Chapter XXII: An Arrival at Haymore

When the curate burst into his wife’s sitting-room with the joyful news that he was to be the Vicar of Haymore, his impetuous delight was not inspired by family affection alone, although he was deeply sensible of the benefits his beloved ones would derive from the commodious house and grounds and the liberal income attached to the living; but he was relieved and satisfied to know that his new flock, in whom he had already become interested, would not be turned over to the wolf in sheep’s clothing he knew Cassius Leegh to be.

Mrs. Campbell received his news with a stare of stupefaction.

“What do you mean?” she inquired at length.

“I mean that Mr. Randolph Hay—the real Mr. Randolph Hay—the real Squire of Haymore—has offered me the living of Haymore, which is in his gift, and has invited me to dine with him this evening to talk over the affair, and begged me to waive ceremony and bring my wife and daughter with me to meet his wife and friends. And this he asks as a particular favor, for particular reasons which shall be explained when we meet, he adds. Of course I shall go, and you will both accompany me,” he concluded.

“Of course we will,” readily responded Hetty.

“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Jennie in dismay.

“What are you afraid of, my dear?”

“Nothing. But, oh, papa, if I might only remain at home!”

“Jennie, dear, would you disoblige a man who is about to confer a great benefit upon you?”

“Not for the world, papa. I will go if you think my failure to do so would displease Mr. Hay.”

“I do not think it would ‘displease’ him in the sense of angering him, my dear; for, by Longman’s account, he is one of the most amiable and considerate of men; but I do think, from the tone of his note, that it would disappoint him, for evidently he has a very strong motive for wanting our presence at Haymore.”

“Then certainly I will go. But have you any idea, papa, what that motive can be?”

“I think I have, my dear. You know that he who is now in possession is the rightful squire. But surely you have not forgotten that the fraudulent claimant has been daily expected for a week past.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Hetty and Jennie in a breath.

“Well, he is certainly on his way to the Hall this afternoon, and without a suspicion that the rightful owner of Haymore is in possession.”

“Oh, Jim!”

“Oh, papa!”

These exclamations broke simultaneously from the lips of mother and daughter.

“Yes, my dear ones; the felon, when he shall enter the Hall to take possession, as he will think, of his stolen estate, will be confronted by the friend he treacherously assassinated and plundered and left for dead to be devoured by the wolves of the Black Woods in California, eight months ago.”

“Oh, Jim!”

“Oh, papa!”

“It is a terrible story, my dear ones, as Longman has told it. But retribution is at hand.”

“And do you think, Jim, that Mr. Hay also wants the bigamist to be confronted by his forsaken wife?”

“Yes, dear, I think he does.”

“Oh, papa! papa!” cried Jennie, turning pale.

“My dear, you met the man on the steamer when you were alone and you were not afraid of him. If you meet him at Haymore you will be on my arm,” said the curate in a reassuring tone.

“And on your arm I shall fear nothing, papa, dear! And now I will not distress you any more by my nervous fancies. I will go, papa, and behave as well as I can.”

“That is my good, brave girl!”

“And—I know—Mrs. Longman will take good care of baby while we are gone,” said Jennie in a tone of confidence, but with a look of doubt.

“Of course she will! There can be no mistake there! She will take better care of little Essie than you or I could with our best endeavors. ‘Why?’—do you ask?—because she is an experienced nurse and a conscientious woman—and a tender mother! Are those reasons enough?” demanded Hetty, laughing.

Jennie nodded.

The proposed visit to Haymore Hall had for its suspected object a very grave and important matter. Yet these two women began immediately to think of the trifling items—what they should wear!

It is always so! Whether a woman is to be married or executed, her toilet seems to be an affair of the most serious consideration.

Mary Stuart’s dress was as artistically arranged for the block as ever it had been for her bridals.

Jennie’s big trunk was unlocked and invaded. She had several dresses, gifts from her generous friends in New York, much handsomer than Hetty had ever possessed; and mother and daughter were near enough of a size to make any dress in the collection fit either.

Hetty, having her choice, selected a mazarine blue satin, trimmed with deep flounces of Spanish lace, which very well suited her fair, rosy face and sunny brown hair. Jennie chose a ruby silk, trimmed with fringe of the same color, which well set off her rich brunette complexion, dark eyes and dark hair.

On ordinary occasions of neighborly visiting for so short a distance as that between the parsonage and the Hall the curate and his wife and daughter would have walked, but with such—to them—grand toilets, the two women required a carriage, which now, with his improved prospects, Mr. Campbell could well afford.

So a passing boy was called from the road and dispatched to the Red Fox to engage Nahum with his mare “Miss Nancy,” and the nondescript vehicle called by the proprietor a “fly,” by the curate a “carryall,” and by the village boys a “shandy-ray-dan.”

At precisely six o’clock this imposing conveyance was at the gate of the parsonage waiting for the parson and his party.

Meanwhile, at Haymore Hall, preparations were completed for the reception of the most incompatible company that ever could be gathered together.

Let us take a look at the people in the house and at the guests they were expecting

First, as to the inmates, there were Ran and Judy—Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Hay—their solicitor, Mr. Will Walling; their brother, young Michael Man; the hunter, Samson Longman, and the old miner, Andrew Quin.

The three last-mentioned men—Man, Longman and Quin—could all swear to the identity of the squire in possession as the real Mr. Randolph Hay, and to the fraudulent claimant as an adventurer known to them by the name of Geoffrey Delamere and the nickname of Gentleman Geff.

To this party was coming Mr. and Mrs. Campbell and their daughter, Mrs. Montgomery, who could all testify to the identity of the same fraudulent claimant and bigamous bridegroom, as an ex-captain of foot in her majesty’s service, whom they had known and who had married Jennie Campbell under his real name of Kightly Montgomery.

And also Mr. and Mrs. John Legg, who could certainly point out the deceived “bride,” the so-called Mrs. Randolph Hay, once called Miss Lamia Leegh, as their daughter, Lydia Legg, and the clerical impostor, the Rev. Cassius Leegh, as their son Clay Legg.

All these hosts and guests would make up the receiving party who, at eight o’clock that evening, would be waiting to welcome Gentleman Geff, his lady and her brother.

At six o’clock the resident party in the Hall were gathered in the drawing-room in full evening dress, waiting for their guests.

Judy wore her wedding dress of cream-colored silk, trimmed with duchess lace, but without the veil or orange flowers, and with pearl jewelry instead. It was the prettiest, if not the only proper dress for the occasion that she possessed, her wardrobe being but a schoolgirl’s outfit.

Ran also wore his wedding suit, because—but will this be believed of the young squire of Haymore?—it was the only dress suit with which the careless young fellow had as yet thought to provide himself!

Mike, Dandy and Longman wore, also, each his “marriage garment,” which had been provided for Ran’s and Judy’s wedding, and for the like reason—that they had no others for full dress occasions.

Will Walling, being the dude of dudes in society, had a choice among a score of evening suits, so much alike that none but a connoisseur could have seen any difference between them. He wore one of these.

“Sort of ser’ous time, Mr. Walling,” said old Dandy, who found himself seated next to Mr. Will near the great open fire.

“Don’t see why it should be for you, Mr. Quin,” said Will Walling.

“No? Don’t ee, now? Well, I allus did hate a furse.”

“Fuss? Why, there will not be any.”

Ran, Judy, Mike and Longman, who were standing in the front bay window looking out upon the drive and chatting together, now came sauntering up to the fire.

Ran inquired:

“What is the matter with Dandy?”

“He is afraid there will be a ‘furse,’” gravely replied Will Walling.

Ran burst out laughing.

Before the peals of his mirth subsided, heavy, rumbling, tumbling wheels were heard on the drive, and the “shandy-ray-dan” drew up before the Hall door.

The mirthful group composed themselves to receive their first guests.

The door was opened by a footman, who announced:

“The Rev. Mr. Campbell, Mrs. Campbell, Mrs. Montgomery.”

And the party from the parsonage entered the drawing-room.

Ran and Judy went to meet them.

“The Rev. Mr. Campbell?” said Ran interrogatively as he offered his hand to the curate.

Mr. Campbell bowed assent.

“I am very glad to see you, sir. Mrs. Campbell, I presume? And Mrs. Montgomery, also? Ladies, I am very happy to make your acquaintance. Permit me to present you to Mrs. Hay,” said Ran.

And when this and all the other introductions were over and they were seated near the great open fire that the chill of the December evening made so welcome as well as so necessary, Mrs. Campbell, observing Judy’s painful, blushing shyness, and attributing it all only to her extreme youth and inexperience, and not at all to the conscious ignorance that she did not expect in the young bride, addressed conversation to her and tried to draw her out.

But Judy blushed and fidgeted and answered only in monosyllables. She was so absurdly afraid of falling into that dialect which some of her friends thought one of the quaintest, sweetest charms about her.

“You have lived most of your life in America?” said Mrs. Campbell, rather as stating a fact than putting a question.

“Yes, ma’am,” breathed Judy.

“I have never seen America, but my daughter here spent several months over there, and I think she was very much pleased with the country and the people—eh, Jennie?” inquired Mrs. Campbell with the intention of drawing Mrs. Montgomery into the conversation.

“Yes, I was, indeed. Everybody was so kind to me,” replied the young woman so heartily that Judy felt immediately drawn toward her, and thenceforth the intercourse of the three became easier.

Mr. Campbell, to promote a good, social understanding, also contrived to introduce the subject of mining in the gold fields of California. And here all his companions were, so to speak, at home. Every one, except the curate’s party, had something to contribute of instruction upon this matter. Even Judy forgot her fear of falling into dialect, and was led to speak freely of home life in the mining camps and woman’s work and mission there.

The whole company was on a full flow of conversation when the butler opened the door and announced dinner.

Ran immediately arose, offered his arm to Mrs. Campbell, and begged Mr. Campbell to take in Mrs. Hay.

Mr. Will Walling, with one of his most lady-killing glances, offered his arm to Mrs. Montgomery.

And they all went to the dining-room.

But neither in the drawing-room nor at the dinner table was the slightest allusion made to the real motive of their gathering.

An hour later, when the whole party had returned to the drawing-room and the talk had wandered from the silver mines of Colorado to those of Siberia, a footman entered the room and spoke to his master apart, and in a low voice.

“‘Two persons to see Mr. Andrew Quin?’ Show them in here, Basset. Or, stay!—Mr. Quin!” exclaimed Ran, turning to his old friend.

Dandy came up in a moment.

“Here are two people inquiring for you. They may come upon private business with you. I don’t know, of course. So, shall they come in here, or should you prefer to meet them first?” inquired Ran.

“Oh! I know who they are! They are my niece and nevvy from Hantz. I’ll go and meet them!” said Dandy in a delighted tone.

“And then bring them in here and introduce them to me,” said Ran.

And Dandy followed the footman out into the hall.

There he found a tall, thin, gray-haired man clothed in an ulster from head to heel, holding in his left hand a warm cap, and on his right arm a stout, rosy, handsome woman in a black velvet bonnet and a gray plaid shawl that nearly covered the whole of her black silk dress.

“You—you—you are—my niece—Julia Quin—as was?” inquired old Dandy, moving doubtfully toward the smiling woman and holding out his hand.

“Yes, indeed; that is, you are Uncle Andrew,” the visitor exclaimed, taking the offered hand.

“Why, to be sure I am!” he cried, drawing her up and kissing her heartily. “And would you believe it, my wench, but this is the first time I have kissed a ’oman for more than twenty years! And now interdooce me to your hubby.”

“There is hardly need; he knows who you are! Shake hands long o’ your nephy,” she answered, laughing.

The two men simultaneously advanced and met.

“I am proud to make your acquaintance, sir,” said John Legg.

“So am I yours,” answered Dandy, cordially, if a little incoherently.

“And you didn’t know me, Juley, did you, now?”

“Not by sight, Uncle Andrew. You have changed some,” replied Mrs. Legg, smiling and showing all her fine teeth.

“So have you! So have you! And a deal more ’n I have! I left you a tall, slim, fair wench under twenty, and I find you a broad, stout, rosy woman over forty. If that ain’t a change I’d like to know what a change is!” said Dandy triumphantly.

“Why, your change! When you left us to seek your fortune in the gold fields of California you were a stout, broad-shouldered, red-faced and red-headed man of forty. Now you are a thin, pale, silver-haired old gentleman over sixty,” retorted Julia, artfully mingling flattery with truth.

“Yes, that is so; that is so,” meekly assented old Dandy; and then, meditatively, he added: “And I like it to be so. I like to think a good deal of my body wasting away in the sweet, sunshiny air while still I am able to walk about in it; so as when, I leave it there’ll be only skin and bone to lay in the ground—or very little more.”

“Oh, Uncle Dandy, don’t talk that a way! You can’t be much over sixty, and you may live to be over eighty or ninety—that is twenty or thirty years for you to live in this world.”

“What for?”

“‘What for?’ Why—why, to be a comfort to your dear niece who loves you,” replied Mrs. Legg, not consciously hypocritical, but self-deceived into the notion that she was sincere.

“Ah!” grunted Dandy in a tone which left his niece in doubt whether he disbelieved her or not.

Suddenly the old man, feeling himself fatigued by standing a few minutes, remembered that he had impolitely, even if unintentionally, kept his relatives in the same position.

“Oh, excuse me! Take seats! take seats!” he said, waving his hands wildly around the hall among the oaken and leather-cushioned chairs with which it was furnished.

Mr. and Mrs. Legg seated themselves on two of the nearest.

Dandy drew a third up before then and dropped into it.

“You’ll come home ’long of us and stop for good, Uncle Andrew, I hope,” said Mrs. Legg.

Before the old man could reply Mr. Legg took up the word.

“Yes, sir, we should be proud to have you a member of our family for the rest of your life! And may it be a long and happy one!”

“I do thank ye, niece and nephy! I do, indeed! But I don’t know ’bout going home ’long of you now! You see, I’m stopping here ’long o’ my young friend, Mr. Randolph Hay, and wisiting of him, am sort o’ at his orders——” began Dandy, but his niece interrupted him hastily, almost indignantly, with:

“You don’t mean to say, Uncle Andrew Quin, that while ever you have got a ’fectionate niece and nephy ready to share their last crust ’long o’ you as you have gone at your age and tuk service at the Hall?”

“Lord! No, wench! What are ye talking on? Didn’t I tell ’ee that Mr. Randolph Hay was a friend of mine? And didn’t I tell ’ee I was a-visiting on him? What be ye a-thinking on?”

“Well, then, what did you mean by being at his orders?”

“Oh! just to give my testimony onto a certain matter in case of need. And I say I can’t give you any answer to your invitation until I see how things be gwine to turn out at the Hall!”

“Ah! how long will that be?” demanded Mrs. Legg.

“Maybe a few hours, if it don’t go into court; maybe a few centuries if it do. And in the last case, I sha’n’t be here so long.”

“Uncle Dandy, you speak in riddles.”

“I must do that at the present moment, my dear. But in a few hours, or a few centuries, if you haven’t guessed them in that time, I will give you the answers to them riddles.”

“Uncle Andrew, we thought by your sending a telegram to us to ‘come at once,’ that you were very ill.”

“Well, my wench, I thank you and him for coming so very prompt. I do, indeed! So much prompter than I could expect! Really, I didn’t think you would get here until some time to-morrow. But I’m glad and thankful as you’re here to-night.”

“But you are not ill, Uncle Dandy. You are very well, thank the Lord!”

“I never said I was ill, Juley. I said I wasn’t able to travel. No more I ain’t. And no more I wasn’t. I’m a feeble old man, wench.”

“Tut! tut! ‘Feeble old man,’ indeed! You are a ‘fine old English gentleman,’ as the song says. And now you have come home to old England so well off and so well-looking you will be getting married and putting some blooming young aunt-in-law over our heads!”

“‘Blooming young’ fiddlesticks!” giggled old Dandy, not displeased at the words of his niece.

“But what made you telegraph us in such hot haste?”

“’Cause, after being away so long and coming so far, I got into a sort of fever to see my kin.”

“And we were in a fever to see you, you dear uncle, from the moment we got your dispatch. And we thank you now for sending it, although it did frighten us nearly to death on your account.”

“Isn’t it strange you should have cared so much for an old uncle you hadn’t seen nor heerd tell on for twenty years or more?” demanded Dandy with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Strange or not, it was so. But is it stranger than that you should have cared so much for me as to send a telegram and be in a fever to see me? Come, Uncle Dandy! You know ‘blood is thicker than water.’”

“That is so! Yes, that is so!” muttered the old man meditatively.

“Come, Julia! I think that we must go. You see, Mr. Quin——Or may I call you Uncle Quin?” inquired John Legg, interrupting his own speech.

“Uncle Quin, Uncle Andrew, Uncle Dandy—whichever you please,” cordially replied the old man.

“Then, Uncle Quin, I must tell you that we are very glad to find you in such good health. We are sorry, though, that you cannot go home with us at once. We shall have to return to Medge to-morrow. To-night, however, we shall have to find quarters in the village here, and will see you again in the morning before we leave. Shall we say good-night now?” said John Legg, offering his hand.

“Oh, stay! stop! I forgot! Mr. Randolph Hay wishes to see you both—wants to make your acquaintance—and made me promise to bring you into the drawing-room. Come!” said Dandy, taking the offered hand of his nephew and trying to draw him toward a door.

John Legg hesitated, looked at his wife, and then inquired:

“Who’s in there?”

“Squire and wife, and brother-in-law and lawyer, parson and wife and daughter, and a backwoodsman—all plain people as you needn’t be afraid on; I ain’t.”

“We would rather not go in. We are not exactly dressed for company, right off a railway journey, and a very long one at that, as we are. Can’t you step in and persuade the young squire to come out and speak to us? You can tell him how it is.”

“Well, I’ll go and try,” said Dandy.

And he returned to the drawing-room, went up to Ran, and whispered:

“Mr. Hay, my niece and nephy be plain folk and a bit shy. They want to pay their respects to you, but don’t like to face the company in the drawing-room. Will you please come and speak to them in the hall?”

“Certainly,” replied Ran, rising; and then turning to his friends he added:

“I am called out for a moment. Will you excuse me?”

Smiles and nods from every one answered him.

He followed Dandy to the hall.

“Mr. Randolph Hay, sir,” said the old man with solemn formality, “will you have the goodness to allow me to interdooce to your honor my niece and nephy, Juley and John Legg?”

Julia stood up and dropped her rustic, housemaid’s courtesy. John took off his hat and bowed.

Ran held out a hand to each, saying cordially:

“I am very glad to see you. Your uncle is one of my oldest and most esteemed friends; so that any friends of his own shall always be most heartily welcome. You are just from Hantz?”

“Straight, sir. Arrived by the train that reached Chuxton at six o’clock this evening,” answered John Legg.