“Well, that is a chance, indeed,” said Mr. Woodburn. “I should not have dreamed of such a thing.”
The ladies were in raptures at the prospect of having Elizabeth Drury so near them. They proposed to write off at once to her, and tell her of this opening.
“Not so fast,” said George, “let me see Barrowclouch, and know whether he remains in the same mind. Men often talk of things when they are not very definite or near, which they draw out of when the thing is put nakedly before them.”
George rode up to Bilts’ Farm, made the inquiry, and returned, saying that Barrowclouch stuck to his expressed intention, and Ann was authorised to write to Elizabeth with the news. This was done; a prompt reply brought the joyful assurance that her father was delighted with the opportunity, and would in another week be at Woodburn Grange to see the Farm. Great was the exultation in the Woodburn family. All rejoiced in the prospect of having Elizabeth so near, and Mr. Woodburn in the prospect of so accomplished an agriculturist coming amongst them.
In the specified time Mr. Trant Drury made his appearance by coach at Castleborough, where he was received by George and driven over to Woodburn. His pleasure in the beauty and fertility of the country was great. He thought it rather too much encumbered with wood and hedges, but still it was a fine and, he was sure, a responding country to the cultivator. Mr. Woodburn and George accompanied Mr. Trant Drury to Bilts’ Farm. This farm lay on the ascending ground betwixt Woodburn and Hillmartin. It was well cultivated, and all the fences in good order. It consisted of three hundred acres, one half in tillage and the other in pasture. The house was a large red brick house, tall and square, standing at the western end of a large square garden inclosed in a high brick wall. The house occupied the greater portion of the western end, and within the garden was a perfect retirement. Near the house were flower beds, but the principal part of the garden was occupied with vegetables, with espalier fruit-trees along the walks, and fruit-trees on the walls. A summer-house in one corner offered a pleasant place for enjoyment in fine weather, and, as appeared very common in that part of the country, an upper room gave a view over the country round, which was shut out below. There were extensive farm buildings near the house, and a fine collection of hay and corn ricks, showing the abundant produce of the land. A few very tall and large oak trees grew about near the house and farm-yard, but in general the farm was rather naked of wood, and had unobstructed view of its finely ploughed lands on its slopes, and flocks and herds tranquilly grazing in its pastures.
Farmer Barrowclouch received the gentlemen in a straightforward way. Took them over the house, the garden, the buildings, the land. Showed the drainage to be good; stated how many quarters of corn it would produce per acre, how many tons of hay, how many sheep or cattle it would graze; and detailed the chief principles of his management. Mr. Drury, like a good man of business, who was about to make a bargain, did not attempt to depreciate the farm, its situation, or its produce, but was careful not to express any decided enthusiasm about it. He said he would candidly avow that he thought it a good workable farm; and proceeded at once to ask what Mr. Barrowclouch expected as good-will, and what was the rental, as well as the rates and taxes. All these particulars being given and entered by him in his note-book, he took a day or two to reflect on the subject, and they made their adieus. This day or two was spent at Mr. Drury’s desire in riding about with George or Mr. Woodburn, or both, to see the general condition of the farms around. Mr. Drury then paid a visit alone to Mr. Barrowclouch, where, like an able negotiant, he battled out the terms with him, and returned saying that he had agreed to take and enter on the farm at Lady-day. The memorandum of agreement was drawn up and mutually signed, and a more formal one would be sent him from Mr. Barrowclouch’s solicitor. In the meantime Mr. Barrowclouch would endeavour to procure the consent of his landlady to receive Mr. Drury as sole holder of the lease—the agreement being contingent on this circumstance. They had, he said, settled the amount of good-will, and had formed a general idea of the value of the crops in the ground to be taken at Lady-day, subject to their then condition: and a valuer for each party and umpire were to be agreed upon. These contingencies falling out favourably, which he quite expected, they would see him at Bilts’ Farm at Lady-day. Much satisfaction was felt and expressed both at Woodburn Grange and Garnside Farm, and we may leave these affairs thus well and prospectively arranged, to note one or two other events of the interim.
During the later autumn months, Henry Clavering said that his father was far from being right. He had ceased to take interest in his observatory, had not once gone out with his gun, was busy amongst his papers, and, though apparently cheerful, had a sort of shadow on his countenance that he did not like. He had wished him to consult Dr. Leroy, but he said, “Why should I? nothing ails me.” Henry Clavering had, however, asked Dr. Leroy to come and dine with them, and then said, before his father, that he did not think his father was quite well. He wished he would have a little conversation with Sir Emanuel.
“What nonsense!” said Sir Emanuel; “I never was better. In good spirits, indeed, I am not. Who can be, in this hangman weather, with the air charged with vapour, with the heaviest atmospheric pressure, and the watery clouds lying almost on the ground? In a gloom of Cimmeria itself—how can one be bright?”
Dr. Leroy, however, talked cheerfully with Sir Emanuel about his health; felt his pulse,—said it was rather sluggish, but that there was no organic mischief that he could perceive, but recommended cheerful society, and everything that exhilarated the spirits. To Henry he remarked afterwards that he must not say a word to lower the tone of Sir Emanuel’s spirits, but that he must say to himself privately that there was a tendency in his father to that mysterious condition called a breaking-up, which required nothing so much as a cordial and pleasant tone of life around the patient. His father, certainly, had no specific disease—but at the same time he certainly was not well. Mr. Clavering said that was precisely his own idea, and he engaged Dr. Leroy to come up often, as if coming to see and chat with himself, so that he might judge of his father’s actual state. Whenever asked about his father at Woodburn Grange, Henry Clavering said he could not say that he was well; he could not say, from time to time, that he was so well as he had been. He perceived in him a gradual decline of activity and good spirits, yet he would not confess to any ailment. It made him very melancholy.
In mid-winter, and at midnight, and such a midnight!—the winds roaring and tearing furiously through the trees, snow driving thickly before the tyrannous blast, darkness profound adding to the bewildering effect of the whirling pother of the snow-flakes,—there was a loud ringing at the lodge-gate of Fair Manor. Sylvanus Crook looked out of his chamber window, half stifled by the blast that rushed in upon him, and demanded who was there.