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 acquainted,--the robbery of
the cottage, the disappearance of Alice, the suspicions that connected
that disappearance with her ruffian father, the despair and search of
Maltravers. He added that Ernest, both before his departure from
England, and on his return, had written to him to learn if Alice had ever
been heard of; the replies of the magistrate were unsatisfactory. "And
do you think, my lord, that Mr. Maltravers has never to this day
ascertained what became of the poor young woman?"
"Why, let me see,--what was her name?"
The magistrate thought a moment, and replied, "Alice Darvil."
"Alice!" exclaimed Vargrave. "Alice!"--aware that such was the
Christian name of his uncle's wife, and now almost convinced of the truth
of his first vague suspicion.
"You seem to know the name?"
"Of Alice; yes--but not Darvil. No, no; I believe he has never heard of
the girl to this hour. Nor you either?"
"I have not. One little circumstance related to me by Mr. Hobbs, your
surveyor's father, gave me some uneasiness. About two years after the
young woman disappeared, a girl, of very humble dress and appearance,
stopped at the gate of Hobbs' Lodge, and asked earnestly for Mr. Butler.
On hearing he was gone, she turned away, and was seen no more. It seems
that this girl had an infant in her arms--which rather shocked the
propriety of Mr. and Mrs. Hobbs. The old gentleman told me the
circumstance a few days after it happened, and I caused inquiry to be
made for the stranger; but she could not be discovered. I thought at
first this possibly might be the lost Alice; but I learned that, during
his stay at the cottage, your friend--despite his error, which we will
not stop to excuse--had exercised so generous and wide a charity amongst
the poor in the town and neighbourhood, that it was a more probable
supposition of the two that the girl belonged to some family he had
formerly relieved, and her visit was that of a mendicant, not a mistress.
Accordingly, after much consideration, I resolved not to mention the
circumstances to Mr. Maltravers, when he wrote to me on his return from
the Continent. A considerable time had then elapsed since the girl had
applied to Mr. Hobbs; all trace of her was lost; the incident might open
wounds that time must have nearly healed, might give false hopes--or,
what was worse, occasion a fresh and unfounded remorse at the idea of
Alice's destitution; it would, in fact, do no good, and might occasion
unnecessary pain. I therefore suppressed all mention of it."
"You did right: and so the poor girl had an infant in her arms?--humph!
What sort of looking person was this Alice Darvil,--pretty, of course?"
"I never saw her; and none but the persons employed in the premises knew
her by sight; they described her as remarkably lovely."
"Fair and slight, with blue eyes, I suppose?--those are the orthodox
requisites of a heroine."
"Upon my word I forget; indeed I should never have remembered as much as
I do, if the celebrity of Mr. Maltravers, and the consequence of his
family in these parts, together with the sight of his own agony--the most
painful I ever witnessed--had not served to impress the whole affair very
deeply on my mind."
"Was the girl who appeared at the gate of Hobbs' Lodge described to you?"
"No; they scarcely observed her countenance, except that her complexion
was too fair for a gypsy's; yet, now I think of it, Mrs. Tiddy, who was
with her father when he told me the adventure, dwelt particularly on her
having (as you so pleasantly conjecture) fair hair and blue eyes. Mrs.
Tiddy, being just married, was romantic at that day."
"Well, it is an odd tale; but life is full of odd tales. Here we are at
the house; it really is a splendid old place!"
