A Terrible Temptation (Fiscle Part 3), Charles Reade [good story books to read .txt] 📗

The Ladies Rode Well; Square

Seat,  Light Hand On The Snaffle,  The Curb Reserved For Cases Of

Necessity; And,  When They Had Patted The Horse On The Neck At Starting,

As All These Coaxing Creatures Must,  They Rode Him With That Well-Bred

Ease And Unconsciousness Of Being On A Horse Which Distinguishes Ladies

Who Have Ridden All Their Lives From The Gawky Snobbesses In Hyde Park,

Who Ride,  If Riding It Can Be Called,  With Their Elbows Uncouthly

Fastened To Their Sides As If By A Rope,  Their Hands At The Pit Of

Their Stomachs,  And Both Those Hands,  As Heavy As A Housemaid's,  Sawing

The Poor Horse With Curb And Snaffle At Once,  While The Whole Body

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Breathes Pretension And Affectation,  And Seems To Say,  "Look At Me; I

Am On Horseback! Be Startled At That--As I Am! And I Have Had Lessons

From A Riding-Master. He Has Taught Me How A Lady Should Ride"--In His

Opinion,  Poor Devil.

 

The Champing,  The Pawing,  The Mounting,  And The Clattering Of These

Bright Cavalcades,  With The Music Of The Women Excited By Motion,

Furnished A Picture Of Wealth And Gayety And Happy Country Life That

Cheered The Whole Neighborhood,  And Contrasted Strangely With The Stern

Spartan Life Of Him Who Had Persuaded Himself He Was The Rightful Owner

Of Huntercombe Hall.

 

Sir Charles Bassett Was A Magistrate,  And Soon Found Himself A Bad One.

One Day He Made A Little Mistake,  Which,  Owing To His Popularity,  Was

Very Gently Handled By The Bench At Their Weekly Meeting; But Still Sir

Charles Was Ashamed And Mortified. He Wrote Directly To Oldfield For

Law Books,  And That Gentleman Sent Him An Excellent Selection Bound In

Smooth Calf.

 

Sir Charles Now Studied Three Hours Every Day,  Except Hunting Days,

When No Squire Can Work; And As His Study Was His Justice Room,  He Took

Care To Find An Authority Before He Acted. He Was Naturally Humane,  And

Rustic Offenders,  Especially Poachers And Runaway Farm Servants,  Used

To Think Themselves Fortunate If They Were Taken Before Him And Not

Before Squire Powys,  Who Was Sure To Give Them The Sharp Edge Of The

Law. So Now Sir Charles Was Useful As Well As Ornamental.

 

Thus Passed Fourteen Months Of Happiness,  With Only One Little

Cloud--There Was No Sign Yet Of A Son And Heir. But Let A Man Be Ever

So Powerful,  It Is An Awkward Thing To Have A Bitter,  Inveterate Enemy

At His Door Watching For A Chance. Sir Charles Began To Realize This In

The Sixteenth Month Of His Wedded Bliss. A Small Estate Called

"Splatchett's" Lay On His North Side,  And A Marginal Strip Of This

Property Ran Right Into A Wood Of His. This Strip Was Wretched Land,

And The Owner,  Unable To Raise Any Wheat Crop On It,  Had Planted It

With Larches.

 

Sir Charles Had Made Him A Liberal Offer For "Splatchett's" About Six

Years Ago; But He Had Refused Point-Blank,  Being Then In Good

Circumstances.

 

Sir Charles Now Received A Hint From One Of His Own Gamekeepers That

The Old Farmer Was In A Bad Way,  And Talked Of Selling. So Sir Charles

Called On Him,  And Asked Him If He Would Sell "Splatchett's" Now. "Why,

I Can't Sell It Twice," Said The Old Man,  Testily.  "You Ha' Got It,

Han't Ye?" It Turned Out That Richard Bassett Had Been Beforehand. The

Bank Had Pressed For Their Money,  And Threatened Foreclosure; Then

Bassett Had Stepped In With A Good Price; And Although The Conveyance

Was Not Signed,  A Stamped Agreement Was,  And Neither Vender Nor

Purchaser Could Go Back. What Made It More Galling,  The Proprietor Was

Not Aware Of The Feud Between The Bassetts,  And Had Thought To Please

Sir Charles By Selling To One Of His Name.

 

Sir Charles Bassett Went Home Seriously Vexed. He Did Not Mean To Tell

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His Wife; But Love's Eye Read His Face,  Love's Arm Went Round His Neck,

And Love's Soft Voice And Wistful Eyes Soon Coaxed It Out Of Him. "Dear

Charles," Said She,  "Never Mind. It Is Mortifying; But Think How Much

You Have,  And How Little That Wicked Man Has. Let Him Have That Farm;

He Has Lost His Self-Respect,  And That Is Worth A Great Many Farms. For

My Part,  I Pity The Poor Wretch. Let Him Try To Annoy You; Your Wife

Will Try,  Against Him,  To Make You Happy,  My Own Beloved; And I Think I

May Prove As Strong As Mr. Bassett," Said She,  With A Look Of

Inspiration.

 

Her Sweet And Tender Sympathy Soon Healed So Slight A Scratch.

 

But They Had Not Done With "Splatchett's" Yet. Just After Christmas Sir

Charles Invited Three Gentlemen To Beat His More Distant Preserves.

Their Guns Bellowed In Quick Succession Through The Woods,  And At Last

They Reached North Wood. Here They Expected Splendid Shooting,  As A

Great Many Cock Pheasants Had Already Been Seen Running Ahead.

 

But When They Got To The End Of The Wood They Found Lawyer Wheeler

Standing Against A Tree Just Within "Splatchett's" Boundary,  And One Of

Their Own Beaters Reported That Two Boys Were Stationed In The Road,

Each Tapping Two Sticks Together To Confine The Pheasants To That Strip

Of Land,  On Which The Low Larches And High Grass Afforded A Strong

Covert.

 

Sir Charles Halted On His Side Of The Boundary.

 

Then Wheeler Told His Man To Beat,  And Up Got The Cock Pheasants,  One

After Another. Whenever A Pheasant Whirred Up The Man Left Off Beating.

 

The Lawyer Knocked Down Four Brace In No Time,  And Those That Escaped

Him And Turned Back For The Wood Were Brought Down By Bassett,  Firing

From The Hard Road. Only Those Were Spared That Flew Northward Into

"Splatchett's." It Was A Veritable Slaughter,  Planned With Judgment,

And Carried Out In A Most Ungentlemanlike And Unsportsmanlike Manner.

 

It Goaded Sir Charles Beyond His Patience. After Several Vain Efforts

To Restrain Himself,  He Shouldered His Gun,  And,  Followed By His

Friends,  Went Bursting Through The Larches To Richard Bassett.

 

"Mr. Bassett," Said He,  "This Is Most Ungentlernanly Conduct."

 

"What Is The Matter,  Sir? Am I On Your Ground?"

 

"No,  But You Are Taking A Mean Advantage Of Our Being Out. Who Ever

Heard Of A Gentleman Beating His Boundaries The Very Day A Neighbor Was

Out Shooting,  And Filling Them With His Game?"

 

"Oh,  That Is It,  Is It? When Justice Is Against You You Can Talk Of

Law,  And When Law Is Against You You Appeal To Justice. Let Us Be In

One Story Or The Other,  Please. The Huntercombe Estates Belong To Me By

Birth. You Have Got Them By Legal Trickery. Keep Them While You Live.

_They Will Come To Me One Day,  You Know._ Meantime,  Leave Me My Little

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Estate Of 'Splatchett's.' For Shame,  Sir; You Have Robbed Me Of My

Inheritance And My Sweetheart; Do You Grudge Me A Few Cock Pheasants?

Why,  You Have Made Me So Poor They Are An Object To Me Now."

 

"Oh!" Said Sir Charles,  "If You Are Stealing My Game To Keep Body And

Soul Together,  I Pity You. In That Case,  Perhaps You Will Let My

Friends Help You Fill Your Larder."

 

Richard Bassett Hesitated A Moment; But Wheeler,  Who Had Drawn Near At

The Sound Of The Raised Voices,  Made Him A Signal To Assent.

 

"By All Means," Said He,  Adroitly. "Mr. Markham,  Your Father Often Shot

With Mine Over The Bassett Estates. You Are Welcome To Poor Little

'Splatchett's.' Keep Your Men Off,  Sir Charles; They Are Noisy

Bunglers,  And Do More Harm Than Good. Here,  Tom! Bill! Beat For The

Gentlemen. They Shall Have The Sport. I Only Want The Birds."

 

Sir Charles Drew Back,  And Saw Pheasant After Pheasant Thunder And Whiz

Into The Air,  Then Collapse At A Report,  And Fall Like Lead,  Followed

By A Shower Of Feathers.

 

His Friends Seemed To Be Deserting Him For Richard Bassett. He Left

Them In Charge Of His Keepers,  And Went Slowly Home.

 

He Said Nothing To Lady Bassett Till Night,  And Then She Got It All

From Him. She Was Very Indignant At Many Of The Things; But As For Sir

Charles,  All His Cousin's Arrows Glided Off That High-Minded Gentleman,

Except One,  And That Quivered In His Heart. "Yes,  Bella," Said He,  "He

Told Me He Should Inherit These Estates. That Is Because We Are Not

Blessed With Children."

 

Lady Bassett Sighed. "But We Shall Be Some Day. Shall We Not?"

 

"God Knows," Said Sir Charles,  Gloomily. "I Wonder Whether There Was

Really Anything Unfair Done On Our Side When The Entail Was Cut Off?"

 

"Is That Likely,  Dearest? Why?"

 

"Heaven Seems To Be On His Side."

 

"On The Side Of A Wicked Man?"

 

"But He May Be The Father Of Innocent Children."

 

"Why,  He Is Not Even Married."

 

"He Will Marry. He Will Not Throw A Chance Away. It Makes My Head

Dizzy,  And My Heart Sick. Bella,  Now I Can Understand Two Enemies

Meeting Alone In Some Solitary Place,  And One Killing The Other In A

Moment Of Rage; For When This Scoundrel Insulted Me I Remembered His

Anonymous Letter,  And All His Relentless Malice. Bella,  I Could Have

Raised My Gun And Shot Him Like A Weasel."

 

Lady Bassett Screamed Faintly,  And Flung Her Arms Round His Neck. "Oh,

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Charles,  Pray To God Against Such Thoughts. You Shall Never Go Near

That Man Again. Don't Think Of Our One Disappointment: Think Of All The

Blessings We Enjoy. Never Mind That Wretched Man's Hate. Think Of Your

Wife's Love. Have I Not More Power To Make You Happy Than He Has To

Afflict You,  My Adored?" These Sweet Words Were Accompanied By A