Marton House; or, a Twofold quest

Chapter I

In the Library of Denford Hall. ARTHUR Headley sat in the library of Denford Hall. It was not long since, that he had laid his father at rest in the old family vault under the shadow of the great elms in the churchyard ; and, as yet, he had by no means been able to accustom himself to the un wonted quiet which still pervaded the Hall, nor to the traditional monotony which had, for so long, charac terized all proceedings within its precincts : much less had he been able to gather together, and master, all the details connected with the management and adminis tration of the vast heritage which had now descended to him. There was an anxious look on his face, as he sat at the great oak table in the library — a look of anxiety mingled with sorrow : for the memory of loved ones was still fresh in his breast, and the weight of his new cares seemed to be almost more than he could bear.

The library formed part of a Hall which had been reared by his forefathers, and which no family but the Headleys had ever owned as masters. But the land on B ; which it stood, as well as the great estate which attached to it, had at one time belonged to one of the old Abbeys, on the suppression of which it had been presented to one of the present owner's ancestors, as a reward, so the popular tradition ran, for the part he had taken in the successful carrying out of an intrigue. Be that as it may, the Headleys of Denford were now an old county family, and if none of them had received a baronetcy or a peerage, it was because they rather preferred to live in a more or less quiet retirement, than because the means were not forthcoming for the proper maintenance of its dignity. They had ever been regarded as a homely family, owing, probably in a large measure, to the cir cumstance, that, curiously enough, the Hall had not been erected at a distance of a mile or so away from the village, and in the midst of a spacious park ; but had been put up almost in its very centre, not far from the Church, — the village, or the greater part of it, lying on a slight eminence behind it.

Yet its grounds were by no means confined, for as Arthur sat at the table in the library at one end of the house, his eyes, as he now gazed out of the great oriel window, fell on a copse away on the other side of a wide flower garden ; and in front of the Hall, beyond the flower-beds and the lawn, were fields dotted here and there with stately gnarled oaks — for which the old county of Somerset is famous — and, beyond these again, there meandered a magnificent trout-stream, (for the monks of old were careful to secure land through which good trout-streams ran, as they were particular in choosing sites for their monasteries and Abbeys near them,) and beyond that again were the Denford Woods, with ash, and oak, and larch, and beech, and hazel bushes, the delight of the villagers in the autumn.

And far away, beyond these again, the Cranmere Hills raised their crests ; and it was not until these had been passed, and yet another wide valley on the other side of them, that the boundary of the Denford estate was found in that direction. And up and down the hills and valleys it extended for several miles, dotted with farmsteads and hamlets, and teeming with life of every description. Arthur Headley could not look out from the Hall in any direction without his eyes resting on what was his, and the knowledge im parted a deep sense of a heavy responsibility. The library was at the end of a wide passage which branched off from the hall, and was the favourite resort of Arthur. Here he read ; here he smoked ; and here he transacted all his business. The Hall to-day was unusually quiet, for the few guests who had been recently staying there had left ; and Arthur, in that silence peculiar to the library, was now manfully trying to apply himself to certain business matters which appeared to require his immediate atten tion.

Piles of letters and papers covered part of the table, giving promise of work of no light character for a long time ; and thick documents, tied up with green and red tape, were ranged in front of him, whilst by his side stood two or three deed-boxes, open, ready to receive them again. A certain amount of method was observ able in his work, and care in examining everything which passed under his eye. Suddenly he put his pen between his lips, as he lighted upon a letter somewhat torn, evidently old, more or less crumpled, but written in a bold clear hand. He glanced at it, put down his pen, and then, smoothing out the letter, planted both elbows on the table, leant his head on his hands, and read it most attentively. He read, and re-read it in perfect silence ; and then, throwing ; himself back in his chair, held it languidly in one hand, and relapsed into thought.

Now and again he gave a little impatient, unsatisfied tap with one of his feet, and drew in his lips, as if in vexation ; but no sounds escaped them, and it was only by the movements he made, that it was at all possible to gather that something of an un expected or painful nature had revealed itself. Whilst he was thus deep in thought, there was a gentle knock at the library door, which he at once heard. " Come in," he cried- — and his voice, clear and musical, seemed to penetrate into every corner of the apartment. It was a pleasant, cheery voice ; and the accent with which the words were pronounced did not, in the least degree, betray the perturbed state of his mind. An elderly lady quietly entered the library, and softly closed the door behind her. She was dressed in deep mourning, and the long drapery attached to her white cap fell far down her back.

Her dark hair was just be ginning to be interspersed with a few silvery streaks, but her dark brown eyes were still liquid with the softest, kindest expression, and her face and bearing marked by a calm dignity. " Forgive me for intruding, Arthur," she said, as her nephew rose to fetch her a chair ; " I know how busy you are, and how much you dislike being disturbed. But I wish to ask you what answer I shall send to this note from the Fergusons, as they ask for one at once." And as she spoke, she handed him the note she had brought in with her. " Don't apologize, aunt," Arthur replied, as he roused himself from the thoughtful posture he had again invol untarily assumed, and took the note to read it ; " you are always welcome, in whatever state of mental rtfetraction or Æstraction or untidy surroundings you may find me."

" Tidiness, I know, is not a gift specially vouchsafed to bachelors," she replied, with a smile ; " but nature has made an exception in your favour." " Possibly — nature and the parlour-maid together," he laughed ; " for, upon my word, nature would have very little to say in the matter, did not the maid come to her rescue. Heigho ! what should we do without the women ? But about this note?" and he threw one leg over the other, and appeared disposed to seek relief, in the midst of his labours, in a little quiet chat. " What are they after ?" he inquired. " Well, you see, it appears to be simple enough," replied his aunt, taking the note as he handed it back ; " they want to know if we will go over to their tennis party on the 18th, and remain for a little dance after wards." "Which means dinner, of course.

I wonder who's to be there ?" he remarked, half inquiringly. " Oh, everybody, of course ; no, not everybody, as Alice Moberley, for one, has declined." " How do you know ? have you seen her ?" " Oh, yes ! she came round this morning for some of those azaleas you promised to give her, and told me she is not going." "Is the Rector or any of their party?" " I don't know of any of their plans, save Alice's. I should say they will probably go to the tennis, but I feel sure they won't remain for the dance. And of course they have only asked me so as to get you to go ■ for Alice tells me they will be mostly young people who will be there." " Don't be unjust to yourself, auntie," replied Arthur with a smile ; " they probably want a contingent from the Hall to lend propriety to the proceedings, and dignity must have been uppermost in their minds !" ; " Go away with your compliments," was the pleasant answer, as she slightly blushed, " I will not — " " By the way, what is the 18th ?" her nephew suddenly inquired.

He referred at once to his diary, and found that it was a Saturday. " I should like to go immensely," Arthur continued, " but look here, aunt, I don't see how I possibly can. I am due at 4 p.m. on that very day at a meeting of the Trust, and as it will be the first since my election it will not do for me to miss it. I have already promised to attend. Not only so : it is, I think, too soon after father's funeral for me to appear at any such frivolous gatherings, for much as I should like to go — you know how fond I am of tennis — one must have regard to some of the pro prieties of life : not that my going would disturb my mental calibre or moral rectitude in the least : but memory has its claims, and my going might give rise to gossip, perhaps even to unpleasant and unkind remark, and be a stumbling-block to one's own people.

So, on the whole, I think I must decline. Will you kindly make all pretty apologies for me ?" " Certainly, Artie," his aunt replied, " but they will expect you. Alice told me that the Fergusons are making a lot of preparation — she met Mabel in the village yesterday as she was over doing some shopping — and the new lord of Denford Hall would be a great acquisition to the party. Won't they be disappointed ?" " Possibly !" Arthur replied ; " I shall be very sorry, but have a good reason for not being able to accept — a previous engagement." " That may hold good for the tennis, but will it hold good for the dance? You won't be kept late at the Trust meeting." "No; nor do I care to dance into Sunday morning! However, I think it may be well and easily got over. Perhaps it was a little thoughtless of them to ask me so soon.

Be that as it may, the Trust meeting blocks the way as regards the tennis, and for the rest, will you kindly say that I am very sorry, and so on. You will know how to put it." " That is the very point on which I shall most need your guidance ! What am I to say ?" " Well, then," — as he gazed at the piles of letters and documents before him, — "say that for the time I have so many pressing matters to attend to that I must devote all my attention to them. Will that do ?" " And therefore have no time to devote to them ! You have offered one good excuse," she continued, looking earnestly at him, " is the other the real one ?" " Never mind now, aunt," he replied, slightly colour ing, " Sir James has a good idea as to what business means, and as to any other reason, I don't think it is necessary that I should give it.

The one I tender is a good one, whatever the second may be." His aunt sat silent for a minute, and Arthur took up the old letter with which he played. "/ know your reason well," she presently said, "and fully appreciate it. But for myself, shall I go ?" " Wait a moment !" said Arthur, as an idea seemed to strike him. He referred again to his diary. " To-day is the seventh. You know that Captain Armstrong is coming to us. Let me see, what does he say again ?" — and rising, he went to a letter-rack hang ing over the fire-place, and found the letter he wanted. " Yes, here it is ! He says, ' They want me to stay here till over the fourteenth, for some affair going on at Haresby, so, if I'm not bored to death by that time, I ; shall be with you on the fifteenth, when I hope to enliven you by my presence.' Well, he'll surely be here by the eighteenth, barring all accidents," continued Arthur, " and will be able to take my place splendidly.

He'll like to go ! Ask them if you may bring him instead of me. I'm sure they'll be delighted, and then you will go of—" " But won't the same objection hold good in my case ?" urged his aunt, " for if he was your father, he was my brother !" " Quite true, aunt !" he replied, in subdued tones. " Yet you know how very sensitive they are, and I wish some of us could see our way to going !" " I think I can manage it !" she replied — and at the words Arthur brightened, as he knew her powers of resource. She, too, was wishful of maintaining the happy relations between the two houses, and was jealous over her nephew's line of conduct. " I owe Lady Fer guson a call, so I will go over on the eighteenth, with Captain Armstrong — just to take him — have a look round, and leave him there. He'll want to stay.

You won't object to that ?" " No !" Arthur replied : but in a half-hearted manner : for the suggestion raised the idea of possible contin gencies which he was rather anxious should not arise, and it was not without certain misgivings that he gave his consent. And, well satisfied with the result of her intrusion, Mrs. Granville rose to leave the library. " It suddenly occurs to me that Fanny will be com ing on the thirteenth !" she exclaimed, stopping for an instant. " I am sure I may depend on you to use your own judgment with regard to her !" was the only reply he made, smiling ; and his aunt then left him alone with his papers. She was the widow of Colonel Granville, of Crimean and Indian fame, and the younger sister of Arthur's father. The Colonel had succumbed to fever on the west coast of Africa, to which he had been sent on a special mission by the authorities, and, ever since his death, she had resided at the Hall with her brother, and Fanny, her only child.

Here her presence had been of the most beneficent character ; for Mrs. Headley had been laid in the cold quiet churchyard when Arthur was still a mere child, and she had willingly accepted the responsibility of managing all the domestic affairs of her brother. It was now some fourteen or fifteen years since she had come to reside at the Hall, and she had seen Ar thur pass through both school and college life at Harrow and Oxford, and her daughter grow up from the tiny child she had brought with her into a beautiful girl of twenty. Arthur was some six years Fanny's senior. He, of course, whilst bound to her by a strong bond of affection, which had gathered strength as the years passed by, had always been ready to avail himself of the proud position his seniority gave him, and teased, coaxed, and manfully defended her in turn ; and she, with a girlish simplicity and almost sisterly affection had regarded him as the best of companions, and the most manly and faithful of cousins, though somewhat fond, occasionally, of taxing her powers of endurance too severely. The Hall had been her home, the one centre round which her whole life had hitherto revolved. ;

Chapter II

The Rector and Mrs. and Miss Moberley appear, and Admiral Etherington arrives. The rush of modern life has not renovated all our old country parsonages, nor changed the rustic beauty of many of the homes of the country clergy. Denford Rectory was one of the prettiest in the county and diocese, and the Rector of Denford was always considered a most fortunate man by both parson and people. It had an air of antiquity about it, yet its surroundings had been submitted to the improvements necessitated by time and pleasure and taste — a subtle trio which plays havoc with much that is venerated. It was a delightful old grey stone building, with, originally, a red tile roof, but now brown and covered with moss. Its large square windows were almost hidden by the ivy, and roses, and Virginia creeper which climbed up its walls ; and the oak porch in front, now well weather-beaten, which contained a couple of old-fashioned seats, sometimes put to old fashioned uses, (for the world has not changed, at least, in some of its good old customs,) was almost smothered in ivy which grew nearly all over it, and hid its frame work from view.

In front there was a neatly kept flower garden, and beyond that the tennis-court, surrounded by a high fence of wire-netting ; for if anything put the good-natured Rector " out," it was seeing the balls flying in amongst his flowers. On the farther side was the kitchen garden, separated off by a high red-brick wall, against which were trained peaches, and apricots, and cherries and plums. The Rectory, like the Hall, had a southern aspect, and loved to bathe itself in the light and heat of the sun. It was distinguished rather by comfort and cozines — seven in its situation — than by grandeur and display : for great elm trees and holly bushes protected it on the north side from the " bitin' wins o' Roosia," as the villagers called them : great elms again reared their heads beyond that part de voted to the kitchen : and similar trees, and laurels, and rhododendrons guarded it well on the western side — near the Church.

And beyond the tennis-court was yet another flower garden, for the Rector insisted upon their playing in the midst of beauty ! (and he was right) and in front of that again were a couple of fields, with oaks standing here and there, and the parson's cows quietly grazing at leisure. And the Rectory itself was delightfully cozy ; warm in winter, and never too warm in summer. The hall was not wide, but well furnished and carpeted, and the stove, which was put to various uses in summer, gave out a most comforting heat in winter, when the snow lay deep outside — which was not very often — and the " parson," as he was always called, came home from visiting his people, cold and damp and half frozen. The rooms were small but well lighted and well ventilated, and the furniture was such as to satisfy the likes of the homely and the tastes of the fanciful.

Mr. Moberley — the Reverend Henry Moberley — had now been Rector of Denford for many years, having been presented to the living by Arthur Headley's father, in whose gift it was. He was young then, and a bachelor, — not in divinity, but otherwise — good-looking, a good parish priest, a good cricketer, and a good shot. He came from a large Midland parish, where, as Curate, he did good service, and, as time ran on, everybody for miles round wondered who would be the new mistress at the Rectory, and many a young heart fluttered as the good-looking Rector made himself ; agreeable to its possessor ; when one fine day after he had been away for a couple of months, the grand old peal of bells sent out from the Church tower a joyous "welcome home," and the parson was found to have brought to his " nest" the lovely Janet Hornby, about whom half the young fellows in Surrey had gone wild.

But he had managed things in a quiet way, and not only was peace not disturbed in the village and neighbour hood, which was wonderful, but admiration was expressed all the way round at the quiet, simple, clever way in which he had won so lovely a bride, and congratulations were many and hearty. He was a favourite with all, and up to the present time had done nothing either to forfeit the friendship of any, or to cause the full con fidence placed in him to be shaken. He was still good looking — and he knew it — and of a ruddy countenance : for fresh air, exercise and contentment had kept the doctors at bay, and secured for himself health and happiness. And he was further happy in the knowledge that he was always doing his duty. In Church and out of Church, in school and cottage, he was always busy.

He was a model country parson, and never hunted. He drew the line there. He was never afraid to blow up the sexton if the Church showed the least sign of neglect, and never forgetful to win a mother's heart by admiring her last born. Ever since, as before, his marriage, he had captivated the hearts of his people, not by bribery or the free use of soft and empty words, whose value they would quickly estimate accurately, but by hard work and zeal in the discharge of his sacred duties, and in the care he showed for each individual soul. To him, the ministry did not mean the wearing of a long face, if it did that of a cassock, and his heart, like a violin, was susceptible of the most delicate touch, in response to which it would pour forth the most plaintive pleading which it is possible to pour forth, or cause the outburst of the wildest expres sions of joy and happiness ; so wild because, in their fulness, it was impossible for him to find words enough and suitable with which to clothe his feelings of rapture.

But with it all, there was a real earnestness of purpose which every expression of pain and suffering only tended to intensify, but which no amount of secular work or pleasure could check. He played tennis, though he was now past fifty, and enjoyed the game as good exercise, glad to minister to the pleasure of others by handling the racket. And Mrs. Moberley was as beautiful as ever. The delicate pencilling of the eyebrows, beneath which a pair of eloquent hazel eyes, soft and limpid, shone out, was as perfect as in the days when those eyes spoke a language which he was not slow in learning. The face was perfect, and she had the sweetest voice in all creation, save that of her daughter Alice, which was clear, ringing, and beautiful ; but as yet lacking in that rich mellowness which made her mother's song the sweetest sung in all the county — and far beyond it.

Alice in figure, form, and feature, was the counterpart of her mother, and the young men in town and country stopped to admire the beautiful girl who was the light of the village and the pride of her home. Merrily would she trip across the fields, when sent by her father on an errand of mercy to a distant sick parishioner ; and her happy smile, and bright cheery talk, would bring a look of rest from pain back to the face of the sufferer. And soundly would she rate the village lads and lasses — and the men, too, for that matter — for they all felt her sway — if at the choir practice they showed any tendency to an undue levity, or in Church any carelessness in singing ; 14 or behaviour not devout. As she inherited the personal charms of her mother, so she also appeared to inherit that peculiarly valuable gift of her father, which enabled him to blend seriousness and earnestness with pleasure in its best sense.

Alice had two friends — three rather — Fanny Granville, and Mabel Ferguson, with both of whom she had been at school — at least for a time — and Admiral Etherington a very old friend of her father. It was to him, rather than to the other two, that she used to confide all her childish secrets, and to his visits she now always looked forward with the greatest of pleasure. But to-day she had seen neither ; for Fanny had not yet returned to the Hall ; Mabel, she suspected, was deep in all her pre parations for the tennis party and the dance ; and the Admiral was, so far as she knew, far away, promenading the Esplanade, and watching the war-ships at South sea. " Mother !" she presently exclaimed — for both Mr. and Mrs. Moberley had taught their child to call them by the nobler and sweeter name of father and mother — " Mother ! poor old Harvey is in such a terrible fright lest I should hurt my wrist again.

I met him to-day in the churchyard. Poor old man ! he was standing by his wife's grave ; but I really could not help being amused, his look was so beseeching. ' There now, Missy,' he said, 'you know 'ow bad you 'urt it afore, an' couldn't pla' th' orgin wen the schoolmaister wur awa'. An' now you be gwain' auver theer, pla'in' at them balls agen, an' you'll be shower to 'urt it agen, an' then vvat'll the Pason zay ? an' the schoolmaister's gwain' awa' agen. an' we sha'n't have no music in Church ;' " and she laughed one of her silvery laughs. '"Don't be anxious, Harvey,' I said ; ' I'll take great care of myself, for your sake.' ' Lor' bless 'ee,' he replied" — and Alice imitated the old parishioner's dialect perfectly — "'but I doan't like it. Noa, I doan't. You'll get dredful tired, pla'in' all th' aternoon, an' then gwain' to that theer dance ater.

Why, you won't be vit vur nothin' a Zunday.' But I assured him that I am not going to the dance afterwards, and then he seemed happier." And she bent her head as if in deep contemplation of the little scene, and busied herself more than ever with the crochet on which she was engaged. She and her mother were sitting alone in the drawing room after dinner on the day following that when our story opens, Mr. Moberley having been called away to his study to have an interview with a late visitor. Mrs. Moberley listened attentively to her daughter's recited narrative, and smiled as she proceeded. " It is wonderful how these villagers pick up bits of news," she remarked ; " and I wonder how they get hold of it. Their information is frequently so very accurate too, though, in one respect, the old man was not correct to-day.

But your thoughts are running on it, too, eh, Alice ?" and she stole a glance at her daughter as she spoke. " Yes, mother, they were," she instantly replied. " It's so seldom there's a dance anywhere about here — at least, at this time of year — that it is really an event, and is, therefore, I suppose, occupying everybody's thoughts." " It is certainly occupying your father's," Mrs. Mober ley replied, rather gravely, in that tone of seriousness which Alice knew so well, and which told her that the subject had been deeply engaging their attention. Alice looked up from her work as her mother spoke, and the light from the lamp fell upon her face, beautiful and inquiring : but she quickly bent her head again, and ; plied her needle more vigorously than ever. Many thoughts rushed through her mind, as her needle flew backwards and forwards ; and if there was a half-ex pressed sigh — which did not escape her mother's notice — it was rather the symptom of an unconscious dis traction, than the outcome of a feeling of unhappiness.

" Well, I'm not going to the dance, at any rate," she presently said, as she gathered her work together, and then smoothed it out flat on her knees to see how it set ; " but I shall enjoy the tennis." She did not say she would not have enjoyed the dance quite as much — perhaps more ; for the young heart is rarely satisfied with one round of pleasure, but is apt to look through and beyond it to yet more rounds of greater pleasure still — pleasure enhanced by the very perverse ness of our nature, if placed beyond our reach. But she knew well her father's and mother's feelings on the matter, and, indeed, did not need any intimation of their wish that she should decline the invitation. " We always have our choir practices on Saturday nights," she had written to Mabel, " and the choirmaster, who happens to be our schoolmaster, as you know, is away.