Social Distinction; or, Hearts and Homes

Chapter I

r^^ijyL he sun seems to be going down," said v^vS^Cw' Michael Staunton, taking off his spec- 'fWfimi^&i tacTes, and appealing to his silent com- -f>ffj^yf panion, who, seated on the opposite side 11 w)P_ °f tne room, was plying her needle with S / u_ iO . it ./ o ky . great industry. At this remark, however, the young woman rose, opened the window near which she had been seated, and listening for a moment with great attention, again commenced her quiet occupation with the simple remark — " They do seem rather late." The character of the scene of which these two individuals formed the only living portion, with the exception of a large greyhound sleeping on the hearth-rug, was as nearly resembhng what is called by painters " still life," as any could well be, in which hearts are really palpitating, and the current of thought is actually moving on.

It was the interior of an old English hall of the sixteenth cen tury, more substantial than splendid; and. yet not wanting I! OR, in those decorations of richly carved black oak, and tracery of smaU-paned windows, and cornice of elaborate work manship, which, combined with other ornaments peculiar to the olden time, give a dignified, and sometimes even aristocratic character to apartments not otherwise em bellished in any rich or costly manner. Such was the case in the present instance, for Hather stone HaU had undergone httle change through many successive years, beyond what absolute comfort required ; and comfort being a word of relative signification, varying always with the tastes and habits of those most immediately concerned, the comfort of Hatherstone, at the precise time here aUuded to, might scarcely have borne comparison with the comforts of the present day.

It is true the apartment already described was not wanting in a massive table and sideboard elaborately carved, and high-backed chairs of the same description, which would have made the fortune of a modern speculator in these specimens of antique art ; but beyond these there were no superfluities designed for luxurious indulgence — not even a sofa, on which the form of high-born beauty might recline. Judging from the present occupants of that apartment, however, it might readdy be seen that a sofa would not be in very frequent requisition there. The figure and countenance of Michael Staunton, the proprietor of the mansion, were those of perfect health and vigour, scarcely impaired by the lapse of somewhere about seventy years ; although his fine head was bald, and his once luxuriant brown hah was softened down to a kind of neutral tint, by the mixture of thickly scattered silver threads.

It stdl, however, curled with great beauty, where most abundant, and thus waved around cheeks and temples that were scarcely less handsome than in the days of HEARTS AND HOMES. 3 their youthful pride. Beneath the forehead, and closely shaded by compact and thickly set eyebrows, gleamed out at times such flashing eyes of piercing brightness, that few persons were aware of their actual colour, or would have beheved it to be no darker than hazel-grey ; in fact, so sudden and so powerful was the glance they sometimes shot from beneath the shadow of those over hanging brows, as to create a general belief in their being black — intensely black; or, as the country people more expressively caUed them, " black as sloes." A weU made nose, thin hps of quick decision, and handsome rounded chin, completed the contour of this not unpleas ing countenance ; although, as Thomas, the old footman, farmer, and general factotum of his master, often observed, the squire was " pleasant, or unpleasant, just as the case might be.

For his own part, he would rather push his head into a bee-hive, than have to go into the parlour when his master was in one of his fractious tempers." And so thought many others, in and about the household of Michael Staunton, although upon the whole he was an exceUent master, who kept his servants long, and never turned a labourer or workman away for anytldng but theft, or falsehood. These were to him the two un pardonable sins, both much encouraged, he believed, by the extravagant and "up-ish" notions of modern times. He therefore waged perpetual war against aU affectation, pretension, or assumed gentility; and to such an extent was this warfare carried, that in his own person and habits he rather kept behind, than in advance of, the customs of the times, adopting in his dress and mode of living a simplicity, and even homeliness, scarcely borne out by the ancestral dignity of his house, as it was stdl exhibited to view in the family portraits, with their richly-gilded ; OR, frames, which hung about his rooms.

Indeed, some people went so far as to suggest, that even Mr. Staunton himself might be gudty of a little affectation in these extreme views, or why did he bestow such evident care in the preservation of these old paintings ; why did he take pleasure in telling such long stories about these same ances tors — their power with the reigning sovereign, their deeds of arms, their liberal charities, and all the pomp and ceremony with whicli they had been surrounded ? Why, indeed, except to draw a strong comparison between what he called the frippery of modern times, and real greatness ; and to conclude with his unfailing lamentation, that these days had all gone by. Just in proportion as Michael Staunton abhorred all falsehood and deception, his admiration and his praise were directed to honesty, and truth.

Acting upon this principle, he had married his servant for his second wife ; be cause, as he said, he could not find another honest woman, and he could not live alone. After the marriage of his last daughter, he had tried two or three lady housekeepers ; but the remarks he made upon their manners towards himself were by no means complimentary to the sex. He wanted, he said, some one to be kind to him in his old age, but kind in such a way as not to make him remember that he was the owner of a large estate, and had yet to make his wdl. He thought he had found this in one of the loveliest, and most faithful, of the class who labour for their dady bread. To this second wife he had been married nearly ten years, and she was indeed a lovely picture of an honest woman of her sphere. Margaret was now about the age of thirty, comely, fah, and of considerable personal beauty, both as regards form and face.

The latter was full of > 5 HEARTS AND HOMES patient, mild, and sweet expression. WJicu perfectly grave, and that it almost always was, there was indeed but little to be read from its appearance; but with a smile upon the clearly-chiseUed mouth, disclosing teeth of pearly whiteness, few faces could be more attractive, and none more kind in theh expression than Margaret's ; yet, some how or other, this smile was always gone too soon, and long in coming back, and in the interim, there was sometimes a shght contraction of the clearly-penciUed eyebrows, with a sudden look of suffering or pain — a short, quick sigh, and something like a shake of the head ; but aU this passed so rapidly that no one took much notice of it, or if they did, and if they asked the cause, Margaret had always her answer ready — she was thinking of the poor, the hungry, or of sadors tossed upon the sea ; and knowing her to be a kind and pitying creature, people took her at her word ; for Margaret was one who went with aU her heart amongst the poor, and actuaUy looked with her own eyes into their wants and theh necessities ; often observing, that as Provi dence had placed abundance in her hands, it was for her to use and not to hoard it, stdl less to spend it upon herself.

And acting out this strong conviction, she kept to her simplicity of dress, retaining the comely 'kerchief and close cap which she had worn in service, only with the difference of greater costliness in texture and material. Looking down upon this quiet homely figure, where she sate in the old parlour, was the portrait of a richly dressed and haughty seeming dame, the former mistress of that haU ; and what a contrast to the present ! Poor Margaret often thought that this portrait frowned upon her, and then she drooped her head, and felt as if she had no business there. She knew not — none knew but Thomas and his master, what had been the character and history of that lady J 01?, Some said her reign at Hatherstone had not been peaceful : rather one of rights disputed, dignity assumed, and high pretensions questioned ; but she died early, leaving three children, two daughters and a son, to the care of a father whose prejudices her own character and sentiments had done nothing to subdue.

Thus, her influence with drawn, he was left at liberty to act upon any extreme which his own peculiar views might dictate ; but to do him justice, it must be stated, that he gave his three chil dren what is called an exceUent education, according to the popular meaning of the term ; sparing nothing for ex pense in their schooling, and even aUowing them to acquire aU that could be acquired in a limited period, of the most approved accomplishments of the day. The eldest daughter, who had much of the advantage or the disadvantage of her mother's influence, and who had frequently accompanied her to fashionable sea-bathing places in the south of England, was an apt scholar in aU that could recommend her to society as a clever, as well as a polished woman. Clever she unquestionably was, for she could compass almost any object upon which her heart was set.

But along with this enviable capabdity, there was a trait of character still more to be desired ; for she could bring forward the best possible reason for everything she wished to do ; thus standing above or beyond all con tradiction, with her name unbreathed upon by censure. Next to this daughter, who rapidly grew up into a more than usuaUy clever woman, was the son; and then the youngest daughter Mary, her father's favourite, a truthful, sensible, and thinking ghl, of whom her partial parent almost ventured to pronounce that she would grow up an " honest woman." Indeed, a father and a daughter could scarcely go on more happdy together : Mary was devoted to her parent's happiucss, but unpretending iu her affection for him ; whde on his part, he found in her clear and steady mind, her truth, and her tenderness, almost aU that he wanted in a companion.

What a pity, that such a happy and dehghtfid state of union and mutual dependence should be broken up by the first offer ! Yet so it was — the first offer came to Mary ; her heart was weak, and she accepted. Mary was not handsome, nor striking, and she thought less of her own recommendations than they deserved. She beheved she was not vain, because her opinion of herself was very low ; and thus a degree of gratitude was mingled with the emotions with which this first offer was received. More especiaUy was this the case, because it came from a very prepossessing gentleman, whom she had met at the house of her sister, Mrs. Ashley, where he made himself the most distinguished in a party of considerable intelligence, throwing into shade so many individuals of whom Mr. and Mrs. Ashley had spoken in the highest terms, that Mary, with aU her meekness and humility, could scarcely beheve her senses, when, a short time after wards, an actual proposal of marriage was made ber by this very gentleman who had been so much admired, and who stdl appeared to hold a high place in public opinion.

From tbis opinion, however, Michael Staunton dissented widely and obstinately. Amongst his many prejudices, he hated America with a most cordial hatred; and the gentleman, after a residence of many years in that country, had but recently returned to settle in his native land, in a large commercial town, near to which the residence of Mr. Staunton was situated. It would be useless now, however, to expatiate upon the many painful scenes which took place between Mary and her father, before his reluc- ; OR tant consent could be gained in favour of this connexion. It is quite possible that the difficulties of her position, attended as it was with some degree of harshness and unreasonable restraint, enhanced the attractions of her lover. However that might be, she became at length his wife ; and, at the time of which we write, was living in great plenty and apparent comfort in the town of M .

Michael Staunton seemed doomed to be disappointed in his children. A short time before this bond was severed, his only son had married into what is called " a good family," but without money, and, as regarded the choice he had made, without health. So much was the father opposed to this connexion, that he had never seen the lady, nor his son, since their marriage ; and when recently, intelligence was brought him of the sudden death of this son, the stroke was aU the more heavy, from a secret consciousness of having indulged his vindictive temper at the expense of natural seeling, as weU as Christian duty. From these repeated trials Michael Staunton never recovered the equable tone of his mind. Instead of being softened by distress, his temper became more irritable, his wiU more imperative ; at the same time that his secluded life tended greatly to the strengthening of prejudices always too deep.

Margaret was not a companion at aU likely to correct these evils : she feared her lord too much ; and having once been his servant, she never could believe herself his equal. Neither is it very likely that he wished to be corrected. He had a right to have faults if he liked — what business had anybody to interfere with him ? Thus bristling up, and ever ready to repel intrusion, he met every event in life as if it bore some direct mission against himself, and was consequently something to be treated with suspicion, if not actuaUy resisted. To many persons he appeared a harsh and stern old man ; but there were a few who knew the real kindness of his heart, and how often he made a plea of what he caUed the foolishness of his wife for dispensing benefits amongst the poor around him, and offering food and shelter, where his own dignity would not let him stoop to offer it himself.

Perhaps no one knew more of the real heart and feel ings of his master, than the man Thomas, an old servant of the household, who had hved in the famdy from his boyhood ; nor did any one know better the nice art of meeting his sternest mood in the manner least hkely to offend. It happened, however, on the occasion already aUuded to when the master of the mansion had sat waiting for his tea untd after the sun was set, that the equanimity of Thomas was more than usuaUy tried. But of this, more in its proper place : for aheady Margaret has turned her head to listen to the sound of coming wheels; the spectacles of Michael Staunton are laid for the twentieth time upon his open book ; the greyhound has started from his sleep ; and nearer and nearer stdl comes the rushing sound of a carriage, roUing rapidly over the wet gravel — wet 'with Aprd showers, for it is that season of the year when the grass is fresh and green, and aU nature begins to wear the bright ness and the beauty of returning spring.

It was evident that neither the lord nor the lady of the mansion knew exactly how to conduct themselves on this occasion ; but Margaret, with her heart brhnfull of hospi tality, was aheady hastening to the door, without any imaginable purpose, but to offer her house and home, and everything it contained, to the service of the expected guest. Hurried on by these feelings, she stood upon the step, even before the carriage reached the door ; nor did c her hand shrink back, when parcel after parcel was thrown into it, and cushions, shawls, and umbrellas piled upon her arms, as if she had been the lowest menial of the whole establishment. Of all this Margaret thought as little as any one could possibly think for her. Lost in deep in terest for the human occupants of the carriage, she counted not the accompanying articles of property; nor saw, in fact, a single thing, except a pale, proud, widow lady, with her face so deeply shrouded that little could be known of it except the cold and sad expression of its marble lips.

Strongly contrasted with this distant, and somewhat repulsive figure, was a chdd, a little girl of somewhere about eight years old, all eagerness and curiosity, yet evidently ill prepared to find her happiness in this new home ; for nothing could induce her to leave her close and frightened hold upon her mother's dress. The lady had closely wrapped her arms around her child, in the attitude of one who kept a constant guard upon her, lest some unfriendly, or some vulgar hand should dare to touch a thing so delicate and so beloved ; in this manner the sdent party walked through the old haU, Margaret, with vain endeavours to be social, ushering the way. It was evident that Margaret was supposed to be a servant of the house, or if not actuaUy thought to be so, it was evident the lady chose to have her suppositions thus interpreted; and therefore she walked forward along the passage which led into the parlour, silent still, nor condescending to make the slightest acknowledgment of Margaret's presence or attentions.

Those who knew Michael Staunton well, could easily have perceived, as he rose from his chah, and advanced a few paces to meet the tall and stately figure which now entered, that he had to make a strong effort to master the various and contending emotions which pressed upon his heart. This then, was the widow of his son, and this the fatherless child ! A single tear, a single affectionate ex pression, a single confiding look or act, would at that moment have mastered the strong man, and have bowed him almost to the dust. A single pressure of that chdd's hght head upon his bosom would have burst the flood-gates of deep feeling there, and might possibly have made him from that hour a wiser and a better man. But there oc curred no such crisis in the history of this family. That golden moment rolled away, unmarked, and mingled hke other moments, with the flood of bygone time.

Just at the proper distance from the person of her hus band's father, the young widow dropped the lowest curtsey which had ever swept the floor of that old parlour, at the same time presenting to the touch of his extended hand the tips of her thin fingers, and no more. " And you," — said Michael Staunton, not enthely re peUed, for pity was the strongest feeling in his heart just then, and pity is ever patient and forbearing — " and you" he said, whde looking down upon the child, and holding out the hand which had been so quickly disengaged. But the chdd, at least, had no concealment, no pretence, for, first she hid her face within her mother's dress, and then, with pouting lips and peevish countenance, looked out, and struck the extended hand with every demonstration of pre determined and obstinate dislike.

Margaret saw this, and was in horrors. Even the mother spoke a gentle pleading reproof; and looking round the apartment, begged to be conducted to her room. Here, it was Margaret's pride to show, that nothing had been neglected which thoughts of kindness could suggest. In every other department of her household, her efforts had been arrested by the frequent and imperative command, to " make no difference— no difference in the world ; " but here she had worked unseen with her own hands, so care fullv, that neither sound of foot nor hammer had been heard; and yet the change was so complete, that often during the day she had run up into the room, just to de light her eye with gazing on the " perfect picture " she had made of it. It was natural, after aU this studious care, that Margaret should look round with something like triumphant joy ; " for what," she thought, in ushering her guest, " can possibly be wanthig here ?

" " Oh ! " said the lady, starting back, " am I to have no fire?" " The room is very dry and warm," said Margaret meekly. " Yes, certainly," replied the lady, in a most peculiar tone, and with that little, short, made laugh which means a thousand unutterable things. " I had forgotten we were not at home." " I hope you soon wUl be at home though," said Mar garet very sweetly ; " and I am sure there should be a fire directly, if I knew how to have it made, without, " " Without what ? " inquired the lady, " I see no difficulty." " Without disturbing the sparrows' nests," said Margaret, glad to escape in any way out of her dilemma. " Good gracious ! " exclaimed the lady, " am I to have bhds in my chimney, night and day ? I shall never sleep with bhds in my chimney. I can tell you that." So saying, she applied her delicate white hands to re move a fire-board, wbich occupied the centre space of one of those wide empty fire-places to be found in aU old houses, on removing which, it was found that a quantity of some kind of rude material had been thrust up the chimney, and had probably been there for years.

" I reaUy don't think," said Margaret, " there will be any good in remo . -ing that ; and besides, the tea is waiting. I dare say you wiU be glad of your tea after such a journey." " We have not dined," said the lady, with a repetition of the short laugh. Margaret now found her difficulties increasing beyond what she was at aU prepared for. She had two parties to please, as widely different in theh habits and modes of thinking, as if they had met from opposite hemispheres. There was no question, however, in her mind, which of the two must have the first consideration ; so leaving the lady to adjust the affair of the chimney herself, she hastened down into the parlour, to see that her lord and master was no longer kept waiting for his tea. Here, however, she found, to her dismay, that things were even worse than above.

Thomas was in close consultation with his master ; and the old gentleman was hstening, with contracted brow and flashing eye, and with those quick movements of hand and foot, which intimated the most fearful climax of irri tation. Thomas, however, was weU known as an exceUent manager, and in him Margaret bruit her hopes of final adjustment, whatever the difficulties ofthe case might be; but in her haste to reach some happy conclusion, she overlooked the fact, that if Thomas could by skdful manceuvreing keep aU things right, and every one from blame, he would ; but that if the question was, whether he himself, or some other person, should faU under condemna tion, he hesitated no more than other men. "Then what did you do?" asked Michael Staunton, turning sharply upon his man " Why, I went to the landlord of the Nag's Head," rephed Thomas, " and told him who I was, and as how, if he would just advance me ten pounds, my master would send it back by the next post ; and I told him who you was, Sh."

" So you went in debt on the strength of my name, with a man whom I never saw in my life," said Mr. Staun ton, in his most impatient manner. " Why," said the man, " there was no other way open to me, that I could tell. The coach came up full inside ; and when I just hinted to the lady that some people, some quality too, thought it pleasanter travelling on the top, you never heard such an uproar as there was between the mother and chdd — sobbing and crying! It beat me, Sh, to know what to do. The lady said she had never traveUed in a public conveyance in aU her life, but always with post-horses ; and, bless you, Sh, there were packages enough to fiU a stage-waggon." " So you took a chaise, and borrowed money to pay for it?" " I did the best I could, Sir. I knew you would be waiting, and expecting us, to-night ; and if the money 's any object, I would rather pay it myself than have more words about it."

So saying, Thomas turned to walk away, weU knowing that a sense of injustice, forced upon the mind of his master, was the most likely means of effecting the deshable result, which he caUed " bringing him to." Here then, the matter ended — if that might be caUed an end, which was but the beginning of a series of troubles and perplexities connected with the domestic arrange ments of Hatherstone HaU, such, as Thomas often remarked, had never been known since the time of his old mistress. " Then, indeed ! " he was accustomed to add ; but leaving the sentence unfinished, would walk away, as if charged with thoughts too big for utterance. And aU the while the spring came on, and danced around the ancient HaU, with the melody of birds, and scent of opening flowers, and smdes that might have won an echo from despair.

People said, that year, it was the sweetest spring-time ever known : the hlachs and labur nums bloomed together; the hawthorn, white as snow, poured its rich fragrance on the floating air; and the larks warbled so long and loud, that nothing else was heard but theh triumphant joy, high up above the purple meadows — higher stiU, as if ambitious to be first to tell in upper sky, of aU the freshness, bloom, and beauty of the grateful earth. How was it, then, with that young chdd, who rambled at her own free wdl amongst the garden bowers, and sat at noon beneath the shadow of the old yew trees, and gathered primroses upon the orchard bank, or cowslips in the meadows, and came back to pour them into her mother's lap, richer than if she brought a coronet to grace her brow ? It was not in the heart of chddhood to resist such sweet and genial influences ; and though the mother stdl remained the same, and kept aloof, as was her custom, from what she held as vulgar intercourse with those whose name she bore, the child enjoyed her happy holiday amongst the flowers, and wondered why her mother wept so much.

Perhaps it was not altogether grief that hung upon the widow's heart. A real, deep, disinterested grief is soften ing in its influence ; but hers was more like disappoint ment — gnawing, wasting, self-humihation, and despah. Enthely removed from her native element, she seemed to pine away for want of an atmosphere to breathe. To her the most crowded exhibition to which the fashionable and the gay resort, would have been a glimpse of paradise, compared with that duU garden, and its everlasting leaves and flowers. She had no heart for nature— no being, and no strength, when separated from the weU-dressed crowd ; and she, who could have danced untd the morning hght came ghmmering through the dust of smoky windows, was too weak and faint to tread those garden walks, and sat aU day enveloped in her winter shawl, as if to shut out every ray of cheering sunshine from her heart.

In this, however, there might be some little self deception; for nature is more powerful than we think, and whispers through a thousand channels, what we cannot choose but hear. Thus often the sad heart is soothed even by the sighing of the wind — soothed while it knows it not, nor thanks the gentle visitant that brings it con solation — soothed whUe it struggles with a host of worldly cares, and dreams of nothing else. Thus, then, it might be with that sad and sdent lady; else why did she so often seek the quiet of that garden, where her favourite seat was hung around with rambhng roses and rich honey suckle? Here she would sit aU day, pleased only with one thing, the prattle of her happy child, who came and went like a bright vision, ever welcome to the mother's heart. Not that the chdd was beautiful ; — many fairer and more attractive played upon the vUlage green ; — nor kind, nor loving ; for Margaret tried in vain to win her confidence and affection; — but she was all the mother had — a scion of an honourable house — a vestige of brighter days of splendour and distinction, now for ever gone.