Clergy -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
‘Ah, you black-eyed monkey,’ he said, fondly stroking her cheek; ‘so you
have been running off with Maynard, either to torment or coax him an inch
or two deeper into love. Come, come, I want you to sing us “_Ho perduto_”
before we sit down to picquet. Anthony goes to-morrow, you know; you must
warble him into the right sentimental lover’s mood, that he may acquit
himself well at Bath.’ He put her little arm under his, and calling to
Lady Cheverel, ‘Come, Henrietta!’ led the way towards the house.
The party entered the drawing-room, which, with its oriel window,
corresponded to the library in the other wing, and had also a flat
ceiling heavy with carving and blazonry; but the window being unshaded,
and the walls hung with full-length portraits of knights and dames in
scarlet, white, and gold, it had not the sombre effect of the library.
Here hung the portrait of Sir Anthony Cheverel, who in the reign of
Charles II. was the renovator of the family splendour, which had suffered
some declension from the early brilliancy of that Chevreuil who came over
with the Conqueror. A very imposing personage was this Sir Anthony,
standing with one arm akimbo, and one fine leg and foot advanced,
evidently with a view to the gratification of his contemporaries and
posterity. You might have taken off his splendid peruke, and his scarlet
cloak, which was thrown backward from his shoulders, without annihilating
the dignity of his appearance. And he had known how to choose a wife,
too, for his lady, hanging opposite to him, with her sunny brown hair
drawn away in bands from her mild grave face, and falling in two large
rich curls on her snowy gently-sloping neck, which shamed the harsher hue
and outline of her white satin robe, was a fit mother of ‘large-acred’
heirs.
In this room tea was served; and here, every evening, as regularly as the
great clock in the courtyard with deliberate bass tones struck nine, Sir
Christopher and Lady Cheverel sat down to picquet until half-past ten,
when Mr. Gilfil read prayers to the assembled household in the chapel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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