CHAPTER X
BEVERLEY MANOR
Why does a country gentleman invariably select the worst room in thehouse for his own private apartment, in which he transacts what he ispleased to call his "business," and spends the greater part of his time?At Beverley Manor there were plenty of rooms, cheerful, airy, andwell-proportioned, in which it would have been a pleasure to live, butnone of these were chosen by Sir Harry for his own; disregarding thecharms of the saloon, the drawing-room, the morning-room, thebilliard-room, and the hall itself, which, with a huge fire-place and athick carpet, was by no means the least comfortable part of thehouse,--he had retired to a small, ill-contrived, queer-shapedapartment, dark, dusty, and uncomfortable, of which the onlyrecommendation was that it communicated directly with a back-staircaseand offices, and did not require in its own untidiness any apology onthe part of muddy visitors, who had not thought of wiping their bootsand shoes as they came up. A large glass gun-case, filled withdouble-barrels, occupied one side of the room, flanked by book-shelves,loaded with such useful but not entertaining works as the _RacingCalendar_, _White's Farriery_, and _Hawker's Instructions to YoungSportsmen_. In one corner was a whip-stand, hung round with many aninstrument of torture. The knotted dog-whip that reduced Ponto toreason in the golden stubbles; the long-thonged hunting-whip, thatbrought to mind at once the deep, fragrant woodland in November, withits scarlet coats flitting down the distant ride; and the straight,punishing "cut-and-thrust," that told of Derby and St. Leger, Ditch-In,Middle-Mile, and all the struggles of Epsom and Newmarket. In anotherwas an instrument for measuring land, and a roll of plans by which acreswere to be calculated and a system of thorough draining established,with a view to golden profits.
"Draining!" remarked Sir Harry, in his younger days, to an assemblage ofcountry gentlemen, who stood aghast at the temerity of his proposition,"I am no advocate for draining:"--voices were raised, and hands upliftedin pious horror and deprecation--"all I can say is, gentlemen, that Ihave drained my property till _I cannot get a farthing from it_" was SirHarry's conclusive reasoning, which must have satisfied Mr. Mechihimself.
A coloured engraving of the well-known Beverley shorthorn "Dandy" hungon one side of the fire-place, and on the other, a print of "FlyingChilders," as he appeared when going at the rate of a mile in a minute,apparently ridden by a highwayman in huge jack-boots and a flowingperiwig. In the centre of the room was fixed a large leather-coveredwriting-table, and at this table sat Sir Harry himself, prepared toadminister justice and punish all offenders. He was a tall, thin man,somewhat bent, and bald, with a hooked nose, and a bright, searchingeye, evidently a thorough man of the world in thought, opinion, andfeeling; the artificial will become second nature if long enoughpersisted in, and Sir Harry had served no short apprenticeship to thetrade of fashion. His dress was peculiarly neat and gentleman-like, notthe least what is now termed "slang," and yet with a something in itthat marked the horseman. He was busy writing when we were ushered intothe awful presence, and Victor and I had time to steal a look at eachother, and to exchange a reassuring pressure of the hand. The youngHungarian raised his head frank and fearless as usual; I felt that Ishould like to sink into the ground, but yet was determined to stand bymy friend.
Mr. Barrells commenced a long oration, in which he was rapidly losinghimself, when his master, whose attention was evidently occupiedelsewhere, suddenly looked up, and cut him short with the pertinentinquiry--
"What's all this about, Barrells? and why are these lads here?"
"We are gentlemen, and not poachers;" and "Indeed, sir, it was Bold thatgot away!" exclaimed Victor and I simultaneously.
At this instant a card was brought in by the butler, and placed in SirHarry's hand; he looked at it for a moment, and then said--
"Immediate! very well, show the gentleman in."
I thought I knew the step that came along the passage, but never wasfailing courage more grateful for assistance than was mine to recognisein Sir Harry's visitor the familiar person of my schoolfellow, Ropsley;I cared not a farthing for the promised licking now.
"I have to apologise for disturbing you, Sir Harry," said he, standingas composed and collected as if he were in our schoolroom atEverdon;--even in the anxiety of the moment I remember thinking, "Whatwould I give to possess 'manner' such as his;"--"I have to apologise formy rudeness" (Sir Harry bowed, and said, "Not at all;" I wondered whathe meant by _that_), "but I am sure you will excuse me when I tell youthat I am a pupil of Mr. March's at Everdon" (Sir Harry looked at thetall, well-dressed figure before him, and seemed surprised), "and thesetwo young friends of mine belong to the same establishment. I heardquite accidentally, only an hour ago, of the scrape they had got into,and I immediately hurried over here to assure you that they can have hadno evil intentions in trespassing on your property, and to apologise fortheir thoughtlessness, partly out of respect to you, Sir Harry, andpartly, I am bound to say, for the credit of the school. I am quitesure that neither Egerton nor De Rohan----"
Sir Harry started. "Egerton! De Rohan!" he exclaimed; "not the son ofmy old friend Philip Egerton, not young Count de Rohan?--really,Mr.----" (he looked at the card he held in his hand), "really, Mr.Ropsley, I am very much obliged to you for rectifying this extraordinarymistake;" but even whilst he was speaking, I had run round the table towhere he sat, and seizing his hand--I remember how cold it felt betweenmy own little hot, trembling ones--exclaimed--
"Oh! do you know my papa? then I am sure you will not punish us; onlylet us off this time, and give me back Bold, and we will promise neverto come here again."
The Baronet was not a demonstrative person, nor had he much patiencewith those who were; he pushed me from him, I thought rather coldly, andaddressed himself once more to Ropsley.
"Why, these boys are sons of two of the oldest friends I have in theworld. I would not have had such a thing happen for a thousand pounds.I must apologise to you, young gentlemen, for the rudeness of myservants--Good heavens! ou were kept waiting in the hall: why on earthdid you not give your names? Your father and I were at collegetogether, Egerton; and as for you, Monsieur le Comte, had I known youwere at Everdon, I would have made a point of going over to call uponyou myself; but I have only just returned to the country, and that mustbe my excuse."
Victor bowed gracefully: notwithstanding his torn jacket and disorderedcollar, he looked "the young Count" all over, and so I am sure thoughtSir Harry. Ropsley was perfectly _gentlemanlike_, but Victor wasnaturally _high bred_.
"Barrells, where are you going, Barrells?" resumed his master, for thatdiscreet person, seeing the turn things were taking, was quietly leavingthe room; "you always were the greatest fool that ever stood upon twolegs: now let this be a warning to you--every vagabond in the countyhelps himself to my game whenever he pleases, and you never lay a fingeron one of them; at last you insult and abuse two young gentlemen thatany one but a born idiot could see were gentlemen, and bring them inhere for poachers--_poachers!_ as if you didn't know a poacher when yousee one. Don't stand gaping there, you fool, but be off, and the otherblockhead too. Hie! here; let the dog be attended to, and one of thewatchers must lead him back to Everdon when he's well again. Now see tothat, and never make such a stupid mistake again."
"May I go and see Bold, sir?" said I, summoning up courage as my latecaptors quitted the room.
"Quite right, my little man," replied the Baronet, "so you shall, thisevening; but in the meantime, I hope you'll all stay and dine with me.I'll write to your master--what's his name?--and send you back in thecarriage at night; what say you, Mr. Ropsley? I can give you a capitalbottle of claret."
So here were we, who one short hour before had been making up our mindsto endure with fortitude the worst that could happen,--who had expectedto be driven with ignominy from Beverley, and handed over to condignpunishment on our return to school, if indeed we were fortunate enoughto escape committal and imprisonment in the County Ga
ol,--now installedas honoured guests in the very mansion which we had so long looked uponas a _terra incognita_ of fairyland, free to visit the "hins-and-houts"of Beverley, with no thanks to the "King of Naples" for his assistance,and, in short, raised at one step from the abyss of schoolboy despair tothe height of schoolboy gratification. Victor's delight was evengreater than mine as we were shown into a pretty little dressing-roomoverlooking the garden, to wash our hands before dinner. He said itreminded him of home, and made him feel "like a gentleman" once more.
What a dinner that was to which we sat down in the stately olddining-room, served upon massive plate by a butler and two footmen,whose magnificence made me feel quite shy in my comparativeinsignificance. Ropsley of course seemed as much at home as if he wasin the habit of dining there every day, and Victor munched away with anappetite that seemed to afford our good-natured host immensegratification. Soup and fish, _entrees_ of every description, hashedvenison, iced champagne--how grateful after our hot pursuit in thesummer sun--and all the minor luxuries of silver forks, clean napkins,finger-glasses, etc., were indeed a contrast to the plain roast muttonand potatoes, the two-pronged fork, and washy table-beer of our Everdonbill-of-fare. What I liked, though, better than all the eatables anddrinkables, was a picture opposite which I sat, and which riveted myattention so much as to attract the observation of Sir Harry himself.
"Ha! Egerton," said he, "you are your father all over, I see. Justlike him, wild about painting. Now I'll bet my life you're findingfault with the colouring of that picture. The last time he was here hevowed, if I would let him, he would paint it all over again; and yetit's one of the best pictures in England at this moment. What do youthink of it, my boy? Could you paint as good a one?"
"No, sir," I replied modestly, and rather annoyed at my reverie beinginterrupted; "my father tries to teach me, but--but I cannot learn topaint."
Sir Harry turned away, and Ropsley whispered something about "veryodd"--"poor little fellow." The dessert had just been put on the table,and Victor was busy with his strawberries and cream. There must be sometruth in magnetism, there must be something in the doctrine ofattraction and repulsion: why do we like some people as we dislikeothers, without any shadow of a reason? Homoeopathists tell us that thenausea which contracts our features at the smell of a drug, is aprovision of Nature to guard us against poison. Can it be that theseantipathies are implanted in our being to warn us of those who shallhereafter prove our enemies? it is not a charitable theory nor aChristian-like, and yet in my experience of life I have found manyinstances in which it has borne a strange semblance of truth.
"Men feel by instinct swift as light The presence of the foe, Whom God has marked in after years To strike the mortal blow. The other, though his brand be sheathed, At banquet or in hall, Hath a forebodement of the time When one or both must fall."
So sings "the minstrel" in his poem of _Bothwell_, but _Bothwell_ wasnot written at the time of which I speak, and the only poetry I had everheard to justify my antipathies was the homely quatrain of _Dr. Fell_.Still I felt somehow from that moment I hated Ropsley; it was absurd, itwas ungrateful, it was ungentlemanlike, but it was undeniable.
So I buried myself in the contemplation of the picture, which possessedfor me a strange fascination. The subject was Queen Dido transfixed onher funeral pyre, the very _infandum regina_ to whose history I owed somany school-room sorrows. I began to think I should never hate Virgilagain. The whole treatment of the picture was to the last degreeunnatural, and the colouring, even to my inexperienced eye, faulty andoverdone. Yet that face of mute sorrow and resignation spoke at once tothe heart; the Queen lay gazing on the distant galleys which werebearing away her love, and curling their beaks and curvetting, so tospeak, up-hill on a green sea, in a manner that must have made the taskof Palinurus no easy one when he undertook to steer the same. Her limbswere disposed stiffly, but not ungracefully, on the fatal couch, and herwhite bosom was pierced by the deadly blade. Yet on her sweet, sadcountenance the artist had depicted with wonderful skill the triumph ofmental over bodily anguish; and though the features retained all woman'ssoftness and woman's beauty, you read the breaking heart beneath. Icould have looked at that picture for hours, I was lost in it even then,but the door opened, and whilst Ropsley got up with a flourish and hismost respectful bow, in walked the young lady whom we had met under fardifferent circumstances some three hours before in the shrubbery, andquietly took her place by the side of her papa.
As I looked from Queen Dido to Miss Constance I quite started; there wasthe very face as if it had walked out of the canvas. Younger,certainly, and with a more childish expression about the mouth, but thesame queenly brow, the same sad, serious eyes, the same delicatefeatures and oval shape; the fascination was gone from the picture now,and yet as I looked at the child--for child she was then--I experiencedonce more the old well-known pang of self-humiliation which so oftenpoisoned my happiness; I felt so dull and awkward amongst these brightfaces and polished manners, so ungainly and out of place where otherswere gay and at their ease. How I envied Victor's self-possession as headdressed the young lady with his pleasant, foreign accent, and acertain assurance that an English boy never acquires till he is vergingon manhood. How willingly would I have exchanged places with any one ofthe party. How I longed to cast the outward slough of timidity andconstraint, to appear as I felt myself in reality, an equal in mind andstation and feelings to the rest. For the first time in my life, as Isat a mere child at that dinner-table, came the thrilling, maddeningfeeling to my heart--
"Oh! that something would happen, something dreadful, something unheardof, that should strip from each of us all extraneous and artificialadvantages, that should give us all a fair start on equalterms--something that should try our courage or our fortitude, andenable me to prove myself what I really am."
It was the first spark of ambition that ever entered my boyish breast,but when once kindled, such sparks are never completely extinguished.Fortunate is it that opportunities are wanting to fan them into a flame,or we should ere long have the world in a blaze.
Miss Constance took very little notice of us beyond a cold allusion tothe well-being of my dog, and it was not till Sir Harry bade her takecharge of Victor and myself, and lead us out through the garden to visitour wounded favourite, that we had any conversation with this reservedyoung lady. Sir Harry rang for another bottle of claret, and composedhimself for a good chat upon racing matters with Ropsley, who was asmuch at home with everything connected with the turf as if he spent hiswhole time at Newmarket. Ropsley had even then a peculiar knack ofbeing "all things to all men," and pleaded guilty besides to a verystrong _penchant_ for horse-racing. This latter taste raised himconsiderably in Sir Harry's estimation, who, like the rest of mankind,took great pleasure in beckoning the young along that path of pleasurewhich had nearly led to his own ruin. Well, we are all children to thelast; was there one whit more wisdom in the conversation of the Baronetand his guest as to the relative merits of certain three-year-olds andthe weight they could carry, than in the simple questions and answers ofus three children, walking soberly along the soft garden sward in theblushing sunset? At first we were very decorous: no brocaded courtierof Queen Anne, leading his partner out to dance a minuet, could havebeen more polite and respectful than Victor; no dame of high degree, inhoop and stomacher, more stately and reserved than Miss Constance. Isaid little, but watched the pair with a strange, uncomfortablefascination. Ere long, however, the ice began to thaw, questions as toChristian names, and ages, and respective birthdays, brought onincreased confidence and more familiar conversation. Constance showedus her doves, and was delighted to find that we too understoodthoroughly the management of these soft-eyed favourites; the visit toBold was another strong link in our dawning friendship; the little girlwas so gentle and so pitiful, so caressing to the poor dog, and sosympathising with its master, that I could not but respond to herkindness, and overcame my timidity su
fficiently to thank her warmly forthe interest she took in poor Bold. By the time we had all enjoyed inturn the delights of a certain swing, and played a game at battledoreand shuttlecock in the echoing hall, we were becoming fast friends, andhad succeeded in interesting our new acquaintance extremely in all thedetails of schoolboy life, and our own sufferings at Everdon. Iremarked, however, that Constance took far less notice of me than ofVictor; with him she seemed frank and merry and at her ease; with me, onthe contrary, she retained much of her early reserve, and I could nothelp fancying, rather avoided my conversation than otherwise. Well, Iwas used to being thrown in the background, and it was pleasure enoughfor me to watch that grave, earnest countenance, and speculate on thesuperhuman beauty of Queen Dido, to which it bore so strange aresemblance.
It was getting too dark to continue our game. We had already lost theshuttlecock three times, and it was now hopelessly perched on the frameof an old picture in the hall; when the dining-room door opened, and SirHarry came out, still conversing earnestly with his guest on the oneengrossing topic.
"I am much obliged to you for the hint," said the Baronet. "It neverstruck me before; and if your information is really to be depended on, Ishall certainly back him. Strange that I should not have heard of thetrial."
"My man dare not deceive me, I assure you," answered Ropsley, his quiet,distinct tones contrasting with Sir Harry's, who was a little flushedand voluble after his claret. "He used to do odd jobs for me when I wasin the sixth form at Eton, and I met him unexpectedly enough the otherday in the High-street at Bath. He is a mason by trade, and is employedrepairing Beckford's tower; by the way, he had heard of _Vathek_--I amnot sure that he hasn't read it, so the fellow has some brains abouthim. Well, I knew he hadn't been hanging about Ascot all his life fornothing, so I described the colt to him, and bade him keep his eyes openwhen perched in mid-air these bright mornings, with such a command ofLansdowne. Why, he knew the horse as well as I did, and yesterday sentme a full account of the trial. I destroyed it immediately, of course,but I have it all here" (pointing to his forehead, where, indeed,Ropsley carried a curious miscellany of information). "He beat the mareat least fifty yards, and she was nearly that distance ahead of'Slap-Jack,' so you may depend upon it he is a real flyer. I havebacked him to win a large stake, at least, for a boy like me," addedRopsley, modestly; "and I do not mean to hedge a farthing of it."
Sir Harry was delighted; he had found a "young one," as he called it,after his own heart; he declared he would not wish him "good-bye"; hemust come over again and see the yearlings; he must accompany him to theBath races. If he was to leave Everdon at the end of the half-year, hemust come and shoot in September; nay, they would go to Doncastertogether; in short, Sir Harry was fascinated, and put us all into thecarriage, which he had ordered expressly to take us back to Everdon,with many expressions of hospitality and good-will.
Bold was lifted on to the box, from whence he looked down with histongue hanging out in a state of ludicrous helplessness and dismay.Miss Constance bade us a quiet "good-night" in tones so sweet that theyrang in my ears half the way home, and so we drove off in state from thefront door, as though we had not that very afternoon been brought in asculprits at the back.
Ropsley was unusually silent during the whole journey. He hadestablished his footing at Beverley Manor, perhaps he was thinking how"to make the most of it."