The Heir Presumptive and the Heir Apparent

Chapter I

When Lord Frogmore arrived at Grocombe Vicarage the day but one before his marriage, Mary was still so pale, so depressed and nervous, that the brisk old bridegroom was much disturbed. It had been agreed in the family that it would be better to say nothing about that visit, which after all, though dis agreeable, had done nobody any harm. This arrangement had been consented to by everybody, but Mrs. Hill and Agnes were always doubtful whether the vicar and Mary could keep their own counsel. And it turned out that these discreeter members of the family were right. For, indeed, Lord Frogmore had VOL. II. B not spent an hour with his bride before he ascertained the cause of her low spirits and troubled looks. He was angry yet relieved. " I had begun to think you had found out since I left you that you could not be happy with an old man," he said.

" Oh, Lord Frogmore ! " " It was a reasonable fear. You are a great deal younger than I am, though you think yourself so old, Mary. However, if it is only Mrs. John and the dowager who have frightened you, it is to be hoped we may get over that." Mary shivered but did not speak. It was her cold hanging about her still, her mother thought, but Lord Frogmore was not quite of that opinion. "They must have said something very nasty to take such a hold upon you. What was it ? Come now, Mary. You will not make me think worse of them (which is what you are afraid of) by anything you can tell me, and it will be a relief to you to get it out." " It was — nothing particular," Mary said ; but again a shudder ran through her. "It was just, I suppose, what people say when they are very angry." " Come, Mary.

What did she say ? " " Oh, Frogmore," cried Mary at last, " she could not mean it. You know she could not mean it. Poor Letitia ! she is a mother, and they say a mother will do anything for her children. I am sure she had no ill meaning. She said she hoped I would be cursed, that if I had a oh, I can't, I can't repeat what she said. That she wished I were dead, or would go mad, or No, no, she could not mean it. People don't curse you nowadays. It is too dreadful," Mary cried, and she shivered more and more, wrapping herself up in her shawl. " The devil," cried Lord Frogmore. " The little fierce devil ! — a mother. She is no more a mother than a tigress is. She hates you because after all her ill-treatment of you, you will have the upper hand of her. And I hope you will take it and make her feel it too.

WThat a woman for my poor brother John to have brought into the family ! I can forgive his mother, who is as stupid as a figure-head, but would cut herself or any one else in little pieces if she thought it would be good for John ; but not John's wife, the odious little shrew — the " B "Oh, Frogmore," cried Mary, "don't speak of her so. I can never forget how kind she was to me." " Kind to you — accepting all your time and care and affections and downright hard work, and giving you how much for them ? — nothing. Now, Mary, there must be an end of this. She has made a slave of you. I hope you don't mean to let her make a victim of you at the end." "Oh — she could not mean it. I don't think she could mean it ; but to curse me — just when every one, even the old women in the almshouses, send their blessing."

Mary fell into a fit of shivering again, vainly wrapping herself in the shawl to restore warmth, and keeping with difficulty her teeth from chattering. The old lord was much disturbed by this sight. He tried to caress and soothe her into composure, but elicited little save a weeping apology. "Oh, I beg your pardon, Frogmore." " Mary," he said at length, " I suppose we're both agreed as to the source from which blessings and curses come — or rather, let us say good fortune and bad, for I don't like to credit God with the curses, for my part." Mary, a little startled, looked at him with wide open eyes, the tears, for the moment at least, arrested. She was not sure whether he was not about to say something profane, and as a clergyman's daughter she felt it her duty to be on her guard. "Well," said Lord Frogmore, " I shouldn't, for my part, think the people who call down curses were very likely to be heard up there ■ — do you think so, my dear ?

If they are, it is not in accordance with anything we know. Curses are only in use in romance books. And as for believing that Mrs. John has any credit in that quarter, I don't, Mary. I'd back the old women in the almshouses against twenty Mrs. Johns." It was very profane — still it introduced a view of the subject which proved, after a while, consolatory to Mary. She recognised reason in it. And the presence of the old lord, who was so cheerful and self-possessed, and was afraid of nobody, was also very supporting, as Mrs. Hill said. He had the confidence of a man who had always been accustomed to have his own way, and to be baulked by nobody, which is a great prop to the minds of people who have the persistent sensation, due to the records and traditions of many failures, that something is always likely to interpose between the cup and the lip.

Lord Frogmore did not take any such contingency into consideration. When he found that Mary's cold was so obstinate he changed all his plans with the most lordly indifference to calculations, and resolved to take her to the Riviera for what he had too much sense to call the honeymoon. "Moons," he said to Mr. Hill, "do not drop honey when the bridegroom is sixty-seven, but I hope to make it very pleasant to Mary for all that." And this was exactly what he did. The marriage and all the little fuss and excite ment — for the parish was moved from one end to the other for the vicar's daughter and her wonderful match — shook her up and roused her spirits. And she wanted to do credit to the old lord, and would not have him carry off a bride with watery eyes and a red nose. So that even before they left Grocombe, Mary had recovered herself.

She had few wedding presents, for her friends were not rich enough to send anything worthy of a lady who was going to be a viscountess. But there was one which moved her much, and amused the old lord. The family at the Hall had taken no notice of what was going on in the vicarage — indeed it was so rough a man's house that the amenities of life were disregarded altogether. But the day before the wedding Ralph Ravelstone, who had been known to be at home, but had showed very little, appeared at the vicarage with a stable-boy behind him leading a colt. He went in to the house, leaving this group at the gate, and paid his respects to the family, where he was received without enthusiasm. "You see I've come back," he said. " Yes, we heard you had come back," said Mrs. Hill. " Mary would tell you.

I'm rather put out about Mary. I always meant," said Ralph, "to marry her myself. Oh, I don't mind if Frogmore hears. He's a connection of mine and very jolly. I always meant to marry her myself." " You showed your good taste, Mr. Ralph ; but I am glad that I was first in the field," said Lord Frogmore. " That's what it is to have plenty of money," said Ralph, with a grave face. " You see things on the other side didn't turn out as well as I expected. I've brought her a wedding present, though. He looks leggy at present, but he's a good sort. You wouldn't know his sire's name, perhaps, but it's well known in Yorkshire, and if he's well trained he'll make a horse. There he is at the gate. I don't say but he looks a bit leggy as he is now- " " Oh — is it that foal ? I am sure it was very kind of you, Ralph," said Mrs. Hill, in an ex tremely doubtful tone.

They had all gone to the window to look, and for a moment there had been some per plexity in the minds of the ladies as to which of the two animals visible was the wedding present — the halfgrown stable-boy or the neglected colt. Mary repeated, still more doubtfully, " I am sure it is very kind of you, Ralph," and there was a momentary pause of consternation. But this Lord Frogmore dis posed of in his brisk way. " We'll send him to the Park," he said, " where I don't doubt he'll be attended to ; and who knows what races you may win with him, Mary ? She shall run him under her own name. We'll make the Frogmore colours known on the turf, eh, my dear ? Mr. Ravelstone has given you a most valuable present, and for my part I am very much obliged." " Lord Frogmore always speaks up hand some," said Ralph.

" I saw that the first moment we met at Tisch's little place. And that little shaver, don't you remember ? By Jove, now he'll have his little nose put out of joint." It was not perhaps a very elegant joke, and the ladies took no notice of it save by alarmed mutual glances between themselves. But Frogmore — the refined and polite little old gentleman, Frogmore, with his old-fashioned superiority in manners, Frogmore — -laughed! There was no doubt of it — laughed and chuckled with satisfaction. "Well," he said, "such things can't be helped. It's best in all circumstances not to count one's eggs before My brother John's family were, perhaps, what we may call a little cocksure." " I don't know much about your brother," said Ralph. " But, lord, I shouldn't like to come in Tisch's way when she knows.

Oh, she knows, does she ? I'd just like to see her face when she reads it in the papers. Tisch is a fine one for pushing on in the world, but when she's roused " "Ralph," said Mrs. Hill, "you might be better employed than speaking against your sister. She has been very kind to Mary ; and Lord Frogmore would never have met my daughter at all if it had not been in her house." " That was all the worse for me, perhaps," said Ralph. " You are quite right, my dear lady," said Lord Frogmore. "We have all, I am sure, the greatest respect for Mrs. John. She has made my brother an excellent wife, and she has put me in the way of acquiring for myself a similar blessing." He made this little speech in his precise way, quite concluding the argument, and even quieting Ralph in a manner which much impressed the ladies.

But the big bushman shook his head and his beard as he went away. " That's all very well," he said, " but if Tisch has ever a chance to come in with a back-hander " He went off, continuing to shake his head all the way. Fortunately, Mary did not notice this, being diverted by the perplexity and embarrassment caused by Ralph's "leggy" gift, what to do with it, how to find accommodation for it in the little stable at the vicarage, already occu pied by an old and self-opinionated pony, very impatient of being interfered with. But Mrs. Hill and Agnes shook their heads too behind the bride's back. If Tisch ever had it in her power to do an ill turn to Mary ! Even all the excitement of the wedding preparations could not banish this thought from Mrs. Hill's mind. She impressed upon her other daughter the oft-repeated lesson that there is no light with out an accompanying shadow.

" In the course of nature," said the vicar's wife, "poor Mary will be left a widow to struggle for herself. It is true that the settlement is all we could desire — but if Tisch is at the back of it, her husband being the heir, how can we know what may happen — and your father an old man, and me with so little experience in the ways of the world " " But, mother," said Agnes, with hesitation, " Mary is not so old, she is only two years older than I am. She may have " " Oh, my dear ! Heaven forbid there should be any family ! " cried Mrs. Hill, lifting up her hands and eyes.

Chapter II

Mary came back from her travels a most composed and dignified young matron, bearing her honours sweetly, yet with a mild consciousness of their importance. I say young, for though she was forty she had always preserved her slim youthfulness of aspect, and the unwrinkled brow which belongs to a gentle temper and contented soul. She looked younger t as Lady Frogmore than she had done as Miss Hill. The simple dresses, which were perhaps a little too simple for her age, had not become her so well as those she now wore, the rich silks and velvets which the ladies at the vicarage felt and pinched and admired with an elation of soul in regarding " Our Mary," which it would be impossible to put into words. Mrs. Hill herself had now a velvet dress, a thing to which she had looked wistfully all her life as the acme of female grandeur without any hope of ever attaining it ; and Agnes had been supplied wTith a little trousseau to enable her to pay in comfort her first visit to the Park.

But when Mary appeared in the Frogmore diamonds at the head of her own table, receiving the best people in the county, Agnes was silent in awe and admiration. For Mary Hill, who had never asserted herself anywhere, had insensibly acquired the self-possession of her new rank, her sister could not tell how. And the little old gentleman beamed like a wintry sun upon his household and his guests. Impossible to imagine a kinder host, a more delightful brother-in-law. He was good to everybody who had ever had to do with Mary : the old aunts in London ; even, oddly enough, Ralph Ravelstone, who had so frankly informed Lord Frogmore of his intention to marry Mary had all gone well with him. There had been an additional little episode about Ralph which nobody knew of, not even Mary herself. For Lord Frogmore had received from Mrs. John Parke, a day or two before the marriage, the note which Mary had written to Ralph, begging him to meet her at the sundial in the grounds of Greenpark on that eventful day on which Lord Frogmore had made his first appearance.

The reader may recollect that this note had been an urgent appeal for an inter view, Letitia having demanded of Mary that she should send Ralph away. Lord Frogmore burnt the little note, which, indeed, was evidently a note written in great perturbation of mind, and drew his wife into conversation upon the events of the day, from which he very speedily came to an understanding of the situation, and the exact character of Mary's intercourse with Ralph. He replied by a most polite note to Letitia, informing her that he was very glad to be able to do, in response to her friendly recommendation, something for her brother — not, perhaps, equal to his merits, but the best that was in his power — by making Ralph agent for his Westmoreland property. There was not very much responsibility, nor a large income, but at all events a life of activity and freedom which he believed was in con sonance with Mr. Ravelstone's habits and tastes.

Letitia was entirely overwhelmed by this communication. She grew pale while she read, overawed as by a superior spirit. It will be well, however, to draw a veil over the behaviour of Letitia at this trying moment of her career. She had reason to be angry. There were scarcely any of the lookers on at this drama of ordinary life who did not acknowledge that. All her actions for years had been shaped by the conviction that sooner or later she would be Lady Frogmore. She had married John Parke on that understanding. It is possible, indeed, that, as no one else offered, she might have married him anyhow, for the substantial, if modest, advantages which his individual position secured. But nowadays Letitia did not remember that, and felt convinced that she had married him because he was heir presumptive to Lord Frogmore.

Who could say now when that designation might be erased from the peerage ? And even if it were never erased, there was still the humiliating certainty that Mary — Mary Hill — was my Lady Frogmore, a fact that produced paroxysms almost of madness in the bosom of Mrs. John Parke. And she had a right to be angry. Even Mrs. Hill allowed this. To have had for years only an old bachelor between you and your highest hopes — and then that he should marry at sixty-seven ! If ever woman had a grievance, Letitia was that woman. A certain amount of rage, virulence, revengeful feeling was what everybody expected. It was even allowed that the fact of the inter loper being a dependent of her own — a useful old friend — made things worse. She was bound, indeed, for her own sake, to preserve appearances a little more than she did ; but, except in that respect, nobody blamed her.

It was a very hard case. And more than by anybody else was this felt by Lady Frogmore, who did everything that woman could do to conciliate Letitia. She sent endless presents to the children, invited them to the Park — endeavoured in every way to keep them in the foreground. She even urged that Duke should spend as much time with them as possible, in order that Lord Frogmore should get to know his heir ! His heir ! Poor Mary insisted upon this — repeated it, lost no opportunity of direct ing attention to the fact — good heavens ! — until at last one day One day — it was early in the year, a day in spring, when she had been married for more than a twelvemonth, and had quite got used to VOL. 11. c her position, and felt as if she had worn velvet and diamonds, and a coronet upon her pocket handkerchiefs, all her life.

Mary had got so used to it all that when a stranger in a London shop, or a cottager, or any person of the inferior classes called her ma'am instead of my lady, she was much amused by the mistake. And she had forgotten all evil prognostications, and was almost happy in a sort of truce with Letitia, kept up by the presents and the visits and numberless overtures of amity which it pleased her to make, and which Mrs. John con descended to accept. She had begun to think that all was well, and to know herself to be happy, and to feel as if nobody could ever be ill or die, or fall into trouble more. When suddenly Mary made a discovery — the first suspicion of which threw her into a faintness which made the world swim all about her. It was a beautiful day, full of light and life and hope. The birds were twittering in every tree, talking over their new nests and where to build them, flitting about to look at different sites.

Mary was out walking in the grounds, rejoicing in the lovely air, when suddenly it occurred to her what was the matter with her, for she had been slightly invalidish — out of her usual way. All at once her head swam, her whole being grew faint. She tottered along as well as she could till she came to one of the late cuttings in the avenue, where the great trunk of a tree was lying on the side of the path : and there she sat down to think. A great tremor came over her, a something of sweetness indescribable, something like the welling out of a fountain of joy and delight. She had never been a knowing woman or experienced in the events of life, but rather prim and old-maidish in her reserve. And she had not known or thought what might be going on ; was this what it was ? She sat down to think, and for half an hour Mary's mild spirit was, as it were, in heaven.

Tears, delicious tears came to her eyes — a tender awe came over her, a feeling which is one of the compensations of women for the many special troubles that they have to bear. As the one is indescribable, so are the others. Mary could not for her life have put into words the emotions which filled her heart. Presently Lord Frogmore came in sight walking briskly up the avenue, the trimmest, c most active, cheerfullest of old gentlemen. He was never far off from where his wife was, liking to be near her, regarding her with an honest homely affection that had something pathetic in it. He came up to her quickening his pace. " Are you tired, Mary," he said, " or were you waiting for me ? " " Partly the one and partly the other," said Mary, bringing herself back to ordinary life with a little start and shock.

He seated him self beside her upon the tree. " I think, my dear," he said, " that you have been of late more easily tired than you used to be." " Oh, no," said Mary, with a sudden flush, for she was jealous of her secret, and shy as a girl, not knowing how it ever could be put into words. She got up quickly, shaking her skirts from the dead leaves which had been lying in the crevices. " I am not in the least tired now," she said, " and it is time to get home." " On account of little Duke ? " said Lord Frogmore. " You may be sure the boy is happy enough, I think you are as fond of that boy, Mary, as if he were your own." She had been a step in advance of him going on, but now she turned round suddenly and gave him a look — such a look. Never in all their life before had Mary's mild eyes confessed such unfathomable things.

The look filled Lord Frogmore with amazement and dismay. "Mary," he said, "my dear, what is the matter ? What has happened ? What is wrong ? " She made him no reply ; but suddenly the light went out altogether from the eyes which had turned to him so solemn and wonderful a look. And Mary did what she had never done in her life — slid down at his feet in a faint, falling upon the grass on the side of the way. It was all so quiet — so instantaneous — that poor Lord Frogmore was taken doubly un prepared. There was nothing violent even about the fall. She slipped from his side noiselessly, and lay there without a movement or a cry. The old lord was for a moment terrified beyond measure, but presently perceived that it was merely a faint, and knelt down by her, taking off her bonnet, fanning her with his hat, watching till the life should come back.

He had shouted for help, but Mary came to herself before any help arrived. She raised herself from the ground, the damp freshness of which had restored her, and put up her hand to her uncovered head in confusion. And then the colourless face suddenly flushed red, and she cried, " Oh, what have I been doing ? I beg your pardon. I beg your pardon, Frogmore." " Hush, my dear, you have done nothing but what is quite natural," said the old lord, who was far more experienced than Mary. " Don't hurry yourself, nor jump up in that impetuous way. Gently, gently, my love, here is some one coming. Bring round the pony carriage at once, Gregory, your mistress is tired. At once, I say." " Oh, I can walk. There is really nothing the matter, Frogmore." " Nothing at all, my dear," said Lord Frog more cheerfully.

" Keep quite quiet and don't disturb yourself." He sat down beside her on the grass, though he knew it was very bad for him. " Never mind the bonnet, you don't want it this pleasant day. And what pretty hair you have, Mary ! It is a good thing when your bonnet falls off, it shows your pretty hair." With such words he soothed her, with little compliments and tendernesses as if she had been a child, divining many things, and not feeling any of those inclinations to blame which younger husbands exercise so freely. Lord Frogmore was all indulgence for the wife who was young in his eyes, so much younger than himself. He put her into the little carriage when it came, and drove her gently home with all the care of a father. Mary had quite recovered herself by this time, and had arranged her bonnet and looked herself, trim as usual, though a little pale, when Gregory came jingling back with the quiet pony and the little cart in which Mary herself drove about the park.

And they had quite a cheerful drive home, though Mary's subdued tones — she who always was so quiet — and paleness were very touching to her old husband. But when they reached the hall door, where her maid and the housekeeper were both waiting, having heard that Lady Frogmore had been ill, and being both of them better instructed women than she — just as she stepped out of the carriage with her husband's help, smiling and saying it was nothing, there was a childish shout in the hall, and Duke, rushing out with a bound, flung himself upon her. " Oh, Aunt Mary, I've got something to tell you — I've got something to tell you ! " cried the boy. " Get away with you, child," said Lord Frogmore; "out of the way — out of the way. Don't you see she's ill ? " The colour that had been coming back fled out of Mary's cheeks again.

Her eyes once more gave a look of anguish, straight into her husband's heart. She stopped as if struck to stone, with her foot upon the step. But she did not faint again as they feared. She put out her hand to the boy. " He must not suffer — he must not suffer. Promise me," she said, with a shudder, "that he shall not suffer, Frogmore." Fortunately this was said almost under her breath, so that no one could distinguish what it was except the old lord himself, who was extremely distressed and puzzled. He remained downstairs very anxious while the women attended Mary to her room. What should little Duke have to do with it ? Why should he be brought in ? The child hung about his uncle asking a thousand questions. What was the matter with Aunt Mary ? Why did she look so pale ? Was she going to bed so early before tea ?

What did she want with the doctor ? Duke had not discrimination enough to see that he was not wanted, but when Lord Frogmore's patience broke down, and he said sharply7, " Go away, child ; for goodness sake go away," Duke retired in great offence, feeling that the world was a desert, and that nothing but an abrupt return home would make it worth while to live. It was all he could do to keep himself from setting out at once on foot. He rushed out into the hall with that intention, but was checked by the sight of the butler at the door, who was still giving his instructions to the mounted groom outside. " He's to come as fast as he can, and you're to go on wherever he may have gone till you find him — a deal of fuss about nothing," the butler was saying. " My missus " but here he broke off, seeing the puzzled face of little Duke ; and the groom rode off at great speed, as if he had never lingered for a minute's gossip during all his life.

" Is Aunt Mary very ill ?" said Duke. " I don't think so, sir ; no more than other ladies," said the experienced butler. " Mamma's ill sometimes," said the little boy. " They mostly is, sir," returned the other grimly. " But she won't take nasty physic as we have to do — nurse never asks me, though I am the oldest, and the one that is of most con sequence." " You've always been the heir, my little gentleman," said the little butler, " and made a deal of fuss with ; but I wouldn't say nothing on that subject if I were you now." " Why ? " said Duke, opening large eyes ; but Mr. Upjames had occupied enough of his precious time with a little boy, and now turned away vouchsafing no reply.