Alice, or the Mysteries — Complete
come all this way to consult _him_! to be _his_ guest! to be shown off,
and patted, and trotted out before all the rest of the company! Mr.
Hobbs was a made man! Careless of all this, ever at home with any one,
and delighted, perhaps, to escape a _tete-a-tete_ with Mr. Howard in a
strange inn, Vargrave lounged into the drawing-room, and was formally
presented to the expectant family and the famishing guests.
During the expiring bachelorship of Mr. Robert Hobbs, his sister, Mrs.
Tiddy (to whom the reader was first introduced as a bride gathering the
wisdom of economy and large joints from the frugal lips of her
mamma), officiated as lady of the house,--a comely matron, and
well-preserved,--except that she had lost a front tooth,--in a jaundiced
satinet gown, with a fall of British blonde, and a tucker of the same,
Mr. Tiddy being a starch man, and not willing that the luxuriant charms
of Mrs. T. should be too temptingly exposed! There was also Mr. Tiddy,
whom his wife had married for love, and who was now well to do,--a
fine-looking man, with large whiskers, and a Roman nose, a little awry.
Moreover, there was a Miss Biddy or Bridget Hobbs, a young lady of
four or five and twenty, who was considering whether she might ask Lord
Vargrave to write something in her album, and who cast a bashful look of
admiration at the slim secretary, as he now sauntered into the room, in
a black coat, black waistcoat, black trousers, and a black neckcloth,
with a black pin,--looking much like an ebony cane split half-way up.
Miss Biddy was a fair young lady, a _leetle_ faded, with uncommonly thin
arms and white satin shoes, on which the slim secretary cast his eyes
and--shuddered!
In addition to the family group were the Rector of -----, an agreeable
man, who published sermons and poetry; also Sir William Jekyll, who was
employing Mr. Hobbs to make a map of an estate he had just purchased;
also two country squires and their two wives; moreover, the physician of
the neighbouring town,--a remarkably tall man, who wore spectacles and
told anecdotes; and, lastly, Mr. Onslow, the gentleman to whom Mr. Hobbs
had referred,--an elderly man of prepossessing exterior, of high repute
as the most efficient magistrate, the best farmer, and the most sensible
person in the neighbourhood. This made the party, to each individual
of which the great man bowed and smiled; and the great man's secretary
bent, condescendingly, three joints of his backbone.
The bell was now rung, dinner announced. Sir William Jekyll led the way
with one of the she-squires, and Lord Vargrave offered his arm to the
portly Mrs. Tiddy.
Vargrave, as usual, was the life of the feast. Mr. Howard, who sat next
to Miss Bridget, conversed with her between the courses, "in dumb show."
Mr. Onslow and the physician played second and third to Lord Vargrave.
When the dinner was over, and the ladies had retired, Vargrave found
himself seated next to Mr. Onslow, and discovered in his neighbour a
most agreeable companion. They talked principally about Lisle Court, and
from Colonel Maltravers the conversation turned naturally upon Ernest.
Vargrave proclaimed his early intimacy with the latter gentleman,
complained, feelingly, that politics had divided them of late, and told
two or three anecdotes of their youthful adventures in the East. Mr.
Onslow listened to him with much attention.
"I made the acquaintance of Mr. Maltravers many years ago," said he,
"and upon a very delicate occasion. I was greatly interested in him; I
never saw one so young (for he was then but a boy) manifest feelings so
deep. By the dates you have referred to, your acquaintance with him must
have commenced very shortly after mine. Was he at that time cheerful, in
good spirits?"
"No, indeed; hypochondriacal to the greatest degree."
"Your lordship's intimacy with him, and the confidence that generally
exists between young men, induce me to suppose that he may have told you
a little romance connected with his early years."
Lumley paused to consider; and this conversation, which had been carried
on apart, was suddenly broken into by the tall doctor, who wanted to
know whether his lordship had ever heard the anecdote about Lord Thurlow
and the late king. The anecdote was as long as the doctor himself; and
when it was over, the gentlemen adjourned to the drawing-room, and all
conversation was immediately drowned by "Row, brothers, row," which had
only been suspended till the arrival of Mr. Tiddy, who had a fine bass
voice.
Alas! eighteen years ago, in that spot of earth, Alice Darvil had first
caught the soul of music from the lips of Genius and of Love! But better
as it is,--less romantic, but more proper,--as Hobbs' Lodge was less
pretty, but more safe from the winds and rains, than Dale Cottage.
Miss Bridget ventured to ask the good-humoured Lord Vargrave if he sang.
"Not I, Miss Hobbs; but Howard, there!--ah, if you heard _him_!" The
consequence of this hint was, that the unhappy secretary, who, alone, in
a distant corner, was unconsciously refreshing his fancy with some cool
weak coffee, was instantly beset with applications from Miss Bridget,
Mrs. Tiddy, Mr. Tiddy, and the tall doctor, to favour the company with a
specimen of his talents. Mr. Howard could sing,--he could even play the
guitar. But to sing at Hobbs' Lodge, to sing to the accompaniment of
Mrs. Tiddy, to have his gentle tenor crushed to death in a glee by the
heavy splayfoot of Mr. Tiddy's manly bass--the thought was insufferable!
He faltered forth assurances of his ignorance, and hastened to bury
his resentment in the retirement of a remote sofa. Vargrave, who had
forgotten the significant question of Mr. Onslow, renewed in a
whisper his conversation with that gentleman relative to the meditated
investment, while Mr. and Mrs. Tiddy sang "Come dwell with me;" and
Onslow was so pleased with his new acquaintance, that he volunteered to
make a fourth in Lumley's carriage the next morning, and accompany him
to Lisle Court. This settled, the party soon afterwards broke up.
At midnight Lord Vargrave was fast asleep; and Mr. Howard, tossing
restlessly to and fro on his melancholy couch, was revolving all the
hardships that await a native of St. James's, who ventures forth among--
"The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders!"
CHAPTER IV.
BUT how were these doubts to be changed into absolute certainty?
EDGAR HUNTLEY.
THE next morning, while it was yet dark, Lord Vargrave's carriage
picked up Mr. Onslow at the door of a large old-fashioned house, at the
entrance of the manufacturing town of -----. The party were silent and
sleepy till they arrived at Lisle Court. The sun had then appeared, the
morning was clear, the air frosty and bracing; and as, after traversing
a noble park, a superb quadrangular pile of brick flanked by huge square
turrets coped with stone broke upon the gaze of Lord Vargrave, his
worldly heart swelled within him, and the image of Evelyn became
inexpressibly lovely and seductive.
Though the housekeeper was not prepared for Vargrave's arrival at so
early an hour, yet he had been daily expected: the logs soon burned
bright in the ample hearth of the breakfast-room; the urn hissed, the
cutlets smoked; and while the rest of the party gathered round the fire,
and unmuffled themselves of cloaks and shawl-handkerchiefs, Vargrave
seized upon the housekeeper, traversed with delighted steps the
magnificent suite of rooms, gazed on the pictures, admired the state
bed-chambers, peeped into the offices, and recognized in all a mansion
worthy of a Peer of England,--but which a more prudent man would have
thought, with a sigh, required careful management of the rent-roll
raised from the property adequately to equip and maintain. Such an idea
did not cross the mind of Vargrave; he only thought how much he should
be honoured and envied, when, as Secretary of State, he should yearly
fill those feudal chambers with the pride and rank of England! It was
characteristic of the extraordinary sanguineness and self-confidence
of Vargrave, that he entirely overlooked one slight obstacle to this
prospect, in the determined refusal of Evelyn to accept that passionate
homage which he offered to--her fortune!
When breakfast was over the steward was called in, and the party,
mounted upon ponies, set out to reconnoitre. After spending the short
day most agreeably in looking over the gardens, pleasure-grounds, park,
and home-farm, and settling to visit the more distant parts of the
property the next day, the party were returning home to dine, when
Vargrave's eye caught the glittering _whim_ of Sir Gregory Gubbins.
He pointed it out to Mr. Onslow, and laughed much at hearing of the
annoyance it occasioned to Colonel Maltravers. "Thus," said Lumley, "do
we all crumple the rose-leaf under us, and quarrel with couches the most
luxuriant! As for me, I will wager, that were this property mine, or my
ward's, in three weeks we should have won the heart of Sir Gregory, made
him pull down his _whim_, and coaxed him out of his interest in the city
of -----. A good seat for you, Howard, some day or other."
"Sir Gregory has prodigiously bad taste," said Mr. Hobbs. "For my
part, I think that there ought to be a certain modest simplicity in the
display of wealth got in business,--that was my poor father's maxim."
"Ah!" said Vargrave, "Hobbs' Lodge is a specimen. Who was your
predecessor in that charming retreat?"
"Why, the place--then called Dale Cottage--belonged to a Mr. Berners, a
rich bachelor in business, who was rich enough not to mind what people
said of him, and kept a lady there. She ran off from him, and he then
let it to some young man--a stranger, very eccentric, I hear--a Mr.--Mr.
Butler--and he, too, gave the cottage an unlawful attraction,--a most
beautiful girl, I have heard."
"Butler!" echoed Vargrave,--"Butler! Butler!" Lumley recollected that
such had been the real name of Mrs. Cameron.
Onslow looked hard at Vargrave.
"You recognize the name, my lord," said he in a whisper, as Hobbs had
turned to address himself to Mr. Howard. "I thought you very discreet
when I asked you, last night, if you remembered the early follies
of your friend." A suspicion at once flashed upon the quick mind of
Vargrave: Butler was a name on the mother's side in the family of
Maltravers; the gloom of Ernest when he first knew him, the boy's hints
that the gloom was connected with the affections, the extraordinary and
single accomplishment of Lady Vargrave in that art of which Maltravers
was so consummate a master, the similarity of name,--all taken in
conjunction with the meaning question of Mr. Onslow, were enough to
suggest to Vargrave that he might be on the verge of a family secret,
the knowledge of which could be turned to advantage. He took care not to
confess his ignorance, but artfully proceeded to draw out Mr. Onslow's
communications.
"Why, it is true," said he, "that Maltravers and I had no secrets. Ah,
we were wild fellows then! The name of Butler is in his family, eh?"
"It is. I see you know all."
"Yes; he told me the story, but it is eighteen years ago. Do refresh my
memory. Howard, my good fellow, just ride on and expedite dinner: Mr.
Hobbs, will you go with Mr. What's-his-name, the steward, and look over
the maps, out-goings, etc.? Now, Mr. Onslow--so Maltravers took the
cottage, and a lady with it?--ay, I remember."
Mr. Onslow (who was in fact that magistrate to whom Ernest had confided
his name and committed the search after Alice, and who was really
anxious to know if any tidings of the poor girl had ever been
ascertained) here related that history with which the reader is