CHAPTER I.

Sir John and Lady Wetheral were blessed with four fine little girls, who promised to be all the fond heart of a parent could wish; for, as her ladyship observed with pride, "their forms were perfect, and their features were faultless." There was no exuberance of shape to rectify, there was no limb distorted, and, above all, there were no thick ankles, or dumpy-looking hands to shock a refined taste. The four girls were sprightly, lovely little beings, who would in due time create an immense sensation, and ultimately form connexions with noblemen, or with "county [2] kings," which was even more desirable. Sir Watkin Williams Wynn was considered "Prince of Wales," and there were one or two gentlemen who might claim the title of King of Shropshire, if immense property conferred that title. The Miss Wetherals were born distinguished looking, and their career would be triumphant. Lady Wetheral loved also an even number; four daughters were not too alarming: five or three would have been an indefinite half-vulgar fraction. Her ladyship hated any thing vulgar.

But events are not in our own hands; and the systems we prepare and digest with patient calculation are overturned in one luckless moment by unforeseen circumstances. Lady Wetheral had scarcely decided in her own mind, that five daughters were an indefinite vulgarity, when another helpless innocent appeared to crush her hopes, and disturb her tranquillity. This was, indeed, a blow. All fear of increasing her family had passed from Lady Wetheral's mind so completely, that it was an overpowering disappointment. Five years had stolen away since the birth of [3] Clara, and now to recommence the troubles and miseries of nursing, with an uncertain vista before her! Suppose she had twelve? suppose she had fifteen? suppose she had five-and-twenty? where might all this end? How very provoking and vexatious!

Lady Wetheral felt it was vain to utter lamentations: she must lie up, and take care of herself, and avoid the children's noise, and do exactly as she had done before under the same affliction. It might prove an heir. If so, her ladyship would not complain: a son would secure the entailed property, and keep up the family name and honours. The name of Wetheral would be extinguished, unless a son resumed the honourable title after poor Sir John was gone, and a fine aristocratic-looking boy ranging through the castle would be a proud sight, certainly. He might marry a duke's heiress. Yes, a magnificent boy would be welcomed.

Nothing could exceed Lady Wetheral's chagrin at giving birth in due time to a daughter. Her anger was scarcely repressed by her command of temper, or by the lectures [4] of her unworldly husband. Lady Wetheral loved her husband with the utmost propriety, too, and never acted in decided opposition to his expressed wishes, but she turned in disgust from his arguments, and generally contrived to man?uvre his good nature into an unwilling approval of her plans, by unceasing fluency, and a code of principles, which bewildered and silenced him. Sir John Wetheral only endured the fate of many husbands, who are linked with "remarkably chatty clever women:" he objected, demurred, and gradually yielded to views which he disapproved, but could never successfully combat. His first visit to his lady's chamber, after the unwelcome little stranger's appearance upon the stage of life, was characteristic, and displayed the principles which influenced the heart and conduct of each parent.

"Well, Sir John, shake hands, love; but we need not congratulate each other. I did hope a son might have repaid me for all this annoyance, but here is another wretched girl, and the little animal looks determined to live."

"Glad of it, Gertrude," and Sir John Wetheral [5] stroked its little cheek gently and fondly.

"How can you say so, my love! I have made arrangements for my four girls, which had comfortably and completely satisfied my mind, but this child is an excrescence, which destroys my comfort entirely."

"Include her in your arrangements, my dear."

"Nonsense, Sir John! Anna Maria will be out in five years, and I have arranged that she shall marry Tom Pynsent."

"Tom devil!" cried Sir John Wetheral, impatiently.

Lady Wetheral possessed the enviable faculty of becoming deaf to observations and epithets, which did not harmonize with her opinions. She did not, therefore, hear her husband's exclamation, but proceeded in a languid tone of voice.

"Isabel I have resolved to give in proper time to Charles Bligh, who will be a baronet when she appears in public, for I am sure old Sir Charles is dropsical; and, if that poor sickly Lord Ennismore lives to come of [6] age, he will do for Julia. Clara is a handsome girl, and I look very high for her, but I never dreamed of having another plague upon my hands. I quite made up my mind it was to be a son, and this unlooked-for disappointment worries me to death."

"You are always calculating, Gertrude. You are always sketching out folly, and scheming plans for future mortification. Who the deuce would talk of Tom Pynsent, who is just sent off to school, or of Charles Bligh, whom we have never seen, or of Lord Ennismore, who can't live a twelvemonth, and of poor Clara, who is destined for the man in the moon! Prove yourself a good wife and mother, my dear, and leave the children's destinies to develop themselves as God pleases."

"You men, my love, are very indolent, and always trust to casualities: I never do."

"How the deuce are you to catch Tom Pynsent, Gertrude? If you ladies begin intriguing so early——."

Lady Wetheral waved her hand languidly. "Don't express yourself so coarsely, my love."

"Your manner is refined, I confess," [7] answered her husband, smiling, "but your matter is equally coarse with the speech you deprecate: you are already appropriating your children, without considering their affections, or the characters of the boys you are designing for them so placidly. As far as I can judge, Tom Pynsent is a blackguard."

"Never mind that, my love: boys and men are very different beings. My arrangements are complete on the score of my four daughters' ultimate success, but this unfortunate child is a bar sinister. Her birth will lessen my girls' fortunes."

"She shall be my own child, and my own care," returned Sir John Wetheral.

"By all means, love, and a pretty mess you will make of it: I dare say she will be a 'Jack,' or a very decided young lady, as all girls are who are petted by fathers; but my daughters will be disposed of before she quits the nursery, therefore, her example will not influence their characters."

"What is her name to be?" asked Sir John, as he fondled the infant in his arms, and kissed its cheek.

[8]

"Call her what you please, Sir John; she is to be your care now, not mine. If you think a name necessary, let it be your own choice."

"Then I name her Christobel, after my good old aunt, Gertrude."

"A delightful name, my love, and after an excellent model. Christobel was a heavenly-minded, frightful old maid, and your fifth daughter may resemble her in every respect."

"Let it be so. My aunt was a woman of strong affections, and of powerful abilities, and, if this child possesses half her excellence, she will be a treasure to me in my old age."

"I dare say she will be a great comfort to you, love," said Lady Wetheral, in a sleepy tone, "but, suppose the nurse is summoned for Miss Christobel—I am inclined to sleep."

The child was soon taken from Lady Wetheral's arms, and consigned to the distant apartment which constituted the nursery. Sir John also rose to depart, but his lady's languid voice detained him.

"Sir John!"

"Yes, dear."

[9]

"I think I shall require change of air after all this."

"Certainly; where would you like to move? Shall we go to the sea-side?"

"No, love, the sea air is too keen; but I half promised the Tyndals to pay them a visit after my confinement."

"The infant will inconvenience them in their present house, Gertrude."

"I do not mean to take the infant, Sir John, on that account; besides, my nights would be dreadfully disturbed; no, I shall leave Christobel with you, love, and only take Anna Maria with me for a fortnight."

"I am not included in your 'arrangements', then?"

"My love, you know I require great quiet, and at the Tyndals every thing is so agreeably methodical and peaceful, I shall recover my strength quickly; then, you know, dear, the Pynsents live within a short drive; I shall, perhaps, see a great deal of the Pynsents."

"That will be a nuisance, certainly, as you do not like Mrs. Pynsent, but you will not be [10] disturbed by her frequent visits, for the disinclination is mutual."

"You are so obtuse, love. I am going to the Tyndals on purpose to renew my acquaintance with Mrs. Pynsent, and I trust we shall be very intimate."

"What, with the woman you denounce as vulgar, and contradictory?"

"I have argued these things with you, Sir John, till my patience is nearly exhausted, and you are still benighted on a subject so closely interwoven with my happiness. I tell you I am going on purpose to effect a scheme, and I take Anna Maria with me, to prepossess Mrs. Pynsent in her favour."

"And what the deuce, Gertrude, makes you wish to prepossess a woman so disagreeable as you describe Mrs. Pynsent to be? Why can't you keep away?"

"My love, I tell you Anna Maria is destined for Tom."

"And what has Tom to do with his mother? He is at Eton. You had better take lodgings near Eton, if you want to catch Tom."

[11]

"I can argue with you no more, Sir John. Your ideas are so very limited, it is impossible to graft a plan upon them. It is well your daughters have a mother who is anxious to establish them in life, since their father would effect nothing. If I was on my death-bed, my last hours would be horrified by visions of my daughters' pairing off with curates or lieutenants."

"And pray, where do you look for future bishops and Wellingtons, but among curates and lieutenants?" cried Sir John, warmly.

"Indeed, Sir John, you make me sick with your levelling principles," retorted Lady Wetheral, rising in her bed; "my health is far from strong; you have given me a severe headache, and I do request you will never again breathe the word 'curate;' it puts such wretched thoughts into my mind. Fancy Anna Maria shuffling after a fat country curate, smelling of onions, and bawling at a row of charity-children! or, Julia married to your friend Leslie, handing her basket upon a baggage-waggon! Pray, my love, send Thompson to me with some tea, and [12] never let this disagreeable subject be renewed between us. I think I am very poorly."

Sir John was long habituated to resign his opinions when they affected his lady's health; and, on this occasion, he renounced them with his usual good humour.

"Well, Gertrude, get rid of your aches and pains, and you shall become intimate with Mrs. Pynsent, and catch her son Tom, if it will give you pleasure. I don't like to see you nervous and ill."

"And my love," continued her ladyship, who saw the happy moment was attained for enforcing her wishes, "do not use that very coarse expression 'catch.' You always tell me I am resolved to 'catch' Tom Pynsent. I do not like the word."

"But you say, Gertrude, you mean to give him to Anna Maria; surely you must catch him first."

"We ought never to express ourselves coarsely, my love. I certainly do mean to make Tom my son-in-law, but I have no intention of seizing his person. I did not think you were roughly handled but my [13] mother decided upon your becoming my husband long before you addressed me."

"She did, did she?"

"To be sure, and you fell into the snare as agreeably as Pynsent will walk into mine. My mother always said that men were puppets if we concealed the wires, and I believe she was right."

Sir John hummed an opera air, and withdrew. Lady Wetheral sunk into pleasing meditations, and was roused by Thompson appearing with a salver, bearing its delicate porcelain. Thompson was instantly under orders.

"I will not drink my tea strong, Thompson, that will do. How are Miss Anna Maria's hands? Do you use the almond-paste every evening?"

"Oh yes, my lady, and she wears her thick veil doubled over her face when she takes the air."

"Very well. I am going to Court Herbert, as soon as I can quit the house with propriety, and I mean to take my eldest daughter with me; therefore, Thompson, I wish her to look well, and during this cold [14] weather I wish her to remain altogether in the nursery; the wind will give her that blue look which I cannot endure. Then I wish her not to cry much, which always destroys the complexion; so do not let her fight about with her sisters, but amuse her in your room."

"Yes, my lady."

"Let her lie down two or three hours every day, Thompson, for it makes a girl grow straight, and let her dine upon chicken only. Don't vulgarise her with nasty brown meats."

"Yes, my lady."

"And see, Thompson, that Miss Anna Maria keeps on her gloves, and don't allow her to jump and play about. I particularly wish her to look delicate and ladylike at Court Herbert."

"Oh yes, my lady; and then Hatton is so near, perhaps she will see Master Pynsent."

"All in good time, Thompson. I thought I had something more to say—oh, don't let her drink large draughts of any thing, it swells the stomach; and keep her in your room altogether, for she may learn odd words [15] from the nursery-maids, and that would distract me."

"I will remove her from the nursery immediately, my lady," replied the obedient Thompson.

"There now, take every thing away, and keep the door shut, that I may not hear the baby scream. I suppose the nurse is healthy, and all that, Thompson?"

"I believe so, my lady."

"Very well, I think I am going to sleep now, so do not come near me till I ring."

Thompson departed with stealthy steps, and closed the scarlet baized doors which separated the nursery apartments from the wing which contained her lady's boudoir and sleeping chamber; but no precautions could deaden the piercing screams which issued from the unfortunate Anna Maria during the operation of transplanting her little person from the pleasures of companionship to the desolate advantages of Thompson's sitting-room.

Rage crimsoned every feature, and swelled her little heart almost to bursting. In vain Thompson assured the angry girl how necessary [16] the translation would prove towards her future establishment—how impossible it was for a young lady to succeed in after life if her hands were purple, and her nose red, with giving way to excessive emotion. Anna Maria became more intractable, and her three sisters advocated her cause. There was an "emeute" in the nurseries of Wetheral Castle. Anna Maria screamed violently, and the shrill sound was caught up and perpetuated by her party. Thompson was at fault, but she tried to gain time by the protocol system.

"Listen, my dear Miss Anna Maria, while I explain to you the system your mamma wishes you to pursue."

"I won't listen!" screamed Anna Maria.

"We won't listen!" shouted her supporters.

"Then you will never marry Master Pynsent," cried Thompson, with incautious indignation.

This threat raised the defiance of the whole group, and the tumult became deafening. A bell rang violently.

[17]

"There, young ladies!" exclaimed Thompson, "now you will get into a fine scrape!"

Lady Wetheral was scandalized at the rude sounds which had penetrated into her chamber, and Thompson's statement utterly confounded her.

"I am sure, Thompson, I do not know how to make arrangements for such conduct. I suppose they must have their own way, which is very disagreeable, but you know I cannot produce Miss Anna Maria at Court Herbert, with swelled features and a sulky face. Let her do as she likes then, Thompson; we can't help ourselves."

Thus ended the insurrection in Wetheral Castle, which even the infant appeared to enjoy, as it crowed, and nearly kicked itself out of her nurse's arms, when the tumult was loudest. She then predicted it would delight in stirring sounds, and become a fearless character.

This emeute produced serious results, which Lady Wetheral had not anticipated, but which ever succeeds to power wielded by weak and unsteady hands. Miss Anna Maria became [18] gradually dictator, and maintained her opinions and determinations with such unshaken obstinacy, that her mother as gradually resigned her will, and submitted to the imperious dictates of her eldest daughter. Her mind was exclusively bent upon securing Tom Pynsent; and, in the anxious hope of forwarding her plans, she suffered her power to depart into other hands, and beheld her own children forming a strong party in opposition to all her expressed opinions. She lamented her weakness when too late, to Thompson.

"The young ladies, Thompson, put me quite on the shelf, and oppose me in every thing. They will never marry properly. Anna Maria's hands are not so white as they were when I could insist upon her wearing gloves; and Julia's feet are getting extremely broad. She will insist upon walking in easy shoes. All my arrangements are useless; and it makes me miserable to find Sir John as lax as ever in his notions. What a thing he will make of that ugly little Christobel!"

"Every one thinks, my lady, little Miss Chrissy will turn out a very fine child," said poor Thompson, who detested the new dynasty.

[19]

"Nonsense, Thompson, don't tell me any thing called Christobel can be decent-looking; and, as I do not attend to her, I am sure her hands and feet will be unproducible, but I never trouble myself about it, for she is Sir John's pet; and men's pets are always masculine, coarse women. Perhaps, when Anna Maria is Mrs. Pynsent, she will introduce her sister to somebody who may not object to a coarse kind of wife; but, I confess, I have no hopes for a young woman called Christobel, and named, too, after a frightful spinster."

This latter conversation took place on the eve of Anna Maria's introduction, five years subsequent to the rebellion which decided the downfall of Lady Wetheral's power, and transferred the sceptre into the hands of her children. The daily occurrences of the nursery are marked by sameness; there is little to vary its routine. Let us turn now to the period when the lives of the sisters began to take their colouring from the sentiments of their parents, and to suffer the trials and sorrows incidental to existence.