Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 10/Norman's visit to Guestford - Part 1

by George Stott

(See p. 5.)

NORMAN'S VISIT TO GUESTFORD.

 

PART I.

 

On the morning of the 30th September, 185—, I found myself on the Great Northern, in company with my friend John Norman, bound for my uncle Sir Ralph Evesham's place at Guestford. It is a nice house, and a good property, and, as it must come to me by the entail when the worthy baronet is gone, he makes a great point of my spending certain months down there, and acquiring a knowledge of my future duties as a landed proprietor. He is one of the best old fellows going, and, to please him, I strive hard to appear interested in the rotation of crops and the fattening of cattle, and to bestow something more than an uninstructed approval on the improvements he is making in the property. At any rate, I flatter myself I succeed in listening with an air of intelligent interest when he discourses on matters agricultural and bucolic, and perhaps that answers the purpose equally well.

It isn't a very lively place, Guestford, and Sir Ralph, who in his time had tasted the "delight of battle with his peers," and by no means overrated the local attractions, had always given me carte blanche to bring down any friend I could lay hands on to enliven my stay. I had known Norman well—few men better—nearly all my life, from the time when I was his fag at Harrow, but as yet he had never been with me to Guestford. It was much too quiet a place to suit him, I thought; he was not at all the man for ruralising, and only found the country endurable when it came in the shape of an admirably appointed great house full of pleasant people: but at last he really was my companion to stay as long as he found it suit him, and it fell out thus:—

The season had been unusually pleasant. Our advance in civilisation was markedly shown in the increased facilities presented for getting rid of money, and of most of these I, like a true "heir of all the ages," had freely availed myself. A month or so at Ems and Wiesbaden had completed the business, and, towards the end of September, I found myself under the necessity of seeking the bowers of Guestford several weeks sooner than I had intended. I had to stay a few days in town on my way, and the evening of my arrival, the first man I saw in the dining-room of the almost deserted club was Norman.

"My dear fellow," said he, "we don't know the true value of a friend till we are in adversity, or in London in September. I am unfeignedly glad to see you."

I thought he was at that moment off the coast of Algeria in Lord Stillbrook's yacht, and told him so.

"Stillbrook isn't going," said he. "Stillbrook is in love, or thinks so, which comes to the same thing. He has been trying every means to get up a consuming passion any time these three years, but never came across any woman who encouraged him enough to give him a decent pretext, so now his delight is childish. But, for all that, he had no right to throw us over at the last minute."

"Why did he not send you all off, and stay behind?"

"Of course, that arrangement would have suited everybody, and so Dick Scarsdale pointed out to him; but it seems the lady is staying somewhere in North Wales, on the coast, and Stillbrook thinks the possession of a yacht will add to his attractions. I suggested he should marry her at once, and bring her with us for the honeymoon; but he didn't seem to see that at all: in fact, he got quite angry at last, and said he didn't know why he hadn't as good a right to his own way as we had. Of course we demolished such a manifestly untenable proposition in no time."

"No doubt," laughed I; "but such amazing energy of self-assertion is something quite new for Stillbrook."

"Isn't it odd?" said Norman, musingly; "it seems so obviously the final cause of Stillbrook to provide yachts and such things for men like Scarsdale and me, who can't keep them ourselves, that it quite shocks one to see a man flying in the face of Providence in that way. I believe Scarsdale urged this very forcibly after I had gone, but failed to make any impression. His heart was hardened."

"It is very sad," said I; "but, meanwhile, what do you mean to do with yourself?"

"Can't say, I'm sure. I've refused several invitations already, because I had made up my mind to go with Stillbrook, and now, as the Fates seem to have pronounced against my enjoying myself, I almost think I shall accept their bidding. I can't stay longer up here; that is too much; but I shall go down to some quiet seaside place, and read and write for awhile. I have plenty to do in that way, and can easily occupy myself till better times return."

"You can do better than that," said I; "I am going down to Guestford the day after to-morrow. Come with me; it will be a personal favour to me. Sir Ralph will be charmed to make your acquaintance, and you can indulge in scholastic retirement to your heart's content." And so it was finally settled.

And here a few words on John Norman. He was a little my senior, and at the time I am writing of must have been about thirty. He had been called to the bar some years previously, but, as far as I know, had never done anything in his profession; but he wrote a good deal in an uncertain way, and by this means eked out a slender private fortune. When he pleased, few men could be more thoroughly charming, and his social success was already considerable; but there was about him a certain cynical indifference which he could not help showing, which repelled many. He was striking, rather than lovable. Women, however, seemed to find him very attractive: somehow they always do appreciate the satanic. Probably his personal appearance had a good deal to do with it. Though his stature was but mediocre, yet there certainly was something in the proud, clear-cut face, with its dark, eager eyes, that might account for the approving glances bestowed on it; to say nothing of a glossy black beard that would have done credit to a pasha. Any way he did exercise a fascination over most women, which he well knew, and, unless report belied him, availed himself of without stint.

"By-the-by," said I, as we rolled along in the train, "you will meet a man at Guestford, whom I think you must remember at Cambridge—Newton, of Emmanuel."

"Of course I remember him," said Norman, taking the cigar from his lips. "I used to know him pretty well, though not so well as you did. He was a good fellow enough, and not without brains, too. What is he doing at Guestford? I thought he had gone into orders."

"So he has," said I, "and his father bought the next presentation to Guestford for him; and he succeeded old Dr. Whitty there only three or four months ago. It is a long time since I have been in the neighbourhood, and I have not seen him yet. He is a married man now, with a couple of small children, I understand, and my cousin Jane writes that everybody is enchanted with Mrs. Newton. So you see there may be something to enliven your retreat, only spare your friends, and don't be the ruthless destroyer of poor Newton's domestic felicity, which I am told is quite paradisiacal."

"My dear Evesham," laughed Norman, "pray don't agitate yourself with needless apprehensions. I assure you I by no means deserve to be considered a Lovelace. Newton's Eden shall be quite safe from my serpent breath. I am going to luxuriate in Asiatic calm, and must absolutely decline to make love to maid or matron for some time to come."

We were warmly welcomed at Guestford by Sir Ralph, and his only child, my cousin Jane, a very nice, pleasant girl, but undeniably plain. Sir Ralph had often heard me talk of Norman, and I believe was really glad to see him. Norman was in excellent spirits, and exerted himself to make a good impression. I fancy, when once this love of social power has become a passion with a man, any triumph, however easily won, has its value, and I could see that Norman intensely enjoyed the fascination he was exercising over my uncle and his daughter. Jane had at least one charm for my friend—great skill in music, and a lovely voice, and she sang Mendelssohn and Schubert to him till I think he quite forgot whether she was pretty or not. We did not separate till late, Sir Ralph thanking Norman warmly for having given him the pleasure of his society, and hoping that he might find Guestford sufficiently endurable to induce him to make a long stay.

Jane had told me that the Newtons were coming to lunch the next day, so I put off meeting my old friend Frank until then, and strolled about with Norman, smoking. After awhile my uncle joined us, and the talk chanced to turn on classic poetry. Sir Ralph was no mean scholar—Norman a better, and the two soon got absorbed in their subject. The little Greek and Latin I ever succeeded in mastering had grown far too rusty to enable me to follow them, so, as the conversation was getting uninteresting to me, and lunch time was approaching, I left them and went to see if the Newtons had come. I found Mrs. Newton with Jane; her husband was to follow shortly.

She really was very pretty and very charming. A tiny brunette, with not very regular features, but bewitching eyes, shy and downcast, yet with a latent fire about them. She was altogether one of those "primrose-faced" little women who seem made to be petted, and looked so young I could hardly fancy she was the mother of two children. There was a frank cordiality in her reception of me as an old friend of her husband's that quite took my heart by storm.

"Where did you leave Mr. Norman and papa, Charlie?" asked Jane.

"In the garden, quoting Horace by the yard," said I; "but they said they would be here directly: in fact, here they come, and Newton with them. I'll go and meet him. I chanced to glance towards Mrs. Newton as I spoke, and was somewhat surprised by the slight flush I noticed on her cheek. Is she so much in love with her husband, then, thought I, as to colour at hearing he is near her, after being married three years? Good fellow, Newton—very; but I should hardly have thought the man to inspire a grande passion. But then, one man never does give another credit for being able to do that. At this moment Newton and Norman entered the room side by side. The rector was a tall man, light-haired, and large-limbed, somewhat loosely hung. His face was the very personification of honesty and genial good-nature, but it lacked the distinction that belonged to Norman's.

The room was large, and as Norman entered it he did not see its other occupants. I stood a moment talking to him and Newton at the door.

"Come," said the latter; "I see my wife: let me introduce you."

Norman was a firm believer in Brummell's dogma, that "a gentleman may be amused, but he should never suffer himself to be surprised." Nevertheless, he certainly was for a moment a prey to the vulgar emotion when he found himself face to face with Mrs. Newton. There was a coldness, almost, I fancied, a defiance in the silvery voice as she received him (without any of the empressement she had shown to me), saying, "How do you do, Mr. Norman? I suppose you hardly expected to see me," adding, to her husband, "I have met Mr. Norman before, years ago, at Torquay."

She had had the advantage of Norman in previous preparation, but he was always master of any feelings he might have, and it was in the calmest of his calm tones that he replied:

"I never forget faces or voices, Mrs. Newton, and I am past being surprised at anything. I congratulate my friend Newton on being a still more fortunate man than I thought him."

The careful modulation of his voice, and the somewhat Grandisonian nature of his speech, were sufficient indications to one who knew him as well as I did, that all was not smooth within. He always became grammatical and elaborate when put out or vexed. I didn't like the symptoms; and then I bethought me of the flush I had observed on the lady's cheek awhile back. So ho, ma petite, thought I, is that to be put to Norman's account, and not to the rector's, after all? If he saw much of you, with your soft eyes and winning ways, the chances are that "years ago" he made more or less love to you. Deuce take it! I wish you had been as nice as you are, and anybody else. One comfort is, though, that you can't well be in love with one another at present, for he to my certain knowledge has been épris with a dozen women since he can have set eyes on you; and you, by all accounts, are devoted to your husband and children. And if you hate one another, it does not much matter, for you each of you have too much taste to show it offensively.

I sat by Mrs. Newton at luncheon, and once or twice ventured to allude to her previous acquaintance with Norman—for I always like understanding the "lie" of a country. I only discovered that she had met him four years ago, when he had, as I knew, been staying in South Devon. Certainly no one would have gathered from her manner that the subject was an unpleasant one, only that it had little interest for her. I began to think I had lighted upon a mare's nest. Norman sat at the other end of the table, talking to Newton and my cousin. From his manner, thoroughly self-contained, and without the least effusion, I perceived that he was conscious of the presence in the social atmosphere of some hostile influence, but this might be only Newton. Poor Frank was a capital fellow, but his jokes were not the best, and he made puns and laughed very loudly at them, and altogether there was a boisterous hilarity about him that rather overwhelms men with keen nerves. Besides, he was as glad as a schoolboy to see us both again. He had to go directly after luncheon, and his wife persisted in accompanying him, both promising to dine with us on the following day. I suggested to Norman to walk through the park with them, and smoke our cigars, which Mrs. Newton was good enough "rather to like." (I suspect the rector had pretty well broken her in to the weed.)

It was a lovely afternoon. Everything was bathed in that "soft lustre" which one never sees but at that time of the day at the end of September and the beginning of October. Newton was enthusiastic on "the effects;" Norman laughingly begged him to spare him.

"It isn't that I have anything to say against the sun and the woods," said he; "but really I have seen both so very often before. Partridges and pointers are the most pleasing objects to my vision:—

'In looking on the happy autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.'"

He quoted lightly, but as he spoke looked full at Mrs. Newton. The shy eyes fell before his, and a slight change flitted over the beautiful face—not an angry one, it seemed to me. But she looked up and said, somewhat bitterly:—

"So not even Tennyson is safe from your irreverent hands, Mr. Norman."

Norman smiled.

"Tennyson and I are such very good friends, that you see I fancy I am entitled to take a little liberty with him when I like."

"I don't believe you really care for him a bit," said she; "you only say you do because now it is the fashion to like him."

"You bring very heavy charges against me, Mrs. Newton. First, that I do not really like Tennyson, which is bad enough; and next, which is worse, that I feign a taste I have not, out of a base subserviency to popular opinion."

Norman's tones could be very winning when he chose. They seemed to influence Mrs. Newton now, for the mocking accent had quite died out of her voice as she answered hurriedly, playing nervously with her parasol,—

"If you really cared for poetry you would not laugh at Frank for liking the sunlight. And—and I think you do sometimes 'feign a taste you have not,' whatever you say."

Perhaps I was not intended to hear those last low words. Newton certainly did not, for he was still taken up with the view, and was not attending. How Norman looked I don't know, but he said nothing. Suddenly Mrs. Newton, to change the conversation, I rather fancy, began to admire some pretty purple and white flowers on the bank. I forget what she called them—"beautiful something or other,"—but I never could recollect those names. Norman gathered a handful and put them into her hand, saying:—

"Perhaps you won't believe that I care for wild flowers, Mrs. Newton, but I do—in my way."

She only said, "Thank you," and then, turning to her husband, took his arm, complaining of being tired. By this time we were at the gate, so, bidding them farewell for the present, we turned back.

We walked a few yards in silence.

"Well," said I, at last, "I did not know that you would meet another friend at Guestford."

"Yes," said he, "I used to meet her when I was staying at the Thornley's; but she was only there once or twice. Miss Lyddon she was then. She has hardly altered at all. She and Newton seem to suit each other well enough. How well that fellow wears!"

He seemed to hesitate as to whether he should say more. I did not press him, and he must have seen that I purposely forbore. My former suspicions were decidedly confirmed by the incidents of the walk, and had the lady not been Newton's wife, I should have tried a little "chaff" with Norman on the subject. But as it was, I thought that acquiescence in the view they both intended should be taken of their acquaintance was my wisest course. Any other might have produced embarrassment, perhaps have led to Norman's departure; so I dismissed the subject from my mind.

We took a rather extended walk, then went in and played billiards until it was time to dress for dinner. The cloud, if there had been one, had entirely passed away from Norman. Jane was most anxious to know what we thought of Mrs. Newton; and Norman was far too cunning in conversational fence to show any wish to turn the conversation, whatever he may have felt. But even I could detect no arrière pensée in his manner. He spoke of their having met in old days just as he and she had already done, and praised her very much; not enthusiastically, to be sure, but he never was enthusiastic. Moreover, even when, as with Jane, he had no desire of conquest, he had trodden the war-path too long to be able so to violate its principles as to force upon the woman you are talking to the conviction that she is second in your thoughts. "Women," he would say, "are no doubt often very fond of each other. Their intimacies ripen to bosom friendship in twenty-four hours; and I have known cases where they have lasted three whole months. But, even with men, no one likes to think himself really subordinate to his friend; and a woman, you know, has no other test of her value than the way in which men treat her. The doctrine of reserve should be attended to in praising one woman to another, oven when their friendship is at a white heat. You can't but have noticed that the usual entente cordiale between two spaniels becomes seriously over-clouded if their master obtrusively caresses one whilst the other is by."

Norman and I spent the next morning in shooting; but we left off rather early, as he said that he had letters to write. Proceeding homewards through some fields adjoining the Rectory, we came upon Mrs. Newton, who had been "district visiting," and was going home the same way. We had not been together five minutes (during which time she had talked almost exclusively with me), when Farmer Brownson met us. Now Farmer Brownson was one of my uncle's chief tenants, and had known me ever since I could walk, and I was a great pet and hero of his; so there was nothing to be done but telling my friends I would overtake them directly, to stop and shake hands with him, and listen to his delight and wonder at seeing me again. It was some time before I could get loose without hurting the good old boy's feelings. When at last I turned away, Mrs. Newton and Norman were not in sight. Three minutes' rapid walking, however, brought me to them, standing at the gate of the Rectory field, in which were her children with their nurses. He was bending towards her as I came up, evidently talking very earnestly, but I heard nothing. Her face, as much as I could see of it, seemed very troubled, and yet there was a lurking smile about the mouth too. She seemed confused.

"Here is Mr. Evesham at last. I must go in; I am late. I suppose you would not thank me, Mr. Evesham, for offering to show you my babies?"

She hesitated, shook hands with me and then with Norman, just lifting her eyes to his half a second as she did so. I could not help feeling that it was just as well no one else was by.

"Norman," said I, as we turned away, "I suspect you and Mrs. Newton were very good friends once upon a time."

"At any rate, that is no reason why we should not be friends now, is it?" was his reply.

"Cela depend," said I. "Quid si prisca redit Venus, you know? I fancied I saw the iræ amantium yesterday, and something suspiciously like the integratio amoris today."

"For Heaven's sake, my good follow," broke in Norman, almost angrily, "don't go suspecting what does not exist in that way. I beg your pardon," he continued, in his usual cool tone, "but let me entreat you, mon enfant, to be reasonable. Nobody knows better than you that the kind of thing you are talking of is my way with women, and I can't help it. If, as you imagine, Mrs. Newton and I were old friends, she must know me well enough to be in no danger. Really, Charlie, you have an unnecessarily bad opinion of me. I am not a saint, I know, but there has not been, and will not be, any question of love-making between me and the wife of Frank Newton."

"Don't be cross, old fellow," said I; "only do be careful. You know you are dangerous, and I am bound to say, if the aforesaid Frank Newton had been at the gate just now, I fancy he would have thought the aspect of things decidedly queer."

I was not satisfied, and he saw it. It was the very absence of any attempt at that hard flirting which he called his way with women, coupled with his reserve, that bothered me. I felt as if I were smoking in a powder magazine.

I determined to take Mrs. Newton into dinner myself, and succeeded. It was not a large party. The Wintons, and one or two other people from the neighbourhood, were there—all great admirers of the Rector's pretty young wife, and all with singularly little to say for themselves. Our two stars, Norman and Mrs. Newton, were both at their best, and togther with Sir Ralph, who had great social powers in his way, made the party go off very well. But as the evening went on, it became more and more difficult for the two friends to remember that they were supposed to have been but the merest acquaintances of old. At least, it was the case with Mrs. Newton: and even Norman was by no means always master of the situation. There was a marvellous knowledge of each other's likings and dislikings in the way of songs and books, which showed me that my cynical friend must at one time have opened himself far beyond his wont to that fair young matron. They stood with Jane by the piano, and Norman asked for song after song, saying he was hungry for music. Mrs. Newton sang, as she did everything, very charmingly, though by no means with my cousin's rare skill. The latter bore the greater part in the performance, Mrs. Newton declaring that, whatever Mr. Norman's politeness might induce him to say—not that she believed he ever let that intenfere with his pleasure—it was Jane he really wanted to hear. I really believe she did her best to treat him and myself with the same frank friendliness; but the dear child was continually slipping into a different tone with him, seeming to assume a right to say what she pleased to him, and make saucy little speeches that, I think, quite puzzled poor Jane. And then ever and anon she would recollect herself, and draw back into iciness for awhile, which generally ended in the lovely dark eyes being lifted to his for a second, with an appeal in them for him not to be angry, for she did not mean to vex him. Knowing, as I did, the vehemently sensuous nature that lay beneath Norman's outward impassiveness, I could not but feel that all this must try him. But, save that his eyes would sometimes flash out rebelliously with mingled triumph and tenderness upon her, he made no sign. Newton meanwhile was enchanted with the way in which his wife seemed to get on with Norman and me. True, he had not seen all that I had; but, though I said otherwise to Norman, I scarcely think if he had it would have made any impression on him. Looks and tones of voice were matters not in his line. He worshipped his wife, and was immensely proud of her; and her evident success with so fastidious and distingué a man as Norman, not to mention my more humble self, filled him with the most radiant satisfaction.

As soon as our guests had departed, I went to the smoking-room, where I was soon joined by Norman. He filled a little briar-wood pipe with Cavendish, stretched himself on a divan, and smoked awhile in silence. I made some observation, which ho answered absently, as if thinking of something else. At last he roused himself.

"Old fellow," said he, "I was rude to you this afternoon, and beg your pardon again. Stop. Don't interrupt me, I haven't done yet. I was also less frank than you had a right to expect of me, and I saw I left an unfavourable impression on you. Now, if you were Stillbrook, I should not say what I am going to, because he would never see any thing that was not shown to him; and if you were Scarsdale, I shouldn't, because he doesn't care a straw for any mortal but himself. You have eyes in your head; and, moreover, I really believe you have—though not in a virulent form—the peculiar combination of emotions which go to make up what they call conscientiousness. I did see a great deal of Mrs. Newton, who was then Annie Lyddon, some four years back. She wasn't in the same line of life as I was at all. The Thornleys were fond of having her at their house, until they thought I paid her too much attention, and then they left off asking her. I am not easily stopped, though, when I take a fancy to anything, and one way and another I contrived to meet Annie constantly for many months. I was very fond of her then, and small blame to me, and it would be mock modesty in me to say that I did not succeed in making her very thoroughly in love with me. Of course I could not marry her: she had neither the money nor the social position, one or other of which would be indispensable to a man like myself,—in the world, and of the world to the very core of the heart. Neither could I do her any harm; I had not the heart, even if I had the power, which I doubt. But we went dreaming on until I had to leave, and then I admit I felt guilty when I saw——but, however," he went on, checking himself, and refilling his pipe, "that's neither here nor there. We corresponded for awhile, but it soon fell through. We gave it up—it was stopped by her people. I forget exactly: n'importe. I knew that our modern Calypsos se consolent without much difficulty. I did not forget mine; I never do forget my loves; but she subsided into a souvenir. You know what that means. Well, yesterday I saw her again for the first time after four years: I confess I was a little staggered at first, and I could see she had not the most pleasant recollection of me:—probably had long regarded me as a heartless trifler, and that sort of thing. But she can afford to forgive, as she has got a better and a richer man for a husband, and seems perfectly happy; and this I think now she sees. Her friendship is very pleasant to me, I admit; and, for my own part, I can't see the least chance of her getting any harm from occasionally meeting me whilst I stay here. I like this place. I like Sir Ralph and your cousin immensely; and I like the Newtons. Only look here, Charlie, I can't have you troubled in spirit on my account. If you think my presence dangerous and objectionable, say so now, frankly. I shan't think the worse of you, for I shall quite understand your motives. You and I can concoct some story for your uncle, and I will be off to-morrow. I can't say fairer."

I felt I could make only one answer to this. John Norman had been a good friend to me often and often. Ho had cleared me from an "entanglement" that threatened to become very embarrassing. He had pulled me honourably through an ugly quarrel with some Frenchmen at Aix-la-Chapelle. He had sacrificed pleasant engagements to sit with me when I was ill. And now he was offering to do still more for me,—to give up his own pleasure. Was I to tell this man that I would rather he left my uncle's house on account of apprehensions that as likely as not were enormously exaggerated? Besides, I felt it would not be so easy to account for Noman's departure. If my suspicions had been shared by any one else, this was the very course to confirm them. It might get round to Newton himself—the deuce knew what might come of it. I should be distrusting my friend, and behaving like a churl, and perhaps, after all, bring about the very result I dreaded. All this passed through my mind as Norman was speaking. When he had done, I rose, went over to him, and laid my hand on his shoulder.

"My dear, good fellow," said I, "forgive me for having made a fool of myself. I am very much obliged for the confidence you have bestowed on me. As for your going away, it is not to be thought of for fifty Mrs. Newtons. Henceforth rely on it I shall make myself quite easy: I dare say I absurdly overrated the danger; but even if I did not, you have a strong head, and can be trusted not to fall over the precipice, unless you choose. And so there's an end of that."

"All right, Evesham," said he; "so be it. And now let us turn in."

 

(To be continued.)