Ralph the Heir Part 58

"There is one for you, young man," said Captain f.o.o.ks. Whereupon the Squire laughed heartily. Mr. Horsball went on nodding his head, intending to signify his opinion that he had done his work thoroughly; Mr. Pepper, standing on one foot with the other raised on a horse-block, looked on without moving a muscle of his face. The lieutenant was disgusted, but was too weak in his inner man to be capable of instant raillery;--when, on a sudden, the whole aspect of things was changed by the appearance of Mr. Neefit in the yard.

"D----tion!" exclaimed our friend Ralph. The apparition had been so sudden that the Squire was unable to restrain himself. Mr. Neefit, as the reader will perhaps remember, had been at the Moonbeam before. He had written letters which had been answered, and then letters,--many letters,--to which no reply had been given. In respect of the Neefit arrangements Ralph Newton felt himself to be peculiarly ill-used by persecutions such as these, because he had honestly done his best to make Polly his wife. No doubt he acknowledged that fortune had favoured him almost miraculously, in first saving him from so injurious a marriage by the action of the young lady, and then at once bestowing upon him his estate. But the escape was the doing of fortune and Polly Neefit combined, and had not come of any intrigue on his own part. He was in a position,--so he thought,--absolutely to repudiate Neefit, and to throw himself upon facts for his protection;--but then it was undoubtedly the case that for a year or two Mr. Neefit could make his life a burden to him. He would have bought off Neefit at a considerable price, had Neefit been purchaseable. But Neefit was not in this matter greedy for himself.

He wanted to make his daughter a lady, and he thought that this was the readiest way to accomplish that object. The Squire, in his unmeasurable disgust, uttered the curse aloud; but then, remembering himself, walked up to the breeches-maker with his extended hand. He had borrowed the man's money. "What's in the wind now, Mr. Neefit?"

he said.

"What's in the wind, Captain? Oh, you know. When are you coming to see us at the cottage?"

"I don't think my coming would do any good. I'm not in favour with the ladies there." Ralph was aware that all the men standing round him had heard the story, and that nothing was to be gained by an immediate attempt at concealment. It behoved him, above all things, to be upon his metal, to put a good face upon it, and to be at any rate equal to the breeches-maker in presence of mind and that kind of courage which he himself would have called "cheek."

"My money was in favour with you, Captain, when you promised as how you would be on the square with me in regard to our Polly."

"Mr. Neefit," said Ralph, speaking in a low voice, but still clearly, so that all around him could hear him, "your daughter and I can never be more to each other than we are at present. She has decided that.

But I value her character and good name too highly to allow even you to injure them by such a discussion in a stableyard." And, having said this, he walked away into the house.

"My Polly's character!" said the infuriated breeches-maker, turning round to the audience, and neglecting to follow his victim in his determination to vindicate his daughter. "If my girl's character don't stand higher nor his or any one's belonging to him I'll eat it!"

"Mr. Newton meant to speak in favour of the young lady, not against her," said Mr. Pepper.

"Then why don't he come out on the square? Now, gents, I'll tell you just the whole of it. He came down to my little box, where I, and my missus, and my girl lives quiet and decent, to borrow money;--and he borrowed it. He won't say as that wasn't so."

"And he's paid you the money back again," said Mr. Pepper.

"He have;--but just you listen. I know you, Mr. Pepper, and all about you; and do you listen. He have paid it back. But when he come there borrowing money, he saw my girl; and, says he,--'I've got to sell that 'eritance of mine for just what it 'll fetch.' 'That's bad, Captain,' says I. 'It is bad,' says he. Then says he again, 'Neefit, that girl of yours there is the sweetest girl as ever I put my eyes on.' And so she is,--as sweet as a rose, and as honest as the sun, and as good as gold. I says it as oughtn't; but she is. 'It's a pity, Neefit,' says he,' about the 'eritance; ain't it?' 'Captain,' says I,--I used to call him Captain 'cause he come down quite familiar like to eat his bit of salmon and drink his gla.s.s of wine. Laws,--he was glad enough to come then, mighty grand as he is now."

"I don't think he's grand at all," said Mr. Horsball.

"Well;--do you just listen, gents. 'Captain,' says I, 'that 'eritance of yourn mustn't be sold no how. I says so. What's the figure as is wanted?' Well; then he went on to say as how Polly was the sweetest girl he ever see;--and so we came to an understanding. He was to have what money he wanted at once, and then 20,000 down when he married Polly. He did have a thousand. And, now,--see what his little game is."

"But the young lady wouldn't have anything to say to him," suggested Captain f.o.o.ks, who, even for the sake of his breakfast, could not omit to hear the last of so interesting a conversation.

"Laws, Captain f.o.o.ks, to hear the likes of that from you, who is an officer and a gentleman by Act of Parliament! When you have anything sweet to say to a young woman, does she always jump down your throat the first go off?"

"If she don't come at the second time of asking I always go elsewhere," said Captain f.o.o.ks.

"Then it's my opinion you have a deal of travelling to do," said Mr.

Neefit, "and don't get much at the end of it. It's because he's come in for his 'eritance, which he never would have had only for me, that he's demeaning himself this fashion. It ain't acting the gentleman; it ain't the thing; it's off the square. Only for me and my money there wouldn't be an acre his this blessed minute;--d----d if there would! I saved it for him, by my ready money,--just that I might see my Polly put into a station as she'd make more genteel than she found it. That's what she would;--she has that manners, not to talk of her being as pretty a girl as there is from here to,--to anywheres. He made me a promise, and he shall keep it. I'll worry the heart out of him else. Pay me back my money! Who cares for the money? I can tell guineas with him now, I'll be bound. I'll put it all in the papers,--I will. There ain't a soul shan't know it. I'll put the story of it into the pockets of every pair of breeches as leaves my shop. I'll send it to every M. F. H. in the kingdom."

"You'll about destroy your trade, old fellow," said Mr. Pepper.

"I don't care for the trade, Mr. Pepper. Why have I worked like a 'orse? It's only for my girl."

"I suppose she's not breaking her heart for him?" said Captain f.o.o.ks.

"What she's a doing with her heart ain't no business of yours, Captain f.o.o.ks. I'm her father, and I know what I'm about. I'll make that young man's life a burden to him, if 'e ain't on the square with my girl. You see if I don't. Mr. 'Orsball, I want a 'orse to go a 'unting on to-day. You lets 'em. Just tell your man to get me a 'orse. I'll pay for him."

"I didn't know you ever did anything in that way," said Mr. Horsball.

"I may begin if I please, I suppose. If I can't go no other way, I'll go on a donkey, and I'll tell every one that's out. Oh, 'e don't know me yet,--don't that young gent."

Mr. Neefit did not succeed in getting any animal out of Mr.

Horsball's stables, nor did he make further attempt to carry his last threat into execution on that morning. Mr. Horsball now led the way into the house, while Mr. Pepper mounted his nag. Captain f.o.o.ks and Lieutenant c.o.x went in to their breakfast, and the unfortunate father followed them. It was now nearly eleven o'clock, and it was found that Ralph's horses had been taken round to the other door, and that he had already started. He said very little to any one during the day, though he was somewhat comforted by information conveyed to him by Mr. Horsball in the course of the afternoon that Mr. Neefit had returned to London. "You send your lawyer to him, Squire," said Mr.

Horsball. "Lawyers cost a deal of money, but they do make things straight." This suggestion had also been made to him by his brother Gregory.

On the following day Ralph went up to London, and explained all the circ.u.mstances of the case to Mr. Carey. Mr. Carey undertook to do his best to straighten this very crooked episode in his client's life.

CHAPTER XLVII.

THE WAY WHICH SHOWS THAT THEY MEAN IT.

If this kind of thing were to go on, life wouldn't be worth having.

That was the feeling of Ralph, the squire of Newton, as he returned on that Sat.u.r.day from London to the Moonbeam; and so far Mr. Neefit had been successful in carrying out his threat. Neefit had sworn that he would make the young man's life a burden to him, and the burden was already becoming unbearable. Mr. Carey had promised to do something. He would, at any rate, see the infatuated breeches-maker of Conduit Street. In the meantime he had suggested one remedy of which Ralph had thought before,--"If you were married to some one else he'd give it up," Mr. Carey had suggested. That no doubt was true.

Ralph completed his sojourn at the Moonbeam, leaving that place at the end of the first week in April, took a run down to his own place, and then settled himself up to London for the season. His brother Gregory had at this time returned to the parsonage at Newton; but there was an understanding that he was to come up to London and be his brother's guest for the first fortnight in May. Ralph the heir had taken larger rooms, and had a spare chamber. When Ralph had given this invitation, he had expressed his determination of devoting his spring in town to an a.s.siduous courtship of Mary Bonner. At the moment in which he made that a.s.sertion down at Newton, the nuisance of the Neefit affair was less intolerable to him than it had since become. He had spoken cheerily of his future prospects, declaring himself to be violently in love with Mary, though he declared at the same time that he had no idea of breaking his heart for any young woman. That last a.s.sertion was probably true.

As for living in the great house at the Priory all alone, that he had declared to be impossible. Of course he would be at home for the hunting next winter; but he doubted whether he should be there much before that time, unless a certain coming event should make it necessary for him to go down and look after things. He thought it probable that he should take a run abroad in July; perhaps go to Norway for the fishing in June. He was already making arrangements with two other men for a move in August. He might be at home for partridge shooting about the middle of September, but he shouldn't "go into residence" at Newton before that. Thus he had spoken of it in describing his plans to his brother, putting great stress on his intention to devote the spring months to the lovely Mary. Gregory had seen nothing wrong in all this. Ralph was now a rich man, and was ent.i.tled to amuse himself. Gregory would have wished that his brother would at once make himself happy among his own tenants and dependents, but that, no doubt, would come soon. Ralph did spend two nights at Newton after the scene with Neefit in the Moonbeam yard,--just that he might see his nags safe in their new quarters,--and then went up to London. He was hardly yet strong in heart, because such a trouble as that which vexed him in regard to Polly does almost make a man's life a burden. Ralph was gifted with much apt.i.tude for throwing his troubles behind, but he hardly was yet able to rid himself of this special trouble. That horrid tradesman was telling his story to everybody. Sir Thomas Underwood knew the story; and so, he thought, did Mary Bonner. Mary Bonner, in truth, did not know it; but she had thrown in Ralph's teeth, as an accusation against him, that he owed himself and his affections to another girl; and Ralph, utterly forgetful of Clarissa and that now long-distant scene on the lawn, had believed, and still did believe, that Mary had referred to Polly Neefit. On the 10th of April he established himself at his new rooms in Spring Gardens, and was careful in seeing that there was a comfortable little bed-room for his brother Greg. His uncle had now been dead just six months, but he felt as though he had been the owner of the Newton estate for years.

If Mr. Carey could only settle for him that trouble with Mr. Neefit, how happy his life would be to him. He was very much in love with Mary Bonner, but his trouble with Mr. Neefit was of almost more importance to him than his love for Mary Bonner.

In the meantime the girls were living, as usual, at Popham Villa, and Sir Thomas was living, as usual, in Southampton Buildings. He and his colleague had been unseated, but it had already been decided by the House of Commons that no new writ should be at once issued, and that there should be a commission appointed to make extended inquiry at Percycross in reference to the contemplated disfranchis.e.m.e.nt of the borough. There could be no possible connexion between this inquiry and the expediency of Sir Thomas living at home; but, after some fashion, he reconciled further delay to his conscience by the fact that the Percycross election was not even yet quite settled. No doubt it would be necessary that he should again go to Percycross during the sitting of the Commission.

The reader will remember the interview between Gregory Newton and Clarissa, in which poor Clary had declared with so much emphasis her certainty that his brother's suit to Mary must be fruitless. This she had said, with artless energy, in no degree on her own behalf. She was hopeless now in that direction, and had at last taught herself to feel that the man was unworthy. The lesson had reached her, though she herself was ignorant not only of the manner of the teaching, but of the very fact that she had been taught. She had pleaded, more than once, that men did such things, and were yet held in favour and forgiven, let their iniquities have been what they might. She had hoped to move others by the doctrine; but gradually it had ceased to be operative, even on herself. She could not tell how it was that her pa.s.sion faded and died away. It can hardly be said that it died away; but it became to herself grievous and a cause of soreness, instead of a joy and a triumph. She no longer said, even to herself, that he was to be excused. He had come there, and had made a mere plaything of her,--wilfully. There was no earnestness in him, no manliness, and hardly common honesty. A conviction that it was so had crept into her poor wounded heart, in spite of those repeated a.s.sertions which she had made to Patience as to the persistency of her own affection.

First dismay and then wrath had come upon her when the man who ought to be her lover came to the very house in which she was living, and there offered his hand to another girl, almost in her very presence.

Had the sin been committed elsewhere, and with any rival other than her own cousin, she might have still clung to that doctrine of forgiveness, because the sinner was a man, and because it is the way of the world to forgive men. But the insult had been too close for pardon; and now her wrath was slowly changing itself to contempt. Had Mary accepted the man's offer this phase of feeling would not have occurred. Clarissa would have hated the woman, but still might have loved the man. But Mary had treated him as a creature absolutely beneath her notice, had evidently despised him, and Mary's scorn communicated itself to Clarissa. The fact that Ralph was now Newton of Newton, absolutely in harbour after so many dangers of shipwreck, a.s.sisted her in this. "I would have been true to him, though he hadn't had a penny," she said to herself: "I would never have given him up though all the world had been against him."

Debts, difficulties, an inheritance squandered, idle habits, even profligacy, should not have torn him from her heart, had he possessed the one virtue of meaning what he said when he told her that he loved her. She remembered the n.o.ble triumph she had felt when she declared to Mary that that other Ralph, who was to have been Mary's lover, was welcome to the fine property. Her sole ambition had been to be loved by this man; but the man had been incapable of loving her.

She herself was pretty, and soft, bright on occasions, and graceful.

She knew so much of herself; and she knew, also, that Mary was far prettier than herself, and more clever. This young man to whom she had devoted herself possessed no power of love for an individual,--no capability of so joining himself to another human being as to feel, that in spite of any superiority visible to the outside world, that one should be esteemed by him superior to all others,--because of his love. The young man had liked prettiness and softness and grace and feminine nicenesses; and seeing one who was prettier and more graceful,--all which poor Clary allowed, though she was not so sure about the softness and niceness,--had changed his aim without an effort! Ah, how different was poor Gregory!

She thought much of Gregory, reminding herself that as was her sorrow in regard to her own crushed hopes, so were his. His hopes, too, had been crushed, because she had been so obdurate to him. But she had never been false. She had never whispered a word of love to Gregory.

It might be that his heart was as sore, but he had not been injured as she had been injured. She despised the owner of Newton Priory. She would scorn him should he come again to her and throw himself at her feet. But Gregory could not despise her. She had, indeed, preferred the bad to the good. There had been lack of judgment. But there had been on her side no lack of truth. Yes;--she had been wrong in her choice. Her judgment had been bad. And yet how glorious he had looked as he lay upon the lawn, hot from his rowing, all unbraced, brown and bold and joyous as a young G.o.d, as he bade her go and fetch him drink to slake his thirst! How proud, then, she had been to be ordered by him, as though their mutual intimacies and confidences and loves were sufficient, when they too were alone together, to justify a reversal of those social rules by which the man is ordered to wait upon the woman. There is nothing in the first flush of acknowledged love that is sweeter to the woman than this. All the men around her are her servants; but in regard to this man she may have the inexpressibly greater pleasure of serving him herself. Clarissa had now thought much of these things, and had endeavoured to define to herself what had been those gifts belonging to Ralph which had won from her her heart. He was not, in truth, handsomer than his brother Gregory, was certainly less clever, was selfish in small things from habit, whereas Gregory had no thought for his own comfort. It had all come from this,--that a black coat and a grave manner of life and serious pursuits had been less alluring to her than idleness and pleasure. It had suited her that her young G.o.d should be joyous, unbraced, brown, bold, and thirsty. She did not know Pope's famous line, but it all lay in that. She was innocent, pure, unknowing in the ways of vice, simple in her tastes, conscientious in her duties, and yet she was a rake at heart,--till at last sorrow and disappointment taught her that it is not enough that a man should lie loose upon the gra.s.s with graceful negligence and call for soda-water with a pleasant voice.

Gregory wore black clothes, was sombre, and was a parson;--but, oh, what a thing it is that a man should be true at heart!

She said nothing of her changing feelings to Mary, or even to Patience. The household at this time was not very gay or joyous.

Sir Thomas, after infinite vexation, had lost the seat of which they had all been proud. Mary Bonner's condition was not felt to be deplorable, as was that of poor Clary, and she certainly did not carry herself as a lovelorn maiden. Of Mary Bonner it may be said that no disappointment of that kind would affect her outward manner; nor would she in any strait of love be willing to make a confidence or to discuss her feelings. Whatever care of that kind might be present to her would be lightened, if not made altogether as nothing, by her conviction that such loads should be carried in silence, and without any visible sign to the world that the muscles are overtaxed.

But it was known that the banished Ralph had, in the moment of his expected prosperity, declared his purpose of giving all that he had to give to this beauty, and it was believed that she would have accepted the gift. It had, therefore, come to pa.s.s that the name of neither Ralph could be mentioned at the cottage, and that life among these maidens was sober, sedate, and melancholy. At last there came a note from Sir Thomas to Patience. "I shall be home to dinner to-morrow. I found the enclosed from R. N. this morning. I suppose he must come. Affectionately, T. U." The enclosed note was as follows:--"Dear Sir Thomas, I called this morning, but old Stemm was as hard as granite. If you do not object I will run down to the villa to-morrow. If you are at home I will stay and dine. Yours ever, Ralph Newton."

The mind of Sir Thomas when he received this had been affected exactly as his words described. He had supposed that Ralph must come.

He had learned to hold his late ward in low esteem. The man was now beyond all likelihood of want, and sailing with propitious winds; but Sir Thomas, had he been able to consult his own inclinations, would have had no more to do with him. And yet the young Squire had not done anything which, as Sir Thomas thought, would justify him in closing his doors against one to whom he had been bound in a manner peculiarly intimate. However, if his niece should choose at last to accept Ralph, the match would be very brilliant; and the uncle thought that it was not his duty to interfere between her and so great an advantage. Sir Thomas, in truth, did not as yet understand Mary Bonner,--knew very little of her character; but he did know that it was inc.u.mbent on him to give her some opportunity of taking her beauty to market. He wrote a line to Ralph, saying that he himself would dine at home on the day indicated.

"Impossible!" said Clary, when she was first told.

"You may be sure he's coming," said Patience.

"Then I shall go and spend the day with Mrs. Brownlow. I cannot stand it."

"My dear, he'll know why you are away."