Barton Cottage was a pleasant spot. A small green court was in front; and as a house, though small, it was comfortable. The situation of the house was good. High hills rose immediately behind, some of which were open downs. Soon, they were busy in arranging their few belongings, and endeavouring, by placing around them books and other possessions, to form themselves a home. Edith's pianoforte was unpacked and Mary's drawings were affixed to the walls of their sitting room.
They were interrupted next day by their landlord, who called to welcome them to Barton. Sir Charles Carson was a good looking man about fifty. His countenance was thoroughly good-humoured; and his manners were friendly. He pressed them to dine at Barton Park every day till they were better settled at home. His kindness was not confined to words; for within an hour, a large basket of garden stuff and fruit arrived from the park, which was followed by a present of game.
Lady Carson had sent a very civil message by him, denoting her intention of waiting on Mrs. Crawley as soon as she could be assured that her visit would be no inconvenience; and as this message was answered by an invitation equally polite, her ladyship was introduced to them the next day. Lady Carson's face was handsome, her figure tall and striking, and her address graceful. Her manners had all the elegance which her husband's wanted
Barton Park was about half a mile from the cottage. The house was large and handsome; and the Carsons lived in a style of equal hospitality and elegance. They were scarcely ever without some friends staying with them in the house. Lady Carson piqued herself upon the elegance of her table; but Sir Charles's satisfaction in society was much more real; he delighted in collecting about him more young people than his house would hold, and the noisier they were the better was he pleased.
The arrival of a new family in that part of the county was always a matter of joy to him, and he was charmed with the Miss Crawleys who were young, pretty, and unaffected, which was enough to secure his good opinion.
Mrs. Crawley and her daughters were met at the door of the house by Sir Charles, who welcomed them to Barton Park with unaffected sincerity. They would see, he said, only one gentleman there besides himself; a particular friend staying at the park, but who was neither very young nor very merry. Luckily Lady Carson's mother, Mrs. Jennings, had arrived at Barton within the last hour, and as she was a cheerful agreeable woman, who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and rather vulgar. She was full of jokes, and before dinner was over had said many witty things on the subject of lovers and husbands; hoped they had not left their hearts behind them in Downton, and pretended to see them blush whether they did or not. Edith was vexed at it for her sister's sake, and turned her eyes towards Mary to see how she bore these attacks, with an earnestness which gave Mary far more pain than could arise from such common-place raillery as Mrs. Jennings's.
Colonel Strallan, the friend of Sir Charles, was quiet, gentle and polite. His appearance was not unpleasing, in spite of his being in the opinion of Edith and Sybil an absolute old bachelor, for he was on the wrong side of five and thirty; but his address was particularly gentlemanlike.
In the evening, as Edith was discovered to be musical, she was invited to play. The instrument was unlocked, every body prepared to be charmed, and Edith, who played very well, at their request went through some of the new music from the continent.
Edith's performance was highly applauded. Sir Charles was loud in his admiration at the end of every piece, and as loud in his conversation with the others while every piece lasted. Lady Carson frequently called him to order, loudly. Colonel Strallan alone, of all the party, heard her without being in outward raptures. He paid her the compliment of absolute attention; and she felt a respect for him because of it. His pleasure in music was estimable when contrasted against the horrible insensibility of the others.
Mrs. Jennings had only two daughters, both of whom she had married off respectably, and she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world. In the promotion of this object she was zealously active, and very soon decisively pronounced that Colonel Strallan was very much in love with Edith Crawley. She rather suspected it to be so, on the very first evening of their being together, from his listening so attentively while she played to them; and when the visit was returned by the Carsons' dining at the cottage, the fact was ascertained by his listening to her again. It must be so. She was perfectly convinced of it. It would be an excellent match, for he was rich, and she was handsome.
The immediate advantage to herself was by no means inconsiderable, for it supplied her with endless jokes against them both. At the park she laughed at the Colonel, and in the cottage at Edith. To the former her raillery was probably, as far as it regarded only himself, perfectly indifferent; but to the latter she hardly knew whether most to laugh at its absurdity, or censure its impertinence, for she considered it as an unfeeling reflection on the colonel's advanced years, and on his forlorn condition as an old bachelor.
Mrs. Crawley could not think a man five years younger than herself so exceedingly ancient as he appeared to the youthful fancy of her daughter.
"But at least, Mama, you cannot deny the absurdity of the accusation. Colonel Strallan is certainly younger than Mrs. Jennings, but he is old enough to be my father; and if he were ever animated enough to be in love, must have long outlived every sensation of the kind."
"Infirmity!" said Mary, "do you call Colonel Strallan infirm? I suppose that his age may appear much greater to you than to Mama; but you can hardly deceive yourself as to his having the use of his limbs!"
"Mama, you are not doing me justice. I know very well that Colonel Strallan is not old enough to make his friends yet apprehensive of losing him in the course of nature. He may live, oh! twenty years longer! But thirty-five has nothing to do with matrimony."
"Perhaps," said Mary, "thirty-five and seventeen had better not have anything to do with matrimony together. But if there should by any chance happen to be a woman who is single at seven and twenty, I should not think Colonel Strallan's being thirty-five any objection to his marrying her."
"A woman of seven and twenty," said Edith, after pausing a moment, "can never hope to feel or inspire affection again. I can suppose that she might bring herself to submit to the offices of a nurse, for the sake of the provision and security of being a wife. In his marrying such a woman therefore there would be nothing unsuitable. It would be a compact of convenience. In my eyes it would be no marriage at all."
"It would be impossible, I know," replied Mary, "to convince you that a woman of seven and twenty could feel for a man of thirty-five anything near enough to love, to make him a desirable companion to her. But I must object to your dooming Colonel Strallan and his fictional wife to the constant confinement of a sick chamber."
Soon after this, upon Mary's leaving the room, "Mama," said Edith, "I have an alarm on the subject of illness which I cannot conceal from you. I am sure Matthew Ferrars is not well. We have now been here almost a fortnight, and yet he does not come. Nothing but real indisposition could occasion this extraordinary delay. What else can detain him at Downton?"
"Had you any idea of his coming so soon?" said Mrs. Crawley. "Does Mary expect him already?"
"I have never mentioned it to her, but of course she must."
"I think you are mistaken, for when I was talking to her yesterday of getting a new grate for the spare bedchamber, she observed that there was no immediate hurry for it, as it was not likely that the room would be wanted for some time."
"How strange! What can be the meaning of it! But the whole of their behaviour to each other has been unaccountable! How cold, how composed were their last adieus! How languid their conversation the last evening of their being together! Even now her self-command is invariable. When is she ever dejected or melancholy?"
The Crawleys were now settled at Barton with tolerable comfort to themselves. Their visitors, except those from Barton Park, were not many. But the whole country about them abounded in beautiful walks. The high downs invited them from almost every window of the cottage; and towards one of these hills did Edith and Sybil one memorable morning direct their steps, attracted by the partial sunshine of a showery sky and they ascended the downs.
"Is there a felicity in the world," said Edith, "superior to this? Sybil, we will walk here at least two hours."
Sybil agreed, and they pursued their way against the wind, when suddenly the clouds united over their heads, and a driving rain set full in their face. They were obliged to turn back, running with all possible speed down the steep side of the hill which led immediately to their garden gate.
Edith led, but a false step brought her suddenly to the ground; and Sybil, unable to stop herself to assist her, was involuntarily hurried along, and reached the bottom in safety.
A gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing round him, was passing up the hill and within a few yards of Edith, when her accident happened. He put down his gun and ran to her assistance. She had raised herself from the ground, but her foot had been twisted in her fall, and she was scarcely able to stand. The gentleman offered his services; and perceiving that her modesty declined what her situation rendered necessary, took her up in his arms without farther delay, and carried her down the hill. Passing through the garden, he bore her directly into the house, whither Sybil was just arrived, and quitted not his hold till he had seated her in a chair in the parlour.
Mary and her mother rose up in amazement at their entrance, and while the eyes of both were fixed on him with a wonder and an admiration which sprung from his appearance, he apologized for his intrusion by relating its cause, in a manner so frank and so graceful that his person, which was uncommonly handsome, received additional charms from his voice and expression. Mrs. Crawley thanked him again and again; and, begged to know to whom she was obliged. His name, he replied, was Gregson, and his present home was at Allenham, from whence he hoped she would allow him the honour of calling tomorrow to enquire after Miss Crawley. The honour was readily granted, and he departed.
His manly beauty and more than common gracefulness were instantly the theme of general admiration. Edith herself had seen enough of him to join in all the admiration of the others, and with an energy. His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story; and in his carrying her into the house with so little previous formality, there was a rapidity of thought which particularly recommended the action to her. Every circumstance belonging to him was interesting. His name was good, and she soon found out that of all manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming. Her imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a sprained ankle was disregarded.
Sir Charles called on them as soon as the next interval of fair weather allowed him to; and Edith's accident being related to him, he was eagerly asked whether he knew any gentleman of the name of Gregson at Allenham.
"Gregson!" cried Sir Charles; "what, is he in the country? That is good news; I will ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner."
"You know him then," said Mrs. Crawley.
"Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here every year."
"And what sort of a young man is he?"
"As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you. A very decent shot, and there is not a bolder rider in England."
"And is that all you can say for him?" cried Edith, indignantly. "But what are his manners on more intimate acquaintance? What his pursuits, opinions, and interests?"
Sir Charles was rather puzzled.
"Upon my soul," said he, "I do not know much about him as to all that. But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow, and has got the nicest little black bitch of a pointer I ever saw. Was she out with him today?"
Edith could no more satisfy him as to the colour of Mr. Gregson's pointer, than he could describe to her the shades of his mind.
"But who is he?" said Mary. "Where does he come from? Has he a house at Allenham?"
On this point Sir Charles could give more certain intelligence; Mr. Gregson had no property of his own in the county; that he resided there only while he was visiting the old lady at Allenham Court, to whom he was related, and whose possessions he was to inherit; adding, "Yes, he is well worth catching I can tell you, Miss Crawley; he has a pretty estate of his own in Somersetshire besides; and if I were you, I would not give him up to your younger sister, in spite of all this tumbling down hills. Miss Edith must not expect to have all the men to herself. Strallan will be jealous, if she does not take care."
"I am glad to find," said Mrs. Crawley, "that he is a respectable young man, and one whose acquaintance will not be ineligible."
"He is as good a sort of fellow as ever lived," repeated Sir Charles. "I remember last Christmas at a little hop at the Park, he danced from eight o'clock till four, without once sitting down."
"Did he indeed?" cried Edith with sparkling eyes, "and with elegance, with spirit?"
"Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride."
"That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be."
"I see how it will be," said Sir Charles, "You will be setting your cap at him now, and never think of poor Strallan. You will make conquests enough, one way or other. Poor Strallan! He is quite smitten already, and he is very well worth setting your cap at, I can tell you."