Chetwynd Calverley

VI. MRS. CALVERLEY RENDERS CHETWYND AN IMPORTANT SERVICE

Next morning while the party were assembled at breakfast, Captain Danvers announced his intention of terminating his visit, which he declared had been most agreeable; and, though pressed to stay by Mrs. Calverley, he declined.

“I have promised to spend a few days with Lady Barfleur before my return to town,” he said, “and must not disappoint her. I have written to tell her she may expect me at dinner to-day.”

“Then you really mean to leave us?” said Mrs. Calverley. “This is a very short visit. I hoped you would spend at least a week here. But you won’t be far off, and can come back again if you are so inclined. I shall be very glad to see you.”

Mildred did not say a word. If she had spoken, he would have assented.

“You are very good,” he rejoined; “but it is possible I may be summoned to town.”

“It is quite certain you will find Brackley very dull after this lively house, Charles,” said Emmeline. “Take my advice and stay where you are.”

“A little solitude will suit my present mood,” he rejoined. “If I feel very, very lonely, I’ll ride over here.”

“Well, we offer you our society,” said Mrs. Calverley.

“All of you?” asked the captain, glancing at Mildred, who was on the opposite side of the table.

But she did not look at him.

“If you are positively going, I’ll ride over to Brackley with you this afternoon,” observed Chet-wynd.

“And stay to dinner,” said the captain. “My aunt will be very glad of your company.”

“That she will, I’m sure,” observed Emmeline. “Suppose we all go? What say you?” she added to Mildred.

The young lady appealed to shook her head.

“The drive will do you good,” said Emmeline. “Be persuaded.”

“No, thank you; not to-day,” replied Mildred.

Captain Danvers looked at her imploringly; but she remained steadfast.

“Well, since you are so perverse, you deserve to be left behind,” said Emmeline. “You shall drive me in your pony-carriage, dear Mrs. Calverley.”

“With greatest pleasure,” replied the lady. “But I can’t promise you an adventure – ”

Then feeling that the remark might awaken painful recollections, she stopped short.

During the latter part of this discourse, Norris had entered the room, and, approaching Chetwynd, told him, in a whisper, that two persons wanted to see him on important business.

“Who are they?” inquired Chetwynd, thinking there was something strange in the butler’s manner.

“They didn’t give their names, sir,” replied Norris; “and I’ve never seen them before. I’ve shown them into the library.”

“Quite right. I’ll come to them after breakfast.”

“Better see them at once, I think, sir,” observed Norris, significantly.

On this Chetwynd got up, without disturbing the party, and following the butler out of the room, repaired to the library, where he found the two personages.

Looks, dress, and deportment proclaimed their vocation. Coarse, stout, red-faced, vulgar-looking dogs, they seemed up to their business. Each was provided with a stout stick.

Having seen such fellows before, Chetwynd instantly understood what they were. But they would not have left him long in doubt.

As he entered the room, one of the twain stepped up to him, and said, with an attempt at a bow.

“Mr. Chetwynd Calverley, I presume?”

Chetwynd replied in the affirmative.

“My name’s Grimsditch,” said the fellow, “and my mate’s name is Hulse. We are officers. We have a writ against you for seven hundred pounds.”

“But I owe no such sum,” replied Chetwynd.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Grimsditch. “But we have the particulars. You gave a bill for six hundred pounds to Philip Marsh Romney, Esq. With costs and interest it now amounts to a hundred more.”

“You’ll find it quite correct, sir,” added Hulse. “I dare say you’ll recollect all about it.”

“I recollect something about a gambling debt to Mr. Romney for six hundred pounds; but I was told I ought not to pay it, and I won’t.”

“Sorry to hear you say so, sir,” replied Grimsditch. “We hoped the matter would be quietly settled. But if it can’t be, you must come along with us.”

Chetwynd looked very angry for a moment, and seemed inclined to kick them both out of the room.

“We can’t help it, sir,” said Grimsditch. “We must do our duty.”

“However unpleasant it may be to us,” added Hulse.

“Make no excuses – I don’t want them,” said Chetwynd. “I’ll be back directly.”

“Can’t part with you, sir!” said Grimsditch, planting himself before the door, so as to prevent egress. “Against rule. Hulse will ring the bell if you wish it.”

“Do so, then,” said Chetwynd.

The bell was rung, and the summons immediately answered by Norris, who must have been close at hand.

Chetwynd then sat down at a table on which writing materials were placed, and traced a few hurried lines on a sheet of paper, which he enclosed in an envelope.

“Take this note to Mrs. Calverley,” he said to Norris.

“Instantly, sir,” replied the butler, glancing indignantly at the officers.

While Norris went on his errand, Chetwynd remained seated at the table with his back towards the officers.

In a few minutes the door opened, and Captain Danvers came in with a note in his hand.

“Out of my way, men!” he said, as he marched past them.

“Mrs. Calverley has sent you a cheque on the Chester Bank for the amount you require – seven hundred pounds,” he added to Chetwynd. “Pay these fellows, and get rid of them!”

“Here’s the bill, with charges and all particulars,” said Grimsditch, following him to the table.

“And there’s the cheque,” said Chetwynd, giving it to him after he had endorsed it.

“All right, sir,” replied Grimsditch. “On Chester, I see; my own bank can’t be better. Always glad to have one of them cheques in my pocket-book. And now, sir,” he added, “if you’ll allow me to sit down, I’ll give you a receipt.”

This business completed, Grimsditch got up, bowed, and was retiring with his companion, when Chetwynd called out to them.

“Stay a minute!” he said, in a stern tone. “I wish you to understand that I consider this as a most nefarious transaction. I have been robbed!”

“Sir!” exclaimed both officers.

“Not by you, but by your employer. Philip Marsh Romney is a consummate scoundrel! Tell him so!”

“We won’t do you such a bad turn, sir,” rejoined Grimsditch. “Mr. Romney might bring an action for libel.”

“No, he won’t,” said Chetwynd. “He knows better. He may have done with me, but I have not done with him. Tell him that, at all events.”

“We will,” replied the officers, as they disappeared.

“I’m glad you’ve got rid of those rascals, Chetwynd,” said Captain Danvers. “Upon my soul! I think Mrs. Calverley has behaved remarkably well. On receiving your note, she got up to write the cheque at once, and begged me to take it to you. She wouldn’t bring it herself, you see, as her presence might have annoyed you.”

“Yes, it was very well done, I admit; and I am greatly obliged to her.”

“But you don’t seem half grateful enough,” said Danvers.

“Oh, yes, I am grateful – very grateful!” replied Chetwynd.

Shortly afterwards he went to Mrs. Calverley, and said:

“You have rendered me a great service; but I don’t know when I shall be able to repay you.”

“Repay me whenever it may be convenient,” she replied; “or not at all. Just give me a memorandum that I have advanced you seven hundred pounds; that is all I require.”

VII. HOW CHETWYND AND EMMELINE PLIGHTED THEIR FAITH IN THE OLD CHAPEL

|No persuasion on Emmeline’s part would induce Mildred to go to Brackley that day, nor would she bid Captain Danvers adieu

The other arrangement was carried out; the captain’s valise being sent on by his groom, who, at the same time, took a note from Emmeline to Lady Barfleur, to let her know whom she might expect.

About three o’clock the party set off; the two ladies in the pony-carriage, the gentlemen on horseback. The day was fine, but sultry; and as they crossed the heath, a peal of thunder was heard in the distance, but it came to nothing. Mrs. Calverley certainly did not seem to regret Mildred’s absence. She was unusually lively, and appeared quite to have forgiven the captain’s inconstancy, and to be willing to take him into favour again. So he renewed his assiduities.

Chetwynd looked preoccupied. He rode by the side of the pony-carriage, but did not converse much with Emmeline, who was struck by his sombre expression of countenance. It was the same at Brackley. They walked together in the garden, but he spoke little, and did not breathe a word of love. Had he something on his mind?

In the courtyard of the old Hall, as already stated, there was an ancient chapel, in excellent preservation. Originally, it was devoted to the rites of the Church of Rome, as it must needs have been, since it was built nearly a hundred years before the Reformation.

Chetwynd had often admired the exterior of the old fabric, but had never been inside it, and Emmeline offered to show it to him as they passed through the court.

The door being unfastened, they went in. The windows were filled with stained glass of the richest hues, and there was a large sculptured monument, that instantly caught the eye, to Sir Simon Barfleur and Dame Beatrix, his wife, who flourished in the time of Henry the Seventh.

Other monuments there were that somewhat encroached on the space of the little structure, but none of the family had been interred in the vault beneath for more than a century.

The chapel was provided with a large pew for the family and guests, and seats for the household. A venerable divine, the Reverend Mr. Massey, officiated as chaplain, and had done so for sixty years.

After advancing a few steps, Chetwynd paused, and looked round. Every object was coloured by the painted glass, now illuminated by the rays of the declining sun.

After admiring this glowing picture for a few moments, he joined Emmeline, who was standing near the precincts of the altar.

His countenance had still the melancholy look it had borne throughout the day; but he gazed earnestly at Emmeline, as he said, in a low, supplicating voice:

“I have not yet proved myself worthy of your love; but, if I dared, I would entreat you to plight your faith to me here.”

For some minutes, she made no reply; but seemed occupied with serious reflection. She then said:

“I think I may trust you, Chetwynd.”

“You may,” he replied, in accents that bespoke his sincerity.

She hesitated no more, but freely gave him her hand.

“I hereby solemnly plight my faith to you, Chetwynd,” she said. “If I wed you not, I will wed no other. That I swear.”

His countenance underwent an instant change, and became lighted up with joy.

He repeated the words she had uttered; but added:

“I must not claim your hand. My task is not completed – scarcely begun.”

“I am witness to the vow you have made,” said a voice behind them.

Looking round, they perceived the old chaplain, Mr.

Massey, who had followed them unseen into the chapel.

A venerable man, in age more than fourscore, with silver locks, and a most benevolent expression of countenance.

“Heaven bless your union, whenever it takes place, and though I may not live to see it!” he said.

“I trust you may unite us, reverend sir,” said Chetwynd. “But you ought to know who I am.”

“I do know, sir,” replied Mr. Massey; “and I have perfect faith in you, or I would not have sanctioned this solemn engagement. Should it be carried out, as I doubt not it will, Mr. Chetwynd Calverley may esteem himself the most fortunate, and the happiest man in England. I have known the fair young lady who has just plighted her faith to him since she was a child, and have loved her as a father, and have met with none of her sex in any way comparable to her. Again, I say to you, Mr. Calverley, you are most fortunate; and, should the Almighty bless you with this treasure, guard it as you would your life!”

“I will,” replied Chetwynd, deeply moved.

They did not remain many minutes longer in the chapel, but repaired to the house, accompanied by Mr. Massey.

VIII. THE HAUNTED BOOM

|The day, as previously stated, had been fine, but exceedingly sultry, and the sunset portended thunder

Just as those about to return to Ouselcroft were preparing for departure, a heavy thunder-storm came on, and as there seemed every likelihood of its continuance, they were easily induced to pass the night at Brackley.

A messenger was immediately sent off to Mildred to prevent alarm, and Captain Danvers undertook that Chetwynd should be put to no inconvenience in regard to his toilette.

There was no difficulty about beds, for there was a superfluity at Brackley. A large chamber was assigned to Chetwynd, containing an antique canopied bedstead with twisted oak pillars, and heavy brocade curtains, the splendour of which was somewhat dimmed by years. There were a couple of old black cabinets in the room, and the dark oak panels were hung with sombre tapestry, or adorned with portraits.

The only modern furniture was a card-table, set with two chairs in the centre of the room, opposite the end of the bed. Candles were placed upon the table, and a couple of packs of cards.

Very likely these preparations had been made by order of Captain Danvers.

Chetwynd had heard there was a haunted room at Brackley, but it never occurred to him that this was the identical apartment, and though Captain Danvers was aware of its ghostly reputation, he thought it best to say nothing about it.

He accompanied his friend to the room, having previously supplied him with such articles as he might require for the night, and then pointing to the table, said, “Shall we have a game at écarté?”

“No, thank you,” replied Chetwynd. “I’ve vowed never to touch cards again.”

“Well, I won’t tempt you to break your oath,” replied Danvers, laughing. “Good night. I hope you’ll sleep well.”

And he quitted the room.

Chetwynd sought his splendid couch, and though the thunder rattled awfully overhead, and the lightning blazed, he speedily fell asleep.

How long he slumbered he could not tell, nor could he exactly say what awoke him, but when he opened his eyes he perceived a light in the room.

At first he thought it must be the lightning, for he was certain he had put out the bed-candle, but this illumination was continuous.

Looking up, to his great surprise, he perceived two elderly gentlemen seated opposite each other at the card-table. The wax candles were lighted, and the two strange personages were playing at écarté, or some other game.

An unaccountable dread seized Chetwynd as he watched them, and he wondered how they came to be there at that time of night. Perhaps they might not be aware of his presence, so he thought he ought to apprise them of it.

Raising himself on the pillow to examine them more narrowly, he perceived that one of them was Sir Leycester Barfleur, and the other – his own father!

Astounded and dismayed at this discovery, he felt utterly unable to speak, and remained-gazing at them, while they continued their game.

At last, they threw down their cards, and got up.

Then Mr. Calverley, as it seemed, exclaimed, in an unearthly voice, “I’ve won!”

Upon which Sir Leycester, in accents equally unearthly, replied, “Not yet!”

Then they both looked towards the occupant of the bed, and the expression of their countenance was so fearful that Chetwynd was unable to endure it, and fell back insensible.

When he recovered – or, rather, when he awoke – he did not feel quite sure that the supernatural appearance which he thought he had witnessed might not have been a dream.

On examination, the candles did not appear to have been lighted, and both packs of cards were untouched. This seemed to favour the idea that it must have been a dream, but Chetwynd could not believe so. He felt sure he had seen the two old men.

Captain Danvers was curious to learn how his friend had passed the night, and owned that the room was said to be haunted.

Chetwynd made an evasive reply.

“I’ll tell you a strange thing,” said Danvers. “My uncle, Sir Leycester, once lost a large sum to your father in this room.”

“They have not yet finished the game,” said Chetwynd. “I saw them playing during the night.”

IX. WHAT PASSED BETWEEN CAPTAIN DANVERS AND MRS. CALVERLEY IN THE GARDEN

|After the stormy night came a magnificent day

Brackley looked so charming, that the guests were in no hurry to depart. Captain Danvers took a stroll in the garden with Mrs. Calverley, resolved that the interview should decide his fate. It was idle to think any more of Mildred, who had behaved very heartlessly in refusing to bid him adieu. His selection was made. He would offer his hand to the beautiful and wealthy widow, who had given him every encouragement.

The bowling-green, though delightful, was rather too damp after the rain of the previous night, and the benches were not yet dried, so they moved on towards a shady walk, where the captain commenced:

“I hope you have quite forgiven me, my dear Mrs. Calverley?” he said. “I can scarcely account for my folly, but I can assure you I am now quite sensible of it, and will never again offend in the like manner. Indeed, I will put it out of my power to do so, by binding myself indissolubly to you.”

“Do you mean this as an offer?” she said.

“Certainly,” he replied. “What else can it mean?”

“Then I must have a little time for consideration. I cannot make up my mind in a moment on such an important point.”

The captain’s ardour was very much damped. He had flattered himself he should be at once accepted. “But you don’t reject me?” he said, anxiously.

“No! you must remain on trial for a month. If I am quite satisfied with your conduct during that interval, I may become yours.”

“Then it is not to be an engagement?” he cried. “Yes; I am quite willing it should be an engagement – but not binding on either party.”

“Such an arrangement amounts to nothing,” he said. “If you love me well enough to give me your hand, accept me now, and let the marriage be fixed for some early day.”

“I cannot agree to that,” she replied. “We shall have to come to an understanding on many points.”

“We are sure to do that,” he replied. “I agree to all beforehand. You shall have your own way entirely. I shall be a very good-natured husband.”

“I am not so sure of that,” she replied, with a slight laugh. “Men who make promises of compliance beforehand, often turn out most impracticable.”

“That won’t hold good in my case.”

“Well, you sha’n’t say that I take you in, for I announce that I mean to retain entire possession of my own property.”

The captain could scarcely hide his confusion at this unexpected intimation. However, he did not make any objection.

“In a word, my house will be conducted precisely as it is now,” pursued Mrs. Calverley.

“That is just what I should like,” he rejoined. “Arrange it as you please. I shall never interfere. Have we come to a distinct understanding?”

“Yes; and if you retain these sentiments, we shall probably agree.”

“Are we not now agreed?”

“On the main points,” she replied. “But our engagement must be private for the present. I have my reasons for the request.”

“I won’t ask them, but comply. In all things you shall be obeyed.”

She smiled very graciously, if not every affectionately, and gave him her hand, which he raised to his lips.

Her beautiful features underwent a slight change at that moment, and the expression startled Captain Danvers so much that he almost repented the step he had taken; but it was now too late to retreat.

“Though our engagement will be secret, you can come to Ouselcroft whenever you please,” she said. “Only remember there must be no renewal – ”

“Fear nothing,” he replied. “There shall be no more of that.”

They then returned to the house, and on the way thither met Emmeline and Chetwynd. The former smiled on seeing her cousin and Mrs. Calverley together, but made no remark.

Later on, however, when an opportunity offered, she said to Captain Danvers, “All is settled, I perceive, between you and the rich widow.”

“What makes you think so?” he asked.

“Both of you look as if you already repented,” she replied. “But I hope you may be happy.”

Captain Danvers rode back with them to Ouselcroft; but he did not stay, nor did he see Mildred.

However, he agreed to return in a few days.

Emmeline was distressed to find her friend looking less cheerful than usual. Indeed, she appeared decidedly low-spirited.

“I hope you are not troubling yourself about my unworthy cousin Charles,” said Emmeline.

“I wish I could cease to think of him,” replied Mildred, with a sigh. “I have tried, but in vain.”

“You must think of him no more, dearest girl,” said Emmeline.

Mildred looked at her anxiously.

“What is it? Don’t keep me in suspense!” she cried.

“He is engaged to Mrs. Calverley,” replied Emmeline.

Mildred became white as death.

“Engaged to her!” she ejaculated. “Oh, this is too much!”

She would have fallen if Emmeline had not caught her.

Fortunately, this occurrence took place in Mildred’s own room, and, restoratives being at hand, it was not necessary to summon assistance.