Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes

by Bronte Sisters

  She took her own seat on a little couch near the work-table and, resting her elbow on the arm, looked very graceful and majestic.

  “A warm morning,” observed Sir William, by way of keeping up the conversation.

  “Very,” she replied demurely.

  “A pretty place Mr Moore has here,” said I.

  “Rather,” was Miss Moore’s answer; then, carelessly taking up her work, she continued. “How can I serve you, gentlemen?”

  Sir William rubbed his hand. He was obliged to recur to business.

  “Why, madam, will you be so good as to say to Mr Moore when he returns that James Cartwright, the witness who was so reluctant to come up, has at length consented to appear, and that consequently the trial may proceed, if he thinks proper, next month.”

  “Very well,” said she. Then, still bending her eyes upon the lace, she continued. “How far have you come to tell my father this? Do you reside in the neighbourhood?”

  “No, madam, but we are both on a visit there at present. We came to look after some little mill-property we possess in Zamorna.”

  You must have had a hot walk,” pursued Miss Moore. “Will you take some refreshment?”

  We both declined, but she took no notice of our refusal, and, touching a bell, ordered the servant who answered it to bring wine etc. She then quietly returned to her lace-work. We might have been lap-dogs or children for all the discomposure our presence seemed to occasion her. Sir William was a match for her, however. He sat, one leg crossed over the other, regarding her with a hard stare. I believe she knew his eyes were fixed upon her, but she kept her countenance admirably. At last he said, “I have had the pleasure of seeing you before, madam.”

  “Probably, sir; I don’t always stay at home.”

  “It was in Zamorna Minster last September.”

  She did colour a little, and laughed, for she recollected, doubtless, the admiration with which her name had been mentioned at that time in the journals, and the thousand eyes which had been fixed upon her as the centre of attraction as she sat in her white satin robe high placed in the lofty gallery of the minster.

  “A great many people saw me at that time,” she answered, “and talked about me too, for my size gave me wonderful distinction.”

  “Nothing but size?” asked Sir William, and his look expressed the rest.

  “Will you take some salmagundi, Mr Clarke?” said she, rising and approaching the tray which the servant had just placed on the table. Mr Clarke expressed his willingness; so did Mr Gardiner. She helped both, plentifully, and they fell to.

  A knock came to the door. She stept to the window and looked out. I saw her nod and smile, and her smile was by no means a simper: it showed her front teeth, and made her eyes shine very pleasantly. She walked into the passage, and opened the door herself.

  “Now, Jane, how are you?” said a masculine voice. Percy winked at me.

  “How are you?” she answered. “And why are you come here this hot day?”

  “What! you’re not glad to see me, I guess,” returned the visitor.

  “Yes I am, because you look so cool! I’m sorry we’ve no fire to warm you, but you can step into the kitchen.”

  “Come, be steady! Moore’s at Angria, varry like?”

  “Varry like he is — but you may walk forwards notwithstanding.” Then, in a lower voice, “I’ve two chits in my parlour — very like counting-house clerks or young surgeons or something of that kind. Just come and look at them.”

  Percy and I arrested the victual on the way to our mouths. We were wroth.

  “The jade!” said Percy.

  I said nothing. However, a more urgent cause of disturbance was at hand. That voice which had been speaking sounded but too familiar, both to Sir William and myself, and now the speaker was approaching with measured step and the clank of a spur. He continued talking as he came: “I’ve come to dine with you, Jane, and then I’ve to step over to Hartford Hall about some business. I’ll call again at six o’clock, and Julia says you’ve to come back with me to Girnington.”

  “Whether I will or not, I suppose, General?”

  “Whether you will or not.”

  And here Sir Wilson Thornton paused, for he was in the room, and his glance had encountered us, seated at the table and tucking in to the wines with which Miss Moore had provided us. I don’t think either Sir William or I changed countenance. General Thornton’s eye always assumes a cold annoyed expression when it sees me. I met him freely: “Ho! General! how d’ye do? My word, you do look warm with walking! Is your face swelled?”

  “Not ’at I know on, Mr Townshend,” he answered coldly, and, bowing to Sir William, he took his seat.

  “My dear General,” I continued. “Don’t on any account drink water in your present state. You seem to me to be running thin! I wish you may not catch your death of cold! Dear, dear - what a pity you should appear such a figure before a beautiful young lady like Miss Moore!”

  “If I’m any vex to Miss Moore she’ll be good enough to tell me of it without yer interference,” said the General, much disturbed.

  “Had you ever the scarlet fever?” I inquired anxiously.

  “I cannot see how my health concerns you,” he answered.

  “Or the sweating sickness?” I continued.

  The General brushed the dust from his coat-sleeve and, turning briskly to Miss Moore, asked her if these were the lads she had taken for two young surgeons.

  “Yes,” said she, “but I begin to think I was in the wrong.”

  “I would like to know what nonsense brought ’em here,” said Thornton. “They’re no more surgeons nor I am. Percy, I wonder ye’ll go looking abâat t’ country wi’ such a nout as Townshend.”

  “Percy!” exclaimed Miss Moore. “O, it is Sir William Percy! I thought I had seen that gentleman before. It was at a review: he was one of the royal staff.”

  The Colonel bowed. “The greatest compliment I ever had paid me,” said he, “that Miss Moore should single me out from among thousands and recollect my face.”

  “Just because it struck me for its likeness to Lord Northangerland’s,” replied she.

  “From whatever cause, madam, the honour is mine, and I am proud of it.”

  He searched her countenance with one of those sentimental and sinister glances which, when they flicker in his eyes, do indeed make him strongly resemble his father. I don’t think he was pleased with the result of his scrutiny. Miss Moore’s aspect remained laughing and open as ever. Had she blushed or shrunk away, Sir William would have triumphed. But hers was no heart to be smitten with sudden, secret and cankering love — the sort of love he often aims to inspire.

  “Come, Townshend,” said he, drawing on his gloves. “We will go.”

  “I think you’d better, lad,” observed Thornton. “Neither you nor Townshend have done yourselves any credit by this spree.”

  We both were bold enough to approach Miss Moore; and she was good-natured or thoughtless enough to shake hands with us freely, and say that when her father came home she should be happy to see his clients Messrs Clarke and Gardiner again, either about the lawsuit or to take a friendly cup of tea with them. The girl, to do her justice, seemed to have some tact. I don’t think I shall soon forget her very handsome face, or the sound of her voice and the pleasant expression of her eyes.

  As we two passed again through the embowered gate and stept out into the now burning road, I asked Sir William if he was smitten.

  “Not I,” said he. “There’s no mind there, and very little heart. If ever I marry, rest satisfied my choice will not fall upon the Rose of Zamorna.”

  Yet something had evidently gone wrong with the young Colonel. His vanity was wounded, or he was vexed at the interference of General Thornton. Whatever the cause was, certain it he grew mightily disagreeable, snapping on all sides and snarling sourly at everything. We had not walked above a quarter of a mile, when he said he had business which called him elsewhere, and he must now bi
d me good-day. The baronet turned into a retired lane branching from the main road, and I continued my course straight on.

  Jane Moore, staying at Girnington with General and Lady Thornton, sings stirring songs of the charge of the men of Ardsley and of the siege of Evesham in the recent Angrian war. Castlereagh, Earl of Stuartville brings news that Zamorna is expected in Zamorna City next day, and that the populace, who are furious that he has been visiting Northangerland, are threatening to riot.

  “The rumour of invaders through all Zamorna ran.

  Then Turner Grey his watch-word gave:

  Ho! Ardsley to the van!

  Lord Hartford called his yeomen, and Warner raised his clan,

  But first in fiercest gallop rushed Ardsley to the van!

  On came Medina’s turbans, Sir John hurled his ban:

  ’Mid the thousand hearts who scorned it still Ardsley kept the van!

  The freshening gales of battle a hundred standards fan,

  And doubt not Ardsley’s pennon floats foremost in the van!

  Cold on the field of carnage they have fallen man for man,

  And no more in march or onslaught will Ardsley lead the van!

  Loud wail lamenting trumpets for all that gallant clan,

  And Angrians shout their signal:

  Ho! Ardsley to the van!

  Give them the grave of honour where their native river ran,

  Let them rest! They died like heroes

  In the battle’s fiery van!

  And when their names are uttered, this hope may cheer each man:

  That land shall never perish

  Where such true hearts led the van!”

  The aged halls of Girnington echoed to this heroic song, and a few notes even strayed through the open windows of the drawing-room into the twilight park. It was still evening. A heaven unclouded smiled to the ascent of a moon undimmed. That summer day was gone, and while the burning west closed its gates upon her departure, softer paths opened in the east for the steps of a mild summer night.

  Is that horseman thinking of the glory which smiles above those trees through which his form glances so fast? Pressing up the avenue, he never turns to look from what source stream those silver rays which fall upon him at every opening of the giant boughs. Yet no heavy care absorbs his thoughts, for he lifts his head to listen when that music comes across his way, and he smiles when at its close a laugh is heard from the mansion at whose door he now dismounts.

  General and Lady Thornton sat vis à vis in two opposite arm-chairs by a window of their saloon. The softening light stole upon Julia, and in Sir Wilson’s eyes made her look like an angel. In the background, and almost lost in the dusk, a third person sat at the piano, playing and talking at the same time. The voice sufficiently indicated her identity. It was Miss Moore, of Kirkham Lodge, Hartford, who had accompanied Colonel Thornton according to his invitation.

  “General,” she was saying, in answer to some bantering speech of the worthy baronet’s, “I am afraid I shall die an old maid.”

  “It’ll be your own fault if you do, I think, Jane.”

  “Well, but nobody ever made me an offer yet, positively.”

  “Because you’re so proud and saucy,” said Julia. “You frighten them away.”

  “Indeed, you’re mistaken! There’s one man, at least, whom I’ve done my very best to win.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Lord Hartford. Now, I’ve long been in love with that man. Seriously, there’s nobody I should like half so well to be married to — and I’ve danced with him and smiled at him and sung him all my most triumphant songs in my finest style, without as yet gaining even an outwork of the fortress. Once I thought I had made some little impression. It was after singing that Ardsley song you’ve heard just now. He came and stood behind me, and asked for it again. The same night, he offered to let me have his carriage to go home, for our own was engaged with my father in one of his circuits; and the next morning he actually walked down to the Lodge to breakfast with me. How I did exert myself to please! I’m sure I was most fascinating! He went home, and I fully expected to receive a proposal in form before night; but no. I’m afraid I had overshot the mark. At any rate, nothing came of it.”

  “The Earl of Stuartville,” said a servant, opening the door, and the Earl of Stuartville walked in.

  “Good evening, Thornton,” said his lordship. “All in shadow, I see — no candles. Perfectly romantic! Is that Lady Julia, covered with moonlight? Good heavens! My heart’s gone! Who ever saw anything so perfectly transcendent? Thornton, you’d better challenge me forthwith!”

  The Earl threw himself into a chair next to Lady Julia, and, stretching out one elegant leg, leaned towards her like an enamoured Frenchman.

  “What on earth has brought you here, Castlereagh?” said her ladyship. “Excuse me for forgetting the new title — but you know, Castle, that former name must be endeared to me, for with it are connected all our earliest associations.”

  “Of the days when your ladyship’s pet-cognomen for me was man-monkey.”

  “Happy days, those, Castlereagh!” sighed Julia. “You’d nothing then to do but to dress and dance and dine. No Secretary of State, no General of Division business, no county politics to control or court intrigues to counteract.”

  “True, Lady Julia; I used to turn out of bed at two o’clock in the afternoon, dress till four, lounge till seven, dine till nine, and dance till six next morning.”

  “You did, my dear lord; that was just a chart of your life. Alas! did I ever think the owner of the prettiest fancy waistcoat and the best perfumed pair of mustaches in Verdopolis would ever expose his elegance to the rigours of a winter campaign, his eye-glass to the danger of being broken in a field of battle!”

  Here the chat was hushed, lost in a solemn burst of music from the piano and the reveille of a thrilling voice.

  “Deep the Cirhala flows,

  And Evesham o’er it swells,

  The last night she shall smile upon

  In silence round her dwells!

  All lean upon their spears,

  All rest within, around,

  But some shall know to-morrow night

  A slumber far more sound!

  The summer dew unseen

  On fort and turret shines:

  What dew shall fall when battle’s voice

  Is heard along the lines?

  Trump and triumphant drum

  The conflict won shall spread:

  Who then will turn aside and say

  We mourn the noble dead?

  Strong hands, heroic hearts

  Shall homeward throng again,

  Returned from battle’s bloody grasp:

  Where will they leave the slain?

  Beneath a foreign sod,

  Beside an alien wave,

  Watched by the martyr’s holy God,

  Who guards the martyr’s grave!”

  Miss Moore rose and came forward as she concluded the song.

  “Now, my lord,” said she, addressing the Earl of Stuartville. “You see, I have forced you to hear, if you will not see me. Don’t apologize! I am offended, of course. It will avail you nothing to say you did not observe me, it was dark, etc. You should have perceived my presence by instinct.”

  “What!” returned his lordship. “I suppose the Rose of Zamorna ought to be known by its fragrance. Miss Jane, sit down. I have something to tell you; something which — I can answer for it — will make your heart beat high with indignation.”

  “Does it relate to the reason which has brought you here?” she asked, taking her seat on an ottoman near him.

  “Exactly so; and you must needs think it an important circumstance which should bring me ten miles at this time of night.”

  “Why then, let’s hear it, without any more ado,” interposed Thornton. “Did aught go wrong at the magistrates’ meeting after I left them?”

  “No,” returned the earl, “except that Edward Percy and I had some spa
rring about a case of illegitimacy. However, that was all settled; we’d cleared scores, and Edward was just turning down his final glass of brandy and water, when Sydenham, who was standing by the court-house window, remarked that there seemed to be a crowd collecting at the lower end of the street — and as he spoke we heard a yell just for all the world like one of their election cries. I desired Mackay to go immediately and see what there was to do, but before he could get out five or six gentlemen of Zamorna rushed in a body up the steps of the magistrates’ room, and the foremost announced, with more glee than grief, he believed there was going to be a riot. ‘What about?’ I asked. Nobody answered, and some of us turned pale, for all at once a great rush thundered up the street, and in two minutes the whole front of Stancliffe’s and the court-house was blocked up by a mass of howling ragamuffins.”

  “Did they break t’ windows?” asked Thornton.

  “Not they; there was not a stone thrown, and indeed, they were not thinking of us. Their faces were all turned the other way, lifted up to the front windows of the hotel. They were yelling terribly, but for my life I could not tell what they said. However, you may be sure we set sharply about the business of swearing in special constables, and a message was despatched to the barracks to have the soldiers ready. Meantime I and Percy went out onto the steps and shouted to the crowd to disperse, but they answered us with a loud roar of ‘Down with Northangerland! No French! No Ardrahians!’ ‘Well, my lads,’ I said, ‘Do you call us French? Do you say we’re for Northangerland and Ardrah? If that be all, I’ll join you in a hearty groan against all three — and then disperse, and go home quietly.’ And so the groan was given, and a tremendous rumble it was; and Edward, stepping forward and sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, shouted out, ‘Now, lads, let’s have a yell — the highest you can raise — set apart entirely in honour of the old harlot-ridden buck Northangerland! Lift it up, lads! I’ll set the time!’ He did so, and the very steps he stood on quaked to the hellish sound they raised in unison. ‘Fellow-countrymen!’ said Edward. ‘I’m proud to see such a spirit amongst you! Now go home. You’ve done enough for one day.’ But they did not stir. They only answered by a confused and horrible jabber which it was impossible to comprehend, and still they looked up at the hotel, as if there was something there they could have liked to have gotten out. ‘Do you think Northangerland is at Stancliffe’s?’ I asked. ‘No, no,’ was the answer. ‘We’d have had blood if he were!’ and a single voice added, ‘But that dog, his son-in-law, is.’”