The Heir of Redclyffe | Page 5

course,' said Mr. Edmonstone; 'it would be the correct
thing. I am sure he was always very civil to us, and you are next heir
after this boy.'
Little Charlotte made a sort of jump, lifted her eyebrows, and stared at
Amabel.
Philip answered. 'That is not worth a thought; but since he and I are
now the only representatives of the two branches of the house of
Morville, it shall not be my fault if the enmity is not forgotten.'
'Buried in oblivion would sound more magnanimous,' said Charles; at
which Amabel laughed so uncontrollably, that she was forced to hide
her head on her little sister's shoulder. Charlotte laughed too, an
imprudent proceeding, as it attracted attention. Her father smiled,

saying, half-reprovingly--'So you are there, inquisitive pussy-cat?' And
at her mother's question,--'Charlotte, what business have you here?' She
stole back to her lessons, looking very small, without the satisfaction of
hearing her mother's compassionate words--'Poor child!'
'How old is he?' asked Mr. Edmonstone, returning to the former
subject.
'He is of the same age as Laura--seventeen and a half,' answered Mrs.
Edmonstone. 'Don't you remember my brother saying what a
satisfaction it was to see such a noble baby as she was, after such a
poor little miserable thing as the one at Redclyffe?'
'He is grown into a fine spirited fellow,' said Philip.
'I suppose we must have him here,' said Mr. Edmonstone. Should you
not say so--eh, Philip?'
'Certainly; I should think it very good for him. Indeed, his grandfather's
death has happened at a most favourable time for him. The poor old
man had such a dread of his going wrong that he kept him--'
'I know--as tight as a drum.'
'With strictness that I should think very bad for a boy of his impatient
temper. It would have been a very dangerous experiment to send him at
once among the temptations of Oxford, after such discipline and
solitude as he has been used to.'
'Don't talk of it,' interrupted Mr. Edmonstone, spreading out his hands
in a deprecating manner. 'We must do the best we can with him, for I
have got him on my hands till he is five-and-twenty--his grandfather
has tied him up till then. If we can keep him out of mischief, well and
good; if not, it can't be helped.'
'You have him all to yourself,' said Charles.
'Ay, to my sorrow. If your poor father was alive, Philip, I should be free
of all care. I've a pretty deal on my hands,' he proceeded, looking more
important than troubled. 'All that great Redclyffe estate is no sinecure,
to say nothing of the youth himself. If all the world will come to me, I
can't help it. I must go and speak to the men, if I am to be off to
Redclyffe tomorrow. Will you come, Philip?'
'I must go back soon, thank you,' replied Philip. 'I must see about my
leave; only we should first settle when to set off.'
This arranged, Mr. Edmonstone hurried away, and Charles began by
saying, 'Isn't there a ghost at Redclyffe?'

'So it is said,' answered his cousin; 'though I don't think it is certain
whose it is. There is a room called Sir Hugh's Chamber, over the
gateway, but the honour of naming it is undecided between Hugo de
Morville, who murdered Thomas a Becket, and his namesake, the first
Baronet, who lived in the time of William of Orange, when the quarrel
began with our branch of the family. Do you know the history of it,
aunt?'
'It was about some property,' said Mrs Edmonstone, 'though I don't
know the rights of it. But the Morvilles were always a fiery, violent
race, and the enmity once begun between Sir Hugh and his brother, was
kept up, generation after generation, in a most unjustifiable way. Even I
can remember when the Morvilles of Redclyffe used to be spoken of in
our family like a sort of ogres.'
'Not undeservedly, I should think,' said Philip. 'This poor old man, who
is just dead, ran a strange career. Stories of his duels and mad freaks are
still extant.'
'Poor man! I believe he went all lengths,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'What was the true version of that horrible story about his son?' said
Philip. 'Did he strike him?'
'Oh, no! it was bad enough without that.'
'How?' asked Laura.
'He was an only child, and lost his mother early. He was very ill
brought up, and was as impetuous and violent as Sir Guy himself,
though with much kindliness and generosity. He was only nineteen
when he made a runaway marriage with a girl of sixteen, the sister of a
violin player, who was at that time in fashion. His father was very
much offended, and