I talked like a boy, feeling like a man: she behaved like a woman, blushing like a girl.
"Julia! I can never call you Mrs. Bulsted."
"You have an affection for my husband, have you not, Harry?"
Of a season when this was adorable language to me, the indication is sufficient. Riding out perfectly crazed by it, I met Kiomi, and transferred my emotions. The squire had paid her people an annual sum to keep away from our neighbourhood, while there was a chance of my taking to gipsy life. They had come back to their old camping-ground, rather dissatisfied with the squire.
"Speak to him yourself, Kiomi," said I; "whatever you ask for, he can"t refuse anything to such eyes as yours."
"You!" she rallied me; "why can"t you talk sensible stuff!"
She had grown a superb savage, proof against weather and compliments.
Her face was like an Egyptian sky fronting night. The strong old Eastern blood put ruddy flame for the red colour; tawny olive edged from the red; rare vivid yellow, all but amber. The light that first looks down upon the fallen sun was her complexion above the brows, and round the cheeks, the neck"s nape, the throat, and the firm bosom prompt to lift and sink with her vigour of speech, as her eyes were to flash and darken. Meeting her you swore she was the personification of wandering Asia. There was no question of beauty and grace, for these have laws.
The curve of her brows broke like a beaten wave; the lips and nostrils were wide, tragic in repose. But when she laughed she illuminated you; where she stepped she made the earth hers. She was as fresh of her East as the morning when her ancient people struck tents in the track of their shadows. I write of her in the style consonant to my ideas of her at the time. I would have carried her off on the impulse and lived her life, merely to have had such a picture moving in my sight, and call it mine.
"You"re not married?" I said, ludicrously faintly.
"I "ve not seen the man I"d marry," she answered, grinning scorn.
The prizefighter had adopted drinking for his pursuit; one of her aunts was dead, and she was in quest of money to bury the dead woman with the conventional ceremonies and shows of respect dear to the hearts of gipsies, whose sense of propriety and adherence to customs are a sentiment indulged by them to a degree unknown to the stabled cla.s.ses.
In fact, they have no other which does not come under the definite t.i.tle of pride;--pride in their physical prowess, their dexterity, ingenuity, and tricksiness, and their purity of blood. Kiomi confessed she had hoped to meet me; confessed next that she had been waiting to jump out on me: and next that she had sat in a tree watching the Grange yesterday for six hours; and all for money to do honour to her dead relative, poor little soul! Heriot and I joined the decent procession to the grave. Her people had some quarrel with the Durstan villagers, and she feared the scandal of being pelted on the way to the church. I knew that nothing of the sort would happen if I was present. Kiomi walked humbly with her head bent, leaving me the thick rippling coa.r.s.e black locks of her hair for a mark of observation. We were entertained at her camp in the afternoon. I saw no sign of intelligence between her and Heriot. On my asking her, the day before, if she remembered him, she said, "I do, I"m dangerous for that young man." Heriot"s comment on her was impressed on me by his choosing to call her "a fine doe leopard," and maintaining that it was a defensible phrase.
She was swept from my amorous mind by Mabel Sweetwinter, the miller"s daughter of Dipwell. This was a Saxon beauty in full bud, yellow as mid-May, with the eyes of opening June. Beauty, you will say, is easily painted in that style. But the sort of beauty suits the style, and the well-worn comparisons express the well-known type. Beside Kiomi she was like a rich meadow on the border of the heaths.
We saw them together on my twenty-first birthday. To my shame I awoke in the early morning at Riversley, forgetful of my father"s old appointment for the great Dipwell feast. Not long after sunrise, when blackbirds peck the lawns, and swallows are out from under eaves to the flood"s face, I was hailed by Janet Ilchester beneath my open windows. I knew she had a bet with the squire that she would be the first to hail me legal man, and was prepared for it. She sat on horseback alone in the hazy dewy Midsummer morning, giving clear note:
"Whoop! Harry Richmond! halloo!" To which I tossed her a fox"s brush, having a jewelled bracelet pendant. She missed it and let it lie, and laughed.
"No, no; it"s foxie himself!--anybody may have the brush. You"re dressed, are you, Harry? You were sure I should come? A thousand happy years to you, and me to see them, if you don"t mind. I "m first to wish it, I"m certain. I was awake at three, out at halfpast, over Durstan heath, across Eckerthy"s fields--we"ll pay the old man for damage--down by the plantation, Bran and Sailor at my heels, and here I am. Crow, c.o.c.ks! bark, dogs! up, larks! I said I"d be first. And now I "m round to stables to stir up Uberly. Don"t be tardy, Mr. Harry, and we"ll be Commodore Arson and his crew before the world"s awake."
We rode out for a couple of hours, and had to knock at a farmhouse for milk and bread. Possibly a sense of independence, owing to the s.n.a.t.c.hing of a meal in midflight away from home, made Janet exclaim that she would gladly be out all day. Such freaks were exceedingly to my taste. Then I remembered Dipwell, and sure that my father would be there, though he had not written of it, I proposed to ride over. She pleaded for the horses and the squire alternately. Feasting was arranged at Riversley, as well as at Dipwell, and she said musically,
"Harry, the squire is a very old man, and you may not have many more chances of pleasing him. To-day do, do! To-morrow, ride to your father, if you must: of course you must if you think it right; but don"t go this day."
"Not upset my fortune, Janet?"
"Don"t hurt the kind old man"s heart to-day."
"Oh! you"re the girl of his heart, I know."
"Well, Harry, you have first place, and I want you to keep it."
"But here"s an oath I"ve sworn to my father."
"He should not have exacted it, I think."
"I promised him when I was a youngster."
"Then be wiser now, Harry."
"You have brilliant ideas of the sacredness of engagements."
"I think I have common sense, that"s all."
"This is a matter of feeling."
"It seems that you forgot it, though!"
Kiomi"s tents on Durstan heath rose into view. I controlled my verbal retort upon Janet to lead her up to the gipsy girl, for whom she had an odd aversion, dating from childhood. Kiomi undertook to ride to Dipwell, a distance of thirty miles, and carry the message that I would be there by nightfall. Tears were on Janet"s resolute face as we cantered home.
After breakfast the squire introduced me to his lawyer, Mr. Burgin, who, closeted alone with me, said formally,
"Mr. Harry Richmond, you are Squire Beltham"s grandson, his sole male descendant, and you are established at present, and as far as we can apprehend for the future, as the direct heir to the whole of his property, which is enormous now, and likely to increase so long as he lives. You may not be aware that your grandfather has a most sagacious eye for business. Had he not been born a rich man he would still have been one of our very greatest millionaires. He has rarely invested but to double his capital; never speculated but to succeed. He may not understand men quite so well, but then he trusts none entirely; so if there is a chasm in his intelligence, there is a bridge thrown across it. The metaphor is obscure perhaps: you will doubtless see my meaning.
He knows how to go on his road without being cheated. For himself, your grandfather, Mr. Harry, is the soul of honour. Now, I have to explain certain family matters. The squire"s wife, your maternal grandmother, was a rich heiress. Part of her money was settled on her to descend to her children by reversion upon her death. What she herself possessed she bequeathed to them in reversion likewise to their children. Thus at your maternal grandmother"s death, your mother and your aunt inherited money to use as their own, and the interest of money tied fast in reversion to their children (in case of marriage) after their death. Your grandfather, as your natural guardian, has left the annual interest of your money to acc.u.mulate, and now you are of age he hands it to you, as you see, without much delay. Thus you become this day the possessor of seventy thousand pounds, respecting the disposal of which I am here to take your orders. Ahem!--as to the remaining property of your mother"s--the sum held by her for her own use, I mean, it devolved to her husband, your father, who, it is probable, will furnish you an account of it--ah!--at his leisure--ah! um! And now, in addition, Mr. Harry, I have the squire"s commands to speak to you as a man of business, on what may be deemed a delicate subject, though from the business point of view no peculiar delicacy should pertain to it. Your grandfather will settle on you estates and money to the value of twenty thousand pounds per annum on the day of your union with a young lady in this district, Miss Janet Ilchester. He undertakes likewise to provide her pin-money. Also, let me observe, that it is his request--but he makes no stipulation of it that you will ultimately a.s.sume the name of Beltham, subscribing yourself Harry Lepel Richmond Beltham; or, if it pleases you, Richmond-Beltham, with the junction hyphen. Needless to say, he leaves it to your decision. And now, Mr. Harry, I have done, and may most cordially congratulate you on the blessings it has pleased a kind and discerning Providence to shower on your head."
None so grimly ironical as the obsequious! I thought of Burgin"s "discerning" providence (he spoke with all professional sincerity) in after days.
On the occasion I thought of nothing but the squire"s straight-forwardness, and grieved to have to wound him. Janet helped me.
She hinted with a bashfulness, quite new to her, that I must go through some ceremony. Guessing what it was, I saluted her on the cheek. The squire observed that a kiss of that sort might as well have been planted on her back hair. "But," said he, and wisely, "I"d rather have the girl worth ten of you, than you be more than her match. Girls like my girl here are precious." Owing to her intercession, he winked at my departure after I had done duty among the tenants; he barely betrayed his vexation, and it must have been excessive.
Heriot and I rode over to Dipwell. Next night we rode back by moonlight with matter for a year of laughter, singing like two Arabian poets praises of dark and fair, challengeing one to rival the other. Kiomi!
Mabel! we shouted separately. We had just seen the dregs of the last of the birthday Burgundy.
"Kiomi! what a splendid panther she is!" cries Heriot; and I: "Teeth and claws, and a skin like a burnt patch on a common! Mabel"s like a wonderful sunflower."
"b.u.t.ter and eggs! old Richie, and about as much fire as a rushlight. If the race were Fat she "d beat the world."
"Heriot, I give you my word of honour, the very look of her "s eternal Summer. Kiomi rings thin--she tinkles; it "s the difference between metal and flesh."
"Did she tinkle, as you call it, when that fellow Destrier, confound him! touched her?"
"The little cat! Did you notice Mabel"s blush?"
"How could I help it? We"ve all had a dozen apiece. You saw little Kiomi curled up under the hop and briony?"
"I took her for a dead jackdaw."
"I took her for what she is, and she may slap, scream, tear, and bite, I "ll take her yet-and all her tribe crying thief, by way of a diversion.
She and I are footed a pair."
His impetuosity surpa.s.sed mine so much that I fell to brooding on the superior image of my charmer. The result was, I could not keep away from her. I managed to get home with leaden limbs. Next day I was back at Dipwell.
Such guilt as I have to answer for I may avow. I made violent love to this silly country beauty, and held every advantage over her other flatterers. She had met me on the evening of the great twenty-first, she and a line of damsels dressed in white and wearing wreaths, and I had claimed the privilege of saluting her. The chief superintendent of the festivities, my father"s old cook, Monsieur Alphonse, turned twilight into noonday with a sheaf of rockets at the moment my lips brushed her cheek. It was a kiss marred; I claimed to amend it. Besides, we had been bosom friends in childhood. My wonder at the growth of the rose I had left but an insignificant th.o.r.n.y shoot was exquisite natural flattery, sweet reason, to which she could not say nonsense. At each step we trod on souvenirs, innocent in themselves, had they recurred to childish minds. The whisper, "Hark! it"s sunset, Mabel, Martha Thresher calls,"
clouded her face with stormy sunset colours. I respected Martha even then for boldly speaking to me on the girl"s behalf. Mrs. Waddy"s courage failed. John Thresher and Mark Sweetwinter were overcome by my father"s princely prodigality; their heads were turned, they appeared to have a.s.sumed that I could do no wrong. To cut short the episode, some one wrote to the squire in uncouth English, telling him I was courting a country la.s.s, and he at once started me for the Continent. We had some conversation on money before parting. The squire allowed me a thousand a year, independent of my own income. He counselled prudence, warned me that I was on my trial, and giving me his word of honour that he should not spy into my Bank accounts, desired me to be worthy of the trust reposed in me. Speculation he forbade. I left him satisfied with the a.s.surance that I meant to make my grand tour neither as a merchant, a gambler, nor a rake, but simply as a plain English gentleman.
"There"s nothing better in the world than that," said he.
Arrived in London, I left my travelling companion, the Rev. Ambrose Peterborough, sipping his Port at the hotel, and rushed down to Dipwell, shot a pebble at Mabel"s window by morning twilight, and soon had her face at the cas.e.m.e.nt. But it was a cloudy and rainbeaten face. She pointed toward the farm, saying that my father was there.