COLONEL REDGRAVE’S LEGACY.
IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I.
Mr Septimus Redgrave had attained the mature age of fifty without losing either of his pet theories—that this world is anything but a vale of tears, and that the wicked people in it are decidedly in the minority. These comfortable doctrines were no doubt attributable to the fact that Mr Redgrave was in the enjoyment of a small independence, was master of his own time, possessed of good health, and had never ventured on the uncertain voyage of matrimony. He had occupied the same chambers in Bury Street, St James’s, for nearly a quarter of a century, was a member of one of the oldest clubs in Pall Mall, a virtuoso on a small scale, and a regular attendant at the picture-sales at Christie’s. His natty, well-costumed figure was always to the fore on the view-days, elbowing millionaires and picture-dealers in the inspection of works of art, although his modest income precluded him from becoming a purchaser, except in very exceptional cases.
His only near relatives were two maiden sisters, who were several years his senior, and resided at Shanklin, in the Isle of Wight. Their names were Penelope and Lavinia respectively, and they were generous in their advice on all occasions to their brother, whom they could never realise as anything but a child, and consequently requiring guidance and sisterly control. In truth, the intellect of their brother was none of the brightest, of which fact he himself had a dim suspicion; but as a slight compensation in lieu thereof, he availed himself of no small share of a quality which could only be described as cunning, in the ordinary acceptation of the word.
He had resided in Bury Street for some ten years, when his landlady, Mrs Jones, announced that in consequence of her failing strength and increasing years, her daughter Martha was about to resign her position as companion to an old lady at Bristol, and assist in the management of the house in Bury Street. Miss Jones duly arrived, and presented a very agreeable spectacle. A florid-complexioned, black-eyed girl of twenty, very vivacious and energetic, and by no means devoid of education or natural ability. The domestic comforts of Mr Redgrave were materially increased by the advent of Miss Jones, and he showed his gratitude at certain times and seasons in a very marked and material manner. Her birthday was always remembered by the precise bachelor on the first floor; nor were Christmas or the New Year forgotten. It will never be known whether the brain of Mrs Jones had originally conceived the ambitious scheme of a union between the family of Redgrave and that of Jones; but it is certain that as time went on, such a plan was entertained by both mother and daughter. There was but fifteen years’ difference in their ages, and Martha was not only possessed of good looks, but educated and accomplished. But the lynx eyes of the landlady could never detect the smallest peg on which to hang a claim on behalf of the incomparable Martha. Although frank and free in his intercourse with the good-looking Hebe who ministered to his comforts, the actions of Mr Redgrave were always regulated by the rules of the strictest decorum; and if, during his occasional absences from town, the epistles of Martha were couched in a somewhat sentimental tone, they met with no response in the replies of the cautious and simple lodger of Bury Street. Probably neither Mrs Jones nor her daughter had ever heard of the celebrated French proverb, that ‘all comes to him who waits,’ but it is nevertheless certain that they mutually acted on this maxim.
Years rolled on, and no change occurred in the relations existing between lodger and landlady; Mr Redgrave was now fifty, and Miss Jones thirty-five. The roses had long since departed from her cheeks, and the sparkle from her black eyes, but, like Claude Melnotte in the play, she still ‘hoped on.’ She felt that she was practically indispensable to the unsusceptible and phlegmatic bachelor, and trusted that he would eventually realise the fact, and reward his faithful housekeeper by making her his wife.
About this time, Colonel Redgrave, a cousin of Septimus, arrived from India, accompanied by two ladies named Fraser, of whom we shall presently have occasion to speak. Colonel Redgrave had for many years maintained a somewhat desultory correspondence with our bachelor. The officer was an elderly man, and not in the enjoyment of very good health. On his arrival at Southampton, he proceeded to the residence of his female cousins at Shanklin, and accepted their invitation to make Oswald Villa his temporary home until he could decide on his future arrangements. Naturally, Mr Redgrave paid a visit to his military cousin. They had not met since they were boys; and the astute colonel was evidently much perplexed at the singular combination of simplicity and shrewdness presented by his London kinsman. Whether the impression created was favourable or the reverse, it is the object of this narrative to show.
Six weeks after the arrival of Colonel Redgrave in England, his cousin was seated at breakfast in his apartments in Bury Street, seriously cogitating the advisability or the reverse of a lengthened tour on the continent for his autumn holiday, when the question was settled in a somewhat unexpected manner. Miss Jones appeared with a black-edged letter in her hand. The writing was that of Miss Redgrave, and the post-mark ‘Shanklin.’ With trembling fingers, Septimus opened the envelope. ‘Colonel Redgrave had died suddenly of heart disease at Oswald Villa.’ This was the gist of the epistle; and Mr Redgrave was required forthwith at Shanklin, to be present at the funeral and to hear the contents of the will of the deceased. Miss Jones was duly acquainted with the sad news; and in response to her inquiry as to the probable destination of the wealth of the late Colonel Redgrave, Septimus professed entire ignorance; and having given vent to some expressions of impatience and vexation at this marring of his Swiss and Italian tour, gave instructions to Miss Jones to see to the packing of his portmanteau without any delay; for the fair Martha was not only a quasi-valet, but secretary and librarian, the catalogue of Mr Redgrave’s books being carefully kept up to date.
In less than a week, the funeral obsequies of the late Colonel Redgrave had been duly performed, the will read; and Septimus Redgrave, considerably to his astonishment, found himself sole legatee, and the fortunate possessor in round figures of twenty thousand pounds!
Two months have elapsed since the death of Colonel Redgrave, and Septimus is still in residence at Shanklin. His continental tour has been indefinitely postponed; but his soul now yearns for his accustomed London haunts, in spite of the attentions lavished upon him by his sisters. And if the truth must be told, he misses the constant watchfulness of Martha, that keen anticipation of his slightest wish, so uniformly displayed by the housekeeper of St James’s. It is a lovely morning in September, and from the drawing-room windows of Oswald Villa, the blue waters of Sandown Bay can be seen in charming contrast to the white cliffs of Culver, while above, the sky rivals that of Naples in its cerulean tint. Miss Redgrave and her sister Lavinia are nominally engaged in crewel-work, but actually their attention is concentrated on the immediate future of their beloved brother under the altered condition of his affairs. Miss Redgrave is tall and thin, with a severe expression of countenance, which belies her excellent qualities of head and heart. Her sister Lavinia is short and stout, with a very submissive manner, and presents a striking contrast to her somewhat imperious sister. Her vocation in life appears to consist of approving and indorsing the views and plans of her elder sister. Like the French Senate during the Imperial régime, she never originated a course of action, but expressed entire approval of the acts submitted to her. Occasionally, when especially pressed by her sister for an opinion, she would give vent to an original notion, which excited the outward contempt of Miss Redgrave, but inwardly created considerable feelings of alarm, as these occasional lapses from her ordinary course by Lavinia were of the nature of second-sight, and the prophecies of the younger sister invariably came to pass.
‘Septimus talks of returning to London,’ exclaimed the elder sister with a keen glance at Lavinia, who smiled assent. ‘You do not seem to realise what mighty issues hang on that event,’ continued Miss Redgrave in a tone of considerable asperity.
Lavinia still remained mute, though her countenance expressed keen interest.
‘You are very provoking, Lavinia, considering you are by no means deficient in penetration as to motive, and analysis of character.’
‘Explain, dear Penelope.’
‘Septimus must not return to London a free man. I mean, he must present himself in Bury Street an engaged man.’
‘I am afraid that will be a somewhat difficult task to accomplish,’ replied Lavinia with an irritating acid smile.
‘Nevertheless, it must be done,’ said Penelope with a tone of decision worthy of the Iron Duke.
‘But how?’ inquired Lavinia.
‘Surely you remember the existence of that creature—Martha Jones. The fact of our brother having inherited a fortune will inspire her with fresh courage. New methods of attack will at once be resorted to, and the assault will never cease till she has reduced the fortress to submission. I never saw Miss Jones but once, but that was sufficient.’
‘I fully agree with you, my dear sister,’ said Lavinia; ‘but where do you propose to find a suitable partner for Septimus?’
‘We have no occasion to look far. Under this very roof is a lady adapted in every sense to make dear Septimus a suitable partner.’
‘I suppose you mean Mrs Fraser?’ mildly observed Lavinia.
‘Precisely. Mrs Fraser is, I should say, forty, possessed of a comfortable income, clever, and just the kind of woman to shield our brother from all the evils and temptations of this mortal life.’
‘I only see two difficulties,’ responded Lavinia: ‘Septimus may not like Mrs Fraser, and Mrs Fraser may not like Septimus.’
‘Ridiculous!’ said Penelope. ‘Who ever heard of a widow scarcely out of her thirties who would not jump at a man of fifty with nearly two thousand a year!’
‘I admit the chief difficulty will lie with Septimus,’ placidly replied Lavinia. ‘He is very self-willed at times.’
‘Leave that part of the affair to me,’ exclaimed Penelope with haughty confidence.
Further discussion was summarily put an end to by the entrance of the individual in question. We must confess that although he wore ‘the livery of woe,’ the countenance of Septimus was not expressive of any considerable grief for the loss of his ‘well-beloved cousin.’ Constantly before his mental vision floated the Bank Stock, India Bonds, and Three per Cents of which he had so recently become the possessor. Frequently during the day he checked himself in the middle of a lively air of Offenbach or Sullivan, which he found himself humming with considerable gusto. He would pause suddenly, and mould his features into a becoming expression accordingly. Mr Redgrave looked considerably older than his years, his hair and whiskers being quite gray, and his features somewhat wrinkled. But he was always dressed with scrupulous care, and in the days of the Regency would have been dubbed a ‘buck’ of the first water.
‘Have you seen the Frasers this morning, Septimus?’ inquired Penelope. ‘I mean, since breakfast.’
‘They have gone as far as Luccombe Chine with young Lockwood. I preferred a quiet read of the Times.’
‘Septimus, will you give us a few minutes of your valuable time?’
Mr Redgrave, accustomed to defer to the wishes of his elder sister in most things, submissively seated himself in front of Penelope and prepared to listen accordingly.
‘Lavinia and I have been discussing your improved fortune and prospects. Although your sisters have led a very retired and secluded life, they have some knowledge of human nature, and are quite prepared to learn that their only brother has been the target for every selfish and intriguing woman with whom he has been brought in contact. The only safeguard appears to us to be an engagement with some suitable person.’
The aquiline features of Septimus flushed somewhat as he replied: ‘If you mean that I am to sacrifice my liberty when I am best prepared to enjoy it, you will excuse my saying that you are tilting at a windmill. If you think so highly of matrimony, why don’t you swallow the prescription yourself?’
If it be objected that this retort can scarcely be considered such as should proceed from the lips of a gentleman, it must be borne in mind that Septimus was an irascible man, and that when he lost command of his temper he always lost at the same time command of his tongue.
‘The relative positions of a woman and a man are vastly different, so far as matrimony is concerned,’ replied Penelope. ‘The woman must sit at home till she receives an offer; the man can seek a wife in every circle of society.’
This was a great admission on the part of Penelope, who would never have avowed to any man—except a brother—that her spinsterhood was aught but the result of her own free-will. It will be observed that both the sisters ignored all danger from such a quarter as the ambitious damsel of St James’s; at anyrate they would have considered it derogatory to their own self-respect to own (to Septimus) such a fear.
‘You are no longer a young man, Septimus. We are both your seniors. Our last days would be inexpressibly soothed if we could feel that your lot in life was fixed, and that the fortune you have inherited would not become the prey of intriguing adventuresses. There is a lady in this house who entertains strong feelings of regard for you. She is young, handsome, and accomplished. You do not require money in a wife; but the lady we allude to is not by any means a beggar. Let us both advise you to lose no time in making up your mind, or a certain good-looking lawyer may be before you. No more at present. The lady, who will, I devoutly trust, eventually become our sister, is even now approaching the house.’
Septimus turned his eyes in the direction of the garden. Two ladies and a gentleman were slowly walking along the path. Presently, the younger one suddenly left her companions and tripped into the drawing-room through the open French-window.