Edith Frankheart; or, the Baronet's daughter

Chapter I. The Duke And Duchess Of Tewkesbury Pat

A VISIT TO FALCON HALL. Although the Duke of Tewkesbury did not at first anticipate much difficulty in tracing out the individual who had left the ring at his house, he quickly discovered that to find a person in London of whom he had no previous knowledge, was about as easy as to discover the same person in the wilds of America. His grace asked for him at the clubs, sought him at the various hotels, inquired for VOL. II. B him at the Horse Guards, and even consulted a detective of police on the matter ; but all in vain. And no wonder, either ; for Reginald Crofts, in company with four other officers, whom he had found at the hotel at which he was located, and who were also about to re join their regiments in India, had set off on the same night by the mail train for Dover, thence to cross the Channel, and so proceed overland to their destination.

When, therefore, after a week spent in un availing search, the duke and duchess met one morning to consult further on the sub ject, they came to the conclusion that the best chance of discovering the bearer of the ring, would be to pay a visit to the Frank heart family, at their seat in Gloucestershire. This measure, the excessive pride of the duchess made her, at first, rather shy of. But, as the duke continued to advise the visit, her grace was induced to accompany him. Tewkesbury Court, the duke's seat in Wiltshire, was some twenty miles distant from Falcon Hall ; and, although the family of Frankheart was known to his grace as one of the oldest in the adjoining country, still it was only by name, for, as his grace possessed no less than five other seats in Great Britain, he had seldom resided at Tewkesbury Court at all.

Thither, however, their graces went in the first place to make inquiries ; and, in the next, to see, if necessary, the Frankheart family. Meantime, the first inquiries made by the duke and duchess in the neighbourhood, were not quite so satisfactory as to set at rest all ideas of the sender of the ring being the person they suspected. Ferdinand Frankheart was the only son of his father ; but when or in what way he had become possessed of the ring he had sent home by his friend, could only be discovered (if it could indeed be discovered at all) by a personal interview with the in mates of Falcon Hall. B Accordingly, somewhere about three weeks after Reginald had left town, the duke's carriage and four, was seen pacing along the baronet's old avenue, and approaching the front door of the mansion.

Although one of the outriders dismounted, and rang long and loudly at the door, no one appeared to answer the summons. In fact, the whole place had a silent and deserted appearance ; which, considering the trim and well-kept look of all around, greatly surprised their graces. At length, after waiting some time, they alighted and entered the hall. As they did so, the duchess felt consider ably impressed whilst gazing around. The ample dimensions, and the magnificence of the interior struck her, while the duke also looked upon the various trophies and objects of interest with curiosity and admiration. At length, as the servant could make no one hear at the front of the mansion, the duchess directed one of the - outriders to pro ceed round to the rear of the building. Here the attendant was more successful ; he found several ill-looking men, and one of the servants of the house seated by the kitchen fire, all more or less drunk, and intent upon a game at cards, the several empty bottles which lay around, showing the extent and depth of their potations.

From one of the men who was less inebriated than his fellows, the servant elicited that the family had that morning left the Hall for France. " You are a stranger here," said the fellow, " or you'd have known the rumpus we have had in these parts. There's been a regular smash amongst the railroad grandees. Mr. Howden has let 'em in right and left, and they've come down upon our Squire, here, for unheard of sums. Somebody must be liable, you know, and they've come upon him first and foremost." As soon as the groom understood this rigmarole, he returned to report progress to the duchess. "The family was absent," he said. " There seemed, indeed, something like an execution in the house ; and, as far as he could understand the matter, Sir Ferdinand Frank heart and his family had fled across the water for debt."

Their graces were much disappointed at receiving this intelligence. They felt them selves again baffled, and, as they once more progressed along the grassy avenue, they planned and cogitated a dozen different schemes whereby to gain some further clue to the object of their search, and failed after all in coming to any satisfactory conclusion. " India is a long distance to send for intelli gence," observed the duke ; " but I must at once write to this young man. To be sure, we might follow the Frankhearts to France." " How can we find them even there ?" said the duchess. " If they are out of the way for debt, it will take us as long to find them as to write and get an answer from the East Indies." "Well, then, I must write at once to this young man — this Captain Frank heart." " Why not ask the advice of the Duke of Torres Vedras, the commander-in-chief ?" said the duchess after a pause.

" The commander-in-chief ?" returned his grace. " Yes : tell him the whole story, and de pend upon it he will give you the best advice. He sees everything with a clearer eye and a better judgment than anybody else." " Upon my word, I believe you are right," said his grace. " The commander-in-chief can help us." And accordingly to the commander-in-chief, on their return to London, forthwith pro ceeded his Grace of Tewkesbury ; and after telling him a short family history, (which the duchess for her own reasons had never divulged to any other person), he asked the great man what was to be done. " I'll tell you what I consider the best plan to pursue," said the hero, after a short consideration. " In the first place you'd better not write to the young man at all." " Not write to him," replied the Duke of Tewkesbury ; " then how am I to gain the information I require?"

" I'll order him home," said the comman der-in-chief. " I have had reports of his good conduct, and I rslean to give him a majority. There is also another young man," continued the commander-in-chief, "belong ing to the same regiment, and who has just now gone back to India. He was in such haste to return, that he went away before I was quite aware of his purpose, or it was my intention to have seen him, and given him also a majority, just now vacant in another regiment. In fact, I consider it my duty to promote both these promising officers. Nay, from what you have just now related to me," added his grace, " I think it probable that the second person referred to is the man you want." " I believe you are right," said the Duke of Tewkesbury. " What is the name of that person ?" " Crofts," said the commander-in-chief, who indeed seldom forgot names, " but I don't exactly remember his Christian name : however, we'll soon have it."

And he rang a small bell. " Get me the Christian name of Captain Crofts, "of the — th regiment," he said to the attendant. " Richard, Robert, Rupert, no, it was none of these : — Reginald, yes, Reginald is the name," continued his grace, as his eagle eye caught sight of a slip of paper brought in by the attendant. " Reginald !" said his Grace of Tewkes bury. " Reginald ! How singular. How long will it be ere the order for his return reaches him ?" " Why, let me see," replied the commander in-chief. " the Indian mail has been gone three weeks and more." And his grace calculated with his usual precision and computed the time. After which, telling his friend to keep his mind b tranquil, and to wait patiently, he dismissed him, and went on with the business he was engaged in when interrupted; and which business consisted in carefully reading every letter and document submitted to him by the military secretary, and writing his own directions on the margin, or the answers to be given to them.

Chapter II. The Railroad Bubble

The intelligence received by the Duke and Duchess of Tewkesbury regarding the Frankhearts was but too true. When the railroad bubble (which had so long been dancing before the eyes of Sir Ferdinand Frankheart) did burst, it scattered ruin in all directions. The baronet seemed for the moment almost annihilated, and in an incredible short space of time he found liabilities accumulating upon him which seemed overwhelming. He was ruined past redemption; and there was no saying where it would all end. At first he rushed to Mr. Howden for explanation ; but Mr. Howden, like Napoleon after the annihi lation of his army in Russia, was impertur bable alike to his expostulations, his despair, and his threats. "Why do you disturb my tranquillity ?" was in his look, if not on his tongue. From thence, after his interview with Mr. Howden, the baronet rushed to his solicitor.

But law and lawyers seemed equally unable to help him. At last, nearly distracted, and half dead with fright he returned to Falcon Hall, and sent for the very friend who, a few months before, be had quar relled with, in consequence of the warnings given by that plain-spoken and honest person. Marmaduke came to the rescue, like a true friend. " I have long foreseen this consummation," he said, " and devoutly feared it, too. You must bend to the blast, my good sir ; you must cut your cable and scud." " How do you mean ?" inquired Sir Ferdinand. " Why, you must at once get out of the way. ' You must learn the humour of the age' my friend — ' seek shelter — pack,' and leave me to see to matters here. All is confusion around us at present ; but " when the hurly burly's done," we may be better able to see clearly before us."

The advice seemed good. It was a relief even to think of it. " But, then," as the baronet said, " it was the first time a Frankheart had fled from the consequences of his own acts." " Jt is the first time, too," said Marma duke, " that a Frankheart has endeavoured to realize a monster fortune by dabbling in rail road shares. The age of chivalry is over ; that of iron has commenced. Ergo, you must take the train and be off, bag and baggage. Yes, my sweet Edith," he continued, taking her hand, " ' bag and baggage,' as my friend Touchstone says, for you must go too. Nay, weep not, my poor lassie, you must now cheer and support your father. He will find you a better share, I am thinking, than any he has had on his hands lately. Lord Easterhunt, who had, in the meantime, been absent in consequence of the serious ill ness of his father, returned to Falcon Hall the day previous to the one the family left for France.

Sir Ferdinand at once told him the situation of his affairs, and offered to release him from his engagement. The peer looked blank at first, and took two turns across the apartment ere he replied. At length he stopped, and with considerable emphasis pro nounced the word " No ! I have, in fact," he said, " foreseen that something of the sort would happen ; though I hardly supposed the liabilities would be so great. However, I did not think of fortune in seeking your daughter's hand. I saw in her one whose beauty as well as her accomplishments would be likely to grace my title, and it is not my wish to avail myself of your offer." The baronet was only too glad to find that his hopes had not touched ground in that quarter. It was, therefore, arranged that his lordship should follow them to Paris in a few days, which place they were in the first instance to make for.

Chapter III. Showing How Edith Soothed Her Father's Griefs, And Successfully Ministered

TO HIS BROKEN SPIRIT. It is not our purpose to write a history of the railway mania and its consequences ; neither is it necessary to dilate upon the miseries it entailed upon the neighbourhood of Falcon Hall. Suffice it that " cureless ruin" fell upon all who, through Mr. Howden's artifices, had been enmeshed in its iron web ; whilst, at the same time, the prime mover of the evil (by some unexplained manœuvres) glided almost unharmed from the consequences ; a circumstance everybody seemed to wonder at, but which no one could explain. Amongst other and less important places which were put into the market, Falcon Hall was advertised for sale. The surrounding domain had already been sacrificed in the baronet's anxiety to settle every liability ; and Marmaduke, who had the management, had reserved the old mansion to the last.

It was now, however, destined to follow the fate of all around, and the furniture, plate, family pictures, and all appertaining being first destined to the hammer, a very lively and amusing scene was contemplated on the day of sale. Poor Marmaduke, who had stood in the breach like a true friend, beheld the crumbling ruin of his friend with a dry eye, but with a heart of agony. He was one of those iron-nerved men who stand undefeated amidst the most untoward difficulties. Edith he loved as if she had been his own child. The Frank hearts he had looked up to as a clansman looks upon the family of his chief. The domain which his own estate had neigh boured for so many generations, he had felt as much pride in as if it had belonged to himself: and yet such was the stern dignity of the old man's nature, that no one could have discovered, whilst he watched the ruin around, the deep grief of his heart.

And was Marmaduke Oldacre the only person who felt sorry for the utter ruin of the Frankhearts ? Alas ! we fear so. The im mediate neighbourhood (as we before said) was sadly changed, and re-peopled with a newer generation. Persons who gloried in what they considered ' a wholesome pulling down of the pride of the aristocrat.' People with liberty and equality on their lips, but whose conduct (even in their own domestic transactions) proclaimed the un feeling tyranny of low and base minds. People who bowed low, and worshipped, and cringed to the yellow god, and to whom such a " successful dodger" as the rich Mammoth Howden (notwithstanding the recent ruin of all who had trusted in him) was an idol to be glorified and worshipped. In such a neighbourhood, the downfall of a family like the Frankhearts was a matter of satisfaction.

Their very superiority of look and manner, and even their generous open-hearted style was an offence. " Their virtues stood them but as enemies:" and now, as their household goods were ruthlessly seized on and exposed to the world, the neighbours rushed with avidity to gaze, to speculate upon, to appropriate all that was submitted to their inspection. To Edith the shock of the ruin that had happened would have been greater had not her duty towards her only parent served to blunt its sting. In her anxiety and care to alleviate her father's grief, she found sufficient employment for her thoughts, without dwelling upon the loss of all at home that was interesting in her sight. She saw the change each day's news made in the appearance of her father. She marked the increasing stoop, the rapid approach of silver upon the iron-grey head.

She observed the eager eye of care which was changing the whole expression of his face, and she forgot self in her anxiety to drive away the " thick-coming fancies" which pressed upon his mind. They were now in Italy, and Edith led the baronet step by step over much that was interesting in that land of romance. Nay, she could almost have forgotten all, in the absording interest of the scenes they were amongst. For what, indeed, seemed private matters, and the little hour of indivi dual life, whilst they stood lost in such thoughts and imaginings as Pompeii and Herculaneum called forth. The might, the majesty, the elegance of Imperial Rome was before them, as if " but yesterday the word of Cæsar might have stood against the world." All that had passed away, as in a dream, of that wondrous period of the world's history seemed to stand again re vealed in the ruins before them—" the dead city " they stood entranced in.

It was during such excursions that Edith taught her father to forget himself and his griefs ; and it was only when at night they returned to their lodgings, that the old gentleman would revert to his sometime home in Gloucestershire, and say, "Alas, alas! Edith, you have been making me forget that I am a beggar !" That the baronet would have felt the pressure of want at this period is indeed pretty certain, had not Marmaduke managed to send remittances to Edith which were adequate to all their wants. Such remit tances were from Marmaduke's private purse ; but then he always sent them as if still accruing from some remnant of the Falcon Hall estate ; and so even Edith was deceived. Nay, they might have been called Edith's own ; for Marma duke, who had few relatives and none near, had, unknown to her, made a will, by which he had bequeathed all he had to her and Ferdinand.

As for the baronet, he would have submitted to the greatest privations ere he would have consented to receive such aid had he known this. Even from his intended son-in-law, Lord Easterhunt, he would have repudiated the idea of being a borrower. Indeed, it was a relief to poor Edith, that at this moment her noble lover was absent in England in consequence of the illness of his father; for somehow, of late, the thought of her engagement was so distasteful to her, that she could hardly bear to converse upon the subject. And thus matters progressed for some months, after the terrible reverse the worthy baronet had experienced.

Chapter IV. In Which Lady Rosa Mowbray Receives Some Startling Intelligence

The Duke of Tewkesbury was one of those good-tempered, easy-going men, so often to be found amongst the aristocracy. He was thoroughly English in his style and disposition, and would have made his way in any class of life in which good common sense, upright feelings of honour and honesty, and no especial talents of any sort, were required. He would have made, for instance, an excellent farmer or a capital country squire, but as a general of division, or a statesman, he would have been found wanting. His grace, in fact, was what is commonly called a " good soul as ever lived," and was certainly an ornament to his order, because his honour was as bright as the star he wore. Very soon after he discovered, from his more energetic and proud consort, that his daughter had formed an attachment which was considered derogatory to her rank, he demanded an interview, in order to hear from the young lady's own lips an explanation of the subject.

This was immediately after the unsuccess ful search made by his grace for Captain Crofts, and, consequently, before the family left town for Wiltshire. Lady Rosa loved her father dearly. She was, therefore, glad of the opportunity of explaining her conduct to him — an explana tion which many of our readers will perhaps consider she ought to have rendered some time back, and which, indeed, only her perfect knowledge of the imperious and implacable nature of her mother had deterred her from doing. Indeed, as the young lady felt quite aware that her grace exercised complete dominion (although it was quietly exercised) over her spouse, and that the duke would be sure to refer all guidance of the matter to his consort, she had, in the untoward state of her ' course of love,' avoided an explanation.

Now, however, she felt that the whole affair was brought to a crisis ; and she met her sire with less trepidation than she could have supposed possible. " Take a chair, Rosa," said his grace. " This is a strange piece of news I have heard — I may say, a very strange piece of news." Lady Rosa bent her eyes upon the ground ; and the duke, who had a propensity for what is vulgarly called " running on," proceeded. "You have known this young VOL. II. c man for a long time, the duchess says. Ah, yes ! You needn't tell me. I know. You met him in Ireland, when the house was attacked. Yes — well — ah — I see ! He made you an offer soon afterwards, and you accepted him. That was wrong — I may say very wrong. You should have waited to learn more about him, and, in the meantime, referred him to me." " Pardon me," replied Lady Rosa.

" I acknowledge my fault in thus entering into an engagement. Still, I did not venture to so do without having ample means to judge of the good qualities of Captain Frankheart ; and also to learn, through my uncle, in whose house he was staying, both the high character he bore in his regiment, and also that he came of one of the oldest families in England." [ That is as it may be, Rosa," said the duke, trying to look wise. "How?" said Lady Rosa. "Is not Captain Frankheart the son of Sir Ferdinand Frankheart, of Falcon Hall, in Gloucester shire ? Methinks you yourself have known him in society as such." " Truth to say," returned the duke, " except as a most agreeable, gentlemanly, and extremely clever young man, in whose society I found great pleasure, I have never troubled myself to think about him at all.

Of the Frankhearts of Gloucestershire I have heard. But this young man may be an adopted son; he may be the child of other parents. Indeed, there's no saying who he may be. The very strange circumstance of his having been in possession of the ring he has sent you, is so bewildering that I really don't know what to say about him. That ring was secured round the body of an infant some six months after birth — that infant was stolen when three years old — stolen from this house, together with much property and a large sum of money. Nay, hear me out," continued the duke, rising and pacing the apartment. c " Lately, that child has been traced through various channels, till we find a clue to him as serving in some regiment — either in the English or foreign service; and whilst we are trying to trace out what regiment the youth is in, and where located, comes this ring, sent direct from the field of battle — nay, sent by this very Ferdinand Frankheart : and if this Ferdinand Frankheart is the real owner of such ring, and if he is an adopted child (which is not impossible), and which I shall only be able to learn by having an interview with the before-named family — if, I say, such circumstance should turn out to be the case — why, then, Lady Rosa Mowbray, Ferdinand Frankheart is no other than my long-lost son — your brother !"

To paint the look of astonishment depicted upon the countenance of Lady Rosa at this extraordinary and sudden announce ment, would be difficult. She had long been aware that some deep-seated and corroding grief preyed upon the stern heart of her mother, and with sorrow had felt that the very sternness of that mother's unyielding spirit precluded herself from shar ing, and, if possible, alleviating the sorrow she saw there. Nay, although the exact nature of that sorrow had been carefully concealed from her, she had more than once suspected its nature. Yet still, with all this, the words of her father came upon her with startling effect. " And why, my dearest father," she at length said, " why has this circumstance been so long and so carefully concealed ?" " Such a question is natural — I may say, very natural," returned his grace.

" Indeed, I have ofttimes requested that your mother would permit me to divulge it to you ; but until now I have never been able to gain her consent." " I cannot see the necessity of such con cealment," replied Lady Rosa. " Possibly not — possibly not," said the duke ; " nevertheless, the duchess has all along thought differently, and I need not tell you that she likes not opposition, even from me." " 'Tis strange," said Lady Rosa, " very strange ! I cannot even yet understand why this sad circumstance should have been so long concealed." " Why, you see, Rosa," continued the duke, who had now got into a most good-humoured, chatty state, and quite forgotten that he came to chide his daughter, " why, you see, the duchess is of a peculiarly proud and exclusive disposition and one of the greatest fears she has all along entertained — I may say, almost from the very first, of the event happening — has been the fear that, if we ever did recover our son, it would be to find him a vile and depraved wretch — an outcast from society.

Circumstances have indeed come to light, once and again, which plainly show that the boy has been dragged through the most awful scenes of misery in his childhood. After that, we lost trace of him, till the other day. Now, you know, to have one's heir turn up, all on a sudden, a returned transport, or a felon condemned to die by the laws of his country, or even to fish out the future Duke of Tewkesbury from amongst a nest of London pickpockets incar cerated in a penitentiary, would hardly have been a pleasant thing to proclaim to the world. Enough, you know your mother, Rosa — her excellencies, her stern virtues, and her faults ; and I need not again say, that as it has been her wish — so with me it has been law." And thus ended the duke's interview with his daughter. He could hardly blame her for falling in love with such a man as Fer dinand Frankheart, who was, as he confessed, a gentleman and a soldier ; and who, until a chimera of his own made him fancy it possible he might turn out to be somebody else, his daughter had every reason to believe was connected with some of the oldest families in the kingdom.

Poor lady, she passed a sleepless and miserable night after their arrival at Tewkesbury Court. But as the morning sun shone in at her window, and tinged with gold the tall trees in the park, consideration of all she had heard, brought with it the ultimate conviction that it was improbable that the vague surmise of her father could be correct, as far as Captain Frankheart was concerned. And then, as she remembered the face and figure of the young man who had brought the ring which had caused all this controversy, something like the truth flashed across her mind. In fact, Lady Rosa Mowbray rose from her bed much happier than she had lain down the night before. The bright prospect cheered her as she looked from the window > and as she threw it open and gazed upon the grassy carpet of the park, where one of the keepers was taking his way amidst the fern, and traversing a small path which led into the deep woods, she thought it impossible for any one to be unhappy, whose fortunes per mitted them to look upon so bright a scene. c

Chapter V

A SALE IN AN OLD MANSION IN THE COUNTRY. After the visit of the duke and duchess to Falcon Hall, Lady Rosa thought she could perceive a difference in her mother's manner towards her. Her grace seemed more kind in every way. Heretofore, the duchess had treated her with the most marked disdain ; a manner which, in all things, showed that there was a certain amount of dislike mixed up with the ire she felt at her daughter's having engaged herself to a person she con sidered a penniless, low-born adventurer. A dislike, the young lady was quite conscious existed, also, in consequence of her sex, as much as her fault. When, however, the duchess had beheld that time-honoured hall in Gloucestershire, the noble chase surround ing it — the brave old Norman stronghold, which for so many generations had owned the family as lords, and when she heard also from several quarters, the high character the Frankheart family had always borne, she seemed suddenly to have altered her ideas upon the matter, and to have a greater respect for her daughter's discrimination.