Her companion, Squire Wright, was the largest landowner, except perhaps the noble family aforesaid, for miles around. He said, and believed, that when Norman William came to the fens, a Wright was a Saxon Thane, and lord of many a wide-spreading demense, and that, from that day to this, Thoresby Manor had never been without a squire of his family sprung in direct line from the stout old Thane, who had dealt his shrewd knocks against the mailed warriors on Senlac’s fatal field. One felt little disposed to question the genealogy, looking at the present representative of the ancient line. George Wright was a well-set, stalwart man, of some thirty summers. His hair was flaxen, and curled closely to his head, his short beard and moustache were of flax, rudded by the sun, his shoulders were broad, his chest deep, his cheeks full, his eye of pale blue—a healthy, manly young Saxon, and good to look upon. For the rest, was he not in the commission of the peace, had a troop in the Yeomanry, riding to the annual inspection at the head of his own tenantry, could give a good account of himself among the partridges, and was so good a judge of a horse or a bullock that he was one of the judges at the County Cattle Show, and if not especially brilliant, was also not especially stupid; and if he had sowed any wild oats had sowed them discreetly and without scandal; was regular in his church-going, a steady supporter of the Crown, the Church, and the finest constitution in the world, and had no silly fads. He was an easy landlord, and, therefore, popular; his estate was unencumbered, and there were no sisters or younger brothers to provide for, and as it was now full time in everybody’s opinion, his own included, that he should marry and settle down, he told himself to-night for the thousandth time, that the country for once was right when it declared that no more gracious nor more beautiful nor more worthy a mistress for Thoresby Grange could be found, search where he might, than the Archdeacon’s queenly daughter.
“We have a visitor, George, from Yorkshire. Papa thought he could not very well do otherwise than ask him to stay at the Vicarage; though, I’m sure, if he’s at all like that horrid Mr. Shaw, he would have been much more at home at the ‘Marquis of Granby’ than with us.”
“And why should he be like ‘that horrid Shaw,’ Eleanor? Though Shaw is right enough for anything I can see. What’s the matter with Shaw, and why should your visitor be like him?”
“Mr. Shaw always smells of gin and tobacco, and our visitor, like him, is a solicitor.”
“Phew! a solicitor, and from Yorkshire? But, then, there are no doubt solicitors and solicitors; though I confess I don’t like the breed. No trouble of the Archdeacon’s, I hope.”
“Something to do with the Iron Works, I fancy. Papa, I know, has been very much troubled about them. You know I hate business, and understand it as little as I dislike it much. Whatever could have induced papa to meddle with those dirty works I can’t conceive.”
“Well come to that I’ve got a few shares in the Iron Works myself, Eleanor. The Archdeacon said it would be a good thing. I’m not in very deep, but I’m afraid your father has invested pretty considerably in the shares. Indeed, I know he has taken over shares from people who bought on his recommendation, and very foolishly insisted on giving them the price they gave, though the shares are down in the market.”
“Well, I only hope this Mr. Beaumont, I think they call him, will take some of the creases out of papa’s brow. He may smell of gin and tobacco as much as he likes, and I’ll be monstrous civil to him, if he’ll do that, and I expect you to be the same, sir. But here they come.”
If either Eleanor St. Clair or Squire Wright had any idea of being condescendingly polite to the lawyer from Yorkshire, the idea was banished as Edward Beaumont acknowledged the Archdeacon’s introduction to his daughter, and made his bow before his hostess. If Edward had not mixed much in polite society—as the world counts polite society—he knew its usages. Without being conceited, he knew himself to be as well educated, in the broad sense of the word, as most men, and he was very far from feeling disposed to cringe before either Church dignitary or landed magnate. The Archdeacon, indeed, accustomed to the smooth deference of the suave attorneys of the cathedral town who did the business of the clergy of the county, had been surprised and pleased to find in his guest not only a shrewd, well-informed lawyer, but a scholar and a gentleman, who took it for granted that he would be received in the Archdeacon’s house on the footing of any other guest.
The dinner-gong sounded as the introductions ended, and Edward with Miss St. Clair on his arm, followed his host and the Squire into the dining-room.