Part 52 (2/2)

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.

Plas Abertewey was a fine old country seat, that had been in Colonel Vaughan's family for generations. Miss Gwynne was not the only scion of the good old county gentry who was disgusted at seeing it in the possession of a son of old Griffey Jenkins, the miser. But so it was to be. Howel took the place, nominally for a term, but with the avowed intention of purchasing it, or the first place of any note that should be for sale in the county.

He made liberal proposals to Colonel Vaughan's agents as regarded improvements and repairs, the house having been much neglected for some years; and in the course of a few months after his marriage with Netta, workmen of all kinds were employed in adorning Plas Abertewey for his expected arrival with his bride.

This did not take place, however, until the following spring, by which time the house and grounds were in as fine order as money could make them. Howel sent down a person from London to superintend the work, and remained with Netta in Paris until it was nearly completed; then he brought her over to England, left her in London with his friends the Simpsons, and ran down into Wales, accompanied by Captain Dancy, who had been his companion during a great portion of his Paris trip.

They remained only a few days, and then returned to town to superintend the purchase of furniture, plate, and the various appurtenances of a country establishment, which were duly despatched to the _charge d'affaires_ in the country, and vigilantly guarded by Mrs Griffith Jenkins, who took up her abode at Abertewey for the time being.

As bell-ringers do not pause to consider the cause and effect of the events they are ordered to commemorate, but rather think of the amount of money and liquid they are likely to receive for their labour, the chime of Llanfawr rang a merry peal when the future master and mistress of Plas Abertewey drove through the town. There was, moreover, a small show of fireworks on the occasion. Blue b.a.l.l.s, crackers, rockets and the like blazed and hissed about to the no small danger of the thatched roofs of some of the houses. Mrs Griffith Jenkins undrew her purse strings on that day, and the cheering and shouting were great as the bride and bridegroom appeared. Howel bowed and smiled as all great men do on such occasions, and Netta laughed, and was proud. One of the blue b.a.l.l.s made the fine pair of horses that drew Howel's new carriage take fright, but the London coachman showed the superiority of his driving by pulling them in' and the crowd shouted amain.

Captain Dancy and Miss Simpson, who accompanied the pair, were duly impressed with the loyalty of Howel's subjects, and were not particularly shown the little shop to which he owed their sudden devotion. 'Jenkins, the miser,' was quite swallowed up in 'Howel Jenkins, Esq.,' and 'Netta Prothero, Glanyravon,' was engulphed in his wife. So goes the world. Shout on, little boys, for so will it be when you are in your turn big men, and 'adore the rising, rather than the setting sun,' as the French proverb hath it.

Fortunately, Abertewey was in the parish of Llanfawr, and some seven or eight miles from Glanyravon, therefore Mr and Mrs Prothero knew nothing of the demonstrations in honour of their children.

Mrs Griffith Jenkins received them, dressed in a new _moire antique_, quite in baronial style, under the portico of their dwelling, and the proper complement of retainers was in the background. More shouts were heard from some of the immediate neighbours, who had gathered round the door to see the arrival; and as Netta alighted from her carriage, attired like a Paris doll, she felt that she was now a grand lady, and could conscientiously look down on Miss Rice Rice, and be on an equality with Miss Nugent.

Howel gave some orders in a very commanding tone to the various lords-in-waiting, and then the door closed upon their majesties, and the admiring crowds saw them no more.

It is no wonder that the world without Plas Abertewey was much engaged in talking of, and speculating on, the world within. Howel's horses, Netta's dress, Miss Simpson's father's baronetcy, Captain Dancy's regiment, Plas Abertewey's appointments, the footmen's liveries, the reputed wealth of the miser, even Mrs Griffith Jenkins' _moire antique_, mourning ornaments and gold watch were variously remarked upon, and doubtless with great good nature and deserving approbation. We all know how we rejoice when our neighbours rise to wealth or eminence. There was not one breakfast-table within twenty miles of Abertewey, from that of my lord and my lady to Jim Davies and his wife, shoemakers, over which the arrival of Howel Jenkins, the miser, as he was called, according to his father before him, was not pulled to pieces, from the first sound of the bells to the last shout at his hall door.

'Shall we call?' were the words on the lips of all heads of families, generally settled by the said 'heads' driving in their very best equipages and gayest clothes, to pay the wedding visit to the reputed millionnaire and his pretty, elegantly attired wife.

Money, as I have somewhat commonplacedly remarked elsewhere, is the master-key to most hearts, and Howel found that nearly all the hearts in his native county were opened by his wealth. The exceptions were princ.i.p.ally those of his wife's family, and even in some of these he managed to turn the key.

It was shortly after the arrival at Plas Abertewey that Owen and Gladys simultaneously left the farm, and we find the former on that same morning, standing at a little distance from this residence of his sister and Howel, surveying it, and ruminating on the family fortunes.

'Well done, Howel,' he said to himself; 'if money hasn't done something for you, I don't know for whom it has done anything. I declare I will try and make some myself, and come back and marry Gladys in spite of the world.'

Then he began to ask himself, whether it was kind and brotherly to pa.s.s by his only sister's door without saying good-bye to her, and whether his father had any right to expect all her relations to give her up, because he chose to do so? His reflections were suddenly cut short by the appearance of Howel and another gentleman, bound, apparently, on a fis.h.i.+ng expedition.

'Owen, come at last!' cried Howel, hastening up to him with great good will. 'Better late than never. I am very glad to see you, so will be Netta. Travelled early to hide your carpet bag, or whatever it is?'

'Knapsack,' said Owen, shaking his cousin's offered hand; 'I'm off to sea again.'

'A queer road to take; but you come to see us on your way, of course.

Let me introduce you to Mr Simpson, Sir John Simpson's son. My cousin, Mr Simpson, my wife's brother.

Owen nodded, and Mr Simpson bowed.

'We're going out fis.h.i.+ng, but you'll find Netta--in bed, I'm afraid, but she'll be glad to see you anywhere. Go up the avenue, and let Netta know you've come. We shall be home to dinner at seven. Good-bye for the present.'

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