Chetwynd Calverley

I. OUSELCROFT

One summer evening, Mildred Calverley, accounted the prettiest girl in Cheshire, who had been seated in the drawing-room of her father’s house, Ouselcroft, near Daresbury, vainly trying to read, passed out from the open French window, and made her way towards two magnificent cedars of Lebanon, at the farther end of the lawn.

She was still pacing the lawn with distracted steps, when a well-known voice called out to her, and a tall figure emerged from the shade of the cedars, and Mildred uttered a cry of mingled surprise and delight.

“Is that you, Chetwynd?”

“Ay I don’t you know your own brother, Mildred?”

And as they met, they embraced each other affectionately.

“Have you been here long, Chetwynd?” she asked. “Why didn’t you come into the house?”

“I didn’t know whether I should be welcome, Mildred. Tell me how all is going on?”

“Then you have not received my letters, addressed to Bellagio and Milan? I wrote to tell you that papa is very seriously ill, and begged you to return immediately. Did you get the letters?”

“No; in fact, I have heard nothing at all from any one of you, directly nor indirectly, for more than two months.”

“How extraordinary! But how can the letters have miscarried?”

“I might give a guess, but you would think me unjustly suspicious. Is my father really ill, Mildred?”

“Really very seriously ill. About a month ago he caught a bad cold, and has never since been able to shake it off. Doctor Spencer, who has been attending him the whole time, didn’t apprehend any danger at first; but now he almost despairs of papa’s recovery.”

“Gracious heaven!” exclaimed the young man; “I didn’t expect to be greeted by this sad intelligence!”

“You have only just come in time to see papa alive! Within the last few days a great change for the worse has taken place in him. Mamma has been most attentive, and has scarcely ever left him.”

“She is acting her part well, it seems,” cried Chetwynd, bitterly. “But don’t call her mamma when you speak of her to me, Mildred. Let it be Mrs. Calverley, if you please.”

“I don’t wish to pain you, Chetwynd, but I must tell you the truth. Mrs. Calverley, as you desire me to call her, has shown the greatest devotion to her husband, and Doctor Spencer cannot speak too highly of her. She has had a great deal to go through, I assure you. Since his illness, poor papa has been very irritable and fretful, and would have tried anybody’s patience – but she has an angelic temper.”

“You give her an excellent character, Mildred,” he remarked, in a sceptical tone.

“I give her the character she deserves, Chetwynd. Everybody will tell you the same thing. All the servants idolise her. You know what my opinion of her is, and how dearly I love her. She is quite a model of a wife.”

“Don’t speak of her in those rapturous terms to me, Mildred, unless you desire to drive me away. I can’t bear it. I wish to think kindly of my father now. He has caused me much unhappiness, but I forgive him. I never can forgive her.”

“I own you have a good deal to complain of, Chetwynd, and I have always pitied you.”

“You are the only person who does pity me, I fancy, Mildred. It is not often that a man is robbed of his intended bride by his own father. It is quite true that Teresa and I had quarrelled, and that my father declared if I didn’t marry her, he would marry her himself. But I didn’t expect he would put his threats into execution – still less that she would accept him. I didn’t know the fickleness of your sex.”

“It is entirely your own fault, Chetwynd, that this has happened,” said his sister. “But I know how much you have suffered in consequence of your folly and hasty temper, and I won’t, therefore, reproach you. Whatever your feelings may be, it is your duty to control them now. Papa passed a very bad night, and sent this morning for Mr. Carteret, the attorney, and gave him instructions to prepare his will.”

“I always understood he had made his will, Mildred. He made a handsome settlement upon – his wife?”

“It is as I tell you, Chetwynd. Mr. Carteret was alone with him in his room for nearly two hours this morning; and I believe he was directed to prepare the will without delay, and to return with it this evening.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Chetwynd, gloomily. “That bodes ill to me – to both of us, in fact. He will leave all his property to Teresa – to his wife, I am certain of it.”

“Nothing of the sort, Chetwynd!” cried his sister. “Come into the house, and see him.”

“If he has made up his mind to commit this act of folly and injustice, all I can say won’t prevent it. Ah, here is Carteret!” he exclaimed, as a mail phaeton entered the lodge gate, and drove up to the hall door.

The attorney and his clerk descended; and, leaving his carriage to the care of a groom, Mr. Carteret rang the bell.

“Come in at once, Chetwynd, and you will be able to see papa before Mr. Carteret is admitted. Come with me – quick!”

Chetwynd suffered himself to be persuaded, and passed through the drawing-room window with his sister.

But he was too late. The attorney and his clerk had already gone upstairs.

II. TERESA

Chetwynd, only son of Mr. Hugh Calverley, a retired Liverpool merchant, residing at Ouselcroft, in Cheshire, was somewhat singularly circumstanced, as will have been surmised from the conversation just recounted – but he had only himself to blame.

Rather more than a year ago – when he was just of age – he had fallen in love with his father’s ward, Teresa Mildmay, a young lady of great personal attractions, but very small fortune – had proposed to her, and been accepted.

Teresa had lost both her parents. Her mother, Lady Eleanor Mildmay, daughter of Lord Rockingham, died when she was quite a child. Her father, General Mildmay, an Indian officer of distinction, was one of Mr. Calverley’s most intimate friends, and hence it chanced that the latter was appointed Teresa’s guardian.

General Mildmay’s demise occurred at Cheltenham about two years prior to the commencement of our story. By her guardian’s desire, Teresa then came to reside with his daughter at Ouselcroft. Though Mildred was two or three years younger than her friend, and they were very dissimilar in character, a sisterly affection subsisted between them. Originating when they were at school together at Brighton, their friendship had never since been disturbed. To Mildred, therefore, it was a source of the greatest satisfaction when Teresa took up her abode with them.

The two girls differed as much in personal appearance as in character. Both were remarkably goodlooking. Teresa Mildmay had a very striking countenance. Her features were classical in mould, her complexion dark, her eyes magnificent, and arched over by thick black brows. Her tresses were black as jet, luxuriant, and of a silky texture, and were always dressed in a manner that best suited her. Her figure was lofty and beautifully proportioned. The expression of her face was decidedly proud – too proud to be altogether agreeable. Nevertheless, she was extremely admired.

Teresa possessed great good sense and good judgment, and was looked upon by her guardian as a model of prudence and propriety. As he frequently consulted her upon household matters, and, indeed, asked her advice upon many other points, she naturally acquired considerable influence over him.

A very charming girl was Mildred, though her style was quite different from that of Teresa. She was a blonde. A ravishingly fair complexion, a dimpled cheek, a lip fashioned like a Cupid’s bow, teeth like pearls – these constituted her attractions. Her figure was slight, but perfectly symmetrical, and nothing could be sweeter than her smile.

Such were the two fair inmates of Ouselcroft, before a change took place in the establishment.

Having proposed to his father’s beautiful ward, as we have stated, and been accepted, Chetwynd, who could not brook delay, was anxious that the marriage should take place at once.

To this, however, the prudent Teresa objected. She was of a cold temperament, and reflection convinced her that she had not done wisely in accepting Chetwynd; but for several reasons she hesitated to break off the engagement. She did not like to lose a comfortable home, and hoped that the young man, who had hitherto been very careless and extravagant, might turn over a new leaf.

In this expectation, she was disappointed. Chetwynd was very handsome and agreeable, and had many good qualities, but his temper was excessively irritable, and he was reckless in regard to expense. His Oxford debts, which were heavy, had been paid by his father, and he then promised amendment, but did not keep his word. On the contrary, he continued his extravagant courses. Though intended for the law, he would not study, but led a mere life of pleasure – riding daily in the parks, and visiting all public places of amusement; and his father, who was a great deal too indulgent, did not check him.

On his return to Ouselcroft, after an absence of a couple of months, during which he had not deemed it necessary to write to Teresa, she received him very coldly; and provoked by her manner, he told her next day, when they were alone, that he did not think he should be happy with her.

“If you really believe so, Chetwynd,” she said, “the marriage ought not to take place. I release you from your engagement.”

The remarkable calmness – almost indifference – with which she spoke, piqued him, and he exclaimed:

“Very well; I accept it! There is an end of all between us!”

Scarcely were the words uttered, than he repented, and would have recalled them. He looked appealingly at her, but she seemed so cold, that he became fortified in his resolution.

Mr. Calverley soon learnt what had happened from Mildred; but, feeling sure he could set matters right, he sent for his son, and insisted on his marrying Miss Mildmay, on pain of his severest displeasure.

Chetwynd refused point blank.

“You won’t?” cried the old gentleman, ready to explode.

“I have already given you an answer, sir,” rejoined his son. “I adhere to my determination! Pray don’t put yourself in a passion. It won’t have any effect upon me!”

“Very well,” said Mr. Calverley, with difficulty controlling his rage. “Since you decline to fulfil your engagement, I’ll marry her myself!”

“Ridiculous!” cried his son.

“Ridiculous or not, you’ll find I shall be as good as my word.”

“Pshaw! The young lady won’t accept you.”

He was mistaken, however.

The young lady did accept the old gentleman, and so readily that it almost seemed she preferred him to his son. Within a month, they were married.

Before the marriage Chetwynd went abroad, and did not keep up any communication with his family. They ascertained, however, that he was at Bellagio, on the Lake of Como.

Apparently, Mr. Calverley had no reason to regret the extraordinary step he had taken. Teresa made him an excellent wife, and seemed quite devoted to him. She studied him in everything – read the newspaper to him of a morning, chatted agreeably to him when they drove out together in the barouche, played and sang to him in the evening, and, in short, kept him constantly amused. She managed his large establishment perfectly – better than it had ever been managed before. She quarrelled with none of his old friends – even though she might deem some of them bores – but always appeared delighted to see them. Above all, she continued on the most affectionate terms with Mildred, who had never disapproved of the match. Nothing could be more judicious than her conduct.

At first, everybody cried out Mr. Calverley was an “old fool;” but they soon said he was a very sensible man, and exceedingly fortunate.

He was not, however, destined to enjoy a long term of happiness. Hitherto, he had scarcely known a day’s illness; but a few months after his marriage his health began rapidly to decline.

Teresa tended him with the greatest solicitude.

III. MR. CALVERLEY

Repairing to the invalid’s chamber, we shall find Mr. Calverley seated in an easy-chair, his head supported by a pillow. For nearly a fortnight he had not left his bed, but he insisted on getting up that day.

He had been a fine-looking old gentleman; but he was now wonderfully reduced, and his attire hung loosely on him. Still his countenance was very handsome.

His young wife was seated on a tabouret by his side, watching him anxiously with her large black eyes. She was wrapped in an Indian shawl dressing-gown, which could not conceal her perfectly-proportioned figure.

“Give me a glass of wine, Teresa,” he said, in a scarcely audible voice. “I feel that dreadful faintness coming on again.”

She eagerly obeyed him.

With difficulty he conveyed the wine to his lips; but having swallowed it, he seemed better.

Taking his wife’s hand, he looked at her earnestly, as he thus addressed her:

“I must soon leave you, Teresa. Nay, do not interrupt me. I know what you would say. It must be, my love. I cannot be deceived as to my state. You have been an excellent wife, Teresa – a great comfort to me – a very great comfort. You are aware I have given my solicitor, Mr. Carteret, instructions respecting my will. I will now tell you what I have done. I have the most perfect confidence in you, Teresa, and I know you will carry out my instructions.”

“Be sure of it, my dear,” she murmured.

“Teresa,” he continued, speaking very deliberately, “I have left my entire property to you.”

“To me!” she ejaculated, a slight flush tinging her pale cheek. “Oh, love, it is not right you should do this! I am amply provided for already by the handsome settlement you made upon me, and I tell you at once, if you leave me your property, I shall not keep it. I shall divide it between Chetwynd and Mildred.”

A faint smile lighted up the features of the dying man.

“I had formed a correct opinion of you, Teresa,” he said, looking at her affectionately. “I know the goodness of your heart and the rectitude of your principles.”

Then, slightly changing his manner, he added, “I must now make an effort to explain myself, and I pray you to give strict attention to what I am about to say. I have left you the whole of my property, because I feel certain it will be placed in safe hands, and I mean you to represent myself.”

“I listen!” she murmured.

“First, with regard to Chetwynd. I do not exactly know how he is circumstanced, but I fear he is in debt. He has always been extravagant. I think it will be best to continue the allowance I have hitherto made him, of six hundred a year, for the present; and if he marries, or reforms, let him have thirty thousand pounds.”

“It shall be done exactly as you enjoin,” said his wife, earnestly.

“Beyond the sum I have settled on you, Teresa,” continued the old man, “I estimate my property at sixty thousand pounds. Of this one half is to go to Chetwynd, provided he reforms; the other half to Mildred, on her marriage, provided she marries with your consent. This house, with the plate, pictures, books, furniture, carriages, and horses, and all the lands attached to it, are yours – for life.”

“Oh! you are too good to me!” she exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears.

“I have now told you all!” he said. “I leave you mistress of everything; and; since you know my wishes, I am sure you will act up to them.”

“I will! I will!” she ejaculated, in broken accents.

“Enough! I shall now die content!”

He then closed his eyes, and his lips slightly moved, as if in prayer.

Teresa constrained her emotion by a strong effort; and, for a few minutes, perfect silence prevailed.

The door was then softly opened by an elderly manservant, out of livery, who came to inform his master that Mr. Carteret had returned.

“Show him up at once, Norris,” said Mr. Calverley, opening his eyes.

“His clerk is with him,” said the butler.

“Show the clerk up as well,” rejoined the old gentleman.

“Shall I withdraw?” asked Mrs. Calverley, as the butler retired.

“Perhaps you had better, my dear, till the will is signed,” replied her husband.

Mrs. Calverley remained till the attorney appeared, and having exchanged a word in a low tone with him, left the room.

IV. FATHER AND SON

Tall and thin, and very business-like in manner, was Mr. Carteret. Sitting down quietly beside the old gentleman, and taking the will from his clerk, he proceed to read it.

Though conducted with due deliberation, the ceremony did not occupy many minutes, and when the attorney had finished reading the document, Mr. Calverley declared himself perfectly satisfied.

“All you have to do is to sign it, sir,” said the attorney.

Accordingly, a small table was placed beside the invalid’s chair, and the will was duly executed and attested.

“Pray call in my wife,” said Mr. Calverley, as soon as this was done.

When Mrs. Calverley re-appeared, she was informed by her husband that the will was executed.

“Yes; the business is done, madam,” observed Mr. Carteret, with a very singular expression of countenance.

“Shall I leave the document with you, sir?”

“No; take charge of it,” replied Mr. Calverley.

“Well, perhaps, it will be best with me,” observed the attorney, glancing at the lady as he spoke.

He was in the act of tying up the instrument preparatory to consigning it to his clerk, when the door opened, and Chetwynd and his sister came in.

The old gentleman looked greatly startled by the unexpected appearance of his son, and did not, for a few moments, recover his composure.

Scarcely knowing what might ensue, Mrs. Calverley stepped between them.

“I was not aware of your return, Chetwynd,” said Mr. Calverley, as soon as he was able to speak.

“I have only just come back sir,” replied his son, regarding him steadfastly. “I hope I have arrived in time to prevent you from doing an act of injustice to me and my sister?”

“You will have much to answer for, Chetwynd, if you agitate your father at this moment,” interposed Mrs. Calverley. “You see what a critical state he is in!”

“I cannot help it, madam,” rejoined the young man. “I must and will speak to him while he is able to listen to me. Pray, don’t go, I beg of you, Mr. Carteret,” he continued, to the attorney, who was preparing to follow his clerk out of the room. “It is proper you should hear what I have to say. I have reason to believe, sir,” he added, to his father, “that you have left your entire property to your wife, and have made my sister and myself entirely dependent on her. If this is really the case, I entreat you to alter your determination – ”

“I don’t understand why you permit yourself to talk to me thus, Chetwynd,” interrupted the old gentleman, his anger supplying him with strength. “At all events, I shall not tolerate it. Even supposing it were as you state, I have a perfect right to bequeath my property as I see fit, and you have not proved yourself such a dutiful son as to merit consideration on my part. Wait till the fitting season, and you will learn what I have done.”

“No, sir; I won’t wait till your ears are deaf to my prayers! I will speak while you are able to listen to me. I may have given you some offence, but do not carry your resentment to the grave. Bethink you that whatever you do now will be irreparable.”

“I cannot bear this!” cried the old man. “Take him away! He distracts me!”

“Mr. Chetwynd,” said Carteret, “I am extremely reluctant to interfere; but your presence certainly disturbs your father very much. Let me beg you to retire!”

The young man showed no disposition to comply.

“Perhaps, Chetwynd, when I have spoken,” said Mr. Calverley, trying to calm himself, “you will either go or keep silence. I have done what, on mature consideration, and with the prospect of death before me, I deem best for you and your sister; and I am certain my wishes will be most faithfully carried out.”

“What you say, sir, seems to intimate that you have placed us entirely in the hands of your wife,” cried his son. “Why should you compel us to bow to her will and pleasure?”

“Because she will take care of you,” rejoined the old man; “and, though you are two-and-twenty, you have not come to years of discretion.”

“That is your opinion, sir. But, granting it to be correct, does it apply to my sister?”

“Your sister makes no complaint,” said his father, looking affectionately at her. “She knows I have done all that is right. She is in good hands.”

“Yes, I am quite sure of that, papa!” cried Mildred. “Pray don’t think about me!”

“Chetwynd,” she added to him, in a low tone, “I wouldn’t have brought you here had I imagined you would make this terrible scene!”

“I really must interfere to prevent the continuance of a discussion which I am aware can lead to no beneficial result,” interposed Mr. Carteret. “I would again beseech you, Mr. Chetwynd, not to trouble your father! I know he has good reasons for what he has done. Have you anything further to say to me, sir?” he added to Mr. Calverley.

“Stop a minute, Mr. Carteret, I beg of you!” cried Chetwynd. “I am yet in hopes that I may move him. Let me make one more appeal to your sense of justice, sir!” he added to his father. “I promise you it shall be the last!”

“I cannot listen to you!” replied Mr. Calverley.

“You refuse, then, to alter your will?”

“Positively refuse!” rejoined the old gentleman. “For heaven’s sake let me die in peace! Can you not prevail on him to go,” he added to his wife and daughter. “He will kill me outright!”

“You hear what your father says!” cried Mrs. Calverley, in an authoritative tone. “Go, I command you!”

“Yes, I will go,” rejoined Chetwynd; “but not at your bidding! You are the sole cause of this misunderstanding between my father and myself. By your arts you have cheated me out of my inheritance!”

“Ah!” ejaculated Mrs. Calverley.

“This is madness!” exclaimed Mr. Carteret, trying to drag him from the room.

“Hear my last, words, sir!” cried Chetwynd to his father. “I never will touch a shilling of your money if it is to be doled out to me by this woman!”

And he rushed out of the room.

V. THE OLD BUTLER

Pushing aside the attorney’s clerk, whom he found on the landing, he hurried downstairs, and had just snatched up his hat in the hall, when he perceived the old butler eyeing him wistfully.

He had a great regard for this faithful old servant, whom he had known since he was a boy, so he went up to him, and patting him kindly on the shoulder, said —

“Good-bye, dear old Norris. I don’t mean to remain a minute longer in my father’s house, and I may never return to it. Farewell, old friend!”

“You shan’t go out thus, sir, unless you knock me down,” rejoined Norris, detaining him. “You’ll do yourself a mischief. No one is in the dining-room. Please to go in there. I want to have a few words with you – to reason with you.”

And he tried to draw him towards the room in question; but Chetwynd resisted.

“Reason with me!” he exclaimed. “I know what you’ll say, Norris. You’ll advise me to make it up with my father, and bow the knee to my stepmother; but I’ll die rather!”

“Mr. Chetwynd, it’s a chance if your father is alive to-morrow morning. Think of that, and what your feelings will be when he’s gone. You’ll reproach yourself then, sir, for I know you’ve a good heart. I’ve got you out of many a scrape when you were a boy, and I’m persuaded something may be done now, if you’ll only condescend to listen to me.”

“Well, I’ll stay a few minutes on purpose to talk to you. But I hear Carteret coming downstairs. I don’t want to meet him. I don’t want to meet anybody – not even my sister.”

“Then I’ll tell you what to do, sir. Go up the back staircase to your own room. It’s just as you left it. No one will know you’re here. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”

And he almost forced him through a folding-door into a passage communicating with the back staircase.

Chetwynd had disappeared before the attorney and his clerk reached the hall; but Mr. Carteret stopped for a moment to speak to the old butler.