SIR THOMAS RANDOLPH got up next morning with his usual good spirits a little heightened by something, he could not immediately recollect what. The doubt lasted only for a moment, but, perhaps, his happiness was not so instantaneously present to his mind as a new vexation would have been. But on his second waking moment, he jumped up from his bed and laughed. The red October sunshine was shining into his room; he went and looked out from his window upon the noble trees in his park, stretching far away in ruddy masses, all golden and red with the frosty, not fiery, finger (pardon, dear poet!) of autumn. As far as he could see (and a great deal further) the land was his; but oh, poor acres! how heavy with mortgages! how stiff with borrowings! heavier and stiffer than the native clay, of which there was too much about Farafield; but that was all over, this red, russet October morning; the house had a mistress, and the land was free. Was it a wrong to Lucy that he thought of this so soon? He laughed, at first, at the astounding position in which he suddenly recollected himself to stand, as betrothed man, a happy and successful lover; and then there suddenly rushed into his mind the idea that the change would make him entirely independent, safe from all duns, free of all creditors, his own master on his own land. When, however, he went down-stairs and eat his solitary breakfast near the fire in the great paneled room, with its old tapestries and family portraits, the noblest room in the county, though as good as shut up for so many years, there came quite sweetly and delightfully into Sir Tom’s mind the idea, not of the hospitalities which now were possible, but of a little serious countenance, with two mild blue eyes, following his looks with a little strain of intelligence, not quite, quite sure all at once of his meaning, but always sure that he was right, and soon finding out what he meant, and lighting up with understanding all the more pleasant for the first surprise of uncertainty. When this little vision glanced across him, he put down his newspaper, which he had taken up mechanically, and smiled at it over the table. “Give me some tea, Lucy,” he said, with an amused, exhilarated, almost excited realization of what was going to be. “I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas?” said the solemn butler, just coming in; and then, will it be believed? Sir Tom, who had knocked about the world for so many years, Sir Tom, who had touched the borders of middle age, and gone through no small amount of experiences—blushed! He laughed afterward and resumed his paper; but that there had come over, between his big mustache and his quite unthinned and plentiful locks, a delightful youthful suffusion of warmth and color, it was impossible to deny. He felt it quite necessary to sound a trumpet forthwith, so much tickled was he with his own confusion, and pleased with himself. “Williams, I am going to be married,” he said. Williams was a man who had been all over the world with his master, who had himself gone through various transformations, had been a saucy valet, and an adventurer, and a dignified family servant by turns, and was not a man to be surprised at anything; but he stopped short in the middle of the room, and said, “Indeed, Sir Thomas!” in a tone more like bewilderment than any that ever had been heard from him before. “Did you ever hear such a joke?” said the master, thinking of his own blush, that unparalleled circumstance; and “It do indeed, Sir Thomas,” Mr. Williams gravely replied.
However, after this serious revelation there were more serious matters at hand. Sir Thomas had decided that he would go to Mr. Rushton in the morning, who was the real guardian, and with whom in any case he would have to do; whether it would be necessary in everything to observe the ordinances of the will, which Lucy, he knew, had declared her determination to stand by, and ask the consent of all that board of guardians to whom old Trevor had given the power of hampering and hindering Lucy’s marriage, was a thing he had not made up his mind upon; but with Mr. Rushton, at least, he must have to do. He drove into Farafield through the keen air of the bright, chill, sunshiny morning with great courage and confidence. It might be said that he was fortune-hunting too; but if he would receive a certain advantage from the heiress, it was certain that he had something to offer on his side which no woman would despise. To put her at the head of the noblest old house and the most notable family in the county was a balance on his side which made Lucy’s advantage no more than was desirable. Mr. Rushton, however, presented the air of a man perturbed and angry when Sir Thomas entered his office. A letter was lying on the table before him, the sight of which, it must be allowed, somewhat discomposed even Sir Tom. Was it Lucy’s handwriting? Had she taken it upon her to be the first to communicate to her legal guardian the change in her fortunes which had happened? If this had been the case, no doubt Sir Tom would have adapted himself to it, and concluded by finding it quite natural and becoming that a girl in so exceptional a position should take this upon herself. But in the meantime he felt just a little annoyed and disconcerted too.
“I see you are busy,” Sir Thomas said.
“No—not so much busy— I am always busy at this hour, and shall be, I hope, as long as my strength lasts; but not more than usual. The truth is,” said Mr. Rushton, with a suppressed snarl, “I’m provoked—and not much wonder if you knew all.”
Sir Thomas looked at the open letter in spite of himself. “May I ask if I have anything to do with your annoyance?” he said.
“You!” the lawyer opened his eyes wide, then laughed angrily. “No, I don’t suppose it can be you. She is not quite so silly as that.”
“Silly!” echoed Sir Thomas; “perhaps it will be better to tell you at once without any circumlocution what my errand is. I have come to tell you, Rushton, a piece of news which may surprise you—that I have made an offer to Miss Trevor, and that she has accepted me.”
Mr. Rushton said not a word; he was altogether taken aback. He stood with his mouth open, and his eyebrows forming large semicircles over his eyes, and stared at Sir Thomas without a word.
“This naturally,” said the hero of the occasion, with a laugh, “makes it—not quite safe—to criticise Miss Trevor to me.”
“Accepted—you!” He could scarcely get his breath, so bewildered was he. “Do you mean to say that you—want to marry Lucy Trevor!” Mr. Rushton said.
“Yes, in common with various other people,” said Sir Thomas, “some of whom you may have heard of; but the specialty in my case, is that she has accepted me. I thought it my duty to come to you at once as Miss Trevor’s guardian. I hope you do not object to me—you have known me long enough—as a suitor for her. I am rather old for her, perhaps, but otherwise I think—”
“Accepted you!” the lawyer repeated; and then he gave utterance to a hard laugh. “She is young, but she is a cool one,” he said. “Accepts you one minute, and writes to me to make a provision for an old lover, I suppose. Probably some one she has cast off for your sake—the minx! She is a cool one,” Mr. Rushton said.
“You forgot—what I have this minute told you, Rushton.”
“No, pardon me, I don’t forget,” said Lucy’s guardian. “She is only a girl as you may say, but it seems to me she is fooling us all. Look at that—read that,” he said, tossing the open letter at Sir Thomas, who, for his part, took it—how could he help it? with a little tremble of apprehension. This is what he read:
“DEAR MR. RUSHTON,— I think I have found some one else that is all that is required by papa’s will. This time it is a gentleman, and as he is not married, and has no children, it will not require so much. He is very clever, and has a good profession; but his health is not good, and he wants rest. This is just what papa would have wished, don’t you think so? Two or three thousand pounds would do, I think—and I will tell you everything about it and explain all, if you will come to me, or if I can go and see you. I have written to Mr. Chervil too.
“Sincerely yours,
LUCY TREVOR.”
“Did you ever hear anything like it?” said the lawyer, exasperated. “If there is still time, you will thank me for letting you know, Sir Thomas. Who can tell who this person is? and the moment you appear, no doubt much better worth the trouble—”
“Must I again remind you of what I said?” Sir Thomas repeated. “This has reference, so far as I can see, to a condition of the father’s will, which Miss Trevor has very much in her mind.”
“She has told you of it? There never was so mad a proviso. They have ‘a bee in their bonnet,’ as the Scotch say. And I’ve got to stand by and see a fine fortune scattered to the winds! That girl will drive me mad. I lose my head altogether when I think of her. The old man was always an eccentric, and he couldn’t take the money with him. You know a man doesn’t feel it, what he does by his will; but that any living creature, in their senses, should throw away good money! I believe that girl will drive me mad.”
“A la bonne heure,” said Sir Thomas, “you have nothing to do but transfer your charge to me.”
“Ah! you’ll put a stop to it? I see. A husband can do a great many things; that is what I thought, that was my idea when— There are a great many things to be taken into consideration, Sir Thomas,” Mr. Rushton said, recovering his self-possession. “Your proposal is one to be treated respectfully, but nevertheless in my ward’s interest—”
“I think those interests have been considerably risked already,” said Sir Thomas, gravely. “I do not think they are safe here; she is with people who do not know how to take care of her.”
“According to the will, Sir Thomas—”
“But it is not according to the will that she should have no guardianship at all, but be approached by every youth that happens to cross her path.”
Mr. Rushton winced; if his wife schemed, was it his fault? “Ah! I had heard something of that,” he said. “Some young fellow who followed her from town; it must be put a stop to.”
“It is put a stop to,” said Sir Thomas, “Miss Trevor has, as I tell you, accepted me.”
“That is the most effectual way, certainly, isn’t it?” Mr. Rushton said, discomfited. He rubbed his hands ruefully, and shifted from one foot to another. “It is a very serious question. I must go into it fully before I can pretend to say anything; you have a fine property, but it is heavily burdened, and a good position, an excellent position; but with her fortune my ward has a right to look very high indeed, Sir Thomas,” the lawyer said.
“You will not promise me your support?” said Sir Thomas. “I have a hard task before me, I understand, and the consent of a great many people to secure. And how about Miss Trevor’s letter?” he said, with a twinkle in his eye; “she will ask me what you said.”
Mr. Rushton grew crimson once more. “It is out of the question,” he cried; “the girl is mad, and she will drive me mad. Two or three thousands! only two or three thousand pounds! the other day she made away with six thousand— I declare before heaven she will bring down my gray hairs—no, that’s not what I mean to say. But you can’t treat money in this way, Sir Thomas, you can’t do it; it will make me ill, it will give me a fever, or something. The girl does not know what she is doing. Money! the one thing in the world that you can’t treat in this way.”
“But the will permits it?” said Sir Thomas, with a fictitious look of sympathy.
“Oh, the will, the will is mad too. I dare not take it into a court of law. It would not stand, it could not stand for a moment. And what would be the issue?” cried Mr. Rushton, almost weeping, “the money would be divided. The old man would be declared intestate, and the child, Jock, as they call him, would take his share. She would deserve it—upon my honor, she would deserve it—but it would cut the property to pieces all the same, and that would be worse than anything. It will drive me out of my senses; I can’t bear this anxiety much longer,” Mr. Rushton said.
Sir Thomas shook his head. “I don’t see how it is to be mended. She has set her heart on carrying out the will, and unless you can show that she has no right—”
“Right, there is no right in it!” Mr. Rushton cried. “She will find out she has me to deal with. I am not a fool like Chervil. I will not give in at the first word; I will make my stand. I will put down my foot.”
“But, my good fellow,” said Sir Thomas sympathetically, “first word or last word, what can it matter? What can you do against her? The will gives it, and the law allows it—you are helpless—you must give in to her at the last.”
“I won’t!” he said, “or else I’ll throw up the whole concern, it has been nothing but botheration and annoyance. And now my wife at me—and Ray. I’ll wash my hands of the whole matter. I’ll not have my life made a burden to me, not for old Trevor, nor for Lucy, nor for any will in the world.”
“Give her to me, and you will be free,” said Sir Thomas, looking at his excited opponent steadily, to conceal the laughter in his own eyes.
He came out of Mr. Rushton’s office an hour after, triumphant, and came along the market-place, and down the High Street, with a smile upon his face. Sir Tom felt that the ball was at his foot. An air of success and prosperity was about him, which vaguely impressed all the passers-by, and even penetrated through the shows in the shop-windows, and made everybody aware that something fortunate had happened. What had come to him? A fortune had been left him—he had been appointed Embassador somewhere, he had been made an Under-Secretary of State. All these suggestions were abroad in Farafield before night; for at this time it was quite early, and the people about were at comparative leisure, and free to remark on what they saw. Something had happened to Sir Tom, and it was something good. The town in general disapproved of many of his ways, but yet liked Sir Tom. It pleased the public to see him streaming along like a procession, with all his colors flying. He went on till he came to the Terrace, pervading the streets like a new gleam of sunshine; but then he stopped short, just as he was about to enter the gate-way. Lucy herself was at the window, looking for him. He paused as he was about to go in, then waved his hand to her, and turned the other way. Lucy followed him with her eyes, with astonishment, and disappointment, and consternation. Where could he be going across the common, away from her, though he saw her waiting for him? Sir Tom looked back once more, and waved his hand again when he was half way along the uneven road. He was bound for the White House. He recollected the letter of the will, which Lucy had vowed to keep, though Lucy herself had forgotten the marriage committee, and Mr. Rushton had this very morning openly scoffed at it. But Sir Thomas was confident in the successfulness of his success. Already of the six votes he had secured three. One more, and all was safe.
Mrs. Stone was in her parlor, like the queen in the ballad, and, like that royal lady, was engaged upon a light refection. She had been worried, and she had been crossed, and teaching is hungry work. The two sisters were strengthening themselves with cake and wine for their work, when Sir Thomas Randolph was suddenly shown into the Queen Anne parlor, taking them by surprise. Sir Tom was not a man to alarm any woman with the mildest claim to personal attractiveness, and he admired the handsome school-mistress, and was not without an eye to see that even the little Southernwood, with her little old-fashioned curls upon her cheek, had a pretty little figure still, and a complexion which a girl need not have despised. How Sir Tom made it apparent that he saw these personal advantages, it would be hard to say—yet he managed to do so; and in five minutes had made himself as comfortable as the circumstances permitted in one of the lofty Chippendale chairs, and was talking of most things in heaven and earth in his easy way. The ladies saw, as the people in the streets had seen, that some good fortune had happened to Sir Tom. But he was very wary in his advances, and it was not till a little stir in the passages gave him warning that the girls were flocking in again to their class-rooms, and the moment of leisure nearly over, that he ventured on the real object of his visit. It was more difficult than he had thought; he had his back to the window, and the room was not very light, which was a protection to him; but still he had to clear his throat more than once before he began.
“I have a selfish object in this early visit,” he said; “you will never divine it. I have come to throw myself on your charity. You have it in your power to make me or to mar me. I want you to give me your consent.”
“To what?” Mrs. Stone said, surprised. Was it for a general holiday? was it an indulgence for Lily Barrington, for whom he professed a partiality? What was it? perhaps a protégée of doubtful pedigree, whom he wished to put under her care.
Sir Thomas got up, keeping his back to the window. It was not half so easy as dealing with Mr. Rushton. “It is something about your little pupil, Lucy Trevor.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Stone got up too. “I want to hear nothing more of Lucy Trevor. I wash my hands of her,” she said.
“Ah?” said Miss Southernwood, coming a step closer. She divined immediately, though she was not half so clever as her sister, what it was.
“I am sorry she has displeased you,” said Sir Tom. “I want you to let me marry her, Mrs. Stone.”
“Marry her!” Mrs. Stone said, almost with a shriek; and then she drew herself up to a great deal more than her full height, as she knew, very well how to do. “I have taken an interest in her, and she has disappointed me,” she said; “and as to consenting or not consenting, all that is nonsense nowadays. It might have answered last century, but now it is obsolete.” Then she made him a stately courtesy. “I could have nothing to oppose to Sir Thomas Randolph, even, if I meant to oppose at all,” she said.
Miss Southernwood came up to him as the door closed on her sister.
“Was this what she meant all the time?” asked the milder woman. “It was you she was thinking of all the time? Well, I do not blame her, and I hope you may be very happy. But, Sir Thomas, tell Lucy that I rely upon her to do nothing more in the matter we were talking of. It could not be done, it would not be possible to have it done; but, surely, surely, you could make it up between you to poor Frank. There are so many appointments that would suit him, if he had good friends that would take a little trouble. I do think, Sir Thomas, that it might be made up to Frank.”
Miss Southernwood, after all, was the best partisan and most staunch supporter; but it was strange that she, who had not originated, nay, who had disapproved of her sister’s scheme in respect to Frank St. Clair, should be the one to insist upon a compensation to that discomfited hero.
Lucy was still standing at the window when Sir Tom came back. He made signs of great despondency when he came in sight and alarmed her.
“She will not give me her consent, though I made sure of it,” he said. “Lucy, what shall we do if we can not get Mrs. Stone’s consent?”
“Her consent?” said Lucy, with momentary surprise. Then she made her first rebellion against all she had hitherto considered most sacred. “I think we might do without it,” she said.