; or rather, it warns a long, long time, and then does it all of a sudden. Tush – what man cares now to glance at the yearly manuscript of God? Let the leaves go; they are not inscripti nomina regum.

Yet the brook – though time flees faster, who can grudge one glance at brooklet? Where the mock–myrtle begins to dip, where the young agrimony comes up, and the early forget–me–not pushes its claim upon our remembrance, and the water–lily floats half–way up, quivering dusk in the clearness, like a trout upon the hover. Look how the little waves dance towards us, glancing and casting over, drawing a tongue with limpid creases from the broad pool above, then funnelling into a narrow neck over a shelf of gravel, and bubbling and babbling with petulant freaks into corners of calmer reflection. There an old tree leans solemnly over, with brows bent, and arms folded, turning the course of the brook with his feet, and shedding a crystal darkness.

Below this, the yellow banks break away into a scoop on either side, where a green lane of the forest comes down and wades into the water. Here is a favourite crossing–place for the cattle of the woodland, and a favourite bower for cows to rest in, and chew the cud of soft contemplation. And here is a grey wooden bridge for the footpath, adding to rather than destroying the solitude of the scene, because it is plain that a pair of feet once in a week would astonish it. Yet in the depth of loneliness, and the quiet repose of shadow, all is hope, and reassurance, sense of thanks, and breath of praise. For is not the winter gone by, and forgotten, the fury and darkness and terror, the inclination of March to rave, and the April too given to weeping? Surely the time of sweet flowers is come, and the glory of summer approaching, the freedom of revelling in the sun, the vesture of the magnificent trees, and the singing of birds among them.

Through the great Huntley Wood, and along the banks of the Millaford brook, this fine morning of the May, wander our Rosalind and Celia, Amy to wit, and Eoa. It is a long way from Nowelhurst, but they have brought their lunch, and mean to make a day of it in the forest, seeking balm for wounded hearts in good green leaf and buoyant air. Coming to the old plank–bridge, they sit upon a bank to watch the rising of the trout, for the stone–fly is on the water. Eoa has a great idea that she could catch a trout with a kidney–bean stick and a fly; but now she has not the heart for it; and Amy says it would be so cruel, and they are so pretty.

“What a lovely place!” says Amy; “I could sit here all day long. How that crab–apple, clothed with scarlet, seems to rouge the water!”

“It isnʼt scarlet, I tell you, Amy, any more than you are. Itʼs only a deep, deep pink. You never can tell colours.”

“Well, never mind. It is very pretty. And so are you when you are good and not contradictory – ʼcontradictionary,’ as James Pottles calls Coræbus.”

“Well, it does just as well. Whatʼs the good of being so particular? I am sure I am none the better for it; and I have not jumped the brook ever so long, and have thrown away my gaiters just because Uncle John said – oh, you are all alike in England.”

“What did my father say, if you please, that possessed such odious sameness?”

“There, there, I am so glad to see you in a passion, dear; because I thought you never could be. Uncle John only said that no doubt somebody would like me better, if I gave up all that, and stayed in–doors all day. And I have been trying hard to do it; but he is worse than he was before. I sat on a bench in the chase last Monday, and he went by and never noticed me, though I made quite a noise with my hat on the wood until I was nearly ashamed of myself. But I need not have been alarmed, for my lord went by without even looking.”

“And what do you mean to do about it?” Amy took the deepest interest in Eoaʼs love–affair.

“Oh, you need not smile, Amy. It is all very well for you, I dare say; but it makes me dreadfully angry. Just as if I were nobody! And after I have told Uncle Cradock of my intentions to settle.”

“You premature little creature! But my father was quite right in his advice, as he always is; and not for that reason only. You belong to a well–known family, and, for their sake as well as your own, you are bound to be very nice, dear, and to do only what is nice, instead of making a tomboy of yourself.”

“Tomboy, indeed! And nice! Nice things they did, didnʼt they – shooting one another?”

Almost before she had uttered the words, she was thoroughly ashamed of herself, for she knew about Amy and Cradock from the maidenʼs own confession. Amy arose without reply, and, taking her little basket, turned into the homeward path, with a little quiet sigh. Eoa thought for a moment, and then, having conquered herself, darted after the outraged friend.

“I wish to have no more to do with you. That is all,” cried Amy, with Eoaʼs strong arms round her waist.

“But, indeed, you shall. You know what a brute I am. I canʼt help it; but I will try. I will bite my tongue off to be forgiven.”

“I simply wish, Miss Nowell, to have nothing more to do with you.”

“Then you are a great deal worse than I am; because you are unforgiving. I thought you were so wonderfully good; and now I am sorry for you, even more than for myself. I had better go back to the devilʼs people, if this is the way of Christians.”

“Could you forgive any one in a moment who had wounded you most savagely?”

“In a moment, – if they were sorry, and asked me.”

“Are you quite sure of that?”

“Sure, indeed! How could I help it?”

“Then, Eoa, you cannot help being more like a Christian than I am. I am very persistent, and steadily bitter to any one who wrongs me. You are far better than I am, Eoa; because you cannot hate any one.”

“I donʼt know about being better, Amy; I only know that I donʼt hate any one – with all my heart I mean – except Mrs. Nowell Corklemore.”

Here Amy could not help laughing at Eoaʼs method of proving her rule; and the other took advantage of it to make her sit down, and kiss her, and beg her pardon a dozen times, because she was such a little savage; and then to open her own lunch–basket, and spread a white cloth, and cover it with slices of rusk and reindeerʼs tongue, and hearted lettuce, and lemonade, and a wing of cold duck at the corner.

“I left it to Hoggy,” she cried in triumph, “and he has deserved my confidence. Beat that if you can now, my darling.”

“Oh, I can beat that out and out,” said Amy, who still was crying, just a drop now and then, because her emotions were “persistent:” then she smiled, because she knew so well no old butler could touch her in catering; but I must not tell what Amy had, for fear of making people hungry. Only in justice it should be said that neither basket went home full; for both the young ladies were “hearty;” and they kissed one another in spite of the stuffing.

“Oh, Amy, I do love you so, whenever you donʼt scold me. I am sure I was meant for a Christian. Hereʼs that nasty sneakʼs lawn handkerchief. I picked her pocket this morning. I do twice a week for practice. But I wonʼt wipe your pretty eyes with it, darling, because I do so loathe her. Now, if you please, no more crying, Amy. What a queer thing you are!”

“Most truly may I return the compliment,” answered Amy, smiling through the sparkle of her tears. “But you donʼt mean to say that you keep what you steal?”

“Oh no; it is not worth it. And I hate her too much to keep anything. Last week I lit the fire in my dressing–room, on purpose to burn her purse. You should have seen the money melting. I took good care, of course, not to leave it in the ashes, though. I am forming quite a collection of it; for I donʼt mind keeping it at all, when it has been through the fire. And you canʼt think how pretty it is, all strings and dots of white and yellow.”