Joan Haste - H. Rider Haggard (fiction books to read .TXT) 📗
- Author: H. Rider Haggard
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brother’s wickedness, for no other word was strong enough to describe
his conduct—and now it seemed that the remedy suggested for this
stage of things was that he should marry the daughter of their
principal creditor. That was why he had been forced to leave the Navy
and dragged home from the other side of the world. Henry laughed as he
thought of it, for the situation had a comical side. Both in stories
and in real life it is common enough for the heroine of the piece to
be driven into these dilemmas, in order to save the honour or credit
of her family; but it is unusual to hear of such a choice being thrust
upon a man, perhaps because, when they chance to meet with them, men
keep these adventures to themselves.
Henry tried to recall the appearance of the young lady; and after a
while a vision of her came back to him. He remembered a pale-faced,
silent girl, with an elegant figure, large grey eyes, dark lashes, and
absolutely flaxen hair, who sat in the corner of the room and watched
everybody and everything almost without speaking, but who, through her
silence, or perhaps on account of it, had given him a curious
impression of intensity.
This was the woman whom his family expected him to marry, and, as his
sister seemed to suggest, who, directly or indirectly, had intimated a
willingness to marry him! Ellen said, indeed, that she was “half in
love” with him, which was absurd. How could Miss Levinger be to any
degree whatsoever in love with a person whom she knew so slightly? If
there were truth in the tale at all, it seemed more probable that she
was consumed by a strange desire to become Lady Graves at some future
time; or perhaps her father was a victim to the desire and she a tool
in his hands. Although personally he had met him little, Henry
remembered some odds and ends of information about Mr. Levinger now,
and as he lay unable to sleep he set himself to piece them together.
In substance this is what they amounted to: many years ago Mr.
Levinger had appeared in the neighbourhood; he was then a man of about
thirty, very handsome and courteous in his manners, and, it was
rumoured, of good birth. It was said that he had been in the Army and
seen much service; but whether this were true or no, obviously he did
not lack experience of the world. He settled himself at Bradmouth,
lodging in the house of one Johnson, a smack owner; and, being the
best of company and an excellent sportsman, gradually, by the help of
Sir Reginald Graves, who seemed to take an interest in him and
employed him to manage the Rosham estates, he built up a business as a
land agent, out of which he supported himself—for, to all
appearances, he had no other means of subsistence.
One great gift Mr. Levinger possessed—that of attracting the notice
and even the affection of women; and, in one way and another, this
proved to be the foundation of his fortunes. At length, to the secret
sorrow of sundry ladies of his acquaintance, he put a stop to his
social advancement by contracting a glaring mésalliance, taking to
wife a good-looking but homely girl, Emma Johnson, the only child of
his landlord the smack owner. Thereupon local society, in which he had
been popular so long as he remained single, shut its doors upon him,
nor did the ladies with whom he had been in such favour so much as
call upon Mrs. Levinger.
When old Johnson the smack owner died, a few months after the
marriage, and it became known that he had left a sum variously
reported at from fifty to a hundred thousand pounds behind him, every
farthing of which his daughter and her husband inherited, society
began to understand, however, that there had been method in Mr.
Levinger’s madness.
Owing, in all probability, to the carelessness of the lawyer, the
terms of Johnson’s will were somewhat peculiar. All the said Johnson’s
property, real and personal, was strictly settled under this will upon
his daughter Emma for life, then upon her husband, George Levinger,
for life, with remainder “to the issue of the body of the said George
Levinger lawfully begotten.”
The effect of such a will would be that, should Mrs. Levinger die
childless, her husband’s children by a second marriage would inherit
her father’s property, though, should she survive her husband,
apparently she would enjoy a right of appointment of the fund, even
though she had no children by him. As a matter of fact, however, these
issues had not arisen, since Mrs. Levinger predeceased her husband,
leaving one child, who was named Emma after her.
As for Mr. Levinger himself, his energy seemed to have evaporated with
his, pecuniarily speaking, successful marriage. At any rate, so soon
as his father-in-law died, abandoning the land agency business, he
retired to a comfortable red brick house situated on the sea shore in
a very lonely position some four miles south of Bradmouth, and known
as Monk’s Lodge, which had come to him as part of his wife’s
inheritance. Here he lived in complete retirement; for now that the
county people had dropped him he seemed to have no friends. Nor did he
try to make any, but was content to occupy himself in the management
of a large farm, and in the more studious pursuits of reading and
archæology.
The morrow was a Saturday. At breakfast Ellen remarked casually that
Mr. and Miss Levinger were to arrive at the Hall about six o’clock,
and were expected to stay over the Sunday.
“Indeed,” replied Henry, in a tone which did not suggest anxiety to
enlarge upon the subject.
But Ellen, who had also taken a night for reflection, would not let
him escape thus. “I hope that you mean to be civil to these people,
Henry?” she said interrogatively.
“I trust that I am civil to everybody, Ellen.”
“Yes, no doubt,” she replied, in her quiet, persistent voice; “but you
see there are ways and ways of being civil. I am not sure that you
have quite realised the position.”
“Oh, yes, I have—thoroughly. I am expected to marry this lady, that
is, if she is foolish enough to take me in payment of what my father
owes to hers. But I tell you, Ellen, that I do not see my way to it at
present.”
“Please don’t get angry, dear,” said Ellen, more gently; “I dare say
that such a notion is unpleasant enough, and in a way—well, degrading
to a proud man. Of course no one can force you to marry her if you
don’t wish to, and the whole business will probably fall through. All
I beg is that you will cultivate the Levingers a little, and give the
matter fair consideration. For my part I think that it would be much
more degrading to allow our father to become bankrupt at his age than
for you to marry a good and clever girl like Emma Levinger. However,
of course I am only a woman, and have no ‘sense of honour,’ or at
least one that is not strong enough to send my family to the workhouse
when by a little self-sacrifice I could keep them out of it.”
And with this sarcasm Ellen left the room before Henry could find
words to reply to her.
That morning Henry walked with his mother to the church in order to
inspect his brother’s grave—a melancholy and dispiriting duty—the
more so, indeed, because his sense of justice would not allow him to
acquit the dead man of conduct that, to his strict integrity, seemed
culpable to the verge of dishonour. On their homeward way Lady Graves
also began to talk about the Levingers.
“I suppose you have heard, Henry, that Mr. Levinger and his daughter
are coming here this afternoon?”
“Yes, mother; Ellen told me.”
“Indeed. You will remember Miss Levinger, no doubt. She is a nice girl
in every sense; your dear brother used to admire her very much.”
“Yes, I remember her a little; but Reginald’s tastes and mine were not
always similar.”
“Well, Henry, I hope that you will like her. It is a delicate matter
to speak about, even for a mother to a son, but you know now how
terribly indebted we are to the Levingers, and of course if a way
could be found out of our difficulties it would be a great relief to
me and to your dear father. Believe me, my boy, I do not care so much
about myself; but I wish, if possible, to save him from further
sorrow. I think that very little would kill him now.”
“See here, mother,” said Henry bluntly: “Ellen tells me that you wish
me to marry Miss Levinger for family reasons. Well, in this matter, as
in every other, I will try to oblige you if I can; but I cannot
understand what grounds you have for supposing that the young lady
wishes to marry me. So far as I can judge, she might take her fortune
to a much better market.”
“I don’t quite know about it, Henry,” answered Lady Graves, with some
hesitation. “I gathered, however, that, when he came here after you
had gone to join your ship about eighteen months ago, Mr. Levinger
told your father, with whom you know he has been intimate since they
were both young, that you were a fine fellow, and had taken his fancy
as well as his daughter’s. Also I believe he said that if only he
could see her married to such a man as you are he should die happy, or
words to that effect.”
“Rather a slight foundation to build all these plans on, isn’t it,
mother? In eighteen months her father may have changed his mind, and
Miss Levinger may have seen a dozen men whom she likes better. Here
comes Ellen to meet us, so let us drop the subject.”
About six o’clock that afternoon Henry, returning from a walk on the
estate, saw a strange dogcart being run into the coach-house, from
which he inferred that Mr. and Miss Levinger had arrived. Wishing to
avoid the appearance of curiosity, he went straight to his room, and
did not return downstairs till within a few minutes of the
dinner-hour. The large and rather ill-lighted drawing-room seemed to
be empty when he entered, and Henry was about to seat himself with an
expression of relief, for his temper was none of the best this
evening, when a rustling in a distant corner attracted his attention.
Glancing in the direction of the noise, he perceived a female figure
seated in a big armchair reading.
“Why don’t you come to the light, Ellen?” he said. “You will ruin your
eyes.”
Again the figure rustled, and the book was shut up; then it rose and
advanced towards him timidly—a delicate figure dressed with admirable
taste in pale blue, having flaxen hair, a white face, large and
beseeching grey eyes, and tiny hands with tapering fingers. At the
edge of the circle of lamp-light the lady halted, overcome apparently
by shyness, and stood still, while her pale face grew gradually from
white to pink and from pink to red. Henry also stood still, being
seized with a sudden and most unaccountable nervousness. He guessed
that this must be Miss Levinger—in fact, he remembered her face—but
not one single word could he utter; indeed, he seemed unable to do
anything except regret that he had not waited upstairs till the
dinner-bell rang. There is this to be said in excuse
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