A Search For A Secret: A Novel. Vol. 1

by G. A. Henty

  CHAPTER VII.

  SOCIETY GRACIOUSLY CONDESCENDS.

  For upwards of a year after Mr. Harmer had spoken to papa relative tothe intended disposition of his property, the matter was not mentionedto any one, but was known only to Dr. and Mrs. Ashleigh, my brotherHarry, himself, and his sisters. At the end of that time he made publichis intentions, and spoke of them openly. He did this for reasonsconnected with Sophy Needham, for whom he was desirous of obtainingsuitable society. At the time the matter gave papa a good deal ofannoyance. Much as he was generally liked and esteemed, there werepeople found, as there always are found upon every occasion, who madeill-natured remarks upon our good fortune, and who really seemed bytheir talk to be personally aggrieved at Mr. Harmer's kind intentionstowards us. Had they been asked why they were so, they probably couldnot have replied; for as Mr. Harmer had--with the exception of hissisters, who were amply provided for--no relation in the world, it wasevident that there was no one who could be considered as wronged orinjured by this disposition of his property. However, so it was; and,although papa received the sincere congratulations of all his oldfriends, I think he felt a good deal the ill-natured remarks, which cameto his ears, of people for whose opinion I should have thought he wouldhave cared nothing whatever. I was rather surprised at this; for ifthere was one person more than another who had by his whole life andconduct showed that he did not care for money, it was papa. He might,therefore, have well afforded to laugh at such accusations as this; butI suppose no one, however conscious of rectitude, likes to be spoken illof, even by people whom he despises, and whose opinion about others hewould treat with contempt.

  This was not, however, of long continuance, for, as far as we wereconcerned, the talk and wonder soon died away, and things settled downinto their usual state; but it was not so as regarded Sophy Needham. Theannouncement that she was to be the heiress of half of Mr. Harmer'slarge fortune, elicited the greatest reprobation and disgust among thevery portion of the population who had been most cordial in theircongratulations as to the destination of the other half; namely, amongthe country gentry, the clergy--a very numerous and powerful body inCanterbury,--the professional men, and respectabilities of the place.

  "To think that that girl,--that----[and they called poor Sophy very hardnames],--that young person, should be raised up into one of the richestheiresses of that part of the country, was a scandal to morality and anoutrage to public decency. Her elevation was offering a premium toimmorality among the lower orders. Did Mr. Harmer suppose that a personof that kind, however wealthy, would be received into society? No,indeed; the thing was quite out of the question."

  This was the first outburst of opinion among the upper two hundred ofCanterbury.

  By degrees, finding that Mr. Harmer did not concern himself greatly withwhat was said about him, and that he showed no sign of changing hisdeclared intentions in deference to the popular voice, society gave uptalking so much about it; but its opinion was, it declared, unchangeableas to the objectionable nature of his conduct.

  I think it likely that Mr. Harmer, who loved peace and quiet above allthings, would have suffered matters to remain as they were; but papa hada serious talk with him on the subject. He pointed out that Sophy wasnow eighteen years old, that the mere declaration of Mr. Harmer'sintentions towards her had not been of any use in procuring her friendsof her own age, and that, for her sake, he ought to again re-entersociety. She was growing up knowing nothing of the world; and shouldanything happen to Mr. Harmer, she, being left entirely unprotected andalone, would fall an easy prey to some fortune-hunter of the worst kind,and her fortune would thus, instead of a benefit, turn out a positiveevil to her.

  Mr. Harmer acknowledged the truth of all this, and agreed with thedoctor, that reluctant as he felt to change his present studious andretired mode of life, he ought still, for her sake, to make an effort tore-enter society.

  Accordingly, the next day he ordered his carriage, and made a long roundof visits to his old friends in the town and precincts; for, although hehad ceased to visit, he had still kept up a casual acquaintance withthose he had before known, and indeed had met many of them during hisfrequent visits to papa.

  Mr. Harmer's calls were everywhere received with pleasure, and hisfrank, winning manner seemed at once to place him upon a familiarfooting with those of his friends with whom he had once been such afavourite. He apologized for the hermit life he had so long led; saidthat circumstances had induced him to determine to abandon it, and thathe hoped that they, their wives, and daughters would show that theyforgave him by calling at Harmer Place. But at the end of the day, ifwell satisfied with the reception he had personally met with, he wasunable to persuade himself that he had made the slightest progress, asfar as Sophy--who was the real object of his visits--was concerned. Acordial invitation had been in each instance given him to repeat hiscalls, but in no case had more than an evasive answer been returned inreply to his invitation to the ladies of the family.

  On the day succeeding these visits the interchange of calls which tookplace at Canterbury was quite without precedent. The great questionwhich every one had to ask was, "Should they go over to Harmer Place tocall upon Sophy Needham?" It would hardly have been supposed necessaryto have asked a question upon which they had, three months before,decided unanimously in the negative; but then it is so easy to say youwill not do a thing before you have been asked--so very difficult torefuse when you are. Indeed, many of the Canterbury ladies were nowsorry that they had spoken so very decidedly, and were ready to admitthat there was really a good deal to be said in favour of calling uponthe poor girl.

  However, fortunately for these vaccillating creatures, and happily forthe propriety and strict respectability of the town, the heads of thesociety, from whose dicta there was no appeal, sternly said that such athing was, of course, out of the question; and society in generalnaturally followed suit, repressed a little sigh of regret, and agreedthat it was quite out of the question. Had the population of Canterburybeen differently proportioned to what it was, the answer might have beenotherwise. Had there been young men in the place, who might have won theheiress, their mothers might have rebelled against the edict ofexclusion, and for their sons' sake have called upon Sophy Needham; but,as I shall explain in its proper place, there were no young men inCanterbury, and therefore no motive for any one to rebel againstconstituted authority, or to outrage propriety by calling at HarmerPlace.

  Papa, when informed of this decision, was very indignant and angry--muchmore so than he had been by the recent aspersions on himself. He evenwent so far as to say, that if this were Christian charity, he wouldrather fall among heathens. He exerted himself to the utmost to bringmatters about, but the other ladies would not call unless the ladies ofthe precincts did, and the ladies of the precincts would not. However,it was not papa's way to give up anything he had once undertaken, and heaccordingly one day sat down and wrote as follows:--

  "My dear old Friend,

  "Although our correspondence has been pretty regular, it is now three years since we met, and I want you, your wife, and daughter to come down and stay a week with us, either before or after Christmas, as may suit you best. Your diocese can, I am sure, do without you for a little while, and I know you will be glad to see again the old place, where you lived so long; and it would give us all great pleasure to enjoy your society once more. At the same time, I tell you frankly that it is in your power to confer a great favour and benefit both upon myself and upon another old friend of yours, Herbert Harmer.

  "You will remember he brought up the child his son left behind him, that he sent her to school, and, in fact, adopted her as his own. All this happened when you were here. In my last letter I told you that he intended to leave her half his fortune, about L75,000. He is now naturally anxious to introduce her into society, in order that she may see the world, and make some suitable match, as otherwise the poor girl would, at his de
ath, be nearly certain to be snapped up by some worthless fortune-hunter. Now you will hardly believe me when I tell you that the Christian matrons of this town shake their garments at the poor child, and insist that her presence would be a contamination to the pure atmosphere they breathe.

  "Sophy is a quiet, modest, ladylike girl, and I am greatly interested in her. But here I can do nothing. I am sure that the great proportion of the ladies would be willing enough to call upon her, but they are like society in general--a mere flock of sheep, who will only follow where the bell-wethers lead them. Now, the two or three ladies who act in that capacity to Canterbury society consider that this poor little lamb will taint the whole flock, and therefore pronounce her infect and excommunicated.

  "My dear old friend, I rely upon you and your kind wife to take off the ban these Pharisees have lain upon her. If you will both go over, during your stay here, to call upon her, Canterbury will be only too glad to do the same. If a bishop and his lady pronounce her visitable, who shall say them nay? I know, old friend, that in the eyes of yourself and your wife the sin of this poor girl's parents will not affect her. She is not to blame, and why should their faults be visited upon her? But I know that upon this head I need say nothing. Your wide views of Christian love and charity are so well known, that any word upon the subject would be superfluous. If you will do this, my dear bishop, you will confer an inestimable benefit upon Herbert Harmer and his grand-daughter; and you will very greatly oblige,

  "Yours, very truly,

  "ALFRED ASHLEIGH."

  All turned out as papa had hoped. The bishop, with his wife anddaughter, came down to spend a week with us. The day after they arrivedwe had a perfect levee of visitors; and when the room was at itsfullest, Mr. Harmer came in, being, of course, in complete ignorancethat the visit had been principally brought about for his especialbenefit. The bishop greeted him warmly, for they mutually esteemed andliked each other.

  "I am very glad, Mr. Harmer, to hear from our friend, the doctor, thatyou have given up your hermit-mode of life, and are going out into theworld again. I suppose all these years you have been hoarding uptreasures: your house must be a perfect scientific museum by this time;and the doctor tells me that your library is nearly perfect, of itskind. I must really come over some day before I leave and inspect yourcollection."

  Mr. Harmer expressed the gratification the visit would afford him.

  "I shall certainly come," the bishop went on; "it will give me greatpleasure. Let me see. To-morrow I shall be engaged in calls upon myfriends in the town; suppose we say the day after. What do you say, mydear?" he asked, raising his voice, to his wife, who was sitting on theother side of the room, "I am going over the day after to-morrow to seeMr. Harmer's museum and library; will you and Gertude accompany me? Youradopted daughter," he added, turning to Mr. Harmer, "must be growingquite a young woman by this time."

  "Certainly, my dear," his wife answered, "I should like it very much."

  Mr. Harmer's face flushed with pleasure, and he wrung the bishop's hand.It was easy to see that he felt the kindness, and saw the true motive ofthe offer to brings his wife and daughter to Harmer Place. As to theremainder of those present, they were simply astounded. The buzz ofconversation ceased throughout the room, and a dead silence ensued. Asfor myself, I should certainly have laughed out loud--had not thesilence been so great that I dared not do so--at the general look ofdismay in the female faces, and of rather amusement on the part of thegentlemen, who I could guess had been vainly urging their wives to call.The conversation presently became general again, but the effort was toogreat to be continued long; and in a very few minutes most of thosepresent took their leave, only to be succeeded by fresh callers, untilhalf-past four, after which hour it was the strict etiquette ofCanterbury that no visits were permissible.

  On the appointed day the visit was paid. I accompanied them in thecarriage, and papa rode on horseback.

  The Miss Harmers were away, as, indeed, had been the case since Sophyhad left school and taken up her permanent residence there. Sophy waspale, and evidently very nervous; and in her manifest desire to pleaseit was easy to see that she was much affected, and deeply grateful forthe kindness which would be the means of removing the disadvantagesunder which she had laboured, and which had weighed much upon her mind.However, before the visit, which lasted some time, as the library andcollection of scientific apparatus had to be inspected, was over, shehad recovered her usual placid demeanour.

  This visit had the consequences which papa had predicted from it.Society unanimously agreed that although certainly it was a strange, avery strange step for the bishop and his lady to have taken, still asthey had done so, there could be no harm in every one else doing thesame; in fact that it would only be what was right and proper. Theladies whom papa had rather irreverently spoken of in his letter as thebell-wethers of the flock, held out to the last and declared that theycould not reconcile it to their conscience, or to their sense of whatwas due to their husbands' position. But the flock were no longerobedient to their lead, and indeed whispered amongst themselves, that abishop's lady, who was moreover the daughter of a peeress, must know agood deal better what was proper and right than a mere canon's wifecould do; and the consequence was that from that moment the influence ofthese ladies over Canterbury society waned much, and the opposition topoor Sophy recoiled upon the heads of those who had made it. In a shorttime every one in Canterbury and the neighbourhood called at HarmerPlace, and the general verdict upon Sophy was decidedly satisfactory.She was pronounced quiet, self-composed, and ladylike; and indeed Sophyevinced none of that nervousness which she had shown upon the occasionof the bishop's visit. To him she felt she owed all; to these peoplenothing. So, although perfectly polite and courteous, she was yetcomposed and tranquil; and some of the ladies who had called, quiteprepared to be very patronizing and kind, found any such line of conductcompletely out of the question. There was a quiet dignity and selfpossession about her which became her much. She was the well-bredhostess receiving her grandfather's guests, and few girls enacting sucha part for the first time could have played it so well.

  For three or four months after the bishop's visit had given the signalfor society to admit Sophy Needham within its circle, the intercoursewas restricted to morning calls of an extremely formal nature, whichseemed by no means likely to bring about the result, to obtain which Mr.Harmer had emerged from his solitude; he made up his mind, therefore, tobreak the ice, which again seemed setting over the surface of theCanterbury society, by giving a series of picnics and open air fetes.The first of these took place early in June, when I was away at school;but I heard full particulars of it upon my return. The whole of theinhabitants of Canterbury and the neighbourhood whose position renderedthem eligible were invited, together with the officers of the garrison,a very necessary addition at Canterbury, where dancing young men arealmost unknown. A large marquee was erected and boarded for dancing, aquadrille band brought down from London, and the military band engagedfor the afternoon. Archery butts were set up, bowling-greens mowed androlled, and coloured lamps placed in all the walks, to be illuminatedafter dusk. People met at between three and four, had a substantial teaat six, and a magnificent supper at eleven. Nothing, in short, whichtaste and an unlimited purse could do, was neglected, and the result wasa splendid success. And yet early in the evening a difference had arisenwhich would have marred the pleasure of the whole scene had it not beenfor the firmness of Mr. Harmer. It seemed that soon after nine o'clockwhen it began to get dusk, some of the ladies of the precincts hadobjected strongly to the coloured lamps which had just been lighted, andwhich began to sparkle in the trees and grass by the side of the variouswalks. Not in themselves, for they allowed the effect to be very pretty;but as offering inducements and pretexts for isolated couples to strollaway, and get entirely beyond maternal supervision. Two of the ladieswaited upon Mr. H
armer as a sort of deputation from the others, and ithappened that one of them was the chief of the party who had opposedSophy Needham's introduction into society, but who had at last come tothe conclusion that, as others were going, it would be showing a want ofChristian feeling to refuse to do as others did. These ladies recited toMr. Harmer the objections they entertained, and concluded--

  "The lighted walks will tempt the young people to stroll away and getquite out of our sight, and as all these thoughtless officers are sureto persuade them to walk there, it will lead to all sorts of sillynonsense and flirtation."

  "My dear ladies," Mr. Harmer said, "as to the result I entirely agreewith you, and as I, although I am an old fellow now, do like to seeyoung people enjoying themselves, it is precisely for the very reasonthat you have alleged that I have had the garden lighted up."

  There was nothing to reply to this, but one of the ladies said ratherangrily--

  "Of course, Mr. Harmer, you can do as you like, but we shall forbid ourdaughters to walk there."

  "My dear madam," Mr. Harmer said, gently, "you can equally of course doas you please; but it appears to me, and it will appear to every oneelse, if you issue such an order, that you can have but a very pooropinion of, and very slight confidence in, the principles of yourdaughters. You show, in fact, that you cannot trust them to stroll for afew minutes, with gentlemen they have never met before, in well-lightedwalks, where there will be dozens of other couples similarly enjoyingthemselves. Were I in your place, I should hesitate greatly before Ilaid such a serious imputation upon my children."

  The deputation retired greatly crestfallen, and the result was that forthat evening the young Canterbury girls were for the first time in theirlives nearly emancipated from maternal supervision, and enjoyed theevening proportionately, flirting with a zest all the greater for itsbeing an amusement indulged in for the first time, and making theirmothers' hearts swell, and their mothers' hair figuratively stand on endat such unheard of goings on. Another consequence of the lighted walkswas that many families of girls who had never hitherto been allowed todance except in quadrilles, now found themselves allowed to waltz asthey pleased. Not that their mothers' views of the extreme improprietyof such dances had undergone any change; but that of two evils theychose the least, and thought it better to have their daughters waltzingunder their eyes, than that they should be wandering away altogetherbeyond their ken.

  Why is it that mothers are so much stricter than fathers? It is certainthat it is so, and upon this occasion, while the mothers were inwardlybewailing the conduct of their daughters, the fathers, although many ofthem clergymen, were looking on with beaming faces on the young peopleenjoying themselves so thoroughly; and more than one would have beendelighted, could such a thing have been permitted, to have put hisclerical dignity aside, and his clerical white neckcloth into hispocket, and to have joined heartily in the fun.

  They did what they could to add to the general enjoyment, and severaltimes some of them gathered into a little knot, with two or three oftheir wives, and sung some old glees--"Five times by the taper's light,""The winds whistle cold," and "The chough and crow;" and splendidly theysang them too. They had some famous voices among them, and I do notthink I have ever heard those fine old glees better sung than I haveheard them at Canterbury.

  Sophy, of course, attracted much attention throughout the evening, andwas constantly the centre of a little group of officers, not a few ofwhom would have been very willing to have turned their swords intoploughshares for her sake, and to have devoted their lives to the careof her and her possessions.

  Sophy, however, by no means appeared to reciprocate their feelings inher favour. She was naturally of a quiet and retiring disposition, anddid not care for dancing; and therefore, under the excuse of attendingto her guests, she danced very little; when she did so, her conversationwas so simple and straightforward, that any attempt at flirting upon thepart of her partners was out of the question. Altogether, although thesuccess of the fete was brilliant, as the officers agreed on their wayback to barracks, and that nothing could have been better done, still,as far as Sophy was concerned--and several of them had previouslyannounced their intention of going in for the heiress, and had evenexchanged bets upon the subject--the affair was a failure. However, theyconsoled themselves that there was plenty of time yet, especially as Mr.Harmer had announced at supper, that another fete would take place thatday six weeks, upon the 28th of July, to which he invited all friends.

  This fete completely roused Canterbury from its usual lethargy, as Mr.Harmer's return to the abode of his father had done twenty years before.Every one gave parties; picnics upon a large scale were organized todifferent places in the neighbourhood, and the officers of the garrisongave a ball.

  At the second of Mr. Harmer's fetes Polly and I were present, as it cameoff just at the end of our holidays. I need not describe it, as it wasin most respects similar to the first, and was just as great a success.I enjoyed myself very much, and danced a great deal with the officers,who did not seem to consider my being a schoolgirl any bar to me as apartner, as I had expected that they would have done. When not dancing Iamused myself in watching Sophy. I knew that Mr. Harmer wished her tomarry, and I was interested to see with what sort of a man she waslikely to be taken. But Sophy was so quiet, that she did not seem tocare in the least with whom she danced, or to evince the slightestpreference for any one. There was, however, one thing I noticed, andthat puzzled me a good deal at the time. I never spoke to any one aboutit, but as events turned out, I afterwards bitterly regretted that I hadnot done so. I noticed early in the evening a remarkably handsome man,standing by himself, and watching Sophy as she danced. I did not knowhim, and asked a lady next to me, who he was.

  "That is Robert Gregory, my dear, the son of Mr. Gregory, thehop-factor, who died about two years ago. He was thought to have been awealthy man, but he died worth next to nothing. It was supposed thatthis son of his--who is, I am told, one of the most idle and worthlessyoung men in the country--squandered it all away. He was absent someyears in London, and went on terribly there, and it is said that hispoor old father was silly and weak enough to ruin himself paying theworthless fellow's debts. I am surprised to meet such a person inrespectable society; but I suppose Mr. Harmer knew nothing about him,and only invited him as the son of a man who stood well in the town."

  Robert Gregory was certainly a very handsome man, of a powerful build,about twenty eight years old. But as I watched him, his face seemed tome, not to be a pleasant one, but to have a bold and defiant expression.It might be merely the effect of what I had just heard; but certainlythe more I looked at the man the more I felt repelled by him. He wasstill watching Sophy, and as I mechanically followed the direction ofhis gaze, I distinctly observed her, to my intense surprise, glance twoor three times in his direction, not mere ordinary glances, which mightfall upon any one, but positive stolen looks, which rested upon him, andwere unmistakably in answer to his. After this I could not help watchingthem whenever I was not dancing, and I observed her once or twice in thecourse of the evening, as she passed by where he stood, exchange a wordor two with him, not naturally and openly, but speaking as she walkedpast, so that no one, not watching as I was doing, would have noticedit.

  I thought, as I have said, a good deal about it at the time. I did notlike to speak to papa upon such a subject, as it might seem like prying,and, had there been nothing in it, it would have caused a great deal ofunpleasantness; still, I do think that I should finally have done so,under promise of secrecy, had I not started for school next day. BeforeChristmas came round, when I left school and came back for good, I hadforgotten all about the circumstance, and even had I not done so, shouldcertainly not have mentioned it after all that lapse of time.