Charles Tyrrell; or, The Bitter Blood. Volumes I and II

by G. P. R. James

"But surely," said Lady Tyrrell, "your daughter, who seems so gentle and amiable, could never love a man of such a character."

"I do not know, Lady Tyrrell," said Mrs. Effingham, shaking her head; "women frequently love the people most opposite to themselves, not alone in person and tastes, but often, too often, in moral qualities. He is very handsome, too, and extremely prepossessing in his manners. To listen to his conversation, you would think him an angel of light, though I have heard that now and then, in all societies, the evil spirit breaks forth and shows himself. He took care, however, of course, to conceal his real character as far as possible from Lucy; but I find that even then he could not govern his evil propensities so far as not to behave in such a manner in one of the neighbouring houses as to get himself heartily cudgelled by a servant, whose sister he attempted to seduce. One could not offend Lucy's ears by entering into all the particulars of such affairs, and, consequently, the means Mr. Effingham took were to shut the doors of our house against him. He then demanded an explanation, which you can conceive was complete and final; but he behaved in so violent and outrageous a manner, that Mr. Effingham, who was even then very ill, was obliged to ring and order the servants to show him to the door.

"Of this latter part Lucy was aware; but her father's illness rapidly increased, and his death soon followed, so that she had sufficient matter of a painful kind to occupy all her thoughts. The young man was absent from the neighbourhood at the time, afraid, in fact, of being arrested for a debt. His father has since paid it, and he returned about a month ago. He has since been seen hovering round the house, and one time even left a card and inquired for the family. Lucy has never mentioned his name to me since; but I was at all events, very glad to quit that part of the country. When, however, my dear Lady Tyrrell, I came here and found your son so much older than I had thought, I felt instantly that it would not be just to you to remain without letting you know exactly how we are circumstanced. Even making deduction for a mother's fondness, it cannot be denied that Lucy is very beautiful, and it seems to me that she is very engaging also. It by no means follows, indeed, that any evil consequences should result; but I have but done what is right in laying the facts exactly before you."

Lady Tyrrell thanked her a thousand times: she saw that Mrs. Effingham had acted a generous and honourable part towards her; that she was one of those in whom she might repose the fullest confidence, and that all her preconceived opinions regarding her were wrong. She was most happy now that Mrs. Effingham had come to their neighbourhood. She felt that there was a person near of whom she could make a friend; who could give her solace, consolation, and advice; but yet, in the present instance, she could not immediately respond to the frank and candid statement of her guest in the way she would have wished; for, to say the truth, she was in doubt as to what her own conduct ought to be, and she plunged into a train of thought without making any reply; a habit which very naturally grows upon persons accustomed to seclusion, and frequently cast back upon their own reflections for guidance and support.

Her conviction, from the conversation which had taken place, was, that Mrs. Effingham felt perfectly sure that Lucy's heart had been engaged by this young man of whom she had spoken, and there was something in her maternal pride and love for her son--the only object of her pride and affection for many years--which made her unwilling that her Charles should be the second in any one's affection, even supposing that Lucy's first love for this young man could be utterly obliterated. From what she knew of her son also, from the character and appearance of Lucy Effingham, and from the near proximity in which they were placed, she believed that that young lady was the person, of all others she had ever seen, to whom Charles was most likely to become attached; and after pondering for several minutes in silence, all that she could say to Mrs. Effingham was, that, if it were possible, she should much like to give her son intimation of the fact which she had just learned.

Mrs. Effingham in turn thought for a minute or two, and then replied, "Do so, Lady Tyrrell; tell him all that I have told you, but pray tell him nothing more; for I have spoken exactly as I mean, and given you a true picture of my own impressions on the subject."

Lady Tyrrell did tell him that very afternoon, not long after Mrs. Effingham had left her; but she certainly went beyond what Mrs. Effingham had intended; for, impressed with the full conviction that Lucy was attached to Arthur Hargrave, she conveyed that impression to her son as a matter of certainty.

The effect of this communication upon Charles Tyrrell was not such as his mother expected, or the reader may expect to find. It seemed to take a load from him; to relieve his mind from a burden, and his manners from a restraint. So long as he had imagined that Lucy was brought there for him to fall in love with, he had felt fettered in every word and in every action, lest he should convey to herself a false impression of his views and motives. But the moment he was told that she was attached to another, all such impressions were done away. He resumed his usual character and conduct, and all he felt towards Lucy was admiration for her beauty, fondness for her society, and a sort of tender compassion for the disappointment of one so young and so deserving. But he thought to himself as he had often thought before, "I could never be content with a heart, the first fresh feelings of which have been given to another."

CHAPTER VI.

We must allow two or three days for the imagination of the reader to fancy all that took place in the development of the various characters of those assembled at Harbury Park to the eyes of each other. In those two or three days considerable progress had been made in showing to Mrs. Effingham and Lucy the state of existence of Sir Francis Tyrrell, his wife, and his son. The father, though he still put some restraint upon himself, had lost the first effect of the presence of strangers, and given full way, both towards Lady Tyrrell and Charles, to the bitter and sarcastic spirit which showed itself at all times, even when the more violent excesses of his passionate nature were under control. The tears were too much accustomed to rush into Lady Tyrrell's eyes not to find their way there easily, and she had two or three times quitted the room to prevent them from overflowing in the presence of her guests.