Whether there be something inherent in the nature of things which renders any object that man very much desires, thenceforth very difficult to be obtained; or whether it be, that, by a certain perversity in man's nature, he only desires those things thataredifficult to be obtained, I cannot tell; but one point is very clear in every body's experience, that whenever we fix our heart upon one particular object, and strive for it very ardently, however easy it might seem before, we find a thousand difficulties and obstacles start up upon our path, and overrule our wishes. Nevertheless, as there is nothing upon earth half so tiresome--ay, and half so useless, too--as a disquisition upon causes and effects, we will proceed with the events which gave rise to the above sage observation, which, by rights, should have followed this chapter as a corollary upon it, instead of a sort of epigraph at its head.
The person who has figured before the reader during a long day's journey in a stage-coach under the name of Burrel, entered the small neat house we have before described; and, after having considered attentively with his eyes all the proportions and dimensions of the little parlour which was to be his sitting-room, he seated himself before the antique, and somewhat obscure, mahogany table that it contained, and addressed his servant--who had followed into the room, together with the decent, respectable landlady--pronouncing those two important, but somewhat laconic words, "Get dinner!"
The man bowed, and left the room without reply, and Burrel proceeded, speaking to the landlady, who was beginning to fear, from certain symptoms that she saw, that both master and man were equally taciturn. "Well, my good lady," he said, "my man has doubtless arranged every thing with you, and I hope you are satisfied with the bargain he has made?"
"Oh dear, yes, sir!" replied Widow Wilson, as the good dame was denominated. "There was but one word to that bargain, I can assure you."
"I suppose so," said Burrel dryly, "if Harding concluded it. But tell me--that is a beautiful park opposite the window; who does it belong to?"
"Bless you, sir, that is Emberton Park!" replied the landlady, looking unutterable things at Burrel's ignorance. "You must have heard tell of Sir Sidney Delaware, Bart. of Emberton Park, surely?"
"I think I have heard the name," replied Burrel. "What family has he?"
"Why, Lord bless me, sir! you came down with his own son," answered the old lady, more and more surprised at her lodger's ignorance of village facts, and beginning greatly to undervalue his understanding. "Why, I saw the Captain's head as plain as possible when you got out of the coach."
"Indeed!" said Burrel, with gravity not to be shaken; "and is he an only child?"
"Oh no, sir, no!" answered Mrs. Wilson. "Sir Sidney has a young lady, too. Himself, his son, and his daughter--that is all of them, poor people!"
"Poor people!" exclaimed Burrel; "I should think they were rich people with such a fine estate as that?"
"Ah, sir, things that show best are not always as they look!" replied the good woman. "They are as poor as church-mice, sir, and that's poor enough. I wish to God they were richer--much good would they do! But I have heard Lawyer Johnstone say, that, with all the fine estate, Sir Sidney, when all is paid, has not four hundred a-year of his own; and gentility without ability is like a pudding without plumbs. Then there is the Captain's half-pay, you know; and if they could let the house and park, it might bring something more. They tried one year, and went and lived at a cottage down at Sidmouth--but it did not let, and the place was going to ruin--and so they came back; for, though there are not many of them, yet two or three in a house are better than none at all."
"That is very true," said Burrel; "very true, indeed; and now, my good lady, see if my man has taken up the hot water to the dressing-room."
The good woman took the hint and retired; and here it may be as well to mention one or two circumstances which preceded the arrival of Henry Burrel, Esq., at the neat little village of Emberton. These circumstances were simply as follows:--Two days before that on which we have thought fit to begin our tale, arrived by the coach--together with four portmanteaus, four dogs, and a gun-case--the servant whom we have seen waiting the traveller at the door of Mrs. Wilson's house. After a few enquiries at the inn, all conceived in very laconic style, he proceeded at once to Mrs. Wilson's, and, in words inexpressibly brief, concluded a bargain for her apartments, as they were called, for one month from that period, in the name of his master, Henry Burrel, Esq. As soon as the important fact was generally known that a gentleman possessing four portmanteaus, four setters, a gun-case, and a man out of livery, was about to take up his residence for one month in the village of Emberton, the wise may imagine the commotion that was created. The object of his visit was evidently to shoot, otherwise what could he do with four setters and a gun-case; but there were various other matters to be ascertained by the young and old ladies of the village; first and foremost, whether the shooter might not be shot by Cupid's shaft--next, whether he were rich--next, whether he were young or old--next, whether he were a bachelor or a widower--and next, whether he had ever been in India. All these points, with the various branches into which they spread, were matters of consideration to the three classes of ladies that inhabit a small country town; namely, those who will not, or cannot, marry at all, or any more--those who will marry when it suits them--and those who, at any time, will marry any thing, or anybody. However, not to enter into disagreeable particulars, the surgeon and apothecary, well knowing the importance of the case, the immense increase of influence he might acquire by learning the whole facts and all the concomitant advantages which might thence accrue, was the first to watch the servant out of the house, after the rumour had spread, and--accosting him in an easy and familiar way--to propound to him what the law people call leading questions. But the servant was as taciturn and as guarded as a thrice convicted Old Bailey witnessis, or the ambassador's private secretary's valet-de-chambreshouldbe; and nothing could the doctor make of him. The lawyer tried him next, and then the innkeeper, but all equally failed; and the consequence was, that at the hour the coach was expected to arrive on the two subsequent days, all Emberton was in a flutter. There were the Misses this and the Misses that, as fine as--but there is no word for it--all taking their afternoon walk along the line of road--and there was Mrs. the-other-thing, the fair young widow, in such becoming weeds--buying some grey silk at the mercer's opposite, which she found it necessary to examine by the broader light of the street-door---just as the wheels came rattling down the hill. The coach at length was seen to stop; and Burrel, who had noticed no one on the face of the earth but his own servant at the door of Mrs. Wilson's, walked into the house as we have before described, while the fact spread like lightning through the place that the gentleman at Mrs. Wilson's was young, handsome, dark, tall, and exquisite, and undoubtedly unmarried--for, by a peculiar test, or sort of instinct, which heaven has bestowed upon womankind, amongst their many other excellences, the fair sex have an extraordinary gift of discovering whether any male thing be married or single at the distance of a hundred yards.
There was but one subject of conversation throughout Emberton during the course of that evening. The old topic--the unhappy poverty of the people at the Park, and the absurd pride which prevented them from giving tea-parties, because they could not give dinners, with all the little malice and tittle-tattle thereunto attached--was forgotten for the time, and nothing was spoken of but Mrs. Wilson's lodger and his silent manservant. Indeed, the latter, with his extraordinary and unaccountable taciturnity, divided with his master the anxious curiosity of the two tea-parties given that evening; and one lady even went so far, as not to doubt that he was a foreigner, and could not speak English, in proof of which she adduced his heavy black brows and egregious whiskers--an argument which, combined with the man's reserve, left one-half of her hearers nearly convinced.
In the meanwhile, however, Henry Burrel sat down to his dinner, which he concluded with an excellent appetite, and in perfect silence, totally unconscious of the restless moments he was giving to the tongues of Emberton. This state of meditation continued unbroken till the cloth disappeared, and the silent servant, placing the inviolate bottle of comet claret before him--a supply of which, by the way, had been sent down to the coach-office ten days before, arguing, the lawyers would infer, a predetermination to lodge at Emberton--was about to retire, when he was arrested by his master's voice.
"Have you yet," demanded Burrel, musing, "made the enquiries I directed you, Harding?"
"Yes, sir," replied the man, and was again silent.
"Where does he live, then, this Mr. Tims?" asked his master. "How far is it from the village?"
"About a mile and a half, sir," answered Harding, "down a back lane at the end of the park--a very retired place, but easily found."
"And what else did you discover?" continued his master, "I mean, in regard to the Delawares?"
"They visit no one, sir--in the village, at least," replied the man, "and receive no one."
"Do any of the family shoot?"
"None, sir,--and they have often given leave to gentlemen staying at the inn, for the mere asking."
"Very well," answered his master.--"Now, bring me my writing-desk, and some books from the library--the greatest trash you can find."
The man disappeared, and returned with the desk, from which, while he was again absent bringing the trash in quest of which his master had despatched him, Burrel took out some notes and accounts, and apparently went over the latter with the accurate attention of a man of business. He then wrote a brief note, which he folded and sealed, and, giving it to Harding on his return, bade him deliver it the next morning early, and wait an answer. All this being completed, he took up the first volume that had been brought him, cast himself back in his chair, and skimmed the pages till bed-time.
The breakfast-table was laid out by the neat hands of Mrs. Wilson, exactly at eight o'clock the next morning--the white table-cloth, the jug of rich yellow cream, the two smooth rolls, somewhat browner than the same article of food in London, but doubtless much more the children of the corn--all bespoke a comfortable country breakfast; and when, in about half an hour after, Burrel descended in shooting guise, he looked round with that air of satisfaction which a man feels, after a long London season, on waking and finding himself really in the country. The hot water, not in the accursed lukewarm urn, but in a kettle hissing hot from the fire, was brought in by Mrs. Wilson; but in about ten minutes Harding himself appeared, and, with his usual silence, presented his master with an answer to his note of the evening before. It ran as follows, and explains both itself and the one to which it replied:--
"Emberton Park, Wednesday Morning.
"Sir Sidney Delaware is happy to have the power of affording Mr. Burrel any gratification; and begs to say, that he is perfectly at liberty to shoot over any part of his property, with the exception of the grounds in the immediate vicinity of the house, the game on which he wishes to preserve."
"Hum!" said Burrel, shaking his head as he read the note; "Whom did you see, Harding?"
"A maid-servant, sir," replied the man, "and the old gentleman himself."
"Did he say nothing about calling on me?" demanded Burrel; "or being happy to see me?"
"Nothing, sir," replied the man; and, with an injunction to get his gun ready, and see that the old lady did not give the dogs any thing to eat before they went out, his master dismissed him. "We must find some means," said Burrel to himself when the servant was gone; "but I am afraid it will be more difficult than I thought----But the young man will call of course."
Now, though it would be very easy to look into the mind of Henry Burrel, Esq. as he there stands pondering, with his hand leaning on the table, yet it may be better to pursue him a little farther ere we take such a liberty, and see him set forth upon his shooting expedition, in the course of which he approached as near to the mansion of Emberton Park as he decently could. His expedition was solitary, however; and if he expected or hoped to meet any of the family, he was disappointed. No one did he see but an occasional shepherd, and a hedger and ditcher; and at three o'clock he returned home, with nothing to repay his walk but ten brace of birds.
The following morning it was no better; but Burrel seemed resolved upon another line of conduct, and, at the risk of seeming to intrude, he called at the house itself as he passed, and, on finding that its owner was from home, left a card with his compliments and thanks for the permission which had been granted him. "They will perhaps think me a presuming coxcomb," he thought; "but I care not." The next day, in crossing the fields with his dogs and his gun as usual, he suddenly met his stage-coach companion, Captain Delaware, with a young lady leaning upon his arm, whom, from a certain family likeness, he at once concluded to be the sister of his acquaintance. Her dress was as plain as possible; but the model was good, and no one could have doubted that she was a lady, though it is probable that the walking-dress of the mercer's daughter at Emberton, was beyond comparison more fashionable--in price. Her figure was extremely good, though heaven be praised not at all sylphlike; and all that Burrel remarked was, that she was a very pretty girl, and had a very pretty foot. Her brother stopped for a moment; and with a countenance, in which various emotions, strangely mingled, of pleasure and pain, called up an eloquent glow, he hoped that Burrel had met with good sport, introduced him to his sister Miss Delaware, and then, in a manner somewhat abrupt and embarrassed, bade him good-by, and turned away.
Burrel walked on with his gun under his arm; and for a minute, as he did so, he bit his nether lip, and his brow slightly contracted. The moment after, however, he laughed, lightly murmuring, "Well, I must have recourse to the old miser after all, though I hate his instrumentality;" and, turning on his heel, he sauntered back towards his own abode.
He was suffered to enter in peace; but his Manton was scarcely laid on the table, and his dogs given into the charge of his servant, when, to his horror and astonishment, Mr. Tomkins, the surgeon of the village, was announced, and a smart dapper little man, of a pale and gentlemanly aspect, made his appearance. Burrel was cool and civil; for it was a part of his code to be civil to every one till they were insolent; and, after the usual symphony concerning the weather, Mr. Tomkins proceeded to the chief motive of his visit.
"He had always," he said, "proposed to call upon Mr. Burrel as soon as his manifold occupations would permit; but he had that day been charged with a commission, which gave so much additional pleasure to his proposed visit, that he of course determined to pay it immediately. The fact was," he added, "that he had that morning been visiting Mrs. Darlington, the lady to whom that beautiful house and those sweet grounds upon the hill belonged, and who, having heard of Mr. Burrel's arrival in Emberton, though she could not of course call upon him herself, had begged the identical Mr. Tomkins, then before him, to say how much pleasure she would have to see him, if he would do her the honour of dining with her on the following day."
She was a widow lady of a certain age, Mr. Tomkins implied, who had all her life moved in the best society, and was the most charming and good-tempered person in the world--"draws beautifully; has a great taste for music; sees a good deal of company at her house, where the cookery is excellent; does a great deal of good, and takes a vast deal of interest in every thing that is doing in the village."
"What a disagreeable person!" thought Burrel. "Nevertheless, I may as well amuse myself with her and hers, as walk about these fields from breakfast till dinner-time, or read these idiotical romances from dinner till bed-time." He replied, however, according to the letter of the law of civility, "Mrs. Darlington does me a great deal of honour, my dear sir," he said; "and I will do myself the pleasure of accepting her invitation, which I will notify to her forthwith by my servant--Pray, how far may be her house?"
"Oh, not above five miles certainly," replied the worthy chirurgeon.
"Five miles!" said Burrel; "that is a tremendous way to roll in any thing but a cabriolet after eating. I shall certainly die of an indigestion if I trust myself to a hack post-chaise in a state of repletion."
The man of medicines grinned at what in his ears sounded something very like a professional joke, but assured Burrel at the same time that his apprehensions were vain, for that Mrs. Darlington's invitations always implied a bed at her house.
"That alters the case," replied Burrel; "for I expect some horses down to-night, and will ride over and dress before dinner."
The doctor, who felt that a vast accession of dignity would accrue, if he could expose himself to the wondering eyes of Emberton, in close companionship with the young and fashionable stranger, proposed to drive him over in his pony chaise; but this honour Burrel declined, replying quietly, that he would prefer riding; and, after one or two faint efforts towards discovery of all the hidden things appertaining to the young traveller, the surgeon, finding that the conversation began to fall continually to the ground, took the hint and retired; and Burrel proceeded to change his shooting-dress for one better suited to the town.
Leaving him, however, to make this alteration, and to send off his answer to Mrs. Darlington's invitation, we shall now beg leave to follow home Captain Delaware and his sister, and--as every thing in a tale like the present should be as clear as possible, without the slightest mystery or absurd concealment--shall explain a few things that may have hitherto appeared strange in the conduct of that family.
The spot at which Burrel had that morning met his travelling companion, was not more than a quarter of a mile from the mansion, and the brother and sister walked on directly towards one of the smaller doors in the park wall, and, passing through, turned their steps homewards. They proceeded, however, in silence; for there was something evidently in their rencontre with Burrel unpleasant to them both, nor was that unpleasant sensation perhaps relieved by the aspect of their paternal dwelling, or the grounds that surrounded it. Without entering into the painful details of a family's decay, it is sufficient to say, that the whole place bore the character--not of neglect--but of means incompetent to ward off the constant, unremitting, insidious assaults of time. They passed a temple in the park, which had been built in imitation of some famous specimen of Grecian architecture, and now came nearer still to the original by its decay. A large mass of the frieze had fallen, and over the green and disjointed steps the brambles were shooting their long thorny arms. The path itself, too, which wound on towards the house, was half overgrown with grass; and where an effort to hoe it up had been begun, it had speedily been abandoned, from the necessity of employing the man in some more useful service. The mansion, too, more than half closed, had about it all--not the aspect of ruin, for it had by no means reached that pitch--but a look of desertion and of poverty which contrasted painfully with the splendour of the original design.
To the eye of Miss Delaware and her brother, all this was customary; but yet it struck them both, after their meeting with Burrel, perhaps more forcibly than it had ever done before; and there was something like a sigh escaped the lip of each, as, opening the large door, they passed on into what had once been a splendid vestibule. The day was a sultry one, and the door of a room, entering immediately upon the hall, was open when Captain Delaware and his sister entered. The step of Miss Delaware as she walked on caught the ear of some one within, and a voice, in the tone of which there was the slightest possible touch of impatience, was heard exclaiming "Blanche! is that you, my love?"
The young lady, followed by her brother, immediately turned her steps into the fine old library from which the sound proceeded, and found reading, at a small table near one of the long many-paned windows, a person who--however contrary to rule--deserves a more particular sketch of his mental and corporeal qualities, and of his previous history, than we may find it convenient to give of any other person connected with this book.
Sir Sidney Delaware had set out in life a younger son. His father, Mr. William Delaware, had been a man of great talents, and very little common sense, who, by the help of his abilities, and considerable family influence, had been raised to offices in the state, conferring large revenues, which he squandered profusely. Mr. William Delaware, however, kept up the appearance of a man of fortune; and as his uncle, the then possessor of Emberton Park, was unmarried and advanced in life, his prospects were admitted on all hands, even by Jews and money-lenders, to be good. Be it remarked, nevertheless, that though he was the direct male heir to his uncle's property, there were two other persons who more than equally shared in his uncle's favour--his own first cousins, and equally the nephews, (though by the female line,) of the Sir Harcourt Delaware, who then held the lands of Emberton. These were Lord Ashborough and his brother, the Honourable Henry Beauchamp. However, he did not let any thing disturb him, but continued to live splendidly and well; gave his eldest son a commission in a crack regiment of cavalry, and sent his second son, Sidney, to Christ Church.
At Christ Church there were two or three peculiarities observed in Sidney Delaware;--With his scholastic education we shall have nothing to do, being no scholars ourselves. The first of these peculiarities was an uncommon degree of accuracy in paying his bills, and living within his income; and his elder brother was wont to say, that Sidney was so sick of seeing nobody paid at home, that he was resolved to pay every one to the uttermost farthing. The next trait remarked by his fellow-collegians, was his extraordinary good nature; for was any one in difficulty or distress, Sidney Delaware would help them to the very utmost of his power, though in many instances he was known to hate and contemn the very men he assisted;--and the third quality was a talent for satire, and a faculty of vituperation, which might have been envied by Gifford amongst the dead, and two or three we could name amongst the living.
The secret of his character, perhaps, was the combination of an extraordinary sensibility of the absurd, with a high and severe moral feeling. He studied for the church, however; and as he did so, many of the injunctions of that divine book, to which his mind was naturally turned continually, appeared so contrary to the asperity of his sarcastic disposition, that he determined to make a powerful effort to restrain the bitterness of speech and writing to which he had before given way. Time and years too had their effect, and the biting satire that used to hang upon his lip, remained hidden in silence, or only broke forth casually, when he was off his guard. He tried to banish from his heart that feeling of contempt and scorn which he experienced whenever any thing mean, or false, or base, met his eyes; and perhaps the very good-natured facility with which he could be induced to assist any one, might spring from an apprehension lest the scorn he felt for all that was pitiful in others, might affect his own actions, and render him uncharitable himself. His elder brother died before he himself was ordained; and, on the persuasion of his father, he abandoned his purpose of entering the church, travelled for several years, and then studied for the bar. His next step was to marry, and he was a widower with two children at the time that his father succeeded to Sir Harcourt Delaware. The baronet, however, in dying, had given to his two nephews. Lord Ashborough and Mr. Beauchamp, who had been very constant in their attentions, a far larger share of his fortune than he left to him who was to inherit the baronetcy; and thus, the latter, having counted largely on his future fortune, found himself more embarrassed than relieved by the death of his uncle. The estate that was left to him was also entailed by the will of the last possessor; and his only resource to free himself from the most pressing difficulties, was to engage his son to join him in raising money upon annuity. Sidney Delaware consented with a heavy heart, and the money was borrowed, much against his will, from his father's cousin, Lord Ashborough, between whom and the young heir of Emberton a quarrel had previously taken place, of a nature not likely to admit of reconciliation. For the pitiful sum of twenty-five thousand pounds, the estate of Emberton was charged with an annuity of two thousand per annum; and scarcely had that sum been swallowed up by his father's debts, when Sidney Delaware succeeded to a splendid name and a ruined property.
Griefs and disappointments had impaired his health, had broken his spirit and crushed his energies; and, dwelling almost in solitude, he had given himself up to the education of his children, forgetting that a time would come when the acquaintances which he was losing every day, would become necessary to his children in the world. In bitterness of heart, too, he often thought that his friends were neglecting him, when in fact he was neglecting them; and exclaiming, "Donec eris felix, multos numerabis amicos!" he shut his doors against the world, believing that his poverty would meet with nothing but contempt.
As time wore on, however, he found that he erred in not exerting his abilities, in order to remove the encumbrances which his father had incurred. His son grew up and entered the navy, and half the interest of a small sum which had been his wife's fortune, afforded sufficient to maintain the boy in that service. But it was when his daughter also grew towards womanhood, that Sir Sidney Delaware felt most severely that he had committed an error. His son, he thought, had an honourable profession, and by his own high merits and activity was making rapid progress. At the death of Lord Ashborough, too, the annuity which swallowed up almost the whole rents of his estate would lapse, and his heir would have enough. But Lord Ashborough was scarcely an older man than himself; and when he gazed upon his daughter, and saw her growing up with all her mother's beauty and grace, with every quality fitted to charm and to attach, and at the same time remembered that she was to live, cut off from society, during all those brighter days of youth and hope which lie between sixteen and five-and-twenty, he would have given his right hand to have recalled the years which, by active exertion, he might have employed to remove the difficulties that held him down. Now, however, he felt, or persuaded himself, that it was impossible to seek society. He could not mingle with persons in his own rank of life upon an equality, and he would not mingle with any other class, or, with them, in any other manner. Few of these old friends existed for him, on whose generous feelings he could fearlessly rely, and feel certain, from a knowledge of their nature, that no thought even would ever cross their minds, which could have wounded him if spoken. Thus, he had no old channel of communication with the world still open, and pride, rendered irritable by disappointment, as well as the circumstances in which he was placed, prevented him from seeking any new connexion with society. Could he in any way have given his son and daughter the means of mingling with the world, while he himself shunned it altogether, he would have snatched eagerly at the opportunity; but that of course was out of the question, and day went by after day, and found them all in the same situation.
Such was still the case, at the time of my present tale; and when Miss Delaware and her brother entered the library, in which their father was, as usual, driving away thought by reading, they found him seated near the open window with Pope's Essays in his hand. His hair, which had once been dark brown, was now nearly white--in fact, much whiter than his years would warrant. Yet, though the body was in some degree brokencuris et laboribus, still temperance and fine air had done much to counteract even grief. His countenance was florid, his eye was clear, and he appeared a hale, healthy man, though six or seven years older than he really was.
Long conversations being, like love and marriage, excessively tiresome to every one but those concerned, a summary of what followed will be better than a chapter; and it is quite sufficient to say, that the rencontre of the brother and sister with Mr. Burrel, soon became the principal topic of conversation. Captain Delaware, whose loves were veryfirst-sighty, dashed at once into such an encomium of his stage-coach companion, that an arch smile, at this pouring forth of his well-known enthusiasm, played for a moment on the lip of Blanche Delaware. Her father, however, looked grave, and said he was sorry that they had met him at all. "This young man," he went on, "seems to be a person of fortune and station, whom, in happier times, we might have been delighted to see; but you are well aware, William, that under our present circumstances, it is perfectly impossible to invite a man of horses and dogs, and guns and servants, to this house.--Did he seem so very charming to you, Blanche?"
Miss Delaware replied, that her brothers acquaintance had not appeared either quite so handsome or quite so fascinating in his shooting-jacket as her brother had described him in his travelling costume,--"But at all events," she added, "his appearance savoured nothing of arrogance or presumption."
"Alas! my dear Blanche," said her father, "you do not know what a man of the world is. Every point in the situation of a poor gentleman is painful, but none so much so, as the having to endure the compassion of fools and puppies."
Captain Delaware turned to the window, and, after looking out for a moment or two, left the room. Blanche remained, but dropped the subject, and it was no more resumed.
After having undergone the visit of the surgeon, Burrel, as we have stated, changed his dress; and, having given some directions to his servant, strolled out alone upon an expedition, in which it may be necessary to follow him. Crossing the bridge--upon which he paused for a moment to gaze up the long vista of the park--he proceeded to the extremity of the wall which formed the enclosure, and then turning through a shady lane, formed by that boundary on one side, and a steep bank and hedge on the other, he strolled on with an air of absent thoughtfulness, that made more than one milkmaid, whom he met returning with her brimful pails from the neighbouring fields, conclude, with the true sentimentality of a Molly, that "the gentleman must be in love!"
Sad, however, to say, Burrel was not the least in love in the world; and though of a somewhat enthusiastic and Quixotical character, he would probably have been obliged, like the hero of La Mancha himself, to think some time before he could possibly have discovered any one in the sphere of his acquaintance, whom he would have considered worthy of the honour and the trouble of falling in love with. Still more melancholy to relate, so far from any fair image filling his mind with dreams ambrosial, and making him stumble over the stones in his way, he was at that moment thinking of money--base, unwholesome money. His meditations were of Cocker; and many a sum, both of addition, multiplication, and subtraction, together with various computations of interest, and now and then a remote flash of vulgar fractions, passed across his mind, in all of which he displayed a talent for accounts somewhat more clear and accurate than that of Joseph Hume, thank God--though not quite so neat and rapid as that of ever-lamented Windham.
Thus he walked along under the wall of the park till the park wall ended, and then taking a narrow and overhanging road, which descended into a sweet wild valley--through which a brook meandered on, till it lost itself in the sands upon the sea-shore, about five miles to the east--he proceeded on his way without doubt or question, as if he had known the whole country from his boyhood. The opposite bank of the valley was thickly covered with trees and shrubs; and about half a mile from the spot where the road entered it, the summit of what seemed a tall old-fashioned farmhouse, of cold grey stone, rose above this sort of verdant screen. Within a few hundred yards of this building, the road climbed the bank, and passed before the door, which was painted of a bluish gray, like that of a French country house, and offered an aspect of untidiness and discomfort, not often seen in an English dwelling. No roses decorated the porch, no clematis festooned the windows; stone walls surrounded that which was, or had been intended for, a garden; and the gruntings and squeaks which echoed from within that boundary, spoke the character of the domestic animals chiefly cultivated at Ryebury.
Undeterred, however, by the inhospitable appearance of the building, or by the wailings of the beast that never chews the cud, Burrel approached the door, and, laying his hand upon a bell, made sure that if any one was within half a mile he must be heard; and then, turning round to gaze upon the prospect, continued to hum "Dove sono," with which he had been beguiling the way for the last ten minutes. While thus employed, one of the high windows almost immediately above his head was thrown open, and the upper part of a woman-servant, who would have been pretty enough had she not been disguised in indescribable filth, was protruded to reconnoitre the stranger's person. The moment after, another head was added, almost as dirty, but neither pretty nor young, being the dingy white superstructure of an old man's person, who looked not at all unlike Noah, unwashed since the Flood.
A long and careful examination did these two respectable persons bestow upon him who so disturbed the quiet of their dwelling, while Burrel, though perfectly conscious, from the groaning of the upheaved window-frame, that he was undergoing a general inspection, continued indefatigably to hum "Dove sono," till opining that the inquisition had continued sufficiently long, he again applied himself to the bell, which once more responded to his will with "most miraculous organ."
"Run down, Sarah! Run down!" cried the elder phantom, "and open the door.--Ask him who he is, and what he wants, and then come and tell me.--But stay, I will go down with you to the parlour!"
The bell was once more in Burrel's hand, when the door yawned, and displayed to his view a great part of the person and adjuncts dependent upon the female head which had been criticising him from above. It is scarcely necessary to say more than that she was a slut of the first quality, with dirt,ad libitum, spread over the whole person--various triangular tears in the printed cotton that covered her--much white lining protruding through the chasms in her shoes--and a cap as yellow as a pair of court ruffles. Without waiting for the categories that were to be addressed to him, Burrel at once walked into the house; and, telling the dirty maid to inform her master that Mr. Burrel desired to speak with him, approached the door of the parlour, where the person he sought--not confiding in his servant's powers of recapitulation--was listening with all his ears to the catechism he proposed that the stranger should undergo. As soon, however, as he caught the name of Burrel, he emerged and met that gentleman in the passage with many a bow. His dress was clean enough, and in style and appearance was upon a par with that of a country attorney's of about twenty or thirty years ago--black, jet-black from head to heel, except the worsted stockings, which were dark grey. The whole was well and economically worn, but his face evinced small expense of soap, and his beard that he wore out no razors--upon his chin at least. In person he was a short thin man, of about sixty-five or six, with a reddish tip to a long nose, set on upon a pale many-furrowed face. He stooped a little towards the shoulders, and there was that sort of bending droop about the knees which betokens a decrease of vigour. His clear grey eye, however, had something in it both eager and active, and the heavy penthouse of long black and white hair that overhung it, gave a sort of fierce intensity to its glance.
"Your name, sir, is Tims, I presume?" said Burrel, eyeing him with a good deal of that cool nonchalance which is no doubt very disagreeable. The other bowed to the ground, and his visiter continued--"My name is Burrel, and Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson, my solicitors, have doubtless written to you concerning"----
"Hush! Hush!" exclaimed the other in a subdued voice, at the same time raising his eyebrows, and opening his eyes with a stare of wondering deprecation. "We will speak about it presently, sir, if you please. I received theirs in due course, and expected to have heard of your coming sooner, sir; but shall be very happy, indeed, if we can do business together. Do me the honour, sir, to walk in. Sarah, bring this gentleman a glass of--of--wine," he added, after a moment's hesitation and a glance at the stranger's dress; "but perhaps you would prefer ale, Mr. Burrel, after your walk?"
"I take nothing, sir," answered Burrel, evidently to the great satisfaction of the other, "and having but a few minutes to stay, merely wish to speak with you concerning"----
But his host again cut across him, appearing to think that all matters in which the very name of money was to be mentioned, had better be talked of in private; and hurrying Burrel forward into the parlour, he begged him to be seated, adding almost in the same breath--"Sad times, indeed, sir, as you say--rate of interest falling terribly--hardly four per cent to be got on good security,--sad times, indeed, sir, as you say!"
"I do not say the times are bad at all, sir," replied Burrel gravely, "nor that four per cent cannot be got for money on good security. You must mistake me, I believe, for some more plaintive person. But to the point, Mr. Tims. I think my solicitors wrote to you that I had twenty-five thousand pounds lying uninvested, which I was willing to lend at five or four and a half per cent. This sum they had heard you were seeking for some gentleman in this neighbourhood who could give good security--Sir Sidney Delaware, I think, was his name."
"Oh but, sir, I am afraid"--answered Mr. Tims, shaking his head, "I am afraid that business is off. It won't do, sir, I am afraid--It won't do--Can't manage matters there, I am afraid!"
"And pray why not, sir?" demanded Burrel. "I shall not feel very well pleased if I have been brought down here by your report to examine the matter myself, and am disappointed."
"Oh! no fear of that, sir," replied the other; "no fear of finding plenty of others. Besides, I should think, with submission, that you might make Sir Sidney pay--as you say--your expenses, loss of time, &c. &c. He gave me full powers--and as you say"----
"I do not say any thing of the kind, sir," replied Burrel sternly. "Be so good as not to put words into my mouth which I have never spoken. Rather let me hear why, and how, the proposed arrangement cannot have effect, and then we will consider other matters after we have fully canvassed the first."
"Quite right, sir! Quite right!" replied Mr. Tims, not in the least discomposed by Burrel's rebuke. "Quite right, indeed! Always right to have every thing clear by itself! Why, you must know the simple fact is this. The property of Emberton, as you say, is burdened with an annuity to the amount of two thousand pounds per annum on the life of the present Lord Ashborough, the sum given for which was only twenty-five thousand pounds--and that nearly twenty years ago, when Lord Ashborough was about forty, and his life was worth at least twenty years' purchase. Well, having to speak with Sir Sidney some time ago on some road business, the transaction came up, and I asked him why he did not pay off the annuity, by raising money on mortgage, which he could do at five per cent. His son, the Captain, too, was present; and, as the entail ends with the Captain, the matter would be easily done--though it had never struck them--always provided, nevertheless, that the annuity was redeemable. The arrangement would save them a thousand a-year you see, sir, and so they agreed to give"----
"To give you how much, sir, for the job?" demanded Burrel.
"Only a fair commission for raising the money," replied the other; "and as Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson, your worthy and excellent solicitors, had been making enquiries about this very estate, as it would happen--I cannot think how or why--I wrote to them about it, and the matter was soon arranged; but then Captain Delaware was obliged to go to London to speak with my Lord Ashborough--an excellent gentleman--and on his return, it was found that the annuity deed, by some strange accident, contained no clause of redemption. Indeed, none could have been stipulated, for I know the person who drew it, and who is as accurate as Duval."
"And pray, sir, who did draw it?" demanded Burrel.
"My own nephew, sir--my own nephew--Peter Tims, Esq." replied his companion; "Peter Tims, who succeeded me in my chambers at Clement's Inn; and who was fortunate enough to secure the patronage and friendship of Lord Ashborough."
"Ha!" replied Burrel dryly; "so then you think the annuity cannot be redeemed?"
"Afraid not, sir! Afraid not!" replied the retired lawyer, or, as he was commonly called by the villagers, the miser. "Afraid not; but as I was saying, there are plenty of other properties susceptible of mortgage in this neighbourhood, and some," he added, closing one eye, and fixing the other on Burrel's face with the look of a tame raven that has just hidden a silver spoon, "and some where there is a strong ultimate prospect of a foreclosure and sale at excessive reduction. There is the estate of Sir Timothy Ridout--who wants now to borrow twenty thousand pounds--well worth an hundred. By a little management one might get hold of it, and"----
"I have no such views, sir," replied Burrel gravely; "and as the other business cannot apparently be arranged, I shall invest the money in other property. But, tell me, did Lord Ashborough refuse to redeem?"
"Yes, sir! Yes, flat, downright!" replied the miser; "and very right, too. He could not get near the interest even now. But you had better think of the business of Sir Timothy Ridout. Such a thing is not to be got hold of every day."
"I shall never give it another thought," replied Burrel coldly; and, rubbing his boot with his cane, unconscious of what he was about, he remained for several minutes thinking deeply, while the miser sat upon the edge of his chair, marvelling that any human being could let slip the tempting bait of Sir Timothy Ridout's estate; and beginning to entertain strong doubts as to whether Burrel was really a wealthy man, from the indifference he showed to the prospect of increasing his wealth. "I am sorry," he thought, "that I told that servant of his that he might shoot over the Ryebury fields: I will write to Peter by the next post, and make him fish out of Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson whether he really has money. I might have made a cool five hundred by that Ridout business."
While he thus thought, and Burrel's meditations continued, though of a very different nature, a sudden ring of the bell roused them both from their reveries; and, after a shortreconnoissancethrough the window, the miser exclaimed, "It is Sir Sidney Delaware, I declare!"
"Then you will be so good, Mr. Tims," said Burrel, in a tone sufficiently peremptory, "not to refer or allude to me, in any shape or way, as the person who wished to lend the money."
"Oh, certainly not! certainly not!" replied the miser with a shrewd glance; "it is a bad speculation that--but the Ridout business, if you will but think over it--Will you see this Sir Sidney?"
"I have no objection," answered Burrel; and the miser bidding his dirty maid show the gentleman in. Sir Sidney Delaware was ushered into the parlour the moment after.
As soon as he saw that there was a stranger present, the baronet paused, and for an instant seemed as if he would have drawn back, saying, "You are engaged, Mr. Tims; I was not aware you had any one with you."
"Not at all; not at all, my dear sir!" said Mr. Tims. "Sir Sidney, Mr. Burrel--Mr. Burrel, Sir Sidney Delaware!"
"I am happy to have an opportunity, sir," said Burrel, "of returning you my personal thanks for the permission to shoot over your grounds, which you were kind enough to grant me."
"Where there is no obligation conferred, sir," replied the baronet somewhat distantly, "there can be no occasion for thanks. I do not shoot--my son has not this year taken out a license; and it is quite as well that the game should be shot by you, who ask permission, as by those who do not ask at all." He paused for an instant, while the colour deepened in Burrel's cheek; but the baronet's heart instantly reproached him for an uncourteous reply, and he added, "I hope you have found sport."
"Plenty of game," answered Burrel; "but the birds are very wild."
"That is a very natural consequence," said Sir Sidney Delaware, "of the immense number of persons whose notions of property are daily growing more limited."
"I trust, indeed, that something may soon be done," replied Burrel, "to correct the extensive system of poaching."
"Probably we shall soon have one of those beautiful pieces of legislation on the subject," replied Sir Sidney, "which will prevent people from committing the crime, by rendering it none in the eye of the law--But, Mr. Tims, as I have a little business of a private nature on which I must speak with you, I will probably call upon you to-morrow if you are likely to be disengaged."
"No delay must take place on my account," said Burrel, rising. "My business with this gentleman is over; and therefore I will leave you."
Thus saying, he turned, and, wishing the baronet good-morning, quitted the house, ushered to the door by Mr. Tims; who, though still doubtful as to the young stranger's wealth, followed him with many a lowly bow, fearful of losing by any indiscretion the sums that might accrue from the good management of the Ridout business. Burrel, in the mean time, took his way once more through the valley, musing as he went upon his late interview with Sir Sidney Delaware, with somewhat more deep and curious speculation than entered into the thoughts he bestowed upon the old miser, of whose general character he was before aware.
In the manner and tone of Sir Sidney Delaware, however, there was something that he felt to be repulsive and unpleasant, which, to a man of Burrel's character, was extremely painful. His first determination--if that can be called a determination which, formed upon impulse, does not last ten minutes--was to set out for London, and forget that such a place as Emberton, or such a person as Sir Sidney Delaware, was upon the face of the earth. Burrel, however, to use Sterne's expression, was a great motive-monger, but with this peculiarity, that he was fully as fond of examining his own motives as those of other people; and, in the present instance, the small still voice whispered something about offended pride, which made him enquire into his own heart a little more strictly.
He found then, upon reflection, that however much he might fancy himself perfectly indifferent, he was in fact angry, and the primary cause of this anger was as usual mortified vanity. He--accustomed to be courted and sought, to choose at will his acquaintances, and to keep at arm's length all those he did not particularly like by a cool tone of indifference, which had something in it of scorn--had come out of his stronghold, and--as he could not but acknowledge--had gone as far as he well could, to seek the acquaintance of Sir Sidney Delaware. That gentleman was evidently not disposed to give it him; and though Burrel felt in some degree the motives which might and did actuate him, yet a knowledge of the degree of scorn which mingled with his own coolness towards others, would not let him believe that some portion of contempt did not also exist in the indifference with which Sir Sidney Delaware treated his advances.
It is in general the natural refuge of mortified vanity, to persuade itself that it retorts contempt upon those that show it, and to pass off upon itself the anger it feels for the more dignified passion of scorn. A slight touch of this sort of feeling had been experienced by Burrel; for there are few bosoms, of whose passions we may not say,castigata remordent; but his nature was too generous to entertain such feelings long, and, before he had reached the door of good Mrs. Wilson in Emberton, his first angry resolution was changed, and a more firm determination adopted, to remain in the village the time he had at first proposed, and without seeking any more an acquaintance which was evidently withheld intentionally, to see whether chance might not furnish him with some opportunity of gratifying a more generous purpose.
"For the sake of that gallant lad," he thought, "I will not give it up so easily."