Roger Kyffin's Ward

Chapter Sixteen.

A New Claimant for Stanmore

Colonel Everard lay on his bed propped up with pillows. The window was open. He gazed forth over the green lawn, the bright blue sea and the Isle of Wight smiling in the distance. Three persons were in the room. Near his head stood his faithful attendant and old companion-in-arms; on the other side was his sister. Tears were in her eyes, while Mabel stood near the foot of the bed with her hands clasped, gazing on that venerated countenance. The sand of life was ebbing fast, a few grains alone remained.

“Paul, we have fought together. We have served our country well when we had youth and strength,” whispered the old officer, holding the hand of his faithful attendant. “You don’t forget that day when our brave general fell. Ere he died he heard that the enemy were put to flight, the victory won. Sister, he died happy, and so do I; for I may say with all humbleness, I have fought the good fight. I have tried to do my duty, but I trust in One mighty to save.” Then returning to old recollections, “You remember that day, Paul; that battle, the most glorious of our many fields. And now, Paul, we shall never fight again. You must look after these two here, sister Ann and my sweet Mabel. They want a trustworthy protector. I never knew you to fail me, Paul.”

His voice as he spoke was sinking lower and lower. A few more words he spoke expressive of the Christian’s hope. Then his hands relaxed their grasp, and those who watched him knew that the noble old man was dead.

The colonel’s will was opened. By his express desire no funeral pomp attended him to the grave. Paul, with eight of his older tenants, simple cottagers, several of whom had been soldiers, bore his coffin.

Seldom, however, has a longer line of mourners attended a plume-bedecked hearse than than which followed on foot the remains of Colonel Everard. Not only did all the inhabitants of Lynderton join the procession, but vast numbers of persons from the surrounding districts came to show their respect to the memory of one who had so long dwelt among them, and whose many virtues had won their love.

The estates were entailed on the next heir-at-law, while such property as the colonel could leave was given to his well-beloved sister, Madam Everard.

He had not, however, been a saving man; indeed, the expenses of his position had been considerable, and the sum was but small. Mabel and her aunt were to remain in possession of Stanmore Park till the return of Captain Everard from sea.

The funeral was over, and once more the household settled down into their usual ways. Paul was more active than ever: his eye was everywhere, feeling that he was obeying his master’s behests in watching over the interests of the captain and his daughter.

The same coach which a few months before had brought Harry Tryon southward, had now among its passengers no less a person than Mr Silas Sleech. He was in deep mourning – a proper respect to the memory of his late uncle, Colonel Everard. Yet his countenance bore no signs of grief. On the contrary, some pleasant thoughts seemed to occupy his mind, as he frequently rubbed his hands together and smiled complacently.

He was received with cordiality by his respected parent, the elder Mr Sleech, though the rest of the family, consisting of several brothers and four fair sisters, welcomed him apparently with less affection. Silas had brought but little luggage, but he held a tin case of considerable size which he had never allowed to quit his hand. The family greetings over, he and his father retired to the inner office. With intense interest they examined the contents of the case.

“It’s all right, father, I tell you,” exclaimed Silas. “Stanmore is ours, as sure as fate. My mother was the elder sister next to the colonel, and the captain’s father never had any marriage lines to show. I tell you the captain has no more right to the name of Everard than old Pike the mace-bearer. If the captain has a certificate, where is it? Let him show it; but he has not; and that little jade Mabel, who looks so proudly down upon me especially, must now be brought down a peg or two herself. She will be humble enough before long, or I am mistaken.”

“Silas, you ought to be Lord Chancellor,” exclaimed his father; “you have managed this affair with wonderful acuteness and judgment. I always thought there was a screw loose about Tom Everard’s foreign marriage, his wife dying suddenly, and he coming home with a small baby and a strange nurse, who could not speak a word of English or tell anybody what had happened. However, now we have got the law on our side, the sooner we take possession of our rights the better. You and I will see to that to-morrow. We will behave handsomely to Madam Everard. Indeed, I rather suspect that she won’t be so badly off, and whatever she has will go to Mabel, so there’s no use falling out too much with them. However, if your mother’s husband and children ought to be at Stanmore, why to Stanmore we will go, so that is settled.”

“Don’t tell the rest of them, though, father,” said Silas. “They will be blabbing it out, and Madam Everard will be getting wind of it, and we shan’t have the pleasure of giving them the little surprise I long for; come, you must not baulk me in that, daddy. A Lord Chancellor knows what’s what, and if I don’t kick up a pretty shindy in Stanmore Park before long, my name’s not Silas Sleech.”

Madam Everard and niece were seated in the study after breakfast. It had been the colonel’s sitting-room, and they occupied it with fond affection, no one, however, making use of his arm-chair. It seemed as if his spirit was often there, come down from the realms of the blest, while they talked of him and their lost Lucy.

The servant entered, and Madam Everard heard with no small dissatisfaction the names of her little-esteemed brother-in-law and his eldest son. They entered the room not with quite so much confidence as might have been expected.

“Why, Ann, you look somewhat solemn this fine morning,” observed the elder, as he took a seat, not very close to Madam Everard. Silas drew somewhat nearer to Mabel, but rising, she placed herself on the sofa near her aunt, and continued the embroidery at which she was working, scarcely looking up. The elder Sleech turned his hat about several times. He did not look as if he felt himself a member of the Everard family.

Silas had more impudence than his father, and this enabled him to overcome a certain feeling which would intrude, in spite of his assumed confidence.

“I have come about business, Ann,” at last said Mr Sleech the elder, “Silas and I. We wish to do everything pleasant and to give no annoyance; but you must know, Ann, when your elder sister married me, she married the family lawyer that was. You have always supposed that Tom Everard – the captain’s father – had married abroad; at all events the captain was brought home as a baby by Tom, who said he was his lawful child. Now it turns out that either Tom was mistaken, or else he told a fib – I don’t like to use strong language. If a man cannot prove his marriage he is not married; that’s what the law says. Now Tom to his death never had any marriage certificate to exhibit. It follows, therefore, in the eye of the law, that he was not married, and so you see your sister Jane became heir-at-law of her late brother, and I, as her representative, am – or rather my son Silas is – the rightful possessor of Stanmore Park. It’s as clear as a pike-staff, Ann, and so there’s no use making any ado about it.”

While Mr Sleech, senior, was speaking, Madam Everard had maintained a perfect composure. Poor Mabel’s colour came and went. She felt a choking sensation in her throat. Not for herself did she care, she was thinking of her gallant father, away from home fighting his country’s battles – when he returned to find himself disinherited. It would be a grievous blow. She felt, too, that she could no longer, when she gave her hand, endow her husband with the wealth she thought she should value more for his sake than for her own.

“You say you called on a matter of business,” said Madam Everard, with becoming dignity. “As a man of business we will treat you. I will send for Mr Wallace, my late brother’s solicitor, and should he be satisfied that you are the rightful owner of Stanmore, and that Captain Everard has no claim on it, my niece and I will quit the house. Till then I must request you to leave us at peace. You must be aware that the information you bring us is not pleasant.”

Mabel kept her lips pressed together. She dared not trust her voice, she simply bowed her assent to her aunt’s request.

“Well, well, Ann, I am not surprised that you are annoyed,” said Mr Sleech, rising from his seat; “that is but natural. Of course, we are gentlemen, and wish to treat you as ladies. We will just take a look round the park and grounds. I have a notion a good many trees should be cut down. The colonel was over-squeamish about felling timber; and Mabel, my dear, I wish you would not look so glum. Perhaps if you play your cards well, you may still be mistress of Stanmore, eh? Silas, you rogue, you used to admire your pretty little cousin.”

Silas rolled his round eyes and gave a glance at Mabel which she, at least, thought bespoke very little affection, for she turned a way from him with a feeling of loathing, not deigning to make any remark.

“You know your way,” said Madam Everard; “you must do as you think fit. We cannot interfere.”

Without putting out her hand, she gave a stately bow to her brother-in-law and nephew. A chuckle reached her ears as the door closed behind them.

“Jane, Jane, what have you brought upon us?” she exclaimed, apostrophising her deceased sister.

The marriage had been a hateful one from the first. Old Sleech had, even as a young man, been almost as odious as his son, and no one could account for Jane Everard’s infatuation and bad taste when she insisted on marrying him.

Madam Everard rang the bell, and begged that Paul Gauntlett would come to her. He obeyed the summons, and was soon afterwards trotting off on the horse with which he always accompanied the colonel to Lynderton. Mr Wallace was at home, and very quickly made his appearance at Stanmore, escaping an encounter with the Sleeches, who were still making their round of the park, notching trees which they agreed might come down to advantage and clear a pretty penny.

Mr Wallace heard Madam Everard’s statement with a grave face.

“I do not see much that is hopeful about it, but we will try what the law can do. If the law decides that Captain Everard is not the heir, we have no help for it. I will look over all the deeds deposited with me, but to my recollection I have no certificate or copy of certificate of Mr Tom Everard’s marriage. He must have been very young at the time, at all events. An older man would probably have taken more care of so important a document. However, I will see Mr Sleech, and endeavour to persuade him that he cannot justly at present push his claims. We must proceed cautiously, for although you are in possession, I fear that he can prove himself to be heir-at-law.”

Mr Wallace had left the house some time before the Sleeches returned. They came in by the garden entrance, and walked without ceremony into the study, where Mabel and her aunt were still sitting.

“Well, we have had a good look round the grounds, Ann, and I have come to the conclusion that the colonel did not make half as much of the property as he might have done. Why, I can tell you, eight thousand pounds’ worth of timber might be cut down – Silas says ten thousand, but I think that he is a little over the mark – without doing any harm to the place, and there are no end of improvements he and I have been proposing.”

“No one must venture to cut down timber on this property without the leave of my nephew, the captain,” said Madam Everard, drawing herself up.

“Well, that’s as may be, Ann,” answered Mr Sleech, with a forced laugh. “He who has the right to the property will have the right to cut down the trees, or law’s not law. However, that’s neither here nor there. What I want to know, Ann, is when you and Mabel will be ready to pack up bag and baggage and turn out. There’s that bow-windowed house in the town, half-way up the street, which would just suit you two spinster ladies, and the fact is that my daughters and my sons and I have rather a fancy to come and take up our quarters here. We have been kept out of the place a pretty long number of years, and you see, in my opinion, it’s time we had our rights.”

“When our legal adviser considers that we have no longer a right to remain in this house, Mabel and I will immediately leave it,” answered the old lady, with dignity. “I am sure such would be Captain Everard’s wish. In the meantime, I must request, Mr Sleech, that you and your son will bring this interview to a conclusion. As relatives I would have made you welcome; but I cannot feel that you are justified in thus coming to insult my niece and me. I must therefore request that you will take your departure.”

“As you like, Ann, as you like,” exclaimed Mr Sleech, swinging about his hat, which he had lifted from the ground. “It won’t be for long, I can tell you; we shall soon be back again, I have an idea.”

Silas endeavoured to shake hands with Mabel with a smile which he intended to be insinuating, but she indignantly turned from him.

“Oh, oh, proud as ever,” he muttered, as he followed his father out of the room, at the door of which Paul was standing sentry. He had seen them returning to the house, and it would have fared ill with either of them had they ventured to proceed much further in their insulting remarks to the ladies. Not a muscle of his countenance moved as he opened the hall-door; but his eyes glared down upon them with an expression which made even Silas wince and keep close behind his father’s heels.

“Well, that old fellow’s the essence of glumness,” observed Silas, as they got beyond hearing.

“She threatened me, she did,” muttered his father, between his teeth, not attending to what Silas had said. “But we will be even with them, or my name’s not Tony Sleech.”

Lynderton was at that time a place of fashionable resort during the summer season. People came down there to enjoy the sea breezes and the bathing in salt water, to listen to the band of the foreign legion, and to enjoy the pleasant society which was to be found in the town and its neighbourhood. During the lifetime of his sister, Lady Tryon, Mr Coppinger had declined going there; but he now acceded to the urgent entreaties of his daughters, and had taken a house for them, at which they had arrived. He himself, however, could only occasionally get down. One of the very few visitors admitted at Stanmore was the young Baron de Ruvigny. He also had soon become acquainted with the Miss Coppingers, and from the account he gave of them, as well as from the way Harry had before spoken of his cousins, Mabel more than ever was anxious to see them. Indeed, she consulted with her aunt whether she might not with propriety call upon them. The matter was discussed several times; but Madam Everard could not yet bring herself to see strangers.

“They are charming young ladies,” said the young baron, “so full of life and spirits, and so sweet and gentle; so refined in manners, so lovely in appearance.”

“What! are the six sisters all charming?” asked Mabel, innocently.

The young baron hesitated, blushed, confessed that one in particular was even more than he had described – a lovely pearl. Her name Sybella – what a sweet name. Her voice, too – she sang exquisitely.

“I have heard of her,” said Mabel, at length, “from her cousin Harry. He described her as a very interesting girl, so pray tell them, baron, that I hope soon to make their acquaintance.”

This was said before the visit of the Mr Sleeches to Stanmore, which has just been described.

The Miss Coppingers thought Lynderton a most delightful place, and were not at all surprised that Harry had praised it so much to them; their only sorrow was that he was not there. Their father, with kind consideration, had not told them that he had strong grounds for suspecting Harry’s honesty, nor had he given any reason for his absence. All he had said was that Harry had suddenly left the counting-house and had not returned, and they all thought too well of him to suspect him of any dishonourable conduct. They consequently spoke of him openly at Lynderton as their cousin. He seemed to have many friends, but only two appeared to know what had become of him: one was the Baron de Ruvigny, who was a very frequent visitor at their house, and the other was Captain Rochard, who came once or twice with the baron. He was, he told them, an old friend of Captain Everard’s, and was therefore particularly interested in the place.

Silas Sleech had obtained a holiday for the purpose of visiting Lynderton, not at all aware at the time that Mr Coppinger was about to proceed there himself. Great was the merchant’s astonishment when, the day after he came down, his eyes fell on his clerk, dressed in the height of fashion, walking up and down among the gay company assembled under an avenue of trees at the outside of the town to hear the band play. His amazement was increased when he saw him bow with a most familiar glance at his own daughters. Directly afterwards his clerk’s eye met his. Now Silas possessed as much impudence and assurance as most men, but his glance sank abashed before the stern look of the dignified Mr Coppinger. The young ladies were, they declared, utterly ignorant who he was. He had introduced himself as a friend of the officers of the legion, on the previous evening, without giving his name, while they had seen him dancing with several young ladies. Silas was ambitious. He was endeavouring to work his way into good society, in the outside circles of which only his family had hitherto moved, in spite of their connection by marriage with the Everards.

Meantime Roger Kyffin had returned from Ireland. His grief at finding that Harry had gone away with so grievous an imputation on his character was very great. Still he did not, he could not, believe Harry to be guilty. He found no letter, however, from him at Idol Lane, nor was there one at his own house.

“Surely the boy would have written to me,” he thought, “and told me where he was going. With all his faults, I believe he regarded me with sincere affection. I am sure he would have written.”

On speaking to his housekeeper one day about some letter which had been left during his absence, she mentioned that Mr Silas Sleech had on one occasion come to the house and requested to see Mr Kyffin’s letters, stating that he had been desired to forward some of them to him.

“I never gave any such directions,” said Mr Kyffin. “Did he take any letter?”

“Yes, sir, there was one – a particularly thick one, too – and the direction was in a good bold hand, just such as I have seen Master Harry write. I thought at the time, ‘Surely that’s the very letter master would like to have,’ so I let Mr Sleech take it off, making sure that he was going to send it on to you.”

Chapter Seventeen.

The Old Family Driven from their Home

Paul Gauntlett watched the Mr Sleeches till they disappeared at the farther end of the avenue, amid the shadows of the trees.

“I am thankful they’re gone without me doing them a mischief; but the colonel said to me, ‘Paul, take charge of this place till you deliver it up to my nephew, the captain.’ And that is what I hope to do,” soliloquised the old soldier.

He stood for some minutes inside the porch, with his hands clasped before him in a stand-at-ease position. His plans were speedily formed. There were four stout fellows he could rely on generally employed about the grounds. He placed them, with thick oaken cudgels in their hands, two at a time, to watch the approaches to the hall, while he himself, armed in a similar manner, continued at intervals night and day to pace round and round the house, to see, as he said to himself, that the sentries were on the alert.

Once or twice Mabel caught sight of him, and wondered what he was about; but he did not think it necessary to inform her and her aunt of his plans. His chief post was the front porch, where he would sit the livelong day, keeping a watchful eye up and down the avenue. His only entertainment was reading the newspaper, which was brought by a man on horseback from Lynderton. It was a very different production from the large sheet of news at the present day.

Whatever were Mr Sleech’s plans, he seemed to have some hesitation in putting them into execution; for day after day Paul was allowed to keep his post unmolested.

One morning the groom brought the paper which had arrived the evening before from London, and as the ladies were out in the grounds, Paul took upon himself to peruse it first. He had spelt down two or three columns, when his eye fell on a paragraph in which the name of his Majesty’s frigate the “Brilliant” was mentioned. He read it eagerly. The paper trembled in his hands. “We regret to state” (so it ran) “that we have received information of the loss of H.M.’s frigate the ‘Brilliant,’ on her passage out to the North American station. She struck on an iceberg, and soon afterwards foundered, eight persons only in one of her boats being saved, out of the whole ship’s company, including one lieutenant and a midshipman. Captain Everard and the rest of the officers and ship’s company met a watery grave.” (The names of the survivors were then mentioned.) “The boat reached Halifax, those in her having suffered fearful hardships, and they have now been brought home in the ‘Tribune.’” The old soldier let the paper sink down by his side.

“The captain gone!” he murmured, in a low voice – “the captain gone, and no one to stand by Miss Mabel; and that poor lad, too, on whom she had set her young heart. He lost! Oh, it will break it, it will break it.”

Paul’s courage failed him when he had to tell the two ladies of their grievous bereavement.

While still trying to bring his mind to consider what he should do, he saw a person approaching the house by the avenue. He clutched his stick and threw up his head. It might be Mr Sleech or one of his myrmidons. He would do battle with them to the death, at all events. The stranger approached; Paul kept eyeing him. His scrutiny was more satisfactory than he had expected.

“He does not look like one of Mr Sleech’s villains,” he said to himself.

The stranger came close up, without hesitation, to Paul, whose aspect was, however, somewhat threatening.

“I think I know you, my friend,” said the stranger, with a kind expression, though his look was sad. “I have come to inquire about a young man in whom I am deeply interested. I find that he was here some time back. I have been enabled to trace him. I speak of Harry Tryon. Do you know anything of him?”

“If you will tell me who you are, sir, it may be I will answer that question,” said Paul.

“I am Roger Kyffin, Harry Tryon’s guardian. Will that satisfy you, my friend?” was the answer.

“Ah, that it will, sir,” answered Paul, in a tone of sadness which struck Mr Kyffin.

“Can you give me any account of the lad?” asked Mr Kyffin, in an anxious voice.

“He went and entered aboard the ‘Brilliant,’ and now he’s gone, sir; gone!” answered Paul. “He and the captain both together. They lie many fathom deep in the cold ocean out there. I have been over the spot. There, sir, read what is writ there; that tells all about it.” And the old soldier handed Mr Kyffin the newspaper.

Roger Kyffin read it with moistened eyes, and a choking sensation came in his throat.

“It is too true, I am afraid. The account is fearfully circumstantial!” he ejaculated, as he read on, searching about for any further notice of the event.

“But are you certain my dear boy was on board the ‘Brilliant’? What evidence have you?”

“Certain sure, sir,” answered Paul. “Our Mary, who was going to marry Jacob Tuttle, saw him just as the ship was sailing, and our Miss Mabel knows all about it. She knew he was with the captain. Poor dear young lady! it will break her heart, and Mary’s, too, and Madam Everard’s, too, and mine if it was not too tough. I wish that I had received marching orders with the colonel not to see this day; and yet it is a soldier’s duty to stand fast at his post, and that’s what the colonel told me to do, and that’s what, please God, I will do, and look after these poor ladies, and little Mary, too, and widow Tuttle: they will all want help. Oh, sir! when a battle’s fought or a ship goes down with all her crew it’s those on shore feel it. I used not to think about that when I was fighting, but now I know how poor women feel, and children left at home.”