CHAPTER IV.

LES NOUVEAUX RICHES.

Of course the Vansittarts occupied the biggest and most expensive house they had been able to procure on taking up their residence in London. They were _nouveaux riches_ of the very first water. John Vansittart, the head of the family, was the son of a respectable Berkshire farmer, who had given him a thousand pounds as a start in life, with which the young man had gone out to New Zealand, and invested in a sheep run, which had resulted in his becoming a millionaire. Yet no extraordinary good luck had contributed to his success. He had simply been frugal and painstaking, and kept his eyes open, and married a woman who helped instead of hindered him. And now, at sixty years of age, he was celebrated for being one of the largest sheepowners in New Zealand. He had not married early, and his only child, a daughter called Grace, was just twenty years old. She had been in England much longer than her parents. They had sent her home to a fashionable boarding-school at twelve years of age, and had not found time to join her until a year before this story opens. They had returned to England with an idea of remaining there, but they had soon changed their minds. Their bush life had unfitted them for society. Satins and laces and shining broadcloth sat uneasily upon them, and both Mr and Mrs Vansittart longed for the moment when they should settle down in their New Zealand home again. Not that they would admit, even to themselves, that the whirl and bustle, the pomp and formality, of a London life were too much for them. On the contrary, they blamed the great Metropolis for being slow and stupid, and would not allow that anything it produced could equal the same article in New Zealand. They were both very fat, and simple, and goodnatured--extravagantly proud of their fashionable daughter Grace, who did not acquiesce in the opinions of her parents--and ready to spend their money like water, because they really did not know what else to do with it. They lived in a splendid mansion overlooking the park, which had been furnished from basement to attic, at the sweet will of the upholsterer, and consequently bore the impress of wealth upon every part of it. The hall was carpeted with bear and tiger skins, and hung with armour and stuffed deers’ heads, interspersed with blue and white Nankin China, and beaten brass from Benares. The drawing-room was furnished in the style of Louis Quatorze, and opened into a vast conservatory, rich with tropical plants. In the dining-room, the walls of which were hung with stamped leather, and lighted by silver sconces, were to be found as many portraits of gallant lords and lovely ladies, figuring in the costumes of three and four hundred years before, as if John Vansittart had come of a long line of noble ancestors, instead of being unable to trace his pedigree beyond the loins of the Berkshire farmer, whose father had been an unknown quantity. The whole house reeked of money, but, strange to say, it did not oppress one as such things usually do. The fact is, the owners of these extravagancies did not value them one whit because they had cost money. They were ready to leave them all behind to-morrow--indeed, they were going to do so; and John Vansittart had remarked more than once to his wife, that it was a pity they hadn’t some good friend to whom they could make over the whole lot as a present, instead of letting them go for nothing at auction. But that was just their trouble. They had no friends--hardly any acquaintances. Grace had come home to them, fresh from her school, and good, honest Mrs Vansittart was not the sort of woman to push her way into society, even with the aid of her enormous wealth. She was too shy and retiring to do so. That was the reason they had become intimate with Godfrey Harland. He had met Mr Vansittart first in the city, and, passing himself off as a bachelor, had been taken home to the big house in the park by that gentleman, and introduced to his family. They had all received him with open arms. He was good-looking, fashionable, and very wide awake. He put the father up to all sorts of dodges. He flattered the mother, and helped her out of all her difficulties, and he (almost) made love to the daughter. At least he showed her a great deal of attention, and Grace Vansittart repaid it in kind. It was natural she should. He was about the only ‘swell’ (as she would have expressed it) who came to their house, and her fashionable training had taught her to discriminate, and to like ‘swells.’ She hated the idea of settling in New Zealand, although she could not of course go against her parents’ wishes, and would very much have preferred marrying, and remaining in England. Had he been single, Harland would have found it an easy game to play. He might even have been left in possession of the palatial house and furniture. But the house would not have suited his purpose, as we know. He was not actually planning to commit bigamy--he was not even sure if he wished it--but he was sorely in need of the father’s money, and at any rate he felt he must make a friend of the daughter. But his friendship was conducted on such sentimental terms it might easily have been mistaken for courtship. Mr and Mrs Vansittart so mistook it. They were very fond and proud of their one ewe lamb, and watched her carefully; and they had often remarked to each other that if they didn’t mind it would come to a match between their Grace and Mr Harland.

‘And he ain’t got much money, I don’t think! You must mind that, father,’ the old lady would say.

‘Lor’! mother, and if he hasn’t--where’s the harm?’ Mr Vansittart replied. ‘Haven’t we got enough for all? Not but what Harland’ (I am afraid he said ’Arland) ‘dresses very particular, and always looks the gentleman. However, I sha’n’t throw my gal away--you may make your mind easy about that; but if the young feller likes to come out to New Zealand with us, and shows me as he can work, and has no nonsense about him, and our Grace sets her heart upon him--why, all I shall say is, please yourself, my dear, and you’ll please me.’

And so it was that John Vansittart came to offer the position of land-agent to Godfrey Harland.

‘Do you know anything of Mr Harland’s family or relations, John?’ said his wife, when he told her what he had done.

‘Quite as much as I want to, my dear. I met the young man at Aintree, walking about with Lord Sevenoaks and Colonel Fusee--good enough credentials, I should think, for any one--and he gave me his opinion of the horses that were running. I should have lost all round if it hadn’t been for him. But he’s very wide awake--got his eyes well open--just the very sort of man we want out there. Dash his family! What do we care about family? We ain’t got none ourselves. And any one can see he’s a gentleman born--and he’s got no encumbrances, and if he’s willing to come with us, why, I’m the man to take him, that’s all.’

‘And I’m sure he’ll never repent his decision,’ said Mrs Vansittart, plaintively; ‘for no one who once saw our Wellington or Canterbury could ever wish to set his foot in this dull and dirty London again.’

When Godfrey Harland reached the Vansittart’s residence that evening, he was at once ushered into the library, where the master of the house was evidently awaiting him.

‘I told ’em to show you in here first, Mr Harland,’ he commenced, cordially shaking hands, ‘as I thought you and me might settle this little matter before joining the ladies. Of course, you’ve received my letter.’

‘About an hour ago,’ replied Godfrey. ‘I came on as soon as ever I could.’

‘Ah! I thought that would fetch you,’ chuckled the old man. ‘You unmarried men are lucky dogs, to have no one to say, “With your leave,” or “By your leave” to as you go in or out.’

‘We don’t always think so, sir.’

‘No, you don’t know when you’re well off. Well, if you take my advice, you’ll remain as you are--for some time to come, at least. But this ain’t business! What do you say to my proposal, Mr Harland?’

‘That if I can fulfil the duties, the position will suit me down to the ground.’

‘Oh! the duties is easy enough. I shall want you to be under myself, and do all the palavering and writing that I can’t manage. You see, Mr Harland, I’m a rich man, but I’m a plain man, and I haven’t had much education, so that when I want to invest money, or transact a heavy sale, figures and such things are a trouble to me. I call the place “a land-agent’s,” because I don’t know a better name for it. But, in reality, it’s a friend and help that I want, and if you’re willing to undertake the situation, why, it’s yours.’

‘I accept it with gratitude,’ replied Harland. ‘As I have told you honestly, I have been living very much from hand to mouth lately, on account of serious losses through the defalcations of a friend, and was on the look-out for active employment. Your offer suits me exactly. I have long wished to visit New Zealand, and am charmed at the prospect of doing so in such company. I thank you very much for thinking of me.’

‘That’s settled then, sir; but we haven’t mentioned money yet. I will pay your passage out, and give you six hundred pounds for the first year. What I shall do afterwards, we’ll talk of afterwards. Will that satisfy you for the present?’

‘Perfectly,’ said Harland, quietly. The game was in his own hands now, and he was quivering with delight, but he did not want the old man to see it.

‘And perhaps you’d like a little advance for your outfit,’ continued Vansittart.

‘If it’s perfectly convenient,’ stammered Harland.

‘Of course, it’s convenient,’ replied the other, as he wrote a cheque for fifty pounds, and pushed it across the table to him. ‘I expected as you’d want it. And now, remember this, my boy. Though I like you well enough, I’ve given you the appointment as much for the sake of my wife and daughter as myself. For they’ve both taken a fancy to you, and want you to go out with us, and so any little attention you can pay them on the voyage--I being but a poor sailor--will be very thankfully received, and valued accordingly.’

‘It will be my greatest pleasure to look after Mrs and Miss Vansittart on board the _Pandora_, and supply your place as far as possible,’ replied Harland, gracefully.

‘Very good,’ said his host. ‘We’ve settled the matter now, and can join the ladies.’

So Godfrey Harland, looking quite a ‘swell’ in his well-cut evening suit, entered the drawing-room a minute afterwards, with fifty pounds in his pocket, and something very much like _carte blanche_ to make love to the heiress of the Vansittarts. The mother received him with unfashionable cordiality, shaking his hand vehemently in token of the new bond between them, whilst the daughter beamed welcome upon him with her eyes, from the depths of a large arm-chair, half shrouded from observation by a gigantic palm which rose six feet high from an Etruscan vase of costly majolica.

Grace Vansittart, with the light weight of twenty summers on her brow, was an attractive young woman, although her lowly origin was plainly traceable in the style of her beauty. A prolonged and fashionable training had done much to make a lady of her, and her milliners contributed largely to the general effect. But nothing could do away with the deep colouring, the large hands and feet, and the somewhat coarse voice that remained to her as the heritage of her forefathers. She had rich brown hair and eyes, a straight thick nose, a rather full-lipped mouth, and a figure which, though very tempting under the rounded lines of girlhood, would probably be too much of a good thing ten years later. She was attired in an expensive dress of some _mauve_ material, much covered with laces and drapery, and her ears, arms, neck, and fingers glittered with gold and jewellery. She threw a long look at Godfrey from her full brown eyes, as he approached her chair, which emboldened him to take a seat beside her.

‘So you are really going out with us to Tabbakooloo,’ she said, with a smile.

‘Yes. Are you sorry?’

‘I don’t know. You may be useful on the voyage out. I shall want a great deal of waiting on, I warn you.’

‘You cannot possibly want more than I shall be proud to render you,’ replied Godfrey.

‘That is really a very nice speech. You make me quite eager to start, and put your gallantry to the test.’

‘Well, it will not be long now. I think Mr Vansittart told me the _Pandora_ sails on the 24th.’

‘Three months at sea!’ exclaimed Grace, shrugging her shoulders. ‘What an awful prospect. I hope you will think of something very nice, Mr Harland, to make the time pass quickly.’

‘I will do my best. Are you fond of reading or playing games? Are you a chess player? And if not, shall I teach you? I don’t know a better plan to make time fly.’

‘I really have no choice. I shall leave that to you. But I hope we are going to be great friends. Do you think we shall?’

‘I am _sure_ of it,’ replied Godfrey fervently.

‘Harland,’ interrupted Mr Vansittart at this juncture, ‘have you any engagement for this evening?’

‘None, sir. I am completely at your service.’

‘Well, then, you had better stay here to-night, and go with me to the shipping office the first thing to-morrow morning to secure your berth. Time’s getting on, you know, and if we delay it, we may not be able to get you a comfortable one.’

This proposal did not at all meet with Harland’s views. He had no wish that a servant should be despatched from Mr Vansittart’s house to his own, to bring back his morning clothes, and all the information Maggie might choose to give him. And so he readily forged a lie to excuse himself.

‘I should like it above all things, sir,’ he stammered, ‘but if you will allow me to join you at the office to-morrow morning, I will be there at any hour you name. The fact is, I _must_ sit up to-night writing. This sudden stroke of fortune has brought a few cares with it. There is a little property of mine in the north that I must put at once into other hands, and my yacht--’

‘Oh, you keep a yacht then!’ exclaimed Vansittart, rather surprised at the owner of such an expensive luxury jumping so readily at the offer he had made him.

‘I _did_ keep one before I experienced the heavy losses of which I have told you,’ resumed Godfrey, ‘and though she is let at present to a friend, I must make arrangements for her going to the hammer when his lease is up.’

In his anxiety to prevent any unlucky _contretemps_ revealing the true state of his domestic affairs, Godfrey Harland would have given himself a stable full of horses, and an opera box at Her Majesty’s, and a few dozen carriages to dispose of, in another minute, if his host, recognising the reasons he had already given as sufficient, had not cheerfully consented to his proposal to meet him at the offices of Messrs Stern & Stales on the morrow. And so, not quite knowing whether to be confounded or elated by his sudden run of luck, Harland bade his benefactors good-night.

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