Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1657/The Dilemma - Part XX
From Blackwood's Magazine.
THE DILEMMA.
CHAPTER XLV.
Yorke's first experience of the place which he had looked to make his home while in England, did not tempt him to a speedy renewal of it. When the London season came to an end, he took advantage of numerous invitations for shooting in the country to remain away from Wiltonbury, and the days were growing short when he paid his next visit, determined, if he could, to make his mother's house more of a home than he had done before. But whether it was that he had scowled so at them on previous occasions, or that matters had so far advanced that their visits could no longer be made with ease in his presence, at any rate on his arrival there was a general abstention of male visitors from their customary attentions, and his mother was evidently so ill at ease from the cessation of the mild pleasures which made up the business of her life, that her son felt that it would be only kind to shorten his stay; and while casting about for an excuse for going away, Yorke bethought him that he had not attempted as yet to make the acquaintance of the sister of his late friend Braddon. With this lady, who was married to a gentleman named Peevor, he had had some correspondence at the time of her brother's death, which had ended with a warm invitation to pay herself and her husband a visit whenever he should come to England; and it was with rather a lame apology for not having done so before, since they lived only a few miles from London, that he wrote to Mrs. Peevor, proposing to run down from town some afternoon and pay his respects. By return of post came her reply, and also a separate letter from her husband pressing him in such warm terms to spend at least a few days at "The Beeches," that he at once accepted the invitation, and passing through London started for his destination.
It was an afternoon train, filled with business men returning to dinner, who all settled down at once for their naps, leaving him free to speculate on the drollness of the situation, in thus starting off in mere restlessness of mood on a visit to persons not only personally unknown to him, but of whose antecedents and position he was totally ignorant. Braddon had told him that he had not seen his sister since she was a little girl, and knew nothing about her husband beyond the fact that he was well off, but whether he was a clergyman, or a country squire, or a London business man, Yorke had no idea. And "The Beeches, Hamwell," might designate a "semi-detached villa residence" in a suburban terrace equally with a venerable country-house. The name was no clue to the nature of the place.
The train gradually disgorged its passengers at the different stations, who alighted for the most part bearing little baskets of fish or game, till at last the Hamwell station was called; and Yorke, getting out with some half-dozen other passengers, was received by a servant in smart livery, who took his luggage. A handsome close carriage was waiting outside for himself, also a spring-cart and horse for his portmanteau; his host was therefore evidently well-to-do; and this attention to the stranger indicated a hospitable spirit. It was too dark to make out the scenery; but the road evidently made a considerable ascent; and after the traveller had passed through the gates of an entrance lodge, the while trunks of an extensive avenue of ancient beeches which could be seen on either side of the drive, indicated that the house at the end of it was rightly entitled to its name. Clearly "The Beeches" was not a semi-detached villa. On the carriage pulling up at the door, a flood of light burst on it from the cheerful outer hall which now came into view; this opened on an inner hall, thick-carpeted, and garnished with statuary, armour, and ancient cabinets, and from which the outer air was carefully excluded; and Yorke issuing therefrom into a dimly lighted sitting-room, had some difficulty at first in distinguishing the different members of the little group sitting round the fire, who rose on his entrance in a somewhat confused and hazy way, suggestive of their having been disturbed in an ante-dinner nap. However, on collecting their senses, the inmates showed no want of heartiness of greeting — Mr. Peevor, who was of the party, coming forward to shake him cordially yet somewhat deferentially by the hand, and introducing him in turn to his wife, his eldest daughter Maria, his second daughter Catherine, and his youngest daughter Lucy, who was sitting in the corner at work, the only one of the party employed on any occupation.
A servant now bringing in lights, the visitor was able to obtain a view of the family. Mr. Peevor was a good-looking, well-preserved man, with grey and white whiskers and a fidgety manner, who might be between fifty and sixty. His wife was a tall, handsome woman, bearing a strong likeness to her late brother, but with a certain languor of manner in marked contrast to his active, vigorous ways. Mrs. Peevor was evidently too young to be the mother of her husband's three grown-up daughters, who, moreover, bore no resemblance to her; and Yorke guessed rightly that they must be the children of a former marriage. Miss Peevor was no longer young, and looked older than she was, wearing an air of ill-health and depression; and Yorke instinctively judged that her part in the drama of a young lady's life was already played out. Miss Catherine was fair and pale with light hair, neither plain nor pretty in face, but with a neat, slight figure; she was evidently short-sighted, and the habit of wearing an eyeglass screwed into one eye did not improve her appearance. Miss Lucy, on the other hand, also slight and neat in figure, was a little brunette, with pretty face, and bright dark eyes indicative of humour; but Yorke had not time to notice this particularly on the present occasion, as she still sat apart from the rest listening to the conversation, of which the burden for the most part was borne by Mr. Peevor, who was full of expressions of gratification at their guest's arrival, and his kindness in coming to see them. He apologized more than once for not having gone to the station himself to meet him, on the score of a slight cold, but he hoped the coachman had been punctual, and Rundall the footman ready awaiting him on the platform. "I ordered him particularly," said Mr. Peevor, "to be there well before the time — a good ten minutes, I said — to make sure, so that you might not be kept waiting a moment; one is so apt to catch cold these chilly evenings waiting on the platform;" and Yorke was assuring him for the second time that Rundall had executed the order faithfully — regardless (he could not help thinking) of the risk incurred by himself of catching that dangerous complaint — when conversation was suspended by the sound of the dinner dressing-bell; whereupon the party rose, and the host conducted him to his bedroom.
"We are treating you quite without ceremony, you see," said Mr. Peevor, by way of apologizing for the accommodation; "the great friend of my wife's poor brother is of course a friend of ourselves; but you military men can put up with simple ways on a pinch, I have no doubt. We have asked no one to meet you tonight, but there will be a few friends to- morrow and the next day;" but as Yorke looked round the spacious and well-lighted room, which opened into a good-sized dressing-closet, most luxuriously furnished and fitted with every comfort, and with the walls almost covered with pictures, it seemed to him that no apology was needed. In none of his previous visits had he been so sumptuously billeted, for bachelors in big houses seldom get the best rooms.
The dinner which followed was a very elaborate one, handsomely served, and altogether superabundant for the party of six who sat down to it, not without further apologies on the part of the master of the house for its simplicity, on the score that Yorke must be looked upon as an old friend, to be treated without ceremony. Except himself none of them did much justice to it, possibly because they had lunched well at two, and partaken heartily of tea, cake, and muffins, at five o'clock, for such he afterwards discovered to be the custom of the house.
The conversation (kept up for the most part by the host) at first turned mainly upon Yorke himself; and, accustomed as he had been whilst on furlough to be petted and made much of, he could not help feeling quite uncomfortable at the continual references on the part of his host to Victoria Crosses, cavalry charges, gallantry displayed in the mutiny, and the general superiority of Indian officers to the rest of the military world. Not that Mr. Peevor knew much about these things; his knowledge of them, indeed, was evidently of the vaguest and most general kind, and but that his manner seemed guiltless of humour, Yorke might have fancied that he was secretly poking fun at him; and it was with difficulty that the guest succeeded in turning the conversation from India and military exploits to the inmates of the house. So much, however, Yorke gleaned incidentally while the conversation ran in military channels, that Mr. Peevor had an only son in the —th Hussars — "but only a lieutenant," as his father explained apologetically, adding that he had never served out of the kingdom. "Being an only son, I could not of course wish him to run any risks from foreign climates." Fred, it appeared, was expected home in a day or two, when Mr. Peevor observed he would have the honour and privilege of making Colonel Yorke's acquaintance; and the young ladies, who had so far taken no share in the conversation, being somewhat in awe of the stranger, although Miss Lucy's bright eyes twinkled with fun at Yorke's evident distress under her father's compliments, brightened up as their brother's visit was spoken of. It was such a treat to have Fred at home; he could so seldom get away from his regiment.
They seemed to have a very pretty place here, Yorke presently observed, by way of filling up a pause in the conversation.
Yes, it was a pretty little place, admitted his host, but small, you know; only about two hundred and fifty acres, including gardens and everything.
Was there any game on it? Yorke fancied he had seen something that looked like a cover on the way up.
Yes; there was a fair show of pheasants for the quantity of ground. Mr. Peevor did not shoot himself, but liked to be able to give a day's sport to a friend. The shooting, however, was nearly over for this year; there were merely enough birds left to keep up the stock; but next year he intended to lay down a fresh supply, and he hoped the colonel would do them the honour to come down early in October, when Mr. Peevor would make up a shooting-party to meet him.
So his host did not shoot himself. The next thing was to find out what amusements the young ladies affected. Miss Maria, the eldest, it appeared from the brief replies extracted, did not care about anything in particular, although she liked taking a walk after breakfast if the weather was fine; but on her father observing that they were seldom in the country at this season when the leaves were falling — falling leaves were so very unhealthy — Miss Catherine, taking courage, observed that this was how they always missed the hunting.
"Then you are fond of hunting?" said Yorke, turning to her with more interest in his manner than he had been able as yet to assume.
"It is the only thing worth doing in the winter," replied the young lady with enthusiasm; "but one seldom gets a chance of a good thing: usually one has to put up with the Brighton harriers, which is not very lively work; but we are going to stay here till Christmas this year, and so there will be some real hunting. The Southby-westershire hounds have their first meet in this part of the world to-morrow; it will be so nice."
"And you too are fond of hunting, I suppose?" said Yorke, turning to Miss Lucy, whose pretty little figure, he thought, was just of a kind to show to advantage in a riding-habit. Miss Lucy, however, it appeared, did not hunt or even ride. She had had riding-lessons several times, she said; but was too nervous to go on with them; whereon her father observed that Lucy drove very well notwithstanding, and that she would drive the colonel in her pony-carriage next morning to the meet with pleasure. Mr. Peevor went on to express his extreme regret at not having a hunter to lend Yorke. He had a serviceable hack in his stable, he said, for the use of his friends when they were good enough to come and see him, although he did not ride himself; but he was afraid it would not do for hunting, although it was a very good sort of horse. The colonel, of course, was a fox-hunter, and no doubt had plenty of it in India; whereon Yorke was fain to confess that he had never been at a cover-side in his life, his sporting experience having so far been limited to pig-sticking; but added, incidentally, that it was part of his plan for the winter to job a horse or two, and join some friends in taking a hunting-box in the shires. The conversation now became quite animated; and on his admitting to the question put by Mr. Peevor — who said what a pity it was he could not have some hunting while staying at "The Beeches" — that his boots and other hunting-appurtenances were with his luggage, Miss Catherine ventured to suggest that very tolerable hunters could always be hired at the neighbouring town of Castleroyal; and Mr. Peevor following up the idea, it was arranged that one of the stable-men should drive over in the tax-cart the first thing in the morning, with instructions for a horse to be sent for him to the meet, whither Miss Lucy would drive him in her pony-carriage, while Mrs. Peevor was to take Catherine in the landau. The matter was indeed arranged almost before Yorke could say anything, and not without misgivings on his part; for although it would be pleasant enough to escort Miss Catherine, he did not much fancy making his first appearance on an untried hack. But Mr. Peevor seemed so delighted at the idea, saying that he would write to the stable-keeper himself to send his very best horse — it was worth Bytheday's while, he said, to oblige him, for he paid a pretty large bill there every year — that there was no backing out of it. And Mr. Peevor repeated the order to the butler about the despatch of the tax-cart so many times during dinner, as to suggest a doubt whether orders given in this household were very strictly obeyed.
Mrs. Peevor's two little girls came in to dessert, Minnie and Lottie, whose acquaintance Yorke now made for the first time. Minnie had a chair by her mamma, while Miss Lucy took Lottie on her lap and peeled a pear for her. Then the wine was handed round — claret, port, brown sherry, and two kinds of dry. Mrs. Peevor took a glass of port wine, which her husband took the opportunity of mentioning by the way had been prescribed by the doctor; the other ladies took none, and the gentlemen were soon left to discuss their wine alone.
"What are you taking, colonel?" said Mr. Peevor, moving down to his end of the table; "I am not allowed much wine myself just now — I've got a touch of gout flying about me; but I like to see my friends enjoy their glass. Sherry, eh? Ah, don't drink that wine; it's a fair wine enough, I admit, but let me help you to some of this; you will find this a really tolerable glass of sherry, I believe:" and Mr. Peevor proceeded to recount at length how, through the kindness of a friend who was always on the look-out to do a good turn in that way, he had been fortunate enough to come into the possession of a parcel of very rare wine which a large number of connoisseurs had also been on the look-out to secure; and indeed Yorke was a sufficiently good judge to perceive that his host did not exaggerate the excellence of the article. The conversation indeed took an altogether objective turn, turning on the various commodities in view from where they were sitting, to each of which a long story was attached, the end always being that the thing in question — a carved screen or a bronze or a piece of china, for the room was crowded with such ornaments — had come into the present owner's possession at a high price. "I make a point of putting aside a trifle every year," said Mr. Peevor, apologetically, "for little purchases of this sort; it improves the look of the house, you know, and gives one occupation." The pictures Colonel Yorke must look at to-morrow, in better light: he made a point of buying four or five pictures a year; it was a man's duty to encourage art, and then it made the visits to the Royal Academy so interesting if you went there with an object. Yorke thereon observed that his host was to be envied his life passed so usefully and agreeably, and surrounded by the comforts of such a happy home; but Mr. Peevor did not accept this cheerful view of his position, remarking sadly that there were many anxieties connected with a household of that sort: the servants were a sad trouble; he had had to change his butler three times in the last year, although he had got a treasure at last. And then cooks were so troublesome, Mrs. Peevor was nearly worried out of her life by them, although the housekeeper had a high salary, and ought to save her from such trouble; with her delicate health this naturally made him very anxious, after his past sorrows. This Yorke understood to be an allusion to the premature decease of a former Mrs. Peevor. Then somehow the conversation came round to his children; and Mr. Peevor — although still meandering off at intervals into the price-current line — explained that although he had made it a duty to bring up his girls with comforts around them — indeed what right-thinking father could do less? — yet he hoped he had not spoilt them for a somewhat plainer life. The girls were girls, and of course could not expect to be always in their father's home; his first duty was towards his son, and the daughters must be content with a slenderer portion of such goods as he might possess. Not indeed that there would not be a trifle for each of them, if anything happened to him; in fact he might say he had not forgotten his daughters' claims upon him, and he had been able to reserve something substantial out of the means with which Providence had blessed him — nor would he let a trifle more or less stand in the way of a girl's happiness. Indeed the warning he had had from poor dear Maria's sad affair would naturally make him anxious to avoid such a misfortune again. And then, while Yorke was about to express his interest in this subject, en which his sympathy seemed to be invited, the worthy gentleman rambled off in maundering strains to the china and the bronzes, while his amused guest pursued the train of ideas suggested by what had gone before. Which of the girls, he thought, does he want me to marry? And to how many single gentlemen visiting here by turns has he made a similar confidence? And under the influence of this plain speaking, the sort of interest with which he had been regarding Lucy Peevor's pretty face during dinner was succeeded by a feeling of distrust.
When the gentlemen rose at last from table, — having, however, made between them a very small inroad on the contents of the five decanters, — and entered the drawing-room — the yellow drawing-room as it was called (they had assembled before dinner in another called the blue drawing-room), and Yorke now saw this apartment for the first time, gorgeously furnished and ablaze with lights — they found the ladies all more or less asleep over their books and newspapers; but although there was a general waking up, it could not be said that the evening was very lively. It was now Mr. Peevor's turn to be sleepy; Mrs. Peevor was languid and silent; Miss Maria evidently posed as the confirmed invalid, from whom no share in entertaining company was to be expected; the young ladies, in awe of their visitor, the first colonel they had ever met, were shy, and did not volunteer to lead in the conversation. But Yorke was too modest to put down the silence to this cause; the young ladies he had been accustomed to meet were mostly talkative, not to say fast, and he put their reserve down to indifference or gaucherie. But observing that there was an enormous grand pianoforte in a corner of the room, he proceeded, as in duty bound, to put the young ladies through their musical paces. Miss Maria, however, it appeared, neither played nor sang; but Miss Catherine at his invitation sat down at the instrument — her father remarking by the way that the girls always had a course of finishing lessons from the best masters when the family was in town — and played a little piece in a more or less feeble manner; after which Miss Lucy, who sang but did not play, warbled nervously a couple of English ballads without any particular tune to her sister's accompaniment, while the guest could not help feeling sorry that she should exhibit herself to such disadvantage, for certainly she was a very pretty little girl. After this the numerous pictures on the walls naturally suggested a reference to the fine arts, and an inquiry as to the young ladies' accomplishments in this line. Miss Maria did not draw, but her sisters after a little pressing produced their portfolios — Mr. Peevor remarking parenthetically that he had secured Jenkins, A. R. A., to give them lessons during the two last seasons in town; a very rising man Jenkins, and of course as a rule he did not take pupils, but Mr. Peevor had made a special arrangement with him, which the guest readily understood to have been connected with the drawing of a cheque for an amount unusual in such transactions. Miss Catherine drew large heads of uncertain outline in chalk. Miss Lucy little landscapes in muddy water-colours, and Yorke knew so little about the matter that he was able to praise the performances (which might have cost about a hundred guineas apiece) without hypocrisy. Miss Catherine brought out her portfolio in a matter-of-fact way, as if the performance were an accustomed one to be gone through; but Miss Lucy gave a toss of her little head while showing her part of the exhibition, as if she estimated it at its proper value. Then Mrs. Peevor and Miss Maria retired — invalid habits being implied in the parting ceremony — and an adjournment was proposed to the billiard-room, an ample chamber fitted up with luxurious settees. Cigars of admirable aroma were now produced, and Mr. Peevor insisted upon Yorke's lighting one, notwithstanding the young ladies' presence, observing that the girls liked the smell, and that these were some very rare tobacco which he had succeeded in procuring through a friend in Spain; he did not smoke himself, but he liked to keep a tolerable cigar for his friends.
The young ladies' performances at the billiard-table were not more brilliant than their efforts in the fine arts; and as Mr. Peevor himself, although careful to explain that the table was of a peculiar construction made to special order, turned out to be an indifferent player, the game was rather one-sided. But it did not last long; for as breakfast was ordered for nine o'clock the next morning on account of the hunting, Mr. Peevor soon became fidgety about his daughters not being up in time, and hurried them off to bed; and then before wishing his guest good-night at his room-door, gave a last order to the butler for the despatch of the tax-cart to Castleroyal the first thing in the morning; after which he proceeded to make the round of the house to see that all the bolts and bars were properly secured, and the warning-bells attached to all the windows, without taking which precaution nightly, he said, he should not be able to get a moment's sleep.
As Yorke in the retirement of his luxurious bedroom reflected with a sort of amused curiosity on the proceedings of the evening, he felt almost angry with himself at harbouring involuntarily a suspicion of his generous host's honesty. And yet the suspicion would come up. Is all this luxury and apparent wealth, he thought, a mere blind to delude the world? And the stories came up to his mind of the different swindlers in recent years who had imposed upon the public for a brief space by prodigal scattering of money which did not belong to them. Does he want to get rid of one of his daughters before the impending smash takes place? Surely, if he is really the man of substance he appears to be, it would not be necessary to seek out a stranger like myself, a mere soldier of fortune, in order to get a husband for presentable, well-portioned daughters. Such wonderful eagerness is enough to make one suspicious. But this idea was quickly dismissed. Clearly there were no marks of the adventurer about Mr. Peevor. Nothing could be more in contrast to the uneasy forced composure that would be expected in the swindler who is striving to keep up appearances till ruin and exposure should overtake him, than the easy-going indolence of the worthy host, whose mind would not run upon trifles as it did if there were graver subjects to occupy it. Yet it seemed impossible to mistake the broad hints he dropped of his anxiety to dispose of his daughters. Mr. Peevor, however, was evidently a desperate fidget; and perhaps in view of poor Miss Maria's impending fate of old-maidhood before him, he had worked himself into a craze to make any reasonable match for the others before it was too late. Miss Maria had evidently been the victim of a disappointment. Yet why should eligible bachelors be wanting in such desirable quarters? And then Yorke, half ashamed of himself for his treachery to the passion which he taken a secret pride in cherishing for so long, amused himself with speculating on the absurdity of a lovemaking from which all the usual necessary ingredients of the pursuit should be wanting. No blind passion in this case, at any rate; it must be the mere caricature of the real thing when you set off by appraising all the lady's blemishes. To think of professing to make love to a girl when all the time you were criticising her little imperfections! Truly this would be a droll conclusion for a man who had prided himself on his power of romantic devotion. And after all, which of the two was it to be? Even this preliminary step was not yet settled. Thus musing, Yorke fell asleep.