CHAPTER XX.
AT PEVENSHALL PLACE.
Pevenshall Place was a noble modern mansion, which Thomas Lobyer the elder had built for himself in the days when he still hoped to find a worthy successor to his commercial glory in the person of the lad who was spending his juvenile leisure among lords and commoners on the grassy meads of Eton. The great millowner's wealth had been lavished freely on the solid grandeur and decorative splendours of Pevenshall. The house was in the Italian style,—a noble square white mansion, with a balustraded roof, surmounted by airy turrets, and a broad terrace-walk, that commanded one of the loveliest prospects in Yorkshire. No vulgar architect had designed the Manchester trader's dwelling. The millionaire of to-day begins life with gigantic advantages. He has the benefit of two thousand years of civilisation, and may profit by the experience of emperors. Before the plans for Pevenshall were completed and approved, Mr. Lobyer had been made familiar with all the masterpieces of domestic architecture still existing in the present, or known to have existed in the past. He had disdained Stowe, and had rejected Fonthill; he had pooh-poohed Adrian's Villa, and turned up his nose at the abode of Lucullus. He had remarked that the apartments of Sallust, at Pompeii, might be eminently adapted for a gentleman's wine-cellars, but were utterly unfit for a gentleman's residence. After going through innumerable folios of drawings and engravings which his architect—happy in the expectation of five per cent. on some fifty thousand pounds—had brought to him, Mr. Lobyer made his choice with that promptitude and decision which had regulated his conduct in all the most important affairs of life.
"If I can't have that," he said, laying the end of his square forefinger on an engraving of Warwick Castle,—"and of course I can't, for I never saw any thing in the way of a castle built nowadays that didn't look like a workhouse or a gaol—I'll have that;" and he transferred his finger to a water-colour sketch of a modern Italian villa in the suburbs of Florence; "or at any rate I'll have that kind of place—light, and bright, and cheerful-looking outside; but as warm and comfortable inside as an old-fashioned farmhouse, and from garret to collar as solid as the Tower of London. Give me a drawing-room forty feet by twenty five, an entrance-hall thirty feet square; and take care there's no such thing as a dark corner or a narrow passage in the house, and I shall be satisfied."
After having said this, Thomas Lobyer the elder declined all further discussion upon the subject of the house that was to be built for him. In the space of a few months the lordly mansion arose on the slope of a wooded hill-side, and all the district wondered at its grandeur. The architect had carte blanche. There were chambers panelled with oak and cedar, sandal and maple-wood. There was a staircase of Carrara marble, with balustrades of carved bronze, and lamps copied from antique Roman models. Julius Cæsar might have ascended such a staircase, and would have found nothing to criticise in the perfection of its appointments. Thomas Lobyer the elder approved of the mansion because it was large and handsome, and was very slightly affected by the odour of classicality that pervaded it. He freely paid the amounts which the great builder demanded of him, and it was only when he looked over his banker's-book at the close of the transaction, that he knew how dearly his fancy had cost. He sent the architect to London to give the necessary orders to upholsterers; and Pevenshall Place was furnished in perfect harmony with its architecture, but with very little reference to the peculiar taste of its proprietor.
The architect had an especial tenderness for the classical; and the great millowner, eating his frugal meal alone in his vast dining-room, illumined by candles in oxidised silver branches that might have appropriately adorned the banquet table in the Apollo chamber, was inclined to think his new mansion somewhat cold and cheerless of aspect. It may have been that the millionaire was prone to be dispirited on that first day of his occupation, for the morning's post had brought him a letter from the dame in whose house his son and heir was lodged, and the terms of the epistle were very uncomplimentary to Thomas the younger; and this feminine complaint about Master Lobyer's delinquencies—his cruelty to smaller and weaker boys—his falsehood and cunning—his obstinate resistance of authority—was only the beginning of the evil to come. From the day in which the millowner took possession of his splendid dwelling, until the hour in which he exchanged it for a very mean and narrow habitation, his life was poisoned by corroding cares—embittered by perpetual disappointments, and all his cares and all his disappointments had one common cause in the person of his son.
He took a disgust for the gorgeous mansion whose erection had cost him so much money. His troubles weighed very heavily upon him in those spacious rooms, amidst whose chilly splendour there was no occupation for him. At Pevenshall the rich man found too much leisure in which to brood upon his cares and disappointments, and he was always glad to return to Manchester, where he had a comfortable dwelling attached to his great warehouses, and where he could steep his brain in the small vexations and perplexities of commerce, to the oblivion of the prodigal who was so slow to return.
Pevenshall Place, with innumerable lighted windows flashing on the darkness of the night, looked a very noble mansion as Cecil approached it in the luxurious brougham that had been sent to meet her at the Farnleigh-Heath station. No enchanted palace of fairy story could have shone more brilliantly upon the belated wanderer than did this substantial modern dwelling. Within, splendour and comfort fought for the mastery. A gigantic fire of sea-coal, surmounted by a monster log, warmed and brightened the great Italian hall, a desecration which would have excruciated the classic architect—who had devised an appropriate bronze stove, of antique design, for the heating of the vast chamber. Curtains of crimson cloth hung before all the doors, and the skins of wild animals lay side by side with Persian carpets and the snow-white fleece of peaceful sheep. The pair of matched footmen who were the chief glory of Mrs. Lobyer's establishment advanced to receive Lady Cecil's morocco travelling-bag, and to relieve her of her shawl. The splendid creatures knew that she was an earl's daughter; but they could not entirely conceal some faint tokens of that gentlemanly contempt which a high-bred footman must always entertain for a lady who travels without her maid.
"Which her connection with the peerage makes it wuss," said one of the gentlemen, when he discussed the matter at the social supper-table; "it's bringing the very horder she belongs to into contempt."
The gorgeous creatures relinquished Lady Cecil's burden to meaner hands immediately after taking them. They were attended by aides-de-camp in the shape of an under-footman and a boy page; and their reception of the traveller's parcel had been a purely ceremonial act. One of these Corsican brothers of the servants'-hall drew aside a crimson curtain, and revealed a broad lighted corridor, with many doors, some of which were open, and along which echoed the sound of voices and the resonant music of laughter.
Before Cecil could follow the majestic footman, that individual drew suddenly aside, and a light fluttering figure, brightly attired in trailing garments of pink silk, half hidden under airy puffings of blonde, came hurrying towards the visitor.
It was Flo, brighter and more bewitching even than of old, with her golden hair tortured into an edifice of puffs, à la Pompadour, and sprinkled with glittering particles that sparkled in the lights.
"You darling, how good of you to come!" she cried eagerly. "I should have driven over to the station myself to meet you, but the house is so full of people, and I couldn't leave them. They are drinking tea in the blue room; will you come and plunge into the midst of us at once, or shall I take you to your rooms? We have nearly an hour between this and dinner, and you see I am dressed, so for that time I am quite your own. Do come and see all my new friends, Cecil. You look charming after your journey—not a hair turned, as our sporting-visitors say; your little blue-velvet bonnet is delicious, and that grey-cloth travelling-dress becomes you admirably. Come, dear, let me show these provincial grandees that there is at least one woman in the world who does not talk slang, and is not the living, breathing image of every other woman."
Cecil pleaded for a retreat to her own apartments; but the vivacious Florence half led, half dragged her to the room whence had issued the sounds of revelry. It was an apartment which was small in comparison with most of the Pevenshall chambers, and which had that air of extreme cosiness and comfort with which very spacious rooms are not easily invested. Here the classic architect had been superseded by Florence and the bric-à-brac shops of the West-end. Bright-blue hangings contrasted vividly with the cedar-panelling; tiny gems by modern masters, set in deep frames of ebony and gold, adorned the walls; and these gems were of the first water, having been chosen by William Crawford as bridal gifts for his only child. All that is most comfortable in the way of easy-chairs and most eccentric in the shape of tiny tables had been provided for this chamber; and here a party of vivacious ladies and agreeable gentlemen were grouped about the fire drinking tea, and talking with that pleasant abandonment which pervades unceremonious meetings between luncheon and dinner in an hospitable country-house. Cecil found the usual elements of such gatherings—two or three country squires, or heirs-presumptive, or younger sons of country squires; some military men from the barracks at Chiverley, the principal town within twenty miles of Pevenshall; a sprinkling of the London element, as represented by some elegant young members of the clubs; a German diplomatist; and a bevy of pretty girls, whose maiden insipidity was relieved by a handsome widow and a coquettish matron renowned for an especial genius for the cultivation of Platonic attachments. Of course, every body was delighted to see Lady Cecil O'Boyneville. The one or two people who knew her were enchanted to meet her again, and the people who didn't know her were inexpressibly anxious to make her acquaintance. The new-comer was ensconced in the warmest corner of the pretty chamber, and country squires disputed for the honour of bringing her strong tea. The novelty of the scene was refreshing to her after the dull solitude of Brunswick Square; for let the jaded traveller be never so weary and heartsick, there is some faint sense of pleasure involved in the mere fact of being in an utterly strange place. In this cosy morning-room at Pevenshall all was brightness and colour. Every body was prettily dressed and smiling, animated and happy—as it seemed; and amongst them all there was no one gayer or brighter than Florence—that mercenary Florence for whom Cecil had felt such profound compassion.
"And she really is happy," thought the barrister's wife, as Mrs. Lobyer stood in the centre of the little throng beaming upon her guests.
Florence insisted upon accompanying her friend to the rooms that had been prepared for her. They were very luxurious apartments, pervaded by that atmosphere of wealth which reigned in almost every chamber of Pevenshall Place. The marble mantelpieces were enriched with garlands of flowers; the grates were marvels of glittering elegance, the china was luminous gold and colour, the chintz draperies were as delicate and lustrous as satin, the boudoir was a nest for a lotus-eating visitor; the low Arabian bed looked like a throne, the pure white rugs were soft and stainless as new-fallen snow; and, seen through the bed-chamber, the lighted dressing-room looked as fresh and bright as a chromo-lithograph. Fires burned cheerily in the three apartments. Wax candles in blue Sèvres candlesticks lighted tables and mantelpieces; and that traveller must have been indeed dead to the influence of externals who had failed to rejoice in such a luxurious shelter.
"What charming rooms!" cried Cecil.
"I am so glad you like them," Flo answered, cordially. "These rooms are close to my own, and I thought of you, dear, when I had them furnished; for though you have always lectured me, I think I like you better than any one else in the world, except papa." This was not a very promising speech from a wife of six months. Cecil was sincerely anxious about her friend's happiness, and was on the watch for faint indications tending to reveal the real state of things. Mrs. Lobyer had as yet made no allusion to her husband, and Cecil found it incumbent on herself to inquire after the wellbeing of the master of Pevenshall.
"I hope Mr. Lobyer is well," she said.
"Oh dear me, yes; he is very well," Flo answered, with supreme indifference. "I have not seen him for the last day or two. I suppose he is at Manchester. He is subject to periodical disappearances, and when he disappears people tell me he is at Manchester. It's very likely he will reappear at dinner-time; he generally does reappear at dinner-time; and whether he has been out on the terrace to smoke a cigar, or a week away at Manchester, his manner is pretty much the same. I have heard people say that Mr. Lobyer is not gentlemanly; but I am sure that if it is correct not to admire any thing, and not to be surprised at any thing, and not to care about any thing,—except the rise and fall of that horrible, unsteady money-market, which fluctuates to such a degree that it makes me dizzy to think of it,—Mr. Lobyer is the prince of gentlemen."
"You talk of things as lightly as ever, Flo," Cecil said, wonderingly.
"Heaven help me when I begin to talk of things seriously!" answered Mrs. Lobyer, more earnestly than she was wont to speak. "And now, darling, I must run away. You have only half an hour between this and eight o'clock, and I want you to look your best, in order to astonish my Yorkshire grandees, who go to London once in ten years, and who, in the interim, fondly believe that the civilised world comes to an end somewhere beyond the city of York."
The Pevenshall dining-room, enriched by that splendid tribute which modern painters and modern sculptors offer to the golden calf of Manchester, was a very superb apartment. The Pevenshall drawing-room would not have shown meanly when contrasted with one of the saloons of Windsor; and in the drawing-room, leaning in a meditative attitude against one of the low mantelpieces, and worrying a Skye terrier with the toe of his boot, Cecil found Mr. Lobyer, who gave her a gentlemanly, but by no means rapturous, welcome to Pevenshall. "I hope my wife will make you comfortable, Lady Cecil," he said. "I'm sure she ought to do so, for she's been talking enough about you for the last fortnight, whether you would come, or whether you wouldn't come, and so on."
Mr. Lobyer's conversational powers were not taxed further just at present, for a ponderous butler announced dinner, and the host offered his arm to Lady Cecil, to the aggravation of a county matron who considered herself the leading personage at Pevenshall. He said very little during dinner, and that little related chiefly to the aspect of commercial affairs in America, the tightness of the money-market, the drain of gold from the Bank of England, and other equally entertaining topics for general conversation. Two or three men at Mr. Lobyer's end of the table listened reverentially to any words that fell from his lips, and discoursed with much gusto upon his favourite subjects; but the rest of the party divided themselves into little clusters and a buzz of animated chatter filled the room. In the course of a commercial discussion it transpired, incidentally, that Mr. Lobyer had spent the last few days in Manchester, and that things were looking dull there, and this was all that he said about his absence from home.
The evening glided by very rapidly in the great drawing-room, where there was room for a carpet-dance without disarrangement of furniture, and where there were all manner of delightful nooks and corners for confidential conversation. A social tragedy might have been enacted in one corner of that spacious apartment, while the general occupants of the chamber were laughing and talking in supreme unconsciousness of domestic storm or trouble. The evening passed very pleasantly. When a large party is assembled in a country-house there are generally to be found some nice people, and at Pevenshall the nice people were in the majority. There were musical people, and people who were madly devoted to amateur theatricals; and there was one gentleman who was great in the performance of spirit-rapping and table-turning; and another gentleman who shone as an improvisatore, and who sang extempore buffo-songs, which every body thought delightfully clever, but which would have seemed atrociously stupid if people had had sufficient time or presence of mind to grasp the full meaning of the words, or if the singer had not been artful enough to cover his worst puns and his most excruciating rhymes by a volley of common chords.
Altogether the evenings at Pevenshall were successful; the more so perhaps because the master of the house was apt to withdraw himself to the smoking-room or the billiard-room, with a few chosen companions. When bidding Flo good-night on this first evening of her visit, Cecil declared that she had enjoyed herself very much.
"I have been leading such a quiet life lately, that I did not think it was in me to enjoy society so much as I have done to-night. What nice people some of your new friends are, Flo!"
"Do you think so?" Mrs. Lobyer said, elevating her shoulders with a little gesture, which was the last thing in fashion in the best Parisian circles. "Perhaps you have not seen the nicest of them yet."