Sybil, Or, The Two Nations by Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli (best romantic novels to read .TXT) 📗

is a capital horsewoman, and always amuses me. As you cannot ride now, Joan, I wish you would let Maud have Sunbeam.”

“As you please.”

“Well I am going to the stables and will tell them. Who is this?” Mr Mountchesney exclaimed, and then walked to the window that looking over the park showed at a distance the advance of a very showy equipage.

Lady Joan looked up.

“Come here, Joan, and tell me who this is,” and Lady Joan was at his side in a moment.

“It is the livery of the Bardolfs,” said Lady Joan.

“I always call them Firebrace; I cannot get out of it,” said Mr Mountchesney. “Well, I am glad it is they; I thought it might be an irruption of barbarians. Lady Bardolf will bring us some news.”

Lord and Lady Bardolf were not alone; they were accompanied by a gentleman who had been staying on a visit at Firebrace, and who, being acquainted with Lord de Mowbray, had paid his respects to the castle in his way to London. This gentleman was the individual who had elevated them to the peerage—Mr Hatton. A considerable intimacy had sprung up between him and his successful clients. Firebrace was an old place rebuilt in the times of the Tudors, but with something of its more ancient portions remaining, and with a storehouse of muniments that had escaped the civil wars. Hatton revelled in them, and in pursuing his researches, had already made discoveries which might perhaps place the coronet of the earldom of Lovel on the brow of the former champion of the baronetage, who now however never mentioned the Order. Lord de Mowbray was well content to see Mr Hatton, a gentleman in whom he did not repose the less confidence, because his advice given him three years ago, respecting the writ of right and the claim upon his estate had proved so discreet and correct. Acting on that advice Lord de Mowbray had instructed his lawyers to appear to the action without entering into any unnecessary explanation of the merits of his case. He counted on the accuracy of Mr Hatton’s judgment, that the claim would not be pursued; and he was right; after some fencing and preliminary manoeuvring, the claim had not been pursued. Lord de Mowbray therefore, always gracious, was disposed to accord a very distinguished reception to his confidential counsellor. He pressed very much his guests to remain with him some days, and though that was not practicable, Mr Hatton promised that he would not leave the neighbourhood without paying another visit to the castle.

“And you continue quiet here?” said Mr Hatton to Lord de Mowbray.

“And I am told we shall keep so,” said Lord de Mowbray. “The mills are mostly at work, and the men take the reduced wages in a good spirit. The fact is our agitators in this neighbourhood suffered pretty smartly in ‘39, and the Chartists have lost their influence.

“I am sorry for poor Lady St Julians,” said Lady Bardolf to Lady de Mowbray. “It must be such a disappointment, and she has had so many; but I understand there is nobody to blame but herself. If she had only left the Prince alone, but she would not be quiet!”

“And where are the Deloraines?”

“They are at Munich; with which they are delighted. And Lady Deloraine writes me that Mr Egremont has promised to join them there. If he do, they mean to winter at Rome.”

“Somebody said he was going to be married,” said Lady de Mowbray.

“His mother wishes him to marry,” said Lady Bardolf; “but I have heard nothing.”

Mr Mountchesney came in and greeted the Bardolfs with some warmth. “How delightful in the country in August to meet somebody that you have seen in London in June!” he exclaimed. “Now, dear Lady Bardolf do tell me something, for you can conceive nothing so triste as we are here. We never get a letter. Joan only corresponds with philosophers and Maud with clergymen; and none of my friends ever write to me.”

“Perhaps you never write to them?”

“Well, I never have been a letter writer; because really I never wanted to write or to be written to. I always knew what was going on because I was on the spot; I was doing the things that people were writing letters about—but now not being in the world any longer, doing nothing, living in the country—and the country in August—I should like to receive letters every day, but I do not know who to fix upon as a correspondent. Eugene de Vere will not write, Milford cannot; and as for Fitz-heron he is so very selfish, he always wants his letters answered.”

“That is very unreasonable,” said Lady Bardolf.

“Besides what can they tell me at this moment? They have gone to the Moors and are enjoying themselves. They asked me to go with them, but I could not go, because you see I could not leave Joan; though why I could not leave her, I really cannot understand, because Egerton has got some moors this year, and he leaves Lady Augusta with her father.”

Lady Maud entered the room in her bonnet, returning from an airing. She was all animation—charmed to see everybody; she had been to Mowbray to hear some singing at the Roman Catholic chapel in that town; a service had been performed and a collection made for the suffering workpeople of the place. She had been apprised of it for some days, was told that she would hear the most beautiful voice that she had ever listened to, but it had far exceeded her expectations. A female voice it seemed; no tones could be conceived more tender and yet more thrilling: in short seraphic.

Mr Mountchesney blamed her for not taking him. He liked music, singing, especially female singing; when there was so little to amuse him, he was surprised that Lady Maud had not been careful that he should have been present. His sister-in-law reminded him that she had particularly requested him to drive her over to Mowbray, and he had declined the honour as a bore.

“Yes,” said Mr Mountchesney, “but I thought Joan was going with you, and that you would be shopping.”

“It was a good thing our House was adjourned before these disturbances in Lancashire,” said Lord Bardolf to Lord de Mowbray.

“The best thing we can all do is to be on our estates I believe,” said Lord de Mowbray.

“My neighbour Marney is in a great state of excitement,” said Lord Bardolf; “all his yeomanry out.”

“But he is quiet at Marney?”

“In a way; but these fires puzzle us. Marney will not believe that the condition of the labourer has anything to do with them; and he certainly is a very acute man. But still I don’t know what to say to it. The poor-law is very unpopular in my parish. Marney will have it, that the incendiaries are all strangers hired by the anti-Corn-law League.”

“Ah! here is Lady Joan,” exclaimed Lady Bardolf, as the wife of Mr Mountchesney entered the room; “My dearest Lady Joan!”

“Why Joan,” said Mr Mountchesney, “Maud has been to Mowbray, and heard the most delicious singing. Why did we not go?”