A Country Sweetheart. Dora Russell
this young man is the heir now,” she said to her husband; “but surely Rachel will have the Hall for her life? We must see about this, James.”
The Rev. James Layton, an easy-going man, looked up from the composition of his weekly sermon as his wife spoke.
“I dare say it will be all right,” he said.
“But it may not be; this young man is sure to marry after the squire’s death, and he looks extremely ill and shaken, and I can not have Rachel’s home interfered with.”
“You are always looking forward,” replied the Rev. James, pettishly. “I’m busy, I’ve my sermon to finish.”
“The sermon can wait, and is of no consequence; but Rachel’s future is. You must speak to the squire about it at once.”
“I consider it would be absolutely indecent, Sarah, to do so at present.”
“That’s all very fine, but the poor old man may take a fit any day, and then where should we be—with a new madam at the Hall, after all Rachel has gone through?”
“She always seemed right enough till the poor lad died.”
“Still, she married an old man, and should therefore have the benefit of it.”
“Well, wait until the poor boy is in his grave, at any rate.”
“Dilatory as usual! I always said, James, you would never get on, because you are not pushing enough. You do not court the bishop like the other greedy parsons, and just look where you are. At sixty-nine, in a small vicarage like Woodlea, with under four hundred a year! You can not expect me to have patience; and how about poor Rachel? You’ll allow this young man, John Temple, to come down to the funeral, and perhaps obtain power over a silly old man, and your own daughter may be left out in the cold! And all because you won’t speak a few words, and insist on the Hall being settled on her.”
“Speak yourself,” said Mr. Layton, impatiently.
“I would at once, only I know he won’t listen to me. He’s got some stupid grudge into his silly old head, and never consults me about anything. You are the person to do it, and you must do it.”
“Well, go away for the present, at any rate.”
“Oh, yes, just like you! Wait till young Temple arrives; wait until it is too late, and then you will be satisfied!”
Having thus reproved her husband at the vicarage, Mrs. Layton crossed over to the hall for the purpose of reproving her daughter. And as she entered the wide domains, and looked around at the luxuries and beauties of the place, she naturally felt anxious to keep them in the family.
“Rachel must rouse herself,” she mentally reflected, as she ascended the broad staircase. “Now the poor boy is gone, she has lost a bond between herself and the old man, and therefore she must exert herself to keep up her influence.”
She thought this again as she walked along the wide, softly-carpeted corridor that led to her daughter’s room.
“What a nice house!” she reflected. “No one must come here. No interloper; no new squire and his wife!”
She knew that Mrs. Temple’s marriage settlement was everything that was satisfactory. She had seen to that herself when the gray-haired man had gone courting her dark-haired girl. She had taken full advantage of an old wooer’s folly, and seen that he paid a heavy price for his bargain. But nothing had been said about the Hall. Then, when the boy was born nothing naturally was said of it. His mother would live, of course, with the young heir. But now the young heir was dead, and some new arrangement must be made.
Mrs. Layton knew she had no easy task before her, when she rapped at the door of her daughter’s bedroom. Rachel Layton had been difficult to manage, but Rachel Temple had developed into a very wayward woman. As a rule, she was on fairly good terms with her mother, but she brooked no interference. Mrs. Layton derived many benefits from her connection with the Hall. Her mutton, her butter, her eggs, her vegetables, all came from the same source. The remembrance of this inspirited her. The Hall must remain Rachel’s, she told herself, cost her what it would.
It was the day before the poor boy’s funeral, and John Temple was expected at Woodlea early on the following morning. There was, therefore, no time to lose. So Mrs. Layton plucked up her courage and entered her daughter’s apartment, determined to speak her mind.
Mrs. Temple was standing at one of the windows gazing listlessly out. She could not rest, and her handsome face was lined and drawn with her mental sufferings. She looked years older since her boy’s death, and she glanced round as her mother entered the room without speaking.
“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Layton, “how are you feeling now?”
“How can you ask?” answered the unhappy woman, “when everything is ended for me—that is how I feel.”
“But, my dear Rachel, this is folly; everything is not ended for you, and you have, I am sure, many years of happy life before you yet.”
“Happy life! Very happy life—alone in the world.”
“You may not always be alone, Rachel, and I have come here just now, my dear, especially to speak of your future.”
“I have no future.”
“My dear child, yes; you have had a great loss—”
“No one knows what he was to me!” interrupted Mrs. Temple, passionately, and she began to wander up and down the room wringing her hands as she went. “My darling, my boy, and to think that after to-morrow I shall see him no more—that they will take away from me even what is left!”
“Rachel, has Mr. Temple told you that—his nephew is coming to-morrow?”
“No,” replied Mrs. Temple, listlessly.
“He is, then—Mr. John Temple—who, of course, is now Mr. Temple’s successor.”
“Is he coming so quickly to take my darling’s place!” cried Mrs. Temple, with a sudden flash of indignation. “But what matter, what matter!”
“It is a matter, my dear, and it is about this that I wish to speak to you. When you married, the Hall was not included in your settlement, as I now see that it ought to have been, but—we could not foresee your sad loss. Now this young man will succeed Mr. Temple, but he ought not to have the Hall in your lifetime. That must be secured to you, and before this young man arrives I think Mr. Temple ought to be spoken to on the subject, and I should advise you to exert yourself, my dear, and prevent young Mr. Temple gaining an undue influence over your husband.”
Mrs. Temple fixed her large dark eyes on her mother’s face.
“What are you talking of?” she said.
“I am telling you, my dear Rachel, only you do not seem to attend to what I am saying, that this young man is coming, who is now your husband’s heir, and naturally he will try to obtain power over his uncle, which you should not allow. And, as I told you before, this house is not settled on you, therefore—”
“Be silent, mother, be silent!” cried Mrs. Temple with strong indignation, lifting up her hands. “What, when my darling’s not gone from it yet—when he is still under the roof—you talk of such things! You always were a wicked, worldly woman, but this is too much—too much!”
Her tone and manner frightened Mrs. Layton. “I only meant, my dear—” she began.
“Go away, leave me alone!” went on Mrs. Temple, and Mrs. Layton thought it best to go.
“She has no common sense,” she reflected as she went back to the vicarage. “However, I have done my duty, and whatever happens I am not to blame.”
But in spite of this “little disagreement” with her daughter, as she called it, Mrs. Layton did not fail to appear the next day at the