Chetwynd Calverley

He said this with an honest, manly sincerity, that produced a strong effect upon Mrs. Calverley.

In a voice of some emotion, she remarked, “My own husband, as I needn’t tell you, Sir Bridgnorth, was considerably older than myself, and no one could be happier than I was with him.”

“You encourage me to hope, madam, that the disparity of years may not prove an objection. Supposing the young lady to be entirely disengaged, may I be permitted to see her?”

“Most certainly, Sir Bridgnorth! I would much rather she answered for herself than I should answer for her. Ah! I see her in the garden! If you will step out with me to the lawn I will present you to her!”

Sir Bridgnorth willingly complied, though he felt some little internal trepidation. A variety of emotions agitated him.

Mildred was at the further end of the lawn, but she came to meet them, and he thought her even more charming in her simple morning costume than in evening dress.

“I had the pleasure of seeing you at the ball at Stafford the other night, Miss Calverley,” he said, after the presentation had taken place. “You interested me exceedingly from the striking resemblance you bear to a young lady to whom I was tenderly attached in former days. I will tell you that little story some time or other should you desire to hear it. Meantime, it may suffice to say that I was actually engaged to her, but she threw me over for a better-looking man, and married him. It was a severe blow, and I did not recover it for a long time. I made up my mind never to marry, and for five-and-twenty years adhered to my determination. But see what our resolutions are worth! The sight of you dispelled mine in a moment! As I gazed at you, my youth seemed to return. I felt as much enamoured as I had done before, and it was with difficulty I could prevent myself from going up to you and saying, ‘Behold your lover!’”

“I am very glad you didn’t, Sir Bridgnorth,” said Mildred.

“I knew you would think me a madman!” he continued; “and fearing I might be guilty of some indiscretion, I would not even be introduced to you. But I watched you throughout the evening, and your image has haunted me ever since. Feeling that my happiness is at stake, I have come here to plead my cause in person, and have just spoken to Mrs. Calverley. Now you know all.”

“Not quite all, my love,” said Mrs. Calverley. “I am bound to add, that, in making his proposal to you through me, Sir Bridgnorth has behaved in the handsomest manner.”

“I am convinced of it,” said Mildred; “but – ”

“Do not crush my hopes at once,” cried Sir Bridgnorth, in alarm. “Give me the chance of winning your affections. I don’t desire an immediate answer.”

“But I am very fickle myself, Sir Bridgnorth, and extremely liable to change my mind. You shall have no reason to complain of me as you do of your former love.”

“I don’t complain of her,” he said, in a quiet tone.

“Then you are extremely forgiving; for, in my opinion, she used you shamefully.”

“You must not say a word against her,” exclaimed Sir Bridgnorth.

“Why not?” inquired Mildred, in surprise.

“For an excellent reason,” he replied. “She was your own mother.”

Mildred could scarcely repress a cry.

“I thought as much,” said Mrs. Calverley. “Your fair inconstant was the beautiful Annabella Chetwynd, my husband’s first wife.”

“Exactly so,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “I never beheld her since her marriage,” he added, to Mildred. “No wonder, therefore, your appearance produced such an effect upon me. For a moment I thought she had come to life again. I shall always take an interest in you, and shall always be delighted to serve you. Since I cannot be your husband, you must allow me to be a friend.”

“That offer I gladly accept, Sir Bridgnorth,” she replied, extending her hand towards him.

He took it, and pressed it to his lips.

“You may rely upon me, as you could have done upon your own father,” he said, with an earnestness that bespoke his sincerity. “Call on me when you will, I will answer the appeal. And now farewell!”

“I hope you are not going, Sir Bridgnorth,” said Mrs. Calverley. “Pray stay and spend the remainder of the day with us! I am charmed to make your acquaintance.”

“I shall be quite grieved if you go, dear Sir Bridgnorth.” added Mildred.

“Since you ask me, I cannot refuse,” he replied. “But my carriage is waiting at the door.”

“I will give orders that it shall be put up immediately,” said Mrs. Calverley. “It is so kind of you to stay.”

And she went into the house to give the necessary directions.

III. INQUIRIES

Mildred now felt quite at ease with Sir Bridgnorth. His manner towards her was so kind, that she almost began to regard him in the light of a father.

“Excuse me if I ask you a few questions relative to your brother Chetwynd,” he said. “I am influenced by no impertinent curiosity, but simply by the desire to ascertain if I can be of any service to him. I am aware that a serious misunderstanding occurred between him and Mrs. Calverley at the time of your father’s death; and I have also heard that he absolutely refuses to accept any allowance from her.”

“What you have heard is quite correct, Sir Bridgnorth,” replied Mildred. “Mrs. Calverley desires to allow my brother six hundred a year, and has instructed Mr. Carteret, her solicitor, to pay him the amount quarterly; but he declines to receive the money, being excessively indignant that my father should have left her the entire control of his property.”

“But what has become of your brother? What is he doing?”

“I really cannot tell you, Sir Bridgnorth,” she replied. “He came here just before poor papa’s death, and remained till after the funeral; but he shut himself up in his own room, and saw no one except old Norris, the butler, who is still with us. I had no idea he was going away so suddenly, for he did not acquaint me with his intention, or even take leave of me, or I would have tried to dissuade him from the step, though I fear I should have been unsuccessful. His mind seemed a good deal disturbed by painful circumstances that had occurred – chiefly, if not entirely, of his own causing – and I dreaded to excite him still farther. I have since reproached myself for my lukewarmness, but I acted under the advice of Doctor Spencer. After his abrupt departure, he wrote to me from an hotel in London, saying he was going abroad, and in all probability should not return for two or three years; but Mr. Carteret found out that he was still in town, and sent him a cheque for three hundred pounds. The cheque was returned at once, accompanied by a letter, stating that he would accept nothing from Mrs. Calverley.”

“His conduct is inexplicable!” said Sir Bridgnorth. “But I suppose some effort has been made to communicate with him?”

“Every effort has been made, but without any satisfactory result. He left the hotel I have mentioned with the expressed intention of going abroad. Whether he really did so, we have been unable to discover. We fear he has no resources. We know from Norris, whom he took into his confidence while he was here, that he had very little money.”

“That is dreadful!” exclaimed Sir Bridgnorth. “He was pointed out to me a year or two ago, at Ascot, and I thought him a remarkably fine young man; but I was told he was very wild and extravagant – played and betted heavily.”

“He has been very extravagant, Sir Bridgnorth. Poor papa paid his debts more than once, but could never keep him in bounds. That was the reason why he left him dependent upon mamma.”

“So I understood,” said Sir Bridgnorth; “and I think he did quite right.”

“I am sure he acted for the best,” replied Mildred; “and I am quite certain Mrs. Calverley would have carried out papa’s intentions had she been able, but Chetwynd thwarted their designs by his fiery and ungovernable temper. Heaven knows what will become of him!” she exclaimed, the tears starting to her eyes. “It makes me very unhappy to think of him.”

“I fear I have distressed you,” observed Sir Bridgnorth, much touched. “Perhaps I ought not to have spoken?”

“I thank you sincerely for talking to me about my poor brother,” she replied. “I may appear indifferent to him, but I am not so. I love him dearly, and would do anything for him. But I know not how to proceed. Such is the peculiarity of his temper – such his pride, that if I could find him, he would accept nothing from me if he thought it came from Mrs. Calverley. Even if he were starving, he would refuse aid from her.”

“Well, I must try what I can do,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “He can have no antipathy to me. The first thing is to discover where he is. I will see Carteret, and hear what he has to say.”

“I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Sir Bridgnorth!” cried Mildred, with effusion. “You are, indeed, a father, both to poor Chetwynd and myself!”

Just then Mrs. Calverley reappeared.

“No more on this subject before mamma, I pray, Sir Bridgnorth!” said Mildred. “It would be painful to her.”

“I will be careful.” he replied.

Mrs. Calverley came to say that luncheon was ready. And they went into the house with her.

IV. PORTRAITS

|The more Sir Bridgnorth saw of Mildred, the better pleased he was with her

Mrs. Calverley did not produce quite so favourable an impression upon him, though he thought her very beautiful, and very clever. She seemed to him wanting in heart – perhaps designing.

Taking this view of her character, he came to the conclusion that she had married Mr. Calverley for his money, and possibly might have alienated him from his son.

Three or four of Mildred’s admirers called during the afternoon, and they all seemed surprised at finding Sir Bridgnorth so much at home at Ouselcroft. They could not believe that Mildred had accepted him – yet it looked rather like it.

The young lady, however, did not trouble herself much about them; but, leaving them to stroll about the garden with Mrs. Calverley, she took Sir Bridgnorth to the library, telling him she wanted to show him a picture.

It was the portrait of a very handsome young man, painted by a well-known artist of the day. The features were regular and finely formed, and very haughty in expression. The likeness was excellent, and Sir Bridgnorth recognised it at once.

“‘Tis your brother Chetwynd,” he said, “and wonderfully like him. I should have known it anywhere.”

“He was extremely handsome then,” observed Mildred; “but I fear he must be much changed now. At that time, he thought he should have all his father’s property, and expected to marry the beautiful Teresa Mildmay.”

“Yes; I know the story,” said Sir Bridgnorth, “and do not wonder at his vexation at the double disappointment. He has suffered much for his hasty temper. Things look very dark just now; but let us hope all may come right in the end.”

She then drew his attention to another picture. “Your father. Yes; I see. Time was, when I should have turned away from his portrait; but I have quite forgiven him now.”

“Since poor papa’s death, Mrs. Calverley cannot bear to look at that portrait,” remarked Mildred. “But for my entreaties she would have it put away, and she now rarely enters the room.”

“That is not surprising,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “The portrait awakens painful memories.”

“But I am always pleased to look at it, and I loved papa dearly!” said Mildred. “I often come here by myself, and think I am with him.”

At this juncture, their discourse was interrupted by the sudden entrance of the very last person they expected to see.

V. THE POCKET-BOOK

It was Chetwynd.

He looked pale and haggard, and his features had a sombre and stern expression, very different from that depicted in the canvas before them.

He closed the door after him as he came in, and started on perceiving Sir Bridgnorth, whom he evidently had not expected to find there.

Uttering an exclamation of mingled surprise and delight, Mildred sprang towards her brother, and flung her arms round his neck. While returning her embrace, he said in a low voice, “Who have you got with you?”

“Sir Bridgnorth Charlton,” she replied. “He takes great interest in you, and has just been making inquiries about you.”

“Not many minutes ago, I told your sister it would give me sincere pleasure if I could render you any service,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “I did not expect so soon to have an opportunity of saying the same thing to you. I beg you will look upon me as a friend.”

“I am greatly beholden to you, Sir Bridgnorth,” replied the young man. “I have very few friends left.”

“Mine are not mere idle professions, as you will find, if you choose to put them to the proof,” said Sir Bridgnorth.

“You speak so earnestly and so kindly that I cannot but credit what you say,” rejoined Chetwynd; “and I am the more inclined to believe you, since I have never done you a favour. Indeed, if my recollection serves me right, you have more reason to dislike than to befriend me.”

“Your sister will tell you that the past is forgotten.”

“Sir Bridgnorth has a noble heart,” said Mildred. “You may speak freely before him. He knows all that has occurred, and is aware that you have refused to accept any allowance from Mrs. Calverley.”

“And I may add that I sympathise with you,” said Sir Bridgnorth.

“What has brought you back so suddenly?” said Mildred. “Are you in any difficulty?”

“In a most desperate difficulty,” he replied. “I want two hundred pounds, and must have the money by to-morrow morning. I could procure it at once from Carteret; but I would rather shoot myself than accept a farthing from Mrs. Calveriey. Can you help me?”

“I can,” interposed Sir Bridgnorth, quickly. “Luckily, I have the amount about me. In this pocket-book,” he added, producing one as he spoke, “you will find the sum you require. Repay me at your convenience.”

“A thousand thanks, Sir Bridgnorth?” cried Chetwynd. “You have, indeed, conferred a very great obligation upon me, and I shall not speedily forget it. Ere long, I hope to be able to return you the money.”

“Don’t trouble yourself on that score; but let me see you soon. Come to me at Charlton.”

“I cannot promise to visit you immediately, Sir Bridgnorth,” replied the young man.

“Why not?” inquired Mildred.

“Do not ask me to explain,” he rejoined. “I am scarcely my own master, and where I to make a promise, I might not be able to fulfil it. I must now begone.”

“Stay!” cried Sir Bridgnorth; “can I not bring about a reconciliation between you and Mrs. Calveriey? I think I could accomplish it, if you will consent to some arrangement.”

“Never,” replied Chetwynd. “And I beg that my visit and its object may not be mentioned to her.”

“How did you discover I was in this room?” asked Mildred.

“Old Norris, whom I saw on my arrival, told me I should find you in the library, and I concluded you were alone; but I have found a friend as well. And now I can answer no more questions.”

“Ever mysterious and incomprehensible!” cried Mildred. “I do not like to part with you thus.”

“You must!” he rejoined. “It is necessary that I should be in London to-night.”

He then bade them both farewell, tenderly embracing his sister, and renewing his thanks to Sir Bridgnorth.

Just as he was about to depart, the door was opened by old Norris, who called out, “Mrs. Calverley is coming to the library!”

“I won’t see her!” cried Chetwynd, fiercely.

But there was no retreat, and he was compelled to remain.

In another moment, Mrs. Calverley appeared. Her astonishment at beholding Chetwynd may be imagined; nor, though she strove to veil it, could she altogether conceal her annoyance.

“I did not expect to find you here, Chetwynd,” she said.

“I came to see my sister, madam,” he replied, haughtily; “and, having had a brief interview with her, I am now about to depart.”

And, with a stiff bow, he quitted the room.

As soon as she could recover her speech, Mrs. Calverley observed to Sir Bridgnorth, “You see with what impracticable material I have to deal. Any friendly overture on my part is always scornfully rejected. Well, Chetwynd must take his own course; and if he suffers for his wilfulness, he has only himself to blame. Do you feel at liberty to tell me what he came about, Mildred?”

“I do not,” she replied.

“You were present at the interview, I suppose, Sir Bridgnorth?”

“Quite unintentionally, madam,” he answered. “And my lips are sealed.”

This incident rather threw a damp upon the pleasure of the day.

Mrs. Calverley looked displeased, and Mildred appeared anxious and thoughtful, so Sir Bridgnorth ordered his carriage.

But before taking his departure, he had a little private conversation with Mildred, and promised to come over again to Ouselcroft on an early day.

VI. BRACKLEY HEATH

Mrs. Calveriey had a very pretty pony phaeton, which she was accustomed to drive herself. Easy as a lounging-chair, and with the two long-tailed bay ponies attached to it, the luxurious little vehicle formed a very nice turn-out.

One fine morning, about a week after Sir Bridgnorth’s visit, Mrs. Calverley and Mildred set out in the pony phaeton with the intention of calling on Lady Barfleur and her daughter, at Brackley Hall, which was about six or seven miles from Ouselcroft.

Usually, they were attended by a groom, but on this particular occasion he was left at home.

The ponies were full of spirit, and eager to get on, but the ladies would not indulge them, and proceeded quietly along the pleasant lanes, through a rich and fertile district, abounding in farms, where some of the best cheeses in the county are made.

To reach Brackley Hall, however, they had to cross an extensive heath, a great part of which was very wild and marshy.

But this brown and uncultivated tract, where turf alone was cut, and where there were two or three dangerous swamps, offered the charm of contrast to the rich meadows they had just quitted. Here there were no farm-houses, no cow-sheds, no large bams, no orchards; but the air was fresh and pleasant, and lighted up by the brilliant sunshine, even Brackley Heath looked well. At least, our fair friends thought so, and the ponies were compelled to walk in consequence. Yet there was nothing remarkable in the prospect, as the reader shall judge. The whole scene owed its charm to the fine weather.

On the left the heath was bordered by the woods belonging to Brackley Hall, and, through a break in them, the upper part of the fine old timber and plaster mansion could be descried.

On the right the country was flat and uninteresting, planted in places by rows of tall poplars, and a canal ran through it, communicating with the River Mersey.

In front, but at some distance, rose a hill crowned by the ruins of an old castle, and having a small village and grey old church in the immediate neighbourhood.

In bad weather the heath had a dreary and desolate aspect. Here and there a hut could be perceived, but these miserable habitations were far removed from the road, and might have been deserted, since no smoke issued from them, and nothing could be seen of their occupants. A few sheep were scattered about in spots where the turf was covered with herbage; but they seemed wholly untended. Rooks there were in flocks from Brackley Park, plovers, and starlings. Even seagulls found their way to the morass.

While the ladies were contemplating this scene, which they thought highly picturesque, and commenting upon its beauties, they were startled, and indeed terrified, by the sudden appearance of two formidable-looking fellows, who had been watching their approach from behind an aged and almost branchless oak that grew near the road.

Evidently, from their peculiar garb, tawny skin, black eyes, and raven locks, these individuals were gipsies. They did not leave their purpose in doubt for a moment, but rushing towards the ladies with threatening gestures, shouted to them to stop.

Mrs. Calverley tried to whip on the ponies, but before they could start off they were checked by one of the gipsies, who seized the reins, while his comrade, addressing Mrs. Calverley, demanded her whip, and, as she hesitated to give it up, he snatched it from her, and threw it on the ground.

“Excuse my freedom, my lady,” he said, in accents meant to be polite, but that sounded gruff and menacing. “We can’t allow you to go till we’ve had some talk with you; but we won’t detain you longer nor we can help. We wants any money you may have about you, together with ornaments, rings, watches, ear-rings, and sich like. Deliver ‘em up quietly, and you won’t be molested – will they, Ekiel?”

“No,” replied the other ruffian, who stood at the heads of the ponies. “It would hurt our feelin’s to use wiolence to two sich lovely creaters.”

Meanwhile, Mildred, who wished to preserve her watch, which had been given her by her father, was trying to detach it from the guard, but could not accomplish her object without attracting the attention of the gipsy near Mrs. Calverley.

Dashing round to the other side of the carriage, he caught hold of the chain, and broke it, but failed to secure the watch.

Mildred screamed loudly, though she had little expectation of help.

“Look quick, Clynch!” shouted Ekiel, in a warning voice.

“Give me the watch without more ado!” cried the gipsy to Mildred.

But she spread her hands over it, and redoubled her outcries.

“Here, take my purse and begone!” said Mrs. Calverley.

“Thank ye, my lady,” rejoined Clynch, quickly appropriating the purse. “But that’s not enough. We must have everything you’ve got about you!”

“You shall have nothing more, fellow!” cried Mrs. Calverley, with great spirit. “And see! assistance is at hand! If you stay a minute longer you will be caught!”

And, as she spoke, a gentleman was seen galloping towards them, followed by a groom.

Baulked of their prey, the gipsies ran off, and made for the morass, with the intricacies of which they seemed well acquainted.

A minute or so afterwards their deliverer came up. A fine-looking young man, between twenty and thirty, and having decidedly a military air, but a stranger to them both.

VII. CAPTAIN DANVERS

|I hope you have lost nothing, ladies?” cried the stranger

“The robbers have taken, my purse,” replied Mrs. Calverley; “and but for your timely aid, they would have carried off all our ornaments.”

“My chain is gone,” said Mildred. “But I don’t mind it. They did not get my watch, which I value extremely. I owe its preservation entirely to you, sir,” she added, with a grateful look at the stranger.

“I am happy to find I have been of any service to you,” he replied, bowing. “Follow the rascals, Tom,” he added to his groom, “and try to capture one or both of them.”

“Impossible, I fear, captain,” replied the groom. “They can go where no horse can go in that marsh, if they know the ground, as they seem to do. But I’ll do my best.”

And he speeded after the fugitives, who were still in sight.

“Hold the reins for a minute, Mildred, while I pick up my whip,” said Mrs. Calverley.

“Allow me!” cried the stranger.

And, jumping down from the saddle, he presented the whip to Mrs. Calverley, who gracefully acknowledged the attention.

“We are really very much indebted to you, sir,” she said.

“You greatly overrate the service,” he rejoined. “I have literally done nothing. Hearing cries, and perceiving you were stopped by robbers, I galloped on to your aid – that is all.”

“May we learn the name of our deliverer?” she asked.

“I am Captain Charles Danvers,” he replied; “nephew to Sir Lycester Barfleur, of Brackley Hall, which you can see through the trees yonder. But I dare say you know the place?”

“We were on our way thither, to call on Lady Barfleur, when we met with this alarming adventure,” observed Mrs. Calverley.

An idea seemed suddenly to occur to Captain Danvers.

“Are you not Mrs. Calverley, of Ouselcroft?” he inquired.

She replied in the affirmative; adding, “And this is my step-daughter, Miss Calverley.”

“I felt convinced of it!” he cried, again bowing. “I am indeed fortunate in obtaining an introduction to a young lady of whom I have heard so much.”

“You can pay compliments as well as rescue ladies from robbers, it seems, Captain Danvers,” observed Mildred, slightly blushing. “We should have met you, I have no doubt, at Brackley Hall.”