Roger Kyffin's Ward

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Lynderton was about that time made a depot of a foreign legion, and although the presence of a large body of military did not add much to the morality of the place, there was a considerable number of talented persons among the officers and their wives. Instruction could now be procured in abundance, in foreign languages, dancing, singing, in the use of all sorts of instruments, from pianos down to flageolets, and in drawing and painting. Counts and barons were glad to obtain remuneration for their talents, and many a butcher’s or grocer’s bill was liquidated by the instruction afforded to the female portions of the commercial families of the place in dancing and singing. Colonel Everard engaged a very charming countess to instruct his daughter and niece in dancing, and as it was convenient to have a third person, Harry was invited over to join the lessons. The name of the French lady who taught them dancing was Countess de Thaonville. She was a very handsome person, but there was a deep shade of melancholy on her countenance. No wonder. Her history was a sad one, as was that of many of her countrywomen and countrymen, now exiles in a foreign land. Harry benefited greatly by these lessons. They contributed to civilise and refine him. Had, however, Madam Everard known a little more of the world, as years rolled on, she would probably not have invited him so often to come to the house. In his young days he had looked on Lucy and Mabel very much in the light of sisters, but somehow or other he began to prefer one to the other. Mabel was certainly his favourite. How it came to pass he could not tell, but he was happier in her society than in that of her cousin, or in that of anybody else. He was only about two years her senior, while Lucy was several years older. This might have made some difference. Occasionally the Countess brought a young officer of the legion, Baron de Ruvigny, to the house to assist in the music, as he played the violin well. He was a mere youth, but very gentlemanly and pleasing, and he became a great favourite with Madam Everard. Harry did not quite like his coming; he thought he seemed rather too attentive to Mabel. However, he was a very good fellow, although he could not play cricket or row a boat, and as Mabel certainly gave him no encouragement, Harry began to like him.

By the time Harry was eighteen Mabel had become a lovely and an amiable girl. No wonder that being much in her society he should have loved her. Lady Tryon, who had always indulged him, was not long in discovering the state of his affections, and instead or attempting to check him, she encouraged him in his wish to obtain the hand of Mabel Everard.

Colonel Everard, like many old soldiers, was an early riser. He usually, in the summer, took a walk before breakfast through the grounds. His figure was tall and commanding. Although considerably more than seventy, he still walked with an upright carriage and soldier-like air. He carried a stick in his hand, but often placed it under his arm, as he was wont in his youth to carry his sword. The front part of his head was bald, and his silvery locks were secured behind in a queue, neatly tied with black ribbon. His features were remarkably fine, and age had failed to dim the brightness of his blue eye. His invariable morning costume was an undress military coat, which had seen some service, while no one could look at him without seeing that he was a man accustomed to courts as well as camps. One morning he was stopping to look at a flower-bed lately laid out by his daughter Lucy, when he heard footsteps approaching him. A turn of the walk concealed him from the house.

“Well, Paul, what is it?” he asked, looking up.

“I have something to communicate, Colonel.”

The speaker was a tall thin man, with a mark of a sword-cut on one of his well-bronzed and weather-beaten cheeks, which had not added to his beauty. There was, notwithstanding this, an honest, pleasant expression in his countenance which was sure to command confidence. His air was that of an old soldier; indeed, as he spoke, his hand went mechanically up to his hat, while as he halted, he drew himself as upright as one of the neighbouring fir-trees. Paul Gauntlett, the Colonel’s faithful follower and body servant, had left Lynderton with him upwards of fifty years before, and had been by his side in every battle in which he had been engaged.

“There’s mischief brewing, and if it is not put a stop to, harm will come of it,” he continued.

“What do you mean?” asked the Colonel.

“Just this, sir. I was lying down close to the lake to draw in a night line I set last night, when who should come by but young Master Harry Tryon with his fishing-rod in his hand, and his basket by his side. I was just going to get up and speak to him, for he did not see me, when I saw another person, who was no other than that young foreigner, the Baron de Ruvigny, as he calls himself. Master Harry asked him what he was doing, and he said that it was no business of his, as far as I could make out. Then Master Harry got very angry, and told him that he should not come to the park at all, and the other said that he was insulted. Then Master Harry asked him what business he had to write letters to young ladies, and the end of it was that they agreed to go into the town and get swords or pistols and settle the matter that way. If they fix on pistols it may be all very well; but if they fight with swords, Master Harry’s no hand with one, and the young Frenchman will pink him directly they cross blades.”

“I am glad you told me of this,” observed the Colonel. “It must be put a stop to, or the hot-headed lads will be doing each other a mischief. Who could the Frenchman have been writing to? Not my daughter or niece I hope. It will not do to have their names mixed up in a brawl.”