CHAPTER III.
After having undergone the visit of the surgeon, Burrel, as we have stated, changed his dress; and, having given some directions to his servant, strolled out alone upon an expedition, in which it may be necessary to follow him. Crossing the bridge--upon which he paused for a moment to gaze up the long vista of the park--he proceeded to the extremity of the wall which formed the inclosure, and then, turning through a shady lane, formed by that boundary on one side, and a steep bank and hedge on the other, he strolled on with an air of absent thoughtfulness, that made more than one milkmaid, whom he met returning with her brimful pails from the neighboring fields, conclude with the true sentimentality of a Molly, "that the gentleman must be in love!"
Sad, however, to say, Burrel was not the least in love in the world; and though of a somewhat enthusiastic and Quixotical character, he would probably have been obliged, like the hero of La Mancha himself, to think some time before he could possibly have discovered any one in the sphere of his acquaintance whom he would have considered worthy of the honor and the trouble of falling in love with. Still more melancholy to relate, so far from any fair image filling his mind with dreams ambrosial, and making him stumble over the stones in his way, he was at that moment thinking of money--base, unwholesome money. His meditations were of Cocker; and many a sum, both of addition, multiplication, and subtraction, together with various computations of interest, and now and then a remote flash of vulgar fractions, passed across his mind, in all of which he displayed a talent for accounts somewhat more clear and accurate than that of Joseph Hume, thank God!--though not quite so neat and rapid as that of ever-lamented Windham.
Thus he walked along under the wall of the park till the park wall ended, and then taking a narrow and overhanging road, which descended into a sweet, wild valley--through which a brook meandered on, till it lost itself in the sands upon the sea-shore, about five miles to the east--he proceeded on his way without doubt or question, as if he had known the whole country from his boyhood. The opposite bank of the valley was thickly covered with trees and shrubs; and about half a mile from the spot where the road entered it, the summit of what seemed a tall old fashioned farm house, of cold gray stone, rose above this sort of verdant screen. Within a few hundred yards of this building, the road climbed the bank, and passed before the door, which was painted of a bluish gray, like that of a French country house, and offered an aspect of untidiness and discomfort not often seen in an English dwelling. No roses decorated the porch, no clematis festooned the windows; stone walls surrounded that which was, or had been intended for a garden; and the gruntings and squeaks which echoed from within that boundary, spoke the character of the domestic animals chiefly cultivated at Ryebury.
Undeterred, however by the inhospitable appearance of the building, or by the wailings of the beast that never chews the cud, Burrel approached the door, and, laying his hand upon a bell, made sure that if any one was within half a mile, he must be heard; and then, turning round to gaze upon the prospect, continued to hum "Dove sono," with which he had been beguiling the way for the last ten minutes. While thus employed, one of the high windows almost immediately above his head was thrown open, and the upper part of a woman-servant, who would have been pretty enough had she not been disguised in indescribable, filth was protruded to reconnoiter the stranger's person. The moment after, another head was added, almost as dirty, but neither pretty nor young, being the dingy white superstructure of an old man's person, who looked not at all unlike Noah, unwashed since the flood.
A long and careful examination did these two respectable persons bestow upon him who so disturbed the quiet of their dwelling, while Burrel, though perfectly conscious, from the groaning of the upheaved window-frame, that he was undergoing a general inspection, continued indefatigably to hum "Dove sono," till, opining that the inquisition had continued sufficiently long, he again applied himself to the bell, which once more responded to his will with "most miraculous organ."
"Run down, Sarah! run down!" cried the elder phantom, "and open the door. Ask him who he is, and what he wants, and then come and tell me. But stay, I will go down with you to the parlor!"
The bell was once more in Burrel's hand, when the door yawned, and displayed to his view a great part of the person and adjuncts dependent upon the female head which had been criticising him from above. It is scarcely necessary to say more than that she was a slut of the first quality, with dirt, _ad libitum_, spread over the whole person--various triangular tears in the printed cotton that covered her--much white lining protruding through the chasms in her shoes--and a cap as yellow as a pair of court ruffles. Without waiting for the categories that were to be addressed to him, Burrel at once walked into the house; and, telling the dirty maid to inform her master that Mr. Burrel desired to speak with him, approached the door of the parlor, where the person he sought--not confiding in his servant's powers of recapitulation--was listening with all his ears to the catechism he proposed that the stranger should undergo. As soon, however, as he caught the name of Burrel, he emerged and met that gentleman in the passage with many a bow. His dress was clean enough, and in style and appearance was upon a par with that of a country attorney's of about twenty or thirty years ago--black, jet-black, from head to heel, except the worsted stockings, which were dark gray. The whole was well and economically worn, but his face evinced small expense of soap, and his beard that he wore out no razors--upon his chin at least. In person he was a short thin man, of about sixty-five or six, with a reddish tip to a long nose, set on upon a pale many-furrowed face. He stooped a little toward the shoulders, and there was that sort of bending droop about the knees which betokens a decrease of vigor. His clear gray eye, however, had something in it both eager and active, and the heavy penthouse of long black and white hair that overhung it, gave a sort of fierce intensity to its glance.
"Your name, sir, is Tims, I presume?" said Burrel, eyeing him with a good deal of that cool nonchalance which is no doubt very disagreeable. The other bowed to the ground, and his visitor continued--"My name is Burrel, and Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson, my solicitors, have doubtless written to you concerning--"
"Hush! hush!" exclaimed the other, in a subdued voice, at the same time raising his eyebrows, and opening his eyes with a stare of wondering deprecation. "We will speak about it presently, sir, if you please. I received theirs in due course, and expected to have heard of your coming sooner, sir; but shall be very happy, indeed, if we can do business together. Do me the honor, sir, to walk in. Sarah, bring this gentleman a glass of--of--wine," he added, after a moment's hesitation and a glance at the stranger's dress; "but perhaps you would prefer ale, Mr. Burrel, alter your walk?"
"I take nothing, sir," answered Burrel, evidently to the great satisfaction of the other; "and having but a few minutes to stay, merely wish to speak with you concerning--"
But his host again cut across him, appearing to think that all matters in which the very name of money was to be mentioned, had better be talked of in private; and hurrying Burrel forward into the parlor, he begged him to be seated, adding almost in the same breath--"Sad times, indeed, sir, as you say--rate of interest falling terribly--hardly four per cent. to be got on good security--sad times, indeed, sir, as you say!"
"I do not say the times are bad at all, sir," replied Burrel, gravely, "nor that four per cent. can not be got for money on good security. You must mistake me, I believe, for some more plaintive person. But to the point, Mr. Tims. I think my solicitors wrote to you that I had twenty-five thousand pounds lying uninvested, which I was willing to lend at five or four and a-half per cent. This sum they had heard you were seeking for some gentleman in this neighborhood who could give good security--Sir Sidney Delaware, I think, was his name."
"Oh, but, sir, I am afraid," answered Mr. Tims, shaking his head, "I am afraid that business is off. It won't do, sir, I am afraid--it won't do--can't manage matters there, I am afraid!"
"And pray why not, sir!" demanded Burrel. "I shall not feel very well pleased if I have been brought down here by your report to examine the matter myself, and am disappointed."
"Oh! no fear of that, sir," replied the other: "no fear of finding plenty of others. Besides, I should think, with submission, that you might make Sir Sidney pay--as you say--your expenses, loss of time, &c., &c. He gave me full powers--and as you say--"
"I do not say any thing of the kind, sir," replied Burrel, sternly. "Be so good as not to put words into my mouth which I have never spoken. Rather let me hear why, and how, the proposed arrangement can not have effect, and then we will consider other matters after we have fully canvassed the first."
"Quite right, sir! quite right!" replied Mr. Tims, not in the least discomposed by Burrel's rebuke. "Quite right, indeed! Always right to have every thing clear by itself! Why, you must know the simple fact is this. The property of Emberton, as you say, is burdened with an annuity to the amount of two thousand pounds per annum on the life of the present Lord Ashborough, the sum given for which was only twenty-five thousand pounds--and that nearly twenty years ago, when Lord Ashborough was about forty, and his life was worth at least twenty years' purchase. Well, having to speak with Sir Sidney some time ago on some road business, the transaction came up, and I asked him why he did not pay off the annuity, by raising money on mortgage, which he could do at five per cent. His son, the captain, too, was present; and, as the entail ends with the captain, the matter would be easily done--though it had never struck them--always provided, nevertheless, that the annuity was redeemable. The arrangement would save them a thousand a year, you see, sir, and so they agreed to give--"
"To give you how much, sir, for the job?" demanded Burrel.
"Only a fair commission for raising the money," replied the other; "and as Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson, your worthy and excellent solicitors, had been making inquires about this very estate, as it would happen--I can not think how or why--I wrote to them about it, and the matter was soon arranged; but then Captain Delaware was obliged to go to London to speak with my Lord Ashborough--an excellent gentleman--and on his return it was found that the annuity deed, by some strange accident, contained no clause of redemption. Indeed, none could have been stipulated, for I know the person who drew it, and who is as accurate as Duval."
"And pray, sir, who did draw it?"
"My own nephew, sir--my own nephew--Peter Tims, Esq." replied his companion; "Peter Tims, who succeeded me in my chambers at Clement's Inn; and who was fortunate enough to secure the patronage and friendship of Lord Ashborough."
"Ha!" replied Burrel, dryly; "so then you think the annuity can not be redeemed?"
"Afraid not, sir! Afraid not!" replied the retired lawyer, or, as he was commonly called by the villagers, the miser. "Afraid not; but as I was saying, there are plenty of other properties susceptible of mortgage in this neighborhood, and some," he added, closing one eye, and fixing the other on Burrel's face with the look of a tame raven that has just hidden a silver spoon, "and some where there is a strong ultimate prospect of a foreclosure and sale at excessive reduction. There is the estate of Sir Timothy Ridout--who wants now to borrow twenty thousand pounds--well worth a hundred. By a little management, one might get hold of it, and--"
"I have no such views, sir," replied Burrel, gravely; "and as the other business can not apparently be arranged, I shall invest the money in other property. But, tell me, did Lord Ashborough refuse to redeem?"
"Yes, sir! Yes, flat, downright!" replied the miser; "and very right, too. He could not get near the interest even now. But you had better think of the business of Sir Timothy Ridout. Such a thing is not to be got hold of every day."
"I shall never give it another thought," replied Burrel, coldly; and, rubbing his boot with his cane, unconscious of what he was about, he remained for several minutes thinking deeply, while the miser sat upon the edge of his chair, marveling that any human being could let slip the tempting bait of Sir Timothy Ridout's estate, and beginning to entertain strong doubts as to whether Burrel was really a wealthy man, from the indifference he showed to the prospect of increasing his wealth. "I am sorry," he thought, "that I told that servant of his that he might shoot over the Ryebury fields: I will write to Peter by the next post, and make him fish out of Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson whether he really has money. I might have made a cool five hundred by that Ridout business."
While he thus thought, and Burrel's meditations continued, though of a very different nature, a sudden ring of the bell roused them both from their reveries; and, after a short _reconnoissance_ through the window, the miser exclaimed, "It is Sir Sidney Delaware, I declare!"
"Then you will be so good, Mr. Tims," said Burrel, in a tone sufficiently peremptory, "not to refer or allude to me, in any shape or way, as the person who wished to lend the money."
"Oh, certainly not! certainly not!" replied the miser, with a shrewd glance; "it is a bad speculation that--but the Ridout business, if you will but think over it--will you see this Sir Sidney!"
"I have no objection," answered Burrel; and the miser, bidding his dirty maid show the gentleman in, Sir Sidney Delaware was ushered into the parlor the moment after.
As soon as he saw that there was a stranger present, the baronet paused, and for an instant seemed as if he would have drawn back, saying, "You are engaged, Mr. Tims; I was not aware you had any one with you."
"Not at all; not at all, my dear sir!" said Mr. Tims. "Sir Sidney, Mr. Burrel--Mr. Burrel, Sir Sidney Delaware!"
"I am happy to have an opportunity, sir," said Burrel, "of returning to you my personal thanks for the permission to shoot over your grounds, which you were kind enough to grant me."
"Where there is no obligation conferred, sir," replied the baronet, somewhat distantly, "there can be no occasion for thanks. I do not shoot--my son has not this year taken out a license; and it is quite as well that the game should be shot by you, who ask permission, as by those who do not ask at all." He paused for an instant, while the color deepened in Burrel's cheek; but the baronet's heart instantly reproached him for an uncourteous reply, and he added, "I hope you have found sport."
"Plenty of game," answered Burrel; "but the birds are very wild."
"That is a very natural consequence," said Sir Sidney Delaware, "of the immense number of persons whose notions of property are daily growing more limited."
"I trust, indeed, that something may soon be done," replied Burrel, "to correct the extensive system of poaching."
"Probably we shall soon have one of those beautiful pieces of legislation on the subject," replied Sir Sidney, "which will prevent people from committing the crime, by rendering it none in the eye of the law. But, Mr. Tims, as I have a little business of a private nature on which I must speak with you, I will probably call upon you to-morrow, if you are likely to be disengaged."
"No delay must take place on my account," said Burrel, rising. "My business with this gentleman is over; and therefore I will leave you."
Thus saying, he turned, and, wishing the baronet good morning, quitted the house, ushered to the door by Mr. Tims; who, though still doubtful as to the young stranger's wealth, followed him with a many a lowly bow, fearful of losing, by any indiscretion, the sums that might accrue from the good management of the Ridout business. Burrel, in the mean time, took his way once more through the valley, musing, as he went, upon his late interview with Sir Sidney Delaware, with somewhat more deep and curious speculation than entered into the thoughts he bestowed upon the old miser, of whose general character he was before aware.
In the manner and tone of Sir Sidney Delaware, however, there was something that he felt to be repulsive and unpleasant, which to a man of Burrel's character, was extremely painful. His first determination--if that can be called a determination, which, formed upon impulse, does not last ten minutes--was to set out for London, and forget that such a place as Emberton, or such a person as Sir Sidney Delaware, was upon the face of the earth. Burrel, however to use Sterne's expression, was a great motive-monger, but with this peculiarity, that he was fully as fond of examining his own motives as those of other people; and, in the present instance, the small still voice whispered something about offended pride, which made him inquire into his own heart a little more strictly.
He found, then, upon reflection, that however much he might fancy himself perfectly indifferent, he was in fact angry, and the primary cause of this anger was, as usual, mortified vanity. He, accustomed to be courted and sought, to choose at will his acquaintances, and to keep at arm's length all those he did not particularly like, by a cool tone of indifference, which had something in it of scorn, had come out of his stronghold, and, as he could not but acknowledge, had gone as far as he well could, to seek the acquaintance of Sir Sidney Delaware. That gentleman was evidently not disposed to give it him; and though Burrel felt in some degree the motives which might and did actuate him, yet, a knowledge of the degree of scorn which mingled with his own coolness toward others, would not let him believe that some portion of contempt did not also exist in the indifference with which Sir Sidney Delaware treated his advances.
It is in general the natural refuge of mortified vanity, to persuade itself that it retorts contempt upon those who show it, and to pass off upon itself the anger it feels for the more dignified passion of scorn. A slight touch of this sort of feeling had been experienced by Burrel: for there are few bosoms of whose passions we may not say, _castigata remordent_; but his nature was too generous to entertain such feelings long, and, before he had reached the door of good Mrs. Wilson, in Emberton, his first angry resolution was changed, and a more firm determination adopted, to remain in the village the time he had at first proposed, and without seeking any more an acquaintance which was evidently withheld intentionally, to see whether chance might not furnish him will some opportunity of gratifying a more generous purpose.
"For the sake of that gallant lad," he thought, "I will not give it up so easily."