Daisy Ashford: Her Book
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Title: Daisy Ashford: Her Book
Author: Daisy Ashford
Angela Ashford
Commentator: Irvin S. Cobb
Release date: May 31, 2008 [eBook #25658]
Most recently updated: January 3, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25658
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Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
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Produced by David Garcia, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note on the Text:
This book was written by a young girl. There are many spelling and
punctuation errors that have all been retained with the rare exception
of clear printer's error such as He,en on page 164. These three
corrections are listed at the end of the text. For each story, the title
was written on a separate page and then repeated on the next page. The
second of these was omitted to avoid redundancy for the reader. The
remaining text is intact, for example, on page 335, the chapter MR. HOSE
MAKES ENQUIRIES starts with a small letter, most dialogue has no
punctuation at the end and is often missing at least one quotation mark.
Missing letters in the original are denoted by asterisks in the text.
DAISY ASHFORD: HER BOOK
DAISY ASHFORD:
HER BOOK
A COLLECTION OF THE REMAINING NOVELS
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE YOUNG VISITERS,"
TOGETHER WITH "THE JEALOUS GOVERNES"
BY ANGELA ASHFORD
WITH A PREFACE BY
IRVIN S. COBB
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
_Copyright, 1920,
By George H. Doran Company_
_Printed in the United States of America_
PREFACE
BY IRVIN S. COBB
The role of discoverer is pleasing, nearly always, and more especially
in its reactions is it pleasing. The actual performance of discovery may
be fraught with hardships and with inconveniences and even with perils;
as witness Christopher Columbus making his first voyage over this way in
a walloping window-blind of a tub of a ship and his last one back with
chains at his wrists and ankles; as witness Hendrick Hudson; as witness
Dr. Harvey's unfortunate position in the eye of constituted authority
after he had discovered the circulation of the blood; as witness the
lamentable consequences to whoever it was who, probably by the process
of eating a mess of miscellaneous wild fungoids, disclosed to a bereaved
family and a benefited world the important fact that certain mushrooms
were nourishing and certain toadstools were fatal.
To your true discoverer the compensations of his trade come when he
points with pride to the continent or the great natural fact or the new
author he discovered and cries aloud before all creation: "See what I
have found!"
So, aside from the compliment and the honor of it, I feel added
gratification and added pleasure that I should be invited to write a
foreword for the first American edition of Miss Daisy Ashford's second
book. You see, I claim the distinction of having been the first person
in America other than its publisher and my friend Mr. George H. Doran to
read the manuscript of that immortal work "The Young Visiters." If I did
not actually discover Miss Ashford, at the age of nine when she wrote
"The Young Visiters"--for indeed no one appears to have discovered her
then excepting perhaps her parents--at least I had a hand in discovering
her on this side of the Atlantic ocean at a time when mention of her
name, which now is so famous a name, meant nothing to the casual hearer.
After the lapse of nearly a year the event stands in my memory as
marking one of those hours of pure and perfect joy which come but too
rarely to human beings. At the request of Mr. Doran I read the
manuscript which he had just brought with him from Europe. I read the
story itself first and afterwards the preface, or foreword. This, I
think, was as it should be. By rights a preface however sprightly and
well done--and a preface by Sir James Barrie would have to be well
done--should be served with a book as cheese is served with a dinner: at
its finish and not at the beginning.
When I had read the story through to the last delicious sentence of the
last delectable paragraph and when I had caught up with my breath which
I had lost by laughing or rather when my breath had caught up with me, I
sapiently said to him:
"Publish it? Of course you ought to publish it. Aside from such sordid
considerations as the profits which are certain to accrue you owe it to
yourself as a responsible member of the human race to give this glorious
thing circulation among the reading public of North America. If I were
you I'd print thirty thousand copies in the first batch before I
released any copies among the reviewers or sent any copies as samples to
the trade. And after that I'd keep the presses running steadily in the
hope of being able to keep up with the demand which is sure to follow on
the heels of publication. This is almost the funniest book that was ever
written and it is all the funnier because the writer was so desperately
in earnest, so tremendously serious all the while she was writing it."
"It has made a big hit in England already," he said. "But over there
some people are saying that the author must have been a grown-up
person--that no child of nine could have written such a thing. The
suggestion is even being advanced that Barrie himself wrote it. I know
better, because I have seen the original script in a child's handwriting
on old and faded paper, and I met Miss Ashford some weeks ago in London
and I have had all the proof one needs that this is the authentic
product of a nine-year-old mind."
To which I said:
"No doubt some people will be saying the same thing over here and
they'll be wrong just as these English skeptics are and if they'll only
stop to think for a moment they'll know why they're wrong. No grown
person, not even the creator of a Wendy and a Peter Pan, could have
done this thing. It exhales the perfume of an authoritative genuineness
in every line of it. It had to be a child who wrote it--a child with a
child's imagination and a child's viewpoint and a child's ignorance of
the things she wrote about. In a way of speaking it is like those
unintentionally humorous obituary poems which appear in the papers. No
professional humorist can hope to equal them because when he writes one
he does it with deliberate intent to be funny and invariably he betrays
his hand. It is when some poor mourning amateur dips a 'prentice pen in
the very blood of his or her heart and writes such a poem that it
becomes so pathetically and so tragically side-splitting."
This was what I said. Not in these words exactly, but to this effect.
Mind you, I am not proclaiming that I am the only person who has said
this. Between chuckles thousands and thousands of others since that day
have thought and have said it. What I am proud of is that I was the
first person in America to say it, and so to this extent I count myself
a discoverer and I feel a sort of proprietary sense in being permitted
here to introduce "Daisy Ashford: Her Book." I am mindful of the
distinction because of the reason I have just stated and because also in
a way of speaking it qualifies me for some sort of literary kinship with
Sir James M. Barrie.
Even so I do not aspire to the presumptuous hope that any one may say
"Well, I see this man Cobb is doing for Miss Ashford's second book what
Barrie did for her first one." I have no such ambition. A minnow always
errs when he undertakes to swim in the company of a whale. If he tries
to swim alongside he is unnoticed; if he swims in the wake he is
swamped. He makes other minnows jealous or contemptuous as the case may
be, and he is properly ignored by the whale.
Miss Ashford's own preface, accompanying this volume, gives the
chronological sequences of its contents. The first story of all, "A
Short Story of Love and Marriage," she wrote when she was eight years
old. "The True History of Leslie Woodcock" was written three years
later, after "The Young Visiters" had been written. "Where Love Lies
Deepest" trickled from the busy pen of the young person when she was
twelve years old; and "The Hangman's Daughter," the most pretentious of
them all and to my way of thinking the best of her preserved works next
only to "The Young Visiters," was undertaken when she was about
thirteen, she says, and finished in the following year. Also included in
this book is a story by Miss Ashford's sister Angela, done at the age of
eight and entitled "The Jealous Governes; _or_ The Granted Wish." In
this we learn the real facts regarding the coming of babies. Babies are
not fetched by storks. Medical men bring them in boxes and afterward
render bills for the same, as note the following: (page 330) "Miss
Junick Dr. to doctor Paulin for one baby delivered as per agreement L1,"
a low enough price truly. If a child of eight (who in point of years is
so very much closer to being a baby than most of the writers on the
subject are) cannot be trusted to recall the circumstances of this
mystery, who can? We can only regret that a second sister, Vera, the
artist of this talented nursery, did not save her one contribution to
the literary output of the Ashford family. It was entitled "Little Mary
and The Angle." _Angle_ did not refer to a worm but to a visitor from a
celestial domain; we have the word of Miss Daisy Ashford for it that
this story was of a pious character. What a wonderful household the
Ashford household must have been with Daisy and Angela writing romances
and Vera illustrating them and between times doing a bit of writing
herself. Can't you see the pencils flying? Can't you see three little
pink tongues sticking out from between three pairs of purposeful lips
and wriggling in time to the pencils? Can't you see the small brows
furrowed with thought? And the proud parents? And the startled
nursemaid?
To my mind the very finest thing about Miss Daisy Ashford's present book
is the opportunity it gives us, reading it, to follow the growth of her
genius for observation. For surely the faculty to observe and, having
observed, to set down in words the results of that observation is a
genius. It is more than that, it is two phases of genius harmoniously
coupled.
At the age of eight, as we shall note, she begins her career as a writer
by knowing very little of certain phases of life largely dealt with by
older writers; and this little she knows by reason of what she has read
or by reason of what she has heard read. Rapidly, though, she progresses
to the point where, along with these borrowed second-hand impressions,
she incorporates impressions which are all her own. Reading what she
wrote in the first year of her authorship, we can figure, approximately,
when she learned her first French word; when to her there came those
vague appreciations of the Roman Catholic faith which are so fascinating
to the children of non-Catholics--or perhaps the Ashford family were
Romanists. Influenced by these alluring ecclesiastical mysteries, we
find her causing a prospective bridegroom to address the Rev. Father
Fanty as "your kindness" and begging the reverend gentleman "to excuse
my craving for matrimony." Through these pages one sees how travel
broadened the young person's fund of experience, which in her favored
case meant her fund of material, for unlike many writers, old enough to
know better, little Miss Ashford was, by the virtue of a miraculous
intuition, inspired to write, sometimes at least, of things that she
actually knew about, rather than to deal exclusively with topics which
other writers before her had professed to know about. Early in her
opening story she speaks of "Cracknels." Reading this word, my memory
ran back to my own childhood when we knew but three standard varieties
of crackers--soda-crackers, animal crackers and cracknels which last
were round, slickish objects rather like glazed oak-galls, somewhat
dusty to the taste and warranted to create a tremendous thirst for
licorice water and lemonade. I had entirely forgotten cracknels until
Miss Ashford came along yesterday and reminded me of them.
In "A Short History of Love and Marriage"--and how woefully short
sometimes is the history of a love and how short too, perhaps, the
history of a marriage!--she shows to us that for all its admitted
shortness the narrative is properly rounded out. For on page 24 we learn
that the happy couple went on a bridal tour to India and "seven hours
after they got there had two twin babies." Seven hours and two twin
babies, a magnificent showing surely and the prevalent rage for
shortness maintained to the very end! Page 24 is one of the very best
pages in this book, containing, as it also does, a painstaking
description of perhaps the most striking and interesting marriage-morn
costume worn by any bridegroom in the Christian era.
It is not my intention to quote over-liberally from the contents of this
volume. To my way of thinking the trick of inserting copious extracts
from a novel into the foreword of that novel is as great a mistake as
though I invited you to my house for dinner and before dinner gave you
tidbits and choice bites from each course. I should merely be dulling
your appetite, without satisfying your hunger.
My aim is to direct your attention, if I may make so bold, to certain
pages, specifying them by their numbers and trusting that when you have
progressed so far you will, in the reading of them, find the same joy
and the same zest that I have found there. For example, on page 46 I
respectfully invite your consideration to the pains taken in enumerating
the various articles of one Sylvia's running-away or elopement
trousseau. There was a thorough young woman for you, and a provident.
On page 87 occurs mention of two sisters and here, despite my promise of
two paragraphs ago, I cannot resist the temptation to quote one short
but tremendously illuminating line. The author is speaking now of two
sisters and of the elder she says, she "was by no means beautiful but
she was intensely good." How often it happens that those who are by no
means beautiful are intensely good--how often and sometimes oh, how easy
for them to be so good. But most of us, even those who educate our
faculties of observation the better to earn a living thereby, are very
much older than eleven years before we discern this great truth.
I think the brightest gems of all this collection are to be found, in
the greatest profusion, in "The Hangman's Daughter." The ill-fated
gentleman hangman, Mr. Winston, who moved to Kenelham "where only about
two people were hung a year" is in my opinion worthy to be rated with
the deathless and ever-to-be glorious Mr. Salteena. Miss Ashford says
she was shocked when her brothers on hearing the trial scene read (pages
150, 151, 152) laughed at what she had conceived to be a tragic and
dramatic passage in the action of her tale. Later, no doubt, she has
come to realize how dangerous a thing it is for one to acquire, either
intentfully or otherwise, the reputation of being a humorist; for when
he who has been branded as a humorist says a thing with desire to be
serious his friends laugh at it as a most rare whimsicality and when, on
the other hand, he deliberately sets out to be humorous, his enemies
very likely will declare that never before in all his life was he quite
so serious. And had her brothers been older, had they been of an age to
appreciate the unconscious comedy that marked the Dreyfus trial, say, or
had they ever had opportunity to hear the proceedings in sundry murder
trials in America, when learned counsel was asking questions and learned
alienists were making answers, they would have been able to appreciate
the fact that no burlesque description of a murder trial can ever be
quite so utterly comic as a real murder trial sometimes is.
A flashing jewel of dramatic intensity awaits you (pages 229 to 234
inclusive) when you come to read of the rescue of Gladys and Helen from
the grasp of the murderer of Helen's own dear father and of the method
employed by Gladys' heroic brother for detaining the miscreant Likewise,
I pray you, reader dear, that you linger on page 257 wherein the "menu
of the table d'hote" which was "of nightly recurrence" at Lord
Beaufort's castle, is printed in full. In my mind's eye I see little
Miss Daisy Ashford, twelve years old going on thirteen, carefully
bearing away with her the card of the first meal she ever ate in a
regular restaurant and taking it home and treasuring it up against the
time when she might insert it into her greatest story, then in process
of incubation, at exactly the appointed spot to create the most telling
effect, under the most appropriate possible circumstances. Could a
proper respect and a proper instinct for local color rise to greater
heights? I deny it. So too will you deny it when you arrive at page 258
and read the words emphasized by being displayed in capitals that are on
that page at the end of the menu.
Personally I do not think that as a whole this book is equal to "The
Young Visiters." Only once in a decade or so is it vouchsafed the
writing craft that one among us shall create a masterpiece, destined in
time to become a classic and a thing immortal. Only once in an eon or so
is it vouchsafed a writer to write a masterpiece at the age of nine
years. Very few among us ever produce a second perfect work on top of a
first one. But this I will say--every line in this book is worthy to
have been written by the same hand that wrote "The Young Visiters" and
that, I think, is praise enough for any writer.
_New York, April, 1920._
AUTHOR'S FOREWORD
The publication of these stories gives me an opportunity of expressing
my thanks for the very cordial reception which was given to "The Young
Visiters." I only hope that those who have been amused at the adventures
of Ethel and Mr. Salteena will not be disappointed in those of Helen
Winston, Leslie Woodcock, and the others whose histories now appear.
"A Short Story of Love and Marriage," I wrote at eight years old. It was
dictated to my father, who took it down faithfully word for word. My
very first story, "Mr. Chapmer's Bride," which was also dictated, is
among those that have been lost. "The True History of Leslie Woodcock"
was a later production, and was written at about the age of eleven as a
surprise for my mother on her birthday--it was originally entitled "The
Q. I. B." (our family word for a secret)--but after the secret was out I
changed the title. "Where Love Lies Deepest" was written when I was
twelve, and dedicated to our governess of whom I was very fond.
"The Hangman's Daughter," started at the age of about thirteen and
finished the following year, I always consider the greatest literary
achievement of my youth, for the reason that I put so much more effort
into it than any of the others. By this time I had really determined to
become an authoress (an ambition which entirely left me after my school
days), and I put solid work into "The Hangman's Daughter" and really
tried to write well. I shall never forget my feeling of shock when I
read it aloud to my brothers and they laughed at the trial scene! A
great friend of mine whose Christian name was Helen, was the heroine
(Helen Winston) of this story. She was really a little younger than I
was, but was far more "grown-up" in every way, a fact of which I was
secretly rather "jellus," and it did not require much imagination on my
part to picture what she would be at nineteen. I told her she was to be
the heroine of my new novel, which I truly thought would thrill
_anyone_, and I must say she was as excited as I could have wished. She
will be amused now when she reads this book!
My sister Angela's story, which she wrote at the age of eight, will
certainly be voted the most amusing of this collection. It was the first
she ever wrote, and it was followed by "Treacherous Mr.
Campbell"--another lost manuscript. A great deal of "The Jealous
Governes" she wrote herself, as will be noticed by the spelling. Other
portions were dictated to my father and mother, and I think the nurse
had a hand at it too.
My second sister, Vera, was the artist of the nursery, and drew a
wonderful poster to the only play I ever wrote, "A Woman's Crime." She
wrote one story, however. It was of a pious nature, profusely
illustrated, and entitled "Little Mary and the Angle."
Since the publication of "The Young Visiters," I have often been asked
if I don't myself think it funny. When I first discovered it--not having
seen it since it was written--I certainly did. That is one of the most
curious things about it--to be able to laugh at what one wrote in such
solemn seriousness--and that is why I can never feel all the nice things
that have been said about "The Young Visiters," are really due to me at
all, but to a Daisy Ashford of so long ago that she seems almost
another person. It has all been like a fairy tale, from the accidental
finding of the original note book to the day when, at her request, I
left a copy with my friend Miss Margaret Mackenzie, for it is to her I
really owe the publication of the book. She showed it to Mr. Frank
Swinnerton, and thus I was lucky enough to have it brought to the notice
of my present publishers in England and America.
But the real success of the book I owe to the great kindness of Sir
James Barrie in writing such a wonderful preface, and I am glad to have
this opportunity of thanking him publicly. His name gave "The Young
Visiters" a send-off and a reading which it could not have gained on its
own account and of this fact I am most deeply appreciative.
DAISY ASHFORD.
_March, 1920._
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE BY IRVIN S. COBB v
BY DAISY ASHFORD
AUTHOR'S FOREWORD xxi
A SHORT STORY OF LOVE AND MARRIAGE 15
THE TRUE HISTORY OF LESLIE WOODCOCK 27
WHERE LOVE LIES DEEPEST 67
THE HANGMAN'S DAUGHTER 105
BY ANGELA ASHFORD
THE JEALOUS GOVERNES, OR THE GRANTED WISH 303
A SHORT STORY OF LOVE AND MARRIAGE
CHAPTER 1
LOVE
The house in which Mr. and Mrs. Molvern lived was one of the usual kind,
with its red painted door and small garden looking out on a very dreamy
park. The bed-room windows which all looked out on the front, had half
dirty white curtains in them, above which could be seen dark red silk
sashes of the same dirtiness.
Mr. Molvern was a red haired quick tempered gentleman, with very small
grey eyes and a clever looking pink face. He would always wear brown
suits, but as everybody said he looked much better in black. Mrs.
Molvern was quite on the contrary. She had indeed a quiet temper, with a
pale delicate looking face with large brown eyes that looked at people
with great interest, and her fair hair glistened in the sun. She
usually wore half dirty white dresses, and in going out she wore a dark
blue velvet jacket with black fur and a brown hat with red poppies. She
never wore gloves except on Sundays and then she wore yellow cotton
ones.
At the present time they had a young gentleman staying with them, who
lived in the neighbourhood. He was sitting in his room waiting for the
town clock to strike four, because when it did he had to go out and meet
his truelove, whose name was Edith Plush. His own name was Thomas
Henrick, but he was known as Burke in that family. At last hearing the
hour strike, he snatched up a felt hat, and putting it on his greasy
head started off to meet his truelove.
When he reached Mionge Lane he met his pretty truelove skipping along
most lady-like and primly. She was dressed in a light blue dress with a
white sash tied at the side in two knots. Her long fair hair hung down
her back tied with a pink ribbon, and her fringe was fluttering in the
breeze. Behind her fringe she wore a wreath of green ivy. In one hand
she carried a leghorn hat with red and blue ribbon, and in the other a
silken bag filled with a threepenny bit and two biscuits, and her age
was nineteen.
"Well my pretty bird," she said as she approached Burke, "I hope you
will like to 'manger' a biscuit with me," (I may add that she was fond
of French).
"Thank you Edith," he said, "I will have one if it is a cracknell."
Then Edith burst into a fit of tears and howled out, "Oh but they are
Osbornes."
"Well to dry up those moist tears, I will eat one," said Burke.
"You dear!" said Edith like sunshine after rain, for the smiles had come
on her face, as she opened her silken bag and popped one into his
blistered hand. After this Burk and Edith walked along down the lane,
which I forgot to say was shaded by trees all along.
"Burke," said Edith after a long pause, "you have talked often enough
and said we shall be married one day, but when it is going to come off I
am sure I don't know."
"Well my dear Edith you must recollect I am not a good dancer and have
no nice suits, and you must recollect my people are not in this
neighbourhood and I can't write marriage letters, and to begin with I
don't think my people would like me to be married just yet as I am not
quite twenty nine."
"Well it is silly of you," said Edith, "after having talked to me so
often about it, and bothered to come into my house, and sat on the
drawing room sofa to make arrangements, and now you seem not to care for
it a bit, just because your people are not in the neighbourhood; and
besides I was getting quite excited about it!"
"If you had only a little more reason in you," said Burke, "you might
take it all in and understand a bit, but you are such a great stupid, so
I must leave it alone and wait till I get a chance to speak to Mrs.
Molvern about it--she has got a bit of sense in her if you haven't," and
his revengeful face made poor little Edith shudder. Indeed she was now
too frightened to answer, and she kept on trying to go home every time
she got a chance, but Burke's quick eye caught her every time.
Edith walked on slowly in front thinking what was the best way to cheer
Burke out of his most moodful mind. At last she hit on a plan. "Burke,"
she said "I have painted such a pretty little tray, it will just hold a
cup of tea and a plate of toast and the paint is quite dry now, if you
will come in and have a cup of tea with me to-day, I will gladly show it
to you."
This short but cheerful conversation of Edith's, made Burke quite forget
their quarrel, and he turned round and said, "I will willingly come
Edith, I know your good painting,--hark, there is four o'clock striking
now."
"So it is," said Edith pulling her hat more over her fringe.
Burke and Edith walked down the quiet little village in which both their
houses stood. At last they arrived at Edith's house which was much
prettier than Mrs. Molvern's.
"Don't you think," said Burke as he advanced to it with firm stride,
"that you had better ring the bell, as you have a visitor with you?"
"Oh, no," said Edith "my mother would be sure to say if she knew it was
I, that I was never to ring again, giving all that trouble to the
servants; it isn't as if you were alone."
"Very well," said Burke, "I only thought perhaps it was best."
Edith smiled at him as she went up the front door steps. She led him
into her pretty little bed-room to take off his things while she took
off hers.
"How very comfortable all looks" said Burke, "I feel quite inclined to
write a note at that pretty little table there."
"Oh indeed but you shan't," said Edith just beginning her snappy temper,
but Burke forgot to reply to her.
They then went down and had some tea and Burke much admired the pretty
tray of Edith's. They had for tea some cold ham (the remainder of the
luncheon) some toasted buns, a sago pudding, a dried bloater and a
couple of shrimps.
After this Edith threatened to hate Burke if he would not arrange about
the marriage.
"Look here, I wish you would talk of something else," said Burke, "I
have a good mind not to marry you at all."
But at this Edith clung so wretchedly to his knees that he had to say,
"well, to-morrow morning."
So that next morning Burke walked along down the village trying to make
out where his own dear Edith could be.
Just as he was thinking of going up to her house he saw Norah Mackie
and Evelyn Slattery coming along together.
"Your friend," they said chaffingly, "is picking some old geraniums in
the front garden."
Burke stared at them straight and putting out his tongue once or twice,
walked on to find his darling pet.
"I wish my sister Mary was here," echoed Evelyn, "she would soon strike
out at you." And they walked on grumbling at his impudence.
CHAPTER 2
MARRIAGE
"Well pretty dear," said Burke as he approached Edith's garden.
"Angel! I have been waiting for you to come and talk about the wedding."
"Yes I am perfectly settled," said Burke, and he began: "I have written
to my people and they have written back to say yes I may marry you, and
kind Mrs. Molvern is having such a nice wedding suit made for me, and I
think we will be prepared to receive the Sacrament of Matrimony next
Thursday."
"Thank you so much," said Edith "suppose we talk about it now here on
this sunny bench."
Burke lifted up his coat tails and squatted himself down. "The first
thing to find out about," he said, "is about asking Father Fanty to
marry us."
"Yes, now I have hit upon a plan this very minute," said Edith, "you
will write a letter to him. I have got a rather crumpled bit of paper in
my pocket, and as most men have got a pen in their pockets most likely
you have got one."
"Indeed I have," said Burke, "and a threepenny blotter too."
As for ink, Edith had a halfpenny bottle in her pocket. So Burke began
like this:
"DEAR REV. FATHER FANTY,
I hope your kindness does not mind marrying us
Miss Edith Plush and myself. We are both capable
of receiving the Sacrament of Matrimony on
Thursday next if quite convenient to you. Hoping
you will excuse my craving for Matrimony,
Your sincerely,
THOMAS HENRICK."
Burke told Edith's maid to run to the Presbytery with the letter and
wait for an answer. About a quarter of an hour afterwards this exquisite
and most graceful letter came from Father Fanty.
"MOST DEAR T. HENRICK,
On Thursday I am free from all engagement and am
most willing to marry you, and give a charming
wedding breakfast in my lovely harmonium room. So
with my best congratulations on your coming
marriage,
I am,
Your affectionate priest,
FATHER FANTY."
So on the following Thursday Burke and Edith were dressed as I shall
mention now. The timid darling lady had on a most lovely sky blue
coloured dress with a high bustle, and it was blossomed over with sham
daisies tied on with green ribbon. On her head she wore a wreath of
yellow roses, and her white veil reached down to the top of her stays.
White kid gloves, and as the sleeves of her dress were rather short, her
red beef coloured hands showed between. She had pretty white velvet
boots with grass green buttons, and washed out red stockings. In her
hand she held a bunch of green ivy.
The strong and bold bridegroom wore a red swallow tailed coat, with a
green silk sash tied in front. He had black knickerbockers and white
woollen socks, and black dressing slippers, and he carried a bowler in
his hand.
When they arrived at the church the marriage was splendid, but the bare
legs of Burke were not much appreciated.
For the wedding breakfast they had several cups of Bouillon Fleet, and
eight of Bovril. They had six Vanilla cream puddings and strawberry ices
by the score; but they kept the blinds drawn down in case vulgar little
boys should loom in and say "give us a slice," while the leg of pork was
being cut.
For their honeymoon, they went to the south of India, and seven hours
after they got there they had two twin babies, a boy and a girl which
they called Abraham and Sarah, because they were fond of those holy
saints.
So we will say goodbye to this two chaptered story.
THE TRUE HISTORY OF LESLIE WOODCOCK
To
DEAREST MOTHER
FROM
DAISY ON HER BIRTHDAY
CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCING THE FAMILY
"Sylvia Sylvia" cried a man's voice in the hall. "Where is that child?"
"Coming" answered the child for so she was always called by her Uncle
Richard although in years she was close on 19.
And she turned to obey the summons, a deep flush mounted to her usually
too pale cheeks, and lighted up her whole countenance.
Sylvia Monton was little more than a baby when her parents were both
drowned whilst on their way to India where Captain Monton was to join
his regiment. So little Sylvia was left an orphan and her mothers only
brother Richard Earlsdown came forward to take charge of her being a
bachelor and possessing no children of his own.
At the time our history opens Sylvia was a tall thin girl with a fair
and saddened face, which was only enlivened by the sky blue of her
eyes--she had golden hair which she wore combed back from her white and
noble forehead and arranged in heavy waves round her small and shapely
head--a small rosebud mouth which when wide open displayed 2 rows of
pearly white teeth. Small white hands adorned by 3 golden rings and a
tiny round nose which she daintily touched now and again with a lace
hankerchief.
It was 3 oclock on a dismal afternoon late in February and the place was
on the boarders of the Sussex downs.
"What a rainy day for our walk Uncle" sighed Sylvia as she approached
her uncle who was still waiting in the hall.
"I wish it were finer my dear" said Mr. Earlsdown opening a large
unbrella manfully.
Mr. Earlsdown was an elderly man between 50 and 60, he had iron grey
hair and a long bushy beard to corrospond, sharp grey eyes and a would
be handsome face but for a stern forbidding expression it habitually
wore. He was broad and stout and had a manfull way of carelessly
swinging his arms that gave him many friends. Not only this but he had a
loud hearty voice that he knew how to use with a will.
Here Mr. Earlsdown proceeded to turn up his trouser tips and offering
his large umbrella to his niece cried in his hearty voice "let us brave
the storm."
Just then a gust of wind blew Sylvia's dainty toque down a side street.
"Oh uncle" she gasped dropping the gingham in her dismay "do go and
fetch it," but ere she uttered the words a tall handsome fellow
approached bearing his head and displaying the lost hat in his hand.
"Oh thank you" cried Sylvia a beautiful blush mounting her fair cheeks
"I am so very grateful to you."
"I am afraid it is rather dusty" said the newcomer taking out a lovely
silk hankerchief and preparing to wipe the charming object
"Don't trouble sir" said Mr. Earlsdown and taking out a large red
kerchief he seized the hat in his huge hand and pounded it vigorously.
"Oh uncle gently" cried Sylvia "you will spoil my feathers
"I know what I am about my dear" said Mr. Earlsdown "and you sir come
and see us to-morrow, my child will be glad of a caller."
"Oh indeed I shall" cried Sylvia blushing.
And Leslie Woodcock, for that was the handsome fellows name raised his
hat and bowed low saying "I shall be delighted my dear sir, but might I
ask what your address is.
"Certainly my man" exclaimed Mr. Earlsdown as with a hearty laugh he
produced a little card on which was written
R. EARLSDOWN ESQ,
Yellowflower Hall
Mayfield Sussex
Leslie bowed once more and taking the card moved gently away. What took
place after this will be reserved for our next chapter.
CHAPTER 2
LESLIE WOODCOCK
The hero of my story I will now describe.
Leslie Woodcock was about 6 feet in his stockings and fine and well
built. He had very dark brown hair neatly parted at one side, a curly
moustache of the same shade and deep brown eyes always half shut. He had
a large straight nose and mouth to correspond and white well shaped
hands and feet, that set off this good looking young man.
It was about half past 3 oclock on the following afternoon when Leslie
Woodcock dressed in a light grey suit and crimson tie, black felt bowler
and fur lined overcoat, started for Yellowflower Hall.
Sylvia who had been expecting him all the morning was pleased to hear
the front door bell ring, and hurried to the window to wave her hand, as
she knew it _must_ be the good looking stranger.
Just then the drawing room door was flung open and the butler announced
Mr. Woodcock "Oh good afternoon" said Sylvia rushing from the window to
greet the visitor "how good of you to come in all this pouring rain."
"It was a bad day to come, but I was true to my word" answered our hero
warmly shaking hands.
"Yes indeed how wet you must be" said Sylvia and then turning to the
butler she added "Johnson inform Mr. Earlsdown that Mr. Woodcock is
here."
In about 3 minutes a heavy step was heard and Mr. Earlsdown came
bounding into the room laughing loudly.
"How do Mr. Woodcock" he gasped between his peals of laughter "I didn't
at all expect you, in fact I forgot all about you" and here he sank into
a chair and offered a snuff box to his friend.
"Thanks" said Leslie streching out his long thin fingers and taking a
small pinch which he silently dropped on the floor as being so young he
was afraid it would make him sick.
"You'll stop to tea wont you?" asked Sylvia arranging the folds of her
green silk dress.
"Thank you I will if it is no trouble" said Leslie and a smile passed
over his thin lips.
In a few moments Johnson and another footman brought in tea from the
conservatory on a silver tray.
"Now Mr. Woodcock please to help yourself" said Mr. Earlsdown offering
him three or four plates of sugar and other cakes. Leslie took a small
jam wafer and proceeded to nibble it quietly. "How far did you come?"
asked the girl as she was busy pouring out tea.
"Not very far" responded Leslie lifting his full brown eyes to her face.
"I live in Astma House upon the high road.
"Oh I see" replied Sylvia with a nod of her fair head, "you have sisters
and brothers then? for I have seen them coming in and out."
"I have two sisters and a cousin" replied Leslie.
"_Oh_ what are their names? asked Sylvia who had a very curious nature.
"My sisters are Violet and Hilda and my cousin is Albert Morris."
"Oh what sweet names" cried the girl "I wish you would bring them here
some day."
"Perhaps I will" said Leslie "but Albert does not care for calling he is
a very quiet fellow.
"I am sure I should like him. I love boys" said Sylvia.
Here Leslie thought he had better be going so taking his hat and gloves
he shook hands after first promising to bring his family the next time
he came.
CHAPTER 3
THE BALL
About 3 months after the events recorded in our last chapter Mr.
Woodcock decided to give a ball in honour of his daughter Violets
coming of age. So he sent out about 20 invitations and Leslie made quite
sure that Sylvia was amongst the list of invited people.
At last the happy day arrived and as the carriages drew up in front of
Astma House Leslie's form might be seen standing on the door step
looking out for when Sylvia would arrive. At last she came and Leslie
offered his hand to help her up the steps.
Sylvia was attired in costly white satin with an edging of beaver round
the skirt. The body was trimmed with real Venetian Point. Upon her hands
she wore pink kid gloves and in her hair a pink may blossom. Her small
well formed feet were clad in white high heeled shoes and silk
stockings.
"I am afraid I am late Leslie" she said as she entered the hall "but I
had such a bother to fix my hair, my maid was out you see" she added
blushing
"Oh never mind" said Leslie taking Sylvia's cloak and hanging it up "let
us come into the drawing room and join in this walse.
Sylvia's programme was soon filled and she danced till she was tired and
at last while resting in an arm chair she was not sorry to see Hilda
Woodcock approaching her with a strawberry ice.
"Leslie is going to bring you some jelly or cream pudding in a minute"
she said handing Sylvia the tray.
In an instant Leslie came up to her and handing her a jelly retired
quickly saying he would be back soon.
At that moment Sylvia felt a touch on her arm and looking round found
herself face to face with Albert Morris, a short red haired young man
about 22.
"Oh what is it?" cried Sylvia jumping up from her seat.
"Nothing much" replied Albert quietly "only as you are disingaged will
you have a valse with me."
"I really can't" answered Sylvia hotly "I _am_ so tired. I have been
dancing all the evening."
"Very well" said Albert and he went away and Sylvia turning round saw
Leslie sitting beside a young lady gently fanning her and talking to
her.
An angry flush mounted to her fair cheeks and for a moment she could
barely keep her temper, then without a minutes hesitation she walked
boldly towards Leslie and his friend. Leslie jumped up when he saw her
approach "I was just coming to look for you Sylvia" he said and getting
up he followed her to the end of the room.
"Who was that person I saw you talking to so lovingly?" asked Sylvia.
"Oh that was Isobel May Saunders, a great friend of mine" replied Leslie
with a short laugh.
"So I should think a _great_ friend" answered Sylvia angrily "and by the
way you were talking to her I should think you were engaged to her."
"Look here Sylvia don't be angry" said Leslie slowly "but I _was_ going
to have made her my wife once but since I met you I have thought better
of it--please don't say any more about it."
"Oh Leslie" cried Sylvia in surprise "but does the poor girl believe
that you love her
"To tell you the truth Sylvia" replied Leslie getting very red as he
spoke "my belief is that Isobel thinks I love her and as I can not throw
her over altogether that is why you saw me speaking to her just then."
"But what is your reason for not marrying her?" cried Sylvia.
"Well because I thought I would rather marry someone else" said Leslie
blushing and looking straight into her face.
"But who do you want to marry?" said Sylvia blushing in her turn.
"You dearest" he replied in an undertone "ever since the day I came to
call upon your uncle I have set my heart on making you my wife. Do you
think you love me enough to marry me?"
"I think I do Leslie" said Sylvia getting very hot "but I must speak to
uncle about it first."
"Don't forget" said Leslie in a beseeching tone "and let me know as soon
as possible."
So the whole of that evening Leslie and Sylvia kept together but as
Leslie was helping Sylvia on with her cloak, Sylvia saw Isobel Saunders
gazing at Leslie with a look which went straight to her heart.
CHAPTER 4
AFTER THE BALL
Before we go on any further we had better say a word about Isobel
Saunders.
She was the only daughter of Colonel Saunders of the 159th who having
lost a lot of money in the army was now in very poor circumstances. His
wife had died five years previously and left him with three sons and a
daughter. The eldest son William was a tall stout elderly man of about
25 who followed his father's profession. Robert the next was fair and
delicate looking taking after his mother and lived very much at home and
was just 21 years of age. The youngest son Frederick who was Isobel's
junior by 4 years was still at school.
Isobel, who at the time my story opens had just attained the age of 20
years was 5 feet 3 inches in height, she had thick dark hair fashionably
dressed and a massive fringe over her stately forehead. She had
bewitching brown eyes from which long lashes swept her cheeks. She had
an aqueline nose and a bright complextion. She had nice feet and was
fairly podgy.
It was 10 o'clock on the morning after the ball, when Colonel Saunders
came into the breakfast room with an open letter in his hand.
"Here is some news for you Isobel" he said "Your aunt Miss Vickers
intends favouring us with one of her weekly visits she will arrive this
afternoon by the 3 o'clock train, so mind and have everything ready or
there will be a fine fuss."
"Oh dear" exclaimed Isobel preparing to pour out the whisky for her
father. "I always dread Aunt Sophia's visits."
"Yes indeed she is an old nuisance but we must make the best of her and
after all a week is not long."
"That is true" replied Isobel "but still it adds to my other troubles."
and with a sigh she ran up to prepare the bedroom.
The town clock was striking 4 when a cab drew up at Vebena Villa and
Isobel flew to open the front door.
"How are you dear Aunt! she exclaimed.
"Well my dear I am not as well as might be expected. I have had a severe
cold and my servants have worried me so much I thought a week's rest
might do me good" answered the fidgety dame hastening into the drawing
room and taking a seat she proceeded to give Isobel a list of all her
complaints and when she had come to an end of them she turned to her
niece saying "Please tell Jane to take my box up and then after I have
had some tea I will go to bed, I have had a long and fatiging journey."
Here will be a good time to explain Miss Vickers, she was tall and
angular and thin with black hair slightly grey which she wore in an
untidy nob behind, she had dark piercing eyes that always seemed to find
out other people's business.
Isobel smiled as the door closed on the tall and portly frame of her
aunt and she began to re-arrange the room which already in 10 minutes
Miss Vickers had turned upside down.
CHAPTER 5
AFTER THE BALL (_continued_)
Whilst this scene was taking place at Vebena Villa, a very different one
was going on at Yellowflower Hall.
While sitting at the breakfast table Sylvia Monton was wondering how to
ask her uncle if she might come to terms with Leslie Woodcock.
Presently Mr. Earlsdown rose from his chair and seizing his pipe he
entered his study roaring 'Private Tommy Atkins' at the top of his loud
voice.
"I am afraid my uncle is in one of his boisterous moods" sighed Sylvia
finishing her coffee, "but he does get so excited poor uncle especially
when he has been out the night before. I don't remember seeing much of
him at the ball. I was so taken up with Leslie. I am rather glad I did
not see him though for nothing would induce him to wear evening clothes
or a shirt front and he insisted on going in his bicycling suit and such
a soiled red tie and _oh_ his hair it was really like a crows nest, I
don't know what Mr. and Mrs. Woodcock would have said if he had suddenly
burst out with that dreadful 'Tommy Atkins.' but there poor uncle he
_has_ such spirits."
So saying Sylvia skipped into her uncle's study.
"Hullo hullo my lassie" he cried tossing down last week's 'Pick me up.'
"I wanted to speak to you Uncle" said Sylvia putting her trembling hand
on Mr. Earlsdown's shoulder.
"Talk away then" said Mr. Earlsdown "I am prepared for the very worst
news."
"It's nothing much" said the girl "only--
"Wake up wake up my child" said her uncle "only what?"
"Only that Leslie Woodcock has asked me to marry him and with your
permission I will accept."
"I dare say you will" said Mr. Earlsdown "but I am not going to give my
consent" replied the excitable gentleman "I am not going to see you
marry a begger."
"But uncle he is not a begger" cried Sylvia "he is well off, honest and
dependable"
"I dare say he is all that" said Mr. Earlsdown "dependable indeed! why
ten to one when you have been married to him a month he will devoice you
for some other girl he is silly enough to prefer; no no you shall marry
a lord, that is what I want for my money, so next time you see young
Woodcock just send him about his business, impudent young fellow!!"
"Uncle have _some_ mercy" here burst from Sylvia's pale lips "I'll
never marry any one else" and with a cry of "Leslie _my_ Leslie" she
fled from the room and flinging herself on her own bed gave way to
bitter tears.
But finally taking heart of grace she siezed her blotting book and
poured forth these heart rending words.
MY OWN,
Owing to my merciless uncle I am forced to give
you up as he thinks to marry a lord, but _no
never!_ my Leslie and although I may never see you
again think of me always as I shall of you and
believe me to be
Yours and yours alone
SYLVIA.
CHAPTER 6
THE ELOPEMENT
It was past 2 o'clock before Leslie received Sylvia's wretched appeal.
It was brought to him in his room whilst dressing for an afternoon
party. Leslie read it carefully through and then throwing it on the
floor seezed his head in his hands and thought it over.
Presently he looked up with, a determined expression on his face "I must
marry her" he cried, and then sitting down he picked up a sheet of
writing paper and prepared to answer the note and this was what he said.
MY BEST LOVED
If you will agree to this plan I will marry you
yet. Have all your wants packed up this evening by
6 o'clock and we will elope together dearest and
when we are one, we will go to America and make
our fortunes.
Ever dearest
YOUR OWN LESLIE.
He then told one of the servants to take the above to Yellowflower Hall
and give it into Miss Monton's hands, and wait for her answer.
The servant soon returned to say that the young lady would agree to the
plan.
Leslie then began to collect his stockings and under garments and whilst
rummaging in his wardrobe he heard something drop on the floor. He
stooped to pick it up, it was a photograph of Isobel Saunders.
"Poor Isobel" murmured Leslie and wrapping the photo up he put it in his
pocket. "I wonder what she will think of me when she knows."
At 5 o'clock the housemaid came to tell tea was ready.
"Oh bring me a cup of tea up here, "I am not feeling very well" said
Leslie as she closed the door.
At 1/4 to 6 Leslie slipped out by the back door. He was attired in a
long old fashioned ulster, a deer stalking cap, large golosha boots, and
a hunting suit as he had gone to hunt for Sylvia. On his right arm he
carried a bag containing clean under linen and other odds and ends also
his money consisting of L40 in ready gold. He entered the garden of
Yellowflower Hall and stole up unseen to Sylvia's room. He found her
standing by the table buttoning her jacket with nervous trembling
fingers.
"Oh Leslie!" she cried as he entered the room "I am so glad you have
come" and saying this she fell back in a chair and fainted dead away.
Leslie caught hold of the water jug and wetting a sponge applied it to
her white face, and by this and the aid of smelling saults, Sylvia soon
revived.
"I am so nervous" she said "Oh Leslie shall we ever get away in safety?"
"Yes dearest yes" whispered the lover, "trust me darling and you will be
alright."
"I am ready now" said Sylvia in a weak voice as she put a packet of
biscuits into her bundle.
"I'll carry your luggage" said Leslie picking up her bundle which was
tied in a white tablecloth.
Sylvia had been more particular than Leslie as to her luggage. Besides
all her under-linen she had with her two pairs of clean sheets and
pillow cases, some bath towels and soap, likewise a sponge and a yard of
flannel (in case she lost any) a flask of brandy, some new potatoes and
a tooth brush.
Sylvia's window opened into the lawn so it was easy to escape and once
off the high road she and Leslie felt safe.
CHAPTER 7
THE LODGINGS
Leslie and Sylvia having tramped until midnight found themselves weary
and footsore at London.
"I can't afford very good lodgings" said Leslie "my money must last
until I get employment.
"Where shall we go then?" said Sylvia.
"To some common lodging house" said Leslie "you see _you_ have clean
sheets if they are needful--ah there is the lodging house."
So he and Sylvia approached a filthy house at the end of a narrow
street, Leslie knocked at the door and after waiting 10 minutes a dirty
old woman with a candle in her hand, opened the door.
"What is it you want? she said, "disturbing me this time of night!"
"We have come for a lodging" said our hero "how much would it be?"
"4d a night single" said the old woman "and 2d extra if you want a drop
of water to wash with."
Leslie's heart sank within him at these words but he felt bound to
accept saying "I hope the beds and the water are clean."
"Clean enough I'm sure" said the old woman "considering they have only
been used a few times." so saying she led them up a rickety stair case
into a shabby little room.
"The bed ain't made yet said Old Nan pointing to a heap of rags in the
corner.
"Thank you" said Leslie and locking the door he turned to Sylvia who by
this time was wandering hopelessly about the filthy garret.
"We'll make the bed anyhow" said Leslie "get out your sheets Sylvia."
She obeyed and Leslie kneeling on the floor began to sort out the rags.
He found an old blanket which being a shade cleaner than the others he
laid upon the floor covering it with a clean sheet; then stuffing his
jacket inside the pillow case he made it into a pillow, he then laid
another sheet over that and covered it with his and Sylvia's overcoats,
he pronounced the bed made.
"How very dreadful!" gasped Sylvia "I can not sleep upon that bed."
"You must" said Leslie throwing open the window to air the room.
The next morning Leslie, who had sat by the open window all night began
to collect the bed clothes and turning to Sylvia said "we will get out
of this as soon as ever we can."
Then finding a drop of filthy water in a cracked basin he proceeded to
wash his face and hands, though Sylvia said she would rather go dirty
than use such water.
Just then Old Nan entred and looking round said "well now I hope you
have had a pleasant night."
"Oh very" stammered poor Leslie.
"I think we are going now, if you will tell me what it comes to."
"Well let me see" said Old Nan
"2 beds and 2 washes--
"But I didn't wash" said Sylvia
"And _I_ didn't go to bed" said Leslie
"Then it will be 6d growled Old Nan. and after paying their landlady
Leslie and Sylvia fled for their lives.
CHAPTER 9
THE MARRIAGE
"I Wonder where we can find a church to be married in" said Sylvia.
"We dont look as though we were _going_ to be married" said Leslie "and
I feel so soiled after sleeping in that lodging house."
"I should think you do" said Sylvia "I never felt so dirty in my
life--why there is a church Leslie"
"Yes I know but I mean to buy you a white veil and a piece of lace" said
Leslie "here is a shilling get what you can"
Sylvia hurried across the road and soon returned with a yard of book
muslin for a veil and 1/2 a yard of furniture lace.
"That will do" said Leslie and they entered the church.
A middle aged man was busy lighting the church lamps and stared
hopelessly as the couple entered.
"Please are you the clergyman?" asked Leslie.
"No" said the man "Mr. Roberts who is sorting surplices in the vestry is
the parson."
"Can we speak to him" said Leslie quietly
"Yes sir" replied the man opening the vestry door.
"Oh are you the clergyman?" said Leslie to a tall dark man who was just
folding up some clean linen.
"Yes I am" replied the said gentleman "can I do anything for you?"
"Well we wanted to be married" said Leslie bashfully "if this young lady
may put her veil on in the vestry we could then wait in the church till
you are at leisure."
"Yes I think I have time" said Mr. Roberts glancing at his watch "please
sign your names in this book and I will ring the bell for the acolyte"
So saying he touched a spring bell and very soon a small fair-haired boy
appeared in the door way.
"Take two lighted candles into the church Tommy" said Mr. Roberts "and
place two kneeling chairs in the aisle."
Tommy obeyed and very soon Sylvia and Leslie were kneeling side by side
in the church.
About 5 minutes afterwards our hero and heroine walked out husband and
wife!!
"Let us have our wedding breakfast at the Gaiety restaurant" said Leslie
and hailing a handsom the married couple stepped in.
"What would you like my dear" said Leslie sitting down at a ready laid
table.
"I'd like rabbit pie and apple fritters and a cup of coffee please" said
Sylvia throwing off her gloves and displaying her newly put on wedding
ring.
"Very good my dear" said Leslie "and I will have a slice of roast pork
and suet pudding and treacle and beer and soda mixed that is a mild B
and S my dear"
Half way through his pork Leslie pulled out a letter from his pocket and
after piercing at it for two or three minutes he read as follows.
Homer Villa, Margate.
DEAR SIR,
I shall be very please to acomodate you for a
fortnight. You can have a good sized bedroom,
parlour and dining room for 3 guineas per week
including everything else. I shall expect you
tonight so
Believe me to be
Yours very truly
MARY MASON.
"This _is_ good news my dear" said Leslie "if you have done your pie we
will take the first train to Margate, hand me your bundle and we will
start."
It was not a very long journey but Sylvia who was very tired was not
sorry to hear the porters screaming "Margate station."
A pony cart from Homer Villa was waiting for them and Leslie and Sylvia
were soon at their lodgings.
A fat good tempered looking woman showed them into a comfortable
parlour where a lovely tea consisting of ham sandwiches, poached eggs,
tea and bread and butter was waiting for them. And here we will leave
them to enjoy it while we take the train back to Mayfield.
CHAPTER 10
THE CONFUSION
About 1/4 to 8 o'clock the dressing bell at Yellowflower Hall pealed
forth its usual summons.
"I am glad dinner is so nearly ready" said untidy Mr. Earlsdown
straightening his tie and running a comb through his hair "I'll go and
have a quiet glass of claret while I am waiting--perhaps Sylvia will
appear by then."
Mr. Earlsdown had just drained his glass when Johnson brought in some
pea soup, bacon and green cabbage, merangues and chocolate pudding.
"Don't trouble about ringing the second bell Johnson" said Mr. Earlsdown
"just call Miss Monton and I will begin."
So saying he began to serve out the bacon on a golden plate.
"Where is that child" said Mr. Earlsdown after having 3 serves of the
bacon.
Just then Johnson entered with a very long face "If you please sir" he
said "Miss Monton is nowhere in the house and her room Mary says is
_that_ untidy, you'd think a wild menagerie had been there."
"Bless my life" exclaimed Mr. Earlsdown throwing down his fork and
tossing his table napkin to the butler.
Forthwith he rushed upstairs to his niece's room and the sight which met
his eyes was enough to astonish even Mr. Earlsdown. A pile of linen
stood in a corner of the room, hats, jackets and various articles of
clothing were scattered in every direction and at last on the bed a
letter adressed in Sylvia's hand to himself and this is what it said.
UNCLE,
Please do not worry yourself about me. I am quite
safe under the charge of Leslie Woodcock. We shall
be in London to-night but from that day forth I
dont know where we shall be. My name from now is
SYLVIA WOODCOCK.
As Mr. Earlsdown read this coldly worded epistle he flashed his eyes and
stamped heavily on the floor.
"Why bless the girl" he screamed "I'll have her back within an inch of
her life" so saying he tore out of the bedroom and called for Johnson.
The butler came running upstairs to receive his orders.
Johnson take the first train to London and search everywhere for traces
of Mr. and Mrs. Woodcock" and handing the butler 2/6 he sent him off by
the 8.8 to London.
Meanwhile there was also great confusion at Astmer House. On the summons
to dinner Leslie was found missing.
"Dear me" exclaimed Mrs. Woodcock jumping up and knocking over a soup
tureen "Albert go and look for your cousin."
"Oh _he_ is alright" answered Albert "there is no need to fuss."
"Yes there is you heartless boy, go and look for my son at once."
"Oh bother" said Albert flinging down his book.
"Dont snap" said Mrs. Woodcock as Albert dashed furiously out of the
room.
He returned within 1/4 of an hour to say he could find no traces of
Leslie except his tooth-brush in the back garden and a pocket
handkerchief on the stairs.
"Oh I hope he is not lost" cried Mrs. Woodcock "my dear son, where can
he be?"
"Oh but you have me" said Albert with a faint smile.
"What do I care for you?" said Mrs. Woodcock bitterly.
Albert immediately began shuffling about and took a drink of water to
hide his blushes.
"As you are so _very_ stupid" continued Mrs. Woodcock "perhaps you can
_manage_ to walk ** far as Yellowflower Hall and see if you find any
traces of Leslie."
Albert pushed on his hat and stamped out and returned in 1/2 hour in a
rather more excited mood than he went out.
"I say Aunt" he cried running into the dining room "would you believe it
just by that railing near Yellowflower Hall I found Miss Monton's shoe
and Leslie's watch key, I brought both back to show it is true."
Mrs. Woodcock uttered a terrified "Oh" and sank nearly unconscious on
the sofa.
CHAPTER 11
JOHNSON'S SEARCH
Johnson arrived in London at 25 minutes to ten. It was a dark foggy
night and the air was cold. Johnson gave a shiver as he wrapped his
ulster round him.
He wandered hopelessly about for an hour or two and oddly enough he took
the very same lodgings as Sylvia and Leslie had spent their first night
in London; being in that part of the city and too tired to look for
better apartments.
Towards noon on the following day Johnson encountered a friend, Thomas
Bench by name, and forgetting all about his errand he turned into a
public house close by to enjoy a quiet drink with his friend.
"What are you up here for Jim?" said Thomas Bench.
"Well" said Johnson stirring up his hot whisky and water "its rather a
serious matter, my master's niece has gone and run away with her young
man and I am on the look out for her."
"Aye aye" answered Bench scratching his oily head "what sort of a young
miss is she eh?"
"Well she's a pretty sort of girl with plenty of fair hair and blue eyes
there is no mistaking she belongs to the upper ten my man"
"Oh indeed" replied Bench taking a piece of blue paper from his pocket
"what is the young lady's name?"
"Miss Morton by your leave" roared the butler.
"Well" replied Bench "look here." Johnson snatched the bit of crumpled
paper and read it through. On the paper was written
MISS SYLVIA MONTON.
Homer Villa, Margate.
"Mercy" screamed Johnson "wherever did you find it?"
"Well" replied Thomas Bench "I was walking in Orange Alley where old Nan
lives and outside the door I found this scrap of paper, what do you
think it means old pal?"
"I should say" said Johnson biting his lips "it looks as though it meant
that our young lady had taken up her abode there."
"So should I" said Bench with a broad grin and so saying the two men
walked out arm in arm. Outside they parted and Johnson took the first
train for Margate and whilst waiting at the station a telegram was
brought to him by dirty old Nan.
Tearing it open he found it was from Mayfield saying Mr. Earlsdown was
dying and he was wanted at once.
"Oh lor!" ejaculated the butler making a rush for the ticket office.
Johnson did not arrive at Mayfield till 4.0 o'clock, then he instantly
made his way to Mr. Earlsdown's bedroom.
All the servants in the household were standing round the bed and on it
lay the unconscious figure of Mr. Earlsdown.
"What is it?" cried Johnson pushing his way through the crowd.
"Appoplexy" answered Susan the housemaid holding her apron to her
streaming eyes "the poor dear master was so excited thinking about Miss
Monton and then all of a sudden he received a note telling of the
engagement of Mr. Albert Morris with Miss Saunders and then that sent
him off because he always wanted Mr. Albert to marry Miss Monton, and
when Mary went into the drawing room, there he was in a fit."
Just then the door opened and in walked Doctor Mason. The result of his
visit will be seen later on.
CHAPTER 12
SYLVIA'S RETURN
It was a beautiful morning about 3 or 4 days after our hero and
heroine's arrival at Margate. Leslie was just finishing his coffee and
toast and Sylvia was sitting near the window glancing over the morning
paper.
Suddenly her rosy face turned deadly pale and the paper nearly dropped
from her trembling fingers.
"What is is dearest?" asked Leslie placing his arm around her waist and
kissing her pallid forehead "has anything in the paper shaken your
nerves?"
"Oh Leslie Leslie" shrieked Sylvia falling into his arms "read this and
be satisfied that my nerves _are_ shaken."
Leslie siezed the paper and read as follows:
"Mayfield Sussex. Last Tuesday Mr. Richard George
Earlsdown of Yellowflower Hall was siezed with
appoplexy. On that same day he had prevented his
neice from marrying a certain gentleman of the
neighbourhood and _she_ has run away with her
intended, viz Mr. Leslie Alexander Woodcock.
Mr. Earlsdown is now repenting that his consent
was not given to his heartless niece and that if
she comes back before he dies, married or
unmarried, she will receive his love and
forgiveness for ever; he is now in a dying state
and we fear that unless his niece soon returns he
will decidedly expire."
"Shall you go home" asked Leslie quietly.
"Yes yes" exclaimed Sylvia "Oh Leslie help me to pack, I feel too weak."
The trunks were soon packed and the heart broken couple were on their
way to Mayfield. Arriving at the Hall Sylvia flew up to her uncle's room
and throwing herself on the floor shook the room with ear piercing sobs.
"Who is crying?" presently asked Mr. Earlsdown.
"It is me uncle--your repentant niece."
Mr. Earlsdown gave a contented smile and turned away his head.
Presently he turned round and his eyes fell upon Sylvia's white hand on
the counterpane.
"Mrs. Woodcock I see" he said with a smile looking at the golden wedding
ring on Sylvia's third finger.
"Yes Uncle" said Sylvia in a low tone "But you wont leave me till I am
better will you child" said her uncle.
"Never uncle" said Sylvia "never to your dying day."
CHAPTER 13
HOW IT ENDED
Seven years have elapsed since the events told in our last chapter and
our scene once more changes to the ball room at Asmer House. Leslie and
Sylvia no longer newly married people are sitting by the piano and
opposite to them on the sofa are Isobel Saunders and Albert Woodcock.
Presently Albert advances to the piano and asks Sylvia to sing a song.
"Yes if I can get anyone to play my accompaniment" says Sylvia.
"I only wish I could play" said Albert rubbing his face and looking
with sad eyes at Mrs. Woodcock. Immediately Isobel seated herself at the
piano and ran her fairy like fingers over the notes while Sylvia's
melodious voice kept time to the music; and as the beautiful words of
"See the conquering hero comes" rang out like a peal of thunder, Mr.
Earlsdown come bounding in.
Here the band struck up God save the Queen and everybody stood up in
respectful silence; and as the last notes of the German band died away
Mrs. Woodcock took leave of her friends as we will do of the characters
of this book.
THE END
WHERE LOVE LIES DEEPEST
CHAPTER 1
The silvery moon rises slowly above the mountains of white clouds and
sheds its quiet light upon one of the most beautiful scenes of the
sheltered nooks in the picturesque county of Devonshire. The tall green
hills, so thickly covered with wild thyme rise clear and high against
the blue sky above. The rippling waters of a little streamlet glide
softly upon its way through lovely banks of sweet green moss. Presently
a white cloud envelopes the pale moon and all is darkness!
Only for a moment, the cloud passes away and the bright light pours down
upon two figures. The one the tall slim figure of a young girl, the
other the broad well built figure of a richly dressed man. He wore a
beautifully made blue serge suit and a white tie fastened with a gold
and diamond pin. His felt hat fitted as though it had been made for him
and his light overcoat and kid gloves were like the rest of his toilet
well made and of a rich material. His black hair grew thickly on his
head and his brown eyes glared fiercely, his brown skin was red with
rage and his white teeth were clenched.
The girl on the contrary was poorly dressed and did not seem at home in
the presence of the rich man. She wore a pale grey dress trimmed with
green velvet. It had seen its best days for it was worn in many places.
She wore a straw hat and a white scarf round her neck. She was a lovely
girl!! Her plentiful golden hair was coiled into a knob behind and cut
in a small fringe in front. Her large blue eyes spoke of many mysteries
and were fringed by golden lashes. Her cherry coloured lips were small
and pressed together in her nervous state. Her white teeth were clenched
and she trembled under the viscious glare of her companion.
"I tell you Beatrice you are out of your senses, you must be, there is
no doubt of it, how can you refuse such an offer?" said the man
fiercely.
"Oh Lawrence do listen to me," said the unhappy girl, "it is impossible,
it cannot be. You are very kind, and I always had and always shall have
a very great respect for you, but I cannot marry you, indeed I cannot!
we are no match, I am poor and you are rich. Besides I have a reason for
not accepting you for my husband. Oh Lawrence you make me so unhappy!"
and here the poor girl stopped short, gave a hurried look round and
pressed her hand to her heart.
"Beatrice Langton you are a lunatic" cried the man, "give me an answer
straight out--yes or no. Will you be my wife? Speak out and dont go
jibbering on in that sentimental fashion; say yes and you will live in
luxury and riches for the rest of your life, say no and you go home poor
and degraded. Now give me an answer Yes or No!"
The girl raised her head and spoke thus--"Lawrence I am very sorry to
say it but my answer is No! Goodbye Mr. Cathcart, goodbye Lawrence,
perhaps we shall never meet again. What? you will not even shake hands!
Very well, goodnight Lawrence, goodnight."
She turned and went away leaving him in the darkness.
CHAPTER 2
BEATRICE LANGTON'S HOME
When Beatrice went away she made straight for her home for it was close
on nine and her mother would be anxious. Her heart was heavy and her
eyelids were wet with fast falling tears as she made her way accross the
desolate moor. Presently she came to the stream and after crossing the
bridge she made for the common. On the outskirts of the village stood
her home. A little brown cottage with carefully trimmed roses and
jasmine creeping up the porch and a neat little garden in front. She
opened the gate, walked up the path and opened the door.
What a pleasant scene was there before her! A bright fire was burning in
the well kept hearth and an old lady sat beside it knitting stockings
for the coming winter. Many pictures adorned the walls. A gentleman was
writing at a table in the window. Three little girls all in red frocks
and white pinnafores were employed in different ways. The eldest was
some ten years old with curly hair and blue eyes and was busy with some
corn-flowers and poppies in a glass vase. The other two who looked about
eight and six had brown eyes and very fair hair (and) were looking at a
book at the middle table. They all jumped up as Beatrice entered.
"Why Beatrice dear how late you are!" said Mrs. Langton "I sent your
supper down. "Mary, ring the bell, Beatrice must be hungry."
"No I am not," answered Beatrice smiling wearily and seating herself in
the chair her sister had placed for her, "I am only very tired and would
like to go to bed."
"Oh you must have something," said Mr. Langton, "Cook made some lovely
cheese cakes for supper, and you shall have some wine to drink."
Just then the maid entered, and in spite of herself Beatrice was soon
enjoying a hearty meal.
"Oh there is half past nine!" cried Mrs. Langton, "Lily and Tina go to
bed at once, Mary can wait up for Beatrice if she likes."
The two little children ran off hand in hand murmering "lucky Mary."
CHAPTER 3
It was eight o'clock next morning when Beatrice opened her weary eyes
and look round her little room. She jumped up immediately and ran down
to breakfast.
Her father had just gone off to his farming, but her mother was sitting
in her accustomed place by the fireside reading a letter which was
evidently causing her some anxiety.
"Well Mother" cried Beatrice, "what is the matter?"
"Well dear" replied Mrs. Langton, sipping her tea as she spoke, "I have
had a letter from Mrs. Vindsor who went abroad last year, and she wants
you to go and spend the winter with her in Paris. I would like you to go
dear, but you are my eldest child and you are by no means strong."
"Oh Mother do let me go, I should enjoy it, and you know I am much
stronger since I took to eating Mother Segul's Syrup."
"I know my love" said Mrs. Langton, "I will speak to your father about
it, and in the meantime pour me out another cup of tea please."
Beatrice caught hold of the teapot smiling happily as she did so; her
father was not the man to say no, and what he said her mother seldom
differed from; so she cut her bread and carved her bacon singing a merry
song through it all. After breakfast Beatrice dusted the room, got the
children ready for school, and then adjusting a straw hat upon her
golden tresses she prepared herself for a saunter through the beautiful
fields fresh with the smell of new mown hay and Alderny cows. She
gathered flowers as she went and though she felt bright and happy by the
news the post had brought there was a sore corner in her heart--she had
quarrelled with Lawrence Cathcart, and there was not a man in Senbury
Glen who did not know his temper! As she strolled along she caught sight
of Mr. Langton who was discussing the subject of Welsh sheep with a
tradesman. He saw Beatrice and walked towards her.
"Well Bia," he cried, "looking at my cows? aren't they lovely?"
"Beautiful Father," cried Beatrice, "but do you know Mrs. Vindsor wants
me to go to Paris and spend the winter with her family, and may I go?"
"Yes certainly," said Mr. Langton, "and I suppose that means you would
like a pound or two to buy dresses and hats?"
Beatrice bit her lip and smiled, "I suppose so father," she said gazing
placidly at her worn elbows.
"Very well," said her father, "I will give you L10, I should advice a
blue serge dress and a yellow hat."
"Oh no father!" shrieked Beatrice, "I will get a green dress and a hat
trimmed with roses."
"Very well," said Mr Langton kicking the hay with his feet "do as you
please my dear, by the bye when are you expected in Paris?"
"Tomorrow week father," said Beatrice, "at least so Mother says."
Mr Langton whistled and then turning to his daughter he said, "I tell
you what Bia, you had better call at the dressmaker on your way home, I
hate a bustle at the last moment." so saying Mr Langton gave his
daughter L10 in ready gold! Beatrice took them home and put them in her
purse till the afternoon when she paid a long visit to the dressmaker.
She invested in a lovely green silk dress trimmed with a delicate shade
of rose pink, and the dainty little hat was of the same picturesque
colours. She likewise bought a costly diamond brooch and two silver
bangles to make up the L10.
On coming out of the shop she turned on to the moors for a last walk
before going to Paris, for there would be plenty to do at home such as
darning stockings, mending clothes, etc: She called for Nelly Reeves (a
friend of hers); it would be a good chance to outdo her thought
Beatrice, for Nelly had been to Italy the year before and did nothing
but boast of it all day. So the two girls arm in arm started for the
moors. Nelly Reeves was a tall good looking girl, slightly pretty, but
with none of the wistful beauty about her that was so clearly stamped on
all Beatrice Langton's features. She had black hair and what she
considered beautiful eyes, though they really were small and vacant in
their perpetual stare.
"Well I hope you will enjoy yourself" she remarked briskly when Beatrice
told her of the invitation to Paris.
"I am sure I shall," said Beatrice, gently feeling her hair behind,
"only think of the delights of it! The Vindsors live in a Chateau you
know!"
"Yes, I suppose it will be jolly for you," said Nelly "who are the
Vindsors?"
"Oh dont you remember Clara Vindsor?" said Beatrice, "she was so very
pretty and polite in her ways."
"I recollect her," said Nelly gazing on the far away blue hills, "oh
Beatrice how lovely that view is!"
"Yes," said Beatrice sadly, "I came up here last night for a walk."
"Alone?" asked Nelly.
Beatrice wished she had not spoken then, but being frank and
straightforward she replied "no I was not alone."
"Who with?" enquired Nelly.
"Never mind," retorted Beatrice.
"Oh Beatrice do tell me" coaxed Nelly, I'll not tell a soul."
"I dont care if you do," said Beatrice coldly.
"Well let me see if I can guess" said Nelly artfully "was it Mr
Cathcart?"
"What makes you guess him?" asked Beatrice angrily.
"Why because he has been paying attentions to you lately, and I thought
he might have come up here to propose" said Nelly.
"You have most silly ideas!" retorted Beatrice, "if you dont leave off
please to go home, what if he did propose?"
"Oh nothing at all," replied Nelly, "if you are so disagreeable I _will_
go home," so saying Miss Reeves tucked up her dress and walked home.
"Life is hard!" sighed Beatrice, "nothing seems to go right, first I
quarrel with Lawrence and then with Nelly--why what is that?" she cried
as she caught sight of something gold glittering in the pathway.
She stooped to pick it up; it was a gentleman's gold link, beautifully
carved and engraved with the initials L. C.
"L. C." repeated Beatrice handling the link pensively "why they are his
initials, can it be his I wonder? why yes" she continued, "here is the
name Lawrence Cathcart; His Links! yes they are his, I will keep them
and I may some day have occasion to return them to him," so saying she
put the articles in her leather purse and turned towards home.
In some unaccountable way Beatrice turned into the High Street and had
to pass Lawrence Cathcart's house, a splendid white stone building
standing apart from the other houses in a beautiful garden of well
tended blooms.
"What riches!" sighed Beatrice pausing at the iron gates, and as her
blue eyes searched the lovely grounds her glance fell upon Lawrence
Cathcart. He was standing under a tree with an open book in his hands.
He wore a light fawn suit and his black curly hair was exposed to the
Autumn sun; and as Beatrice gazed on this good looking young man she
wondered why she had not noticed before how exquisitely curly his hair
and moustache was, how fine his nose and eyes, and how beautifully his
mouth was curved.
But she did not talk to him or try to attract his attention, and sad and
disheartened she walked home.
CHAPTER 4
Tea was ready when Beatrice returned home and she drew in her chair and
clustered round the table.
"Well, what is your dress like?" asked Mrs Langton as she passed the
butter to her husband.
"Oh it is lovely Mother" answered Beatrice, "and oh Father" she
continued, "I bought some jewellry too!"
"Jewellry" cried Mr. Langton stirring his tea very hard, "with my
money?"
"Well yes father," sighed Beatrice, "I hope you are not angry?"
"What did you buy" enquired Mr Langton.
"Two bracelets and a brooch" said Beatrice sadly.
Mr. Langton coughed and helped himself to some strawberry jam.
"I have been very busy putting some embroidery on your white petticoat
all the afternoon," said Mrs Langton trying to change the subject, "you
know I had a telegram to say you are expected on Thursday instead of
next week."
"Oh Mother" said Beatrice, "I must begin to pack at once!" so saying she
flew up to her bedroom, and ten minutes later the floor was littered
with as many articles of clothing as you could wish to see, and when Mrs
Langton came up after tea she found her daughter seated on the bed amid
stockings of every shade, curling some crimson feathers.
"My dear Beatrice!" cried that good lady in astonishment, "what are you
doing?"
"Well I was trying to pack mother" answered Beatrice calmly.
"I see" said Mrs Langton folding up a blue skirt as she spoke, "if you
will allow me to help you I think you will manage better."
"Very well," replied Beatrice, "there are the trunks."
"Yes I see them" said Mrs Langton, "I think your new dress and hat had
better go in the basket trunk dont you?"
"Perhaps so" said Beatrice gathering the stockings off the bed, "Oh
mother, to think that the day after tomorrow I shall be going to Paris!"
"Yes indeed dear" replied Mrs Langton glancing round the littered room,
"you have plenty of work to do, just darn these stockings will you,
while I collect your hats."
Beatrice threaded her needle and once she was seated in the big
arm-chair, her busy tongue began to go.
"What time do you suppose I shall arrive at Paris mother?" was the first
question.
"Let me see, the boat starts from Newhaven at 11 in the morning," said
Mrs Langton slowly, "I think you get to Paris about ten in the evening
though I wont be sure."
"How nice!" said Beatrice, "is the Vindsor's house very grand?"
"I believe so" replied her mother "at least they keep fifty servants and
nearly everything is either gold or silver!"
"Gracious!" exclaimed Beatrice.
"Yes," said Mrs Langton, "now Beatrice bring that darning downstairs, we
must finish packing tomorrow, I will mend that skirt for you," and so
saying Mrs Langton left the room.
CHAPTER 5
At last the eventful day came and found Beatrice up at six o'clock,
putting the last articles in her hand bag. By eight o'clock she was at
the station taking the last farewells.
The little ones crowded round her, giving her chocolate and various
sweets to eat on the way. Mrs Langton sobbed copiously, and Mr Langton
as he kissed his daughter pressed a sovereign into her hand. But at last
the guard waved his flag, the porters slammed the doors, and Beatrice
found herself spinning away through fields of every shade, fast leaving
Senbury Glen behind and approaching Newhaven Harbour. Beatrice gave a
little sigh half of joy and half of fear, and then subsided into her
novel and refreshments till the train stopped and she found herself in
the aforesaid harbour. There were a great many passengers going by the
Dieppe boat, and Beatrice had some difficulty to declare her luggage and
smuggle the packet of coffee her thoughtful mother had put in the sponge
bag. But at last she got on the boat and once she was seated in her deck
chair gazing on the rough sea, she could not help shedding a few tears
as she thought of the little brown cottage standing alone on the
outskirts of Senbury Glen. But she soon cheered up and asked the
stewardess to show her to her cabin. The woman obeyed and walked along
the deck till she came to a battered looking door, which she opened
saying--"Here is your cabin miss, your berth is number 10 and you will
find some water to wash in."
Beatrice thanked her and entered the room. A woman five children and a
nurse were seated round the room. The nurse had two small babies on her
knee which she was trying to hush to sleep in vain. The mother was
attempting to comb the hair of a very frantic little boy and scolding
two girls who would insist on unfastening all the trunks and scattering
the contents on the floor. Beatrice took no notice of the noisy party,
but went to her corner of the cabin and did her hair and washed her face
in some hard salt water. The stewardess then brought her some tea and a
bit of cake and Beatrice took the opportunity to ask her if she was to
share the same cabin as the children and their elders.
"Well," whispered the stewardess, "I'm sorry to say you must, but I
expect they will go on deck soon and then you will be alright miss."
Beatrice smiled and tried to read her book amidst the deafening roars of
the babies. But in a little while the nurse marched them all up on deck,
and the mother soon followed with one fat baby and a basket of
refreshments in her arms. Then there was peace and Beatrice quite
enjoyed her little dinner of ham sandwiches and a cold custard. But
about 2 o'clock she began to feel drowsy and enjoyed a pleasant sleep,
and at the end of half an hour was surprised to find she was in Dieppe.
She gathered her luggage together and a good natured sailor helped her
off the steamer. She again declared her luggage and went to the station
where she awaited the arrival of the train to Paris. At last it came up,
and Beatrice found a comfortable carriage well padded with cushions and
rugs, and a fat sulky looking girl in one corner who was busily engaged
sucking lemons and studying Bradshaw.
CHAPTER 6
It was close on ten when the train stopped at Paris, and Beatrice and
the fat girl alighted to the platform.
"Do you reside here?" asked the girl in broken English.
"I am here on a visit," replied Beatrice.
"I see; is it not cold mademoiselle?" said this friendly girl.
"Very," answered Beatrice buttoning the collar of her coat.
"Yes very," continued the girl, "ah Mademoiselle you have no wraps; take
my shawl," and without another word the girl pulled off her shawl and
flung it round the shoulders of the astonished Beatrice, and then
disappeared into the refreshment room from which she did not reappear
again in a hurry. Beatrice was too astonished to speak and hardly liked
the coarse woollen shawl which had been so hospitably flung on to her
shoulders.
Just as she had with some difficulty found her luggage a very grand
footman dressed in green plush came up, and touching his hat said "Pour
le Chateau?"
Beatrice said "Oui" in a very vague manner, and soon found herself
rumbling along the streets of Paris in a very comfortable carriage with
her luggage piled round her in a kind of pyramid and the friendly girl's
shawl still clinging to her shoulders.
Soon the vehicle reduced speed and all at once Beatrice found herself at
the great entrance porch of "Le Chateau!"
The footman rang the bell and then went away leaving Beatrice in a
transport of fear and joy on the steps. Soon the door was opened by a
very fat butler with powdered hair and a green plush uniform.
"What can I do for you?" he asked with the air of a king.
"Oh please I have come to stay" said Beatrice nervously.
"Step inside," said the courtly butler.
Beatrice did as she was bid and found herself in a most magnificent hall
hung with rich velvet curtains and paved with Turkish carpets, and
supported by gold and silver pillars.
"What name?" enquired the butler.
"Miss Langton," said Beatrice.
The butler then lead her along costly corridoors and majestic looking
passages and at last stopped at a door which he flung open and called in
a powerful voice "Miss Langton!"
A murmur arose at this announcement and in less than a minute Beatrice
was in Mrs. Vindsor's arms being hugged to death almost. "My dear
Beatrice!" she gasped when her kisses were exhausted "how pleased I am
to see you! the steak has just gone down to be kept hot, come and see
Clara."
These comforting words soothed Beatrice, and then Clara came forward to
greet her friend.
Clara was a slight thin girl about 19 with very fair hair and blue eyes,
she wore a blue satin dress trimmed with real Brussels lace in keeping
with Le Chateau, and a spray of blue flowers in her hair.
"My sisters will be down in one minute" she said kindly "their maids
are doing their hairs."
"Oh I see," said Beatrice rapidly taking off her gloves and displaying
with some pride her white smooth hands.
"I suppose you are very tired," said Mrs. Vindsor giving the fire a poke
with the toe of her shoe.
"Yes I am," said Beatrice "it was very rough crossing."
Just then the door opened and two girls entered about 22 and 24 in age.
The eldest was by no means beautiful but she was intensely good. She had
small black eyes and black hair which she wore in a most peculiar
manner, it was cut in a fringe in front and gathered into a huge knob
behind all except one piece which hung down her back and on the end of
which a single red rose was attached. She was attired in yellow silk and
was by no means courteous to Beatrice, her name was Honoria.
The other girl was the most beautiful of the three. She had lovely brown
hair and soft blue eyes fringed by sweet long lashes. Her nose and mouth
were enough to attract an artist towards her; she was dressed in a
lovely pink silk dress and her knob was arrayed by a pink feather. Her
name was Margaret and she was known through all Paris as the "sweet
young lady with the pathetic blue eyes!" and on the 20th of August (her
birthday) not a single person omitted to give her a present. Beatrice
thought her lovely and kissed her on both cheeks with hearty good cheer.
And so ended Beatrice's first night at Le Chateau.
CHAPTER 7
The next morning Beatrice had a slight headache and did not rise till
the breakfast gong sounded through the walls of the great castle.
Just as she was ready her bedroom was opened and Margaret appeared.
"Oh Beatrice," she cried, "isn't it a lovely morning? Mama has just had
a note asking us all to Mrs. Middle's garden party this afternoon, there
will be a lot of English people there just arrived like yourself."
"Yes very nice," said Beatrice and the two went down to breakfast
together.
Mrs. Vindsor and Honoria were already seated at the table enjoying the
fragrant meal, but Clara had not yet come down.
"How late you are Margaret" protested Mrs. Vindsor.
"I am sorry Mother" said Margaret cracking her egg.
"So I should hope" said Honoria shaking her head so that the rose at the
end of her tail swayed to and fro also.
After the meal was over Clara proposed to take Beatrice for a walk in
the gay town as Margaret was going to trim a hat for Mrs. Middle's
garden party, and Honoria always did the housekeeping.
Beatrice was delighted at the offer and soon joined Clara in the
spacious hall.
"We must go this way" said Clara "as I have to go the Bank for Mother."
"Oh alright" said Beatrice taking Clara's arm.
Then followed a little conversation about nothing in particular, and by
the time they reached the Bank Beatrice had quite decided that though
Clara was very pleasant and cheery she was not as nice as Margaret who
was kindness itself to the strange English girl.
"Would you like to walk up and down while I go into the Bank?" asked
Clara.
"Yes please," said Beatrice who by no means appreciated Banks, and so
saying she left Clara in the office and walked along the gay street. She
seemed very strange as she walked through the strange streets and was so
taken with the fancy shops that she forgot all about Clara in the bank.
"Dear me! what lovely gloves" she said as she stopped outside a large
drapers shop "we dont have such things in England!"
Just then somebody passed behind her and in so doing brushed against her
dress. Beatrice at once looked round and there walking quietly in front
as though nothing had happened was a man!
Beatrice looked in amazement at the gentleman calmly receding up the
road, and as she looked the form seemed to grow familiar in front of her
eyes. Surely she had seen that navy blue suit before, that brown hat and
those boots! Yes! the very walk was familiar to her. She knew that black
curly hair and that well formed back again!--it was Lawrence Cathcart!
Beatrice gave a low cry and covered her face with her hands.
The man looked round and his eyes fell upon the figure of the unhappy
Beatrice. He evidently recognized her for with a little hesitation he
advanced towards her and taking her arm said not unkindly--"Come with
me."
"I can't" groaned Beatrice.
"You must," said Lawrence.
Beatrice could do no more but slowly and sadly she followed her enemy.
Many thoughts flashed through her mind during that walk, thoughts that
Beatrice will never forget.
At last Lawrence stopped at an Inn door and he mounted the steps and
walked in. Beatrice followed in silence.
Presently Lawrence opened a door and the two went into a small but
pretty bedroom.
"Now," said Lawrence, turning the key in the door and looking kindly at
Beatrice, "have you changed your mind since we last met?"
The tears welled into Beatrice's blue eyes and rolled down her now
death-like cheeks. "Lawrence," she sobbed at length, "I wish I could say
I had, I almost love you Lawrence but I cannot marry you."
"Very well" answered Lawrence drawing his lips tightly together, "I see
my journey to France has been made in vain; I may add," he continued
"that I came here purposely to encounter you but all in vain! You have
no real reason for not wishing to become my wife--it is not possible;
but I will now flee from you and perhaps when I am laid upon my bed for
the last time and Death has siezed me in its jaws you will repent of
your past wrongs!!"
"Oh Lawrence!" Beatrice almost screamed in her agony "just one word
before you go!"
"Not one," replied Lawrence, and with these words upon his lips he left
the unhappy Beatrice in a swoon upon his floor.
Beatrice had given one hoarse scream as she fell to the floor, and it
brought a couple of waiters to the room.
"What is it?" asked one.
"A young lady has fainted" said the other "run for the doctor quick."
The next instant there was a regular crowd round Beatrice all intensely
interested, and in less time than it takes to tell old Doctor Holden was
bending over Beatrice's white rigid face.
"She has had some shock I fear" said he feeling the thin white hand "can
anyone in the crowd tell me where this lady lives?"
There was no sound of a reply for the first few seconds and then came a
faint "yes" from the back of the throng.
"Come forward" cried the doctor. A rustling and a murmering of voices
ensued and then the figure of a young girl rushed forward. It was
Margaret Vindsor who had come out in search of Clara and fearing her to
be lost had set out to find her.
"Now" said Dr. Holden giving Margaret a chair, "are you any relation to
this young lady, and where does she live?"
"Oh Dr. Holden!" cried Margaret "she is a friend of ours and is on a
visit to us--oh what shall I do? Oh poor Beatrice!!"
"Why Miss Vindsor is it you?" Asked Dr. Holden in surprise "Waiter run
for a cab, we must take these ladies back to Le Chateau."
It was not long before the cab stopped at the Inn door and Dr. Holden
assisted by two waiters lifted Beatrice into the cab and laid her
gingerly on the seat, while Margaret speedily followed, and then the
doctor himself jumped in and the downcast party drove back to Le
Chateau.
CHAPTER 8
Mrs. Vindsor together with Honoria and Clara were waiting breathlessly
in the hall when the cab drove up. Honoria flew to the door and the
minute she caught sight of the unconscious Beatrice and her sister's
pale face she gave a loud scream and tore rapidly to her bedroom.
Beatrice was carried to her bedroom at once and the doctor soon left
after leaving his directions.
Margaret was in a great state of anxiety, but possessing more self
control than the rest of the family she was appointed nurse. Beatrice
with the aid of salts and mustard plasters soon came to herself, but
Lawrence Cathcart had done his work--rheumatic fever set in and for many
days Beatrice hung between life and death. Mr. and Mrs. Langton were
sent for and duly arrived but to no one would Beatrice confide the
mystery of her illness. The more she thought of it the more ill she
became and Honoria prayed a good deal. By the time she was able to get
up her mind was made up. She would look for Lawrence Cathcart, ask his
pardon and become his wife. Life offered naught else.
CHAPTER 9
Ten years have passed since the events recorded in my last chapter took
place, and Beatrice now a woman of 28, is fair and blooming as ever but
with an anxious care-worn expression round her face. She no longer lives
in the pretty cottage in Senbury Glen for Mr. Langton has lost a great
deal of money farming, and he and his family have changed their quarters
and live in a dingy little house in a London back street. It would take
too long to relate all that has happened in the last years, so I will
describe the events as briefly as possible. To begin with little Tina
who was always a delicate child has died within the last four years and
rests in the churchyard at Senbury Glen. Mary and Lily have had to leave
school early and Mary, a girl of twenty is taking lessons in painting
while Lily stays at home.
One thing I must not omit to mention is that Beatrice is still on the
look out for Lawrence Cathcart but fears she will never find him.
One Spring morning Beatrice comes down to breakfast and finds Mrs.
Langton busy with some papers.
"Well mother" she says sadly for her merry tone has completely deserted
her, "have you heard of anything I can do to earn my living?"
"Yes dear I think so" replies Mrs. Langton glancing nervously at the
manuscript in her hand, "you were always fond of nursing were you not
Beatrice?"
"Yes mother, ever since I had that illness" answeres Beatrice "it was
poor Margaret Vindsor who put the idea in my head."
"Poor Margaret" says Mrs. Langton, for Margaret may be numbered among
the dead.
"Well mother what about me?" asks Beatrice presently.
"Oh I was forgetting" answers Mrs. Langton "I have heard from Captain
Harsh and he says if I care to let you go to India he has a capital
place for you as a military hospital nurse."
"To attend to the soldiers wounded in battle?" asks Beatrice.
"Yes dear" replies Mrs. Langton, "I will read you the letter--"Madam;
Hearing of your daughter's wish to become a hospital nurse, I beg to
offer my services. If you do not object to soldiers I have a lovely
place out here in India where her only work will be to attend to the
soldiers in their bungalows either in the night or day as her turn comes
round. She will live with the other nurses in a comfortable house not
far from the battle field. She will be expected to bring her own
clothes, cups, plates and knives etc: She must be cheerful and kind and
must make herself obliging to the soldiers. I will expect her by the
next mail.
Believe me, Madam,
Yours very sincerely,
GEORGE HARSH (Captain of the 109th
Regiment.)
"That sounds very nice mother" answers Beatrice "I think I will go."
"What about the character you are expected to have?" says Mrs. Langton
artfully.
"I think I am both cheerful and kind" says Beatrice hotly "and as to
being obliging to the soldiers, anybody could do that."
"Perhaps so," smiles Mrs. Langton, "then I will write to Captain Harsh
and say you will go by the next mail."
For many days after this Beatrice is busy preparing for the voyage. And
at last the eventful day arrives and Beatrice clad for the first time in
her nurse's costume steps on board the Victory which is to take her to
the wonderful city of Calcutta.
"Poor Mr. Langton gets quite frantic as he waves his red pocket
handkerchief wildly to his beloved daughter for the last time, and Mrs.
Langton faints on the pier and has to be carried away, which sets the
helpless Beatrice sobbing as though her heart would break and she shouts
messages till she is hoarse and then sheds many tears which continue on
and off till she reaches Calcutta, when the sight of two pleasant nurses
dressed like herself, quite cheers her up.
She advances bashfully towards them and says in meek submissive tones
"if you please are you military hospital nurses?"
"We are," replies the tallest of the two "our names are Nurse Elsie and
Nurse Brandon; of course there is no need to say that I am Nurse
Brandon."
"Of course not" say Beatrice.
"And you are Nurse Mildred I presume" asks Nurse Brandon, gently nudging
Nurse Elsie to join in the conversation.
"No my name is Beatrice Langton" replies Beatrice.
"I know" says Nurse Brandon, "but you will be known as Nurse Mildred in
the wards."
"Oh I see" answers Beatrice glancing at Nurse Elsie whom she thinks she
will like better than the former.
"And now" says Nurse Brandon "we will take you to the Residency; Nurse
Elsie kindly lead the way."
The nurse does as she is told and the three walk on together. At last
they reach a large building of yellow brick with a placcard on the door
on which is engraved "Nurses' Residence." Nurse Elsie opens the door and
leads the way to a large airy room in which some dozen nurses are having
tea.
"This is Nurse Mildred," announces Nurse Brandon in loud tones, and then
seating herself at the table she continues "Nurse Mildred you will sit
next Nurse Helen tonight."
Beatrice gazes vaguely round the room wondering which is Nurse Helen,
when suddenly a pretty nurse with chestnut hair and blue eyes jumps up
and announces that she is Nurse Helen and takes Beatrice to her place.
The tea is good and there is plenty of it, and together with thick bread
and butter and coffee if preferred to tea, Beatrice thinks it is not a
bad meal. After tea Nurse Brandon shows Beatrice to her room and tells
her she need not begin work till to-morrow.
CHAPTER 10
The time speeds rapidly on and Beatrice is now counted as quite an old
nurse. She finds her work in the bungalows very pleasant and the
soldiers find her most obliging. She works hard and is never tempted to
grumble.
One day just as she is settling down to write after tea, after a hard
day's work, Nurse Helen looks in at the door. "Nurse Mildred," she
exclaims "you are to go at once to Bungalow number 5; a wounded soldier
has just been taken there and is very ill I fear."
Beatrice jumps up and putting on her bonnet walks quickly to the 5th
bungalow. It is a little white one on the outskirts of the jungle and
close to the battle field, and in it there is a bed, two chairs, a jug,
basin and table. Beatrice takes hold of a small cup and measures some
ointment into it, and then taking a sponge bathes the man's wounds. He
is a very thin man with long slender hands and black hair and eyes, and
at a first glance Beatrice sees that he is on the point of death. She
does all she can for him and then at his wish reads some Holy Scriptures
to him. Then seeing his eyes droop she goes to the other end of the
bungalow and waits.
Presently she hears a weak voice say "Beatrice!"
She starts, it is a long time since that name has fallen on her ears.
"Beatrice, dont you know me?" says the voice once more.
In a minute Beatrice is at his side clasping his hand in hers. "Oh
Lawrence, Lawrence!" she cries.
Then there is silence. "Lawrence can you ever forgive me?" moans
Beatrice at last.
"Forgive you my darling? It is the one thing I have lived for" says
Lawrence.
"Accept me as your lawful wife," cries Beatrice bending over him.
"Yes darling, yes," says Lawrence faintly. He then tells her in a few
words how in despair he had given up everything and gone into the Army
and lived only long enough to forgive Beatrice, for that day he had
received his death wound in a sharp battle with the enemy.
"And now," he adds, "I shall die happy, and will you remember in after
years (for I shall not live to) how here it was our hearts were
re-united--once more joined together, here it was I accepted you for my
wife, and here it is therefore that Love lies Deepest!"
"Oh my dear!" groans Beatrice heavily, "Lawrence, here is what I was
going to have given you at the French Inn," and she presses a pair of
gold links into his dying hand.
He smiles back at her and says "keep them darling as a remembrance of
me."
Beatrice's only answer is a wild kiss, the last Lawrence will ever
receive, the memory of which follows him to Eternity, the next minute he
falls back with a groan.
Beatrice stands for a rigid moment and then falls prone beside the bed.
And there is only one in all this wide world who knows for certain if
Lawrence Cathcart died a happy death.
THE END
THE HANGMAN'S DAUGHTER
PART I
CHAPTER 1
PROLOGUE
John Winston had entered into manhood with every prospect of a bright
and brilliant future.
His parents had died leaving him a nice little legacy and a great deal
of land for farming But with all this good fortune, things did not seem
to go right with him.
To begin with, he was idle and did not care for farming, so he let land
waste away till it was good for nothing, and was forced to sell it. He
then encountered a severe loss of money, and by degrees sank lower and
lower in the world till he at last found himself a penniless man with
barely enough to keep a roof over his head.
His only resourse then was marriage. There were plenty of rich girls
about whose parents would be glad to find a suitable husband for them.
John Winston was suitable enough, for he was good looking, witty, and
had a certain amount of good sense; but his kind heart would not allow
him to fall in love with these girls merely on account of their riches,
so had to look out for someone he really loved.
During these explorations he met Helen Carline, a young girl, poor, and
with no relations in the world. She was wondrously pretty with a
profusion of fluffy golden hair and sad blue eyes which spoke all their
thoughts.
Of course John Winston fell in love with her at once and proposed
accordingly. After a little hesitation she accepted and John Winston's
joy was beautiful to witness.
The married couple took a little cottage on the outskirts of the Malvern
Hills and engaged one servant Jane Marshland, by name, about whom we
shall hear more later on.
In the spring of the following year a little girl was born as a crowning
joy to the young husband and wife.
But three months afterwards Mrs. Winston died of fever, which she caught
when visiting a gipsy encampment near her home. So at an early age,
little Helen, (for that was the child's name) was left without a mother,
but she lacked no love or tenderness, for Mr. Winston's only care was
for his beloved child, and Jane Marshland now the nurse, did every thing
she could for the child's health and comfort.
Mr. Winston had to give up his dear little home, and retire with Jane
and his baby to lodgings in London till he heard of some employment.
At last he found something not very satisfactory, but as nothing else
offered he decided to take it. It was to perform the office of hangman
in a small country town in Hants by the name of Kenalham.
It was not a nice position to be in certainly, and Mr. Winston's nerves
were not strong, but the payment was good, and after all only about two
people were hung a year at Kenalham.
So with a sinking heart Mr. Winston packed up his goods and departed
with his child and servant to the little cottage in Kenalham, already
furnished for him. It was a nice little house and Mr. Winston smiled as
he entered the drawing room, "after all" he said to Jane, "so few people
are hung here that nearly all my time will be devoted to my darling
Helen," and he kissed the rosy face of the child.
So, now having explained the position of my story I will skip over a few
years and go on again at the time when Helen had grown up into a
charming sweet mannered girl.
CHAPTER 2
THE COTTAGE BY THE HILL
The little village of Kenalham was situated in the south of Hants and
lay at the bottom of some picturesquely grouped hills.
No river watered the little town, but a broad stream wound through the
neighbouring medows giving a rich green shade to the grass on its banks;
the high green hills stood out clear and tall against the blue sky, and
the ruins of an old castle on the top of one of the heights gave a
strange weird appearance. To add to the strangeness of this little
scene, at the bottom of the very hill on which the ruins stood was a
villa of the modern kind nestling amidst a woody dell of beach trees.
This was no other than the residence of Mr. John Winston and his
daughter Helen, and it went by the name of "Beach Dale."
It was a charming little house and had the preveleage of possessing a
beautiful view both back and front. The front looked out across miles of
woodland scenery with no sign of human inhabetance any where safe a
single cottage which stood out like a white speck among the greenness
which surrounded it.
The back looked out on the lovely blue hills, and far away in the
distant loomed the white cliffs of Portsmouth.
Having now given the reader a correct idea of the surroundings of "Beach
Dale" I will endevour to describe Helen Winston.
At the time my story opens, our heroine was a charming young lady of
nineteen years. She had an abundance of dark brown, almost black hair,
curling gracefully over her forehead. Her beautiful brown eyes were
headed by well marked eye brows of a lovely black; her complexion was
like that of a blush rose and her pretty little nose and mouth added to
the charm of her features.
Here character I will leave to be found out and only say that she was
passionately fond of her father and devoted all her life solely to him.
Trouble and care had made Mr. Winston look old before his time. He was
only 54, yet his hair and beard were completely grey. He had a kind
quiet face and blue eyes, he had a rather wide mouth with a nervous
twitch at each corner. He fully returned his daughter's love and
considering he had taught her entirely himself she was comparatively
cleaver girl.
CHAPTER 3
THE SECRET SAFE
During all the years Mr. Winston had lived in Kenalham he had only made
one friend a Mr. Cyril Sheen. He was thirty years of age and a bachelor.
He too had no friends in the village but Mr. Winston, so he was
constantly at "Beach Dale." He was very fond of Helen and had often
attempted to make love to her, but she was so completely innocent of his
intentions that he felt quite bashful and dare not begin.
One morning, early in May, Mr. Winston and his daughter were just
finishing their breakfast when Marshland came in with a letter which she
handed to her master.
"A letter?" said Mr. Winston opening his eyes, "who can it be from?"
"Business, father I'm sure" replied Helen with a smile.
"I think not" said Mr. Winston wisely and he proceeded to tear open the
envelope and persue its contents.
As he read the letter his face became first thoughtful, then puzzled and
then it broke into a smile and lastly Mr. Winston burst into a fit of
laughter and took a sip of his untasted tea. He then turned to his
daughter for the first time.
"Do you know who this is from, Helen?" he said.
"No father I don't" answered Helen.
"Perhaps it will need a little explanation" replied Mr. Winston. "You
have heard me speak of your cousins the Lincarrols haven't you?"
"Oh yes I know" said Helen "they are very rich aren't they?"
"Yes" said Mr. Winston slowly, "very."
"Well father what about them?" said Helen.
"Did I ever mention Gladys to you," enquired Mr. Winston.
"Oh yes" said Helen, "she is the pretty one isn't she?"
"Yes she is quite the "flower of the flock" I belive" replied Mr.
Winston; "the others are decidedly plain."
"Well what about Gladys?" enquired Helen.
"Well she is going to be married shortly, and so she proposes coming
here next week for a little while and bring her future husband with her.
What do you say to that?" asked Mr. Winston.
Helen's pretty face was beaming with novelty and pleasure.
"How lovely father" she gasped; I do hope she will be nice."
"What about a bedroom for her?" said Mr. Winston.
"Oh! there's the little attic in the loft" replied Helen. "I'm sure that
is good enough."
"What about the furniture for it? at present it is completely bare and
full of cobwebs," said Mr. Winston.
"I forgot about that," said Helen. "Well she can Have the best bedroom."
"Yes" said Mr. Winston "but where is the young man to go?"
"What young man?" said Helen.
"James Palsey" said Mr. Winston referring to the letter in his hand.
Helen's face fell and her eyes filled with tears. "I'm afraid father"
she said "we shall have to refuse them, for if the attic has to be used
I certainly have no money to furnish it with and I know you have not."
"Don't make too sure my lass" said her father, "wait a little."
He got up as he spoke and taking a small key from his pocket went
towards the left hand corner of the mantlepiece.
"Come closer Helen, come closer," he said keeping his eyes on his
daughter.
Helen followed her father closely, her eyes with a startled expression
in them and her lips quivering with emotion. Mr. Winston lifted a
portion of the red velvit curtain which screaned the fire place, and
then to Helen said:
"Do you notice anything peculiar about this part of the wall, my
child."
"No father, except that there is a little hole just in the middle,"
replied Helen.
"Ah! you notice that?" said Mr. Winston.
"Yes" said Helen under her breath.
"Now watch me" said Mr. Winston.
Helen needed no second bidding; her eyes seemed riveted to the little
hole.
Mr. Winston placed the key into the hole and turned it twice round.
Immeadiately a little spring door flew open displaying two well
constructed shelves of solid oak.
"This is my secret safe," said Mr. Winston, "known to no one but
myself."
"Father!" cried Helen catching hold of his arm.
"Don't get excited, Helen" said her father. "I am going to disclose all
the secrets of this safe to you. Do you perceive that the top shelf is
faced in by a thin wire gauze with a handle to the left hand side?"
"Yes father" replied Helen.
"Well, nobody can get at the contents of that shelf without my knowing
it."
"Why father?" asked Helen.
"Because there are two ways of opening it. Try to open it yourself and
then I will explain it to you" said Mr. Winston.
Helen with nervous fingers took hold of the handle and turned it; the
gauze door flew open and at the same time a bell began to ring loud and
furiously.
Helen drew back in amazement.
Cant Marshland hear it. "Why doesn't she come up" asked Helen.
"She would not trouble to come up for she knows my secret" said Mr.
Winston.
"Oh! I see" said Helen.
"Well to proceed" said Mr. Winston. "If Marshland or I heard that bell
we should know the safe was being robbed and come up at once."
"Of course" said Helen.
"But there is another way of opening the safe known only to me" said Mr.
Winston closing the gauze door; try any way you like to open that door I
don't think you will find the right way."
Helen pushed and banged at the door trying every way, but in vain, the
door would not move.
"Now I will show the right way," said Mr. Winston, as he spoke he placed
his thumb on a brass nail and the gauze door rose, instead of opening,
and without any noise displayed the contents of the secret safe.
"How wonderfull" said Helen.
"Would you like to see the contents?" said Mr. Winston.
"Oh! yes father" replied Helen.
Mr. Winston put his hand on the shelf and brought out a leather bag.
"It is full of gold" he said weighing it in his hand, "the savings of a
life time."
"Oh father" gasped Helen.
Mr. Winston took out 10 gold peices and the rest he left in the bag
"this will pay for the furnishing of the attic" he said.
"So it will" said Helen brightly.
Mr. Winston put the bag back and took out a little ivory box and
displayed some magnificent jewilery to his daughter's dazzled eyes,
"this was all all left to you by your mother's will," he said.
"Really!" said Helen, "I can't belive it."
The jewils consisted of two broachs, one set entirely in diamonds, the
other a horseshow set in rubies; a gold watch, chain and seals; a nexlet
of pearls and a gold bracelet fastenned with a ruby heart.
Mr. Winston placed the bracelet on Helen's slender arm; "this" he said
"was to be given you in your nineteenth year, the other jewils by your
mother's will will be given to you when you come of age.
"How lovely" cried Helen glancing at the circlet of gold on her wrist.
"I will now lock up the rest of the things" said Mr. Winston "and mind
Helen, not a word of this is ever to be revealed."
"Never father" said Helen kissing him.
Mr. Winston had barely shut the safe and closed the curtain when the
door opened and in came Cyril Sheene.
"Good morning Winston" he cried hastily, "I thought I'd just pop in and
see if Helen would come out with me."
"Why Cyril we didn't expect you half so early" said Helen blushing.
"No I'm sure you didn't replied Cyril, "but you will come out wont you?"
"Oh certainly" said Helen and she ran up to get her hat.
CHAPTER 4
THE PROPOSAL
Cyril Sheene, as I have already said was thirty years of age and a
bachelor.
He was short and fat and had fair sleek hair parted in the middle, mild
blue eyes and a silly sort of expression all over his face.
In ten minutes Helen came down again in a neatly fitting grey jacket and
a large straw hat with a few scarlet poppies trailing over the brim. She
looked very pretty and Cyril's face shone with pleasure as he regarded
her.
"Wont you come out father?" asked Helen, "I suppose we are going on the
hills are'nt we Cyril?"
"I thought we might go and sit by the old castle, it is such a glorious
day" responded Cyril.
"Do come father" said Helen.
"I don't think I can" said Mr. Winston "I must go to the town this
morning"
"Very well" said Helen; and then while Cyril Sheene was looking for his
stick, she seized an opportunity to ask her father "shall I tell Cyril
about Gladys coming?" "Yes" replied Mr. Winston "but mind not a word
about the safe." "Oh no" answered Helen, and then with a lively little
jump she ran after Cyril who was already walking down the garden path.
It was a perfect morning, the sun shone brightly, lighting up all the
scenery around; the birds were singing in the beach trees close by and
the rippling of the little stream was as sweet music to the ear.
"Do you know Helen, I had an engagement in London today, but I put it
off to come out with you" said Cyril, as they commenced to climb the
hill.
"Oh indeed!" replied Helen "that was very kind of you."
"Oh no" answered Cyril "I would far rather be out here than in London."
"I quite agree with you there" said Helen "it would be horrid to be in
smoky London today."
"Yes" said Cyril "especially without you."
"Oh rubbish" laughed Helen and she stooped down to pick a buttercup.
"Indeed it is not rubbish" replied Cyril "when a man loves, he finds it
hard to be away from the object of his love."
"Oh does he?" said Helen "but then I am not the object of your love."
"Yes you are Helen," said Cyril, making an attempt to squeaze her hand.
"My dear boy" said Helen, "I do wish you would not talk such nonsense."
"Excuse me" answered Cyril, getting rather red "I am a man."
"Are you really?" said Helen carelessly.
"Now look here Helen, don't be aggrivating" said the lover "you know
quite well I love you and why I have come up here."
They had reached the castle now and sat down by the ruined walls.
"Why have I come up here?" asked Cyril again.
"I suppose because it is more breezy than the town" replied Helen.
"Don't be silly Helen" said Cyril pulling up a tuft of grass.
"I am not the least silly" said Helen smiling beneath her handkerchief.
"No of course you're not darling" cried Cyril putting his arm round her
waist.
"You mustn't call me "darling" Cyril" replied the girl shyly.
"Yes I must" said Cyril getting a little closer.
"Oh well for once in a way perhaps it does'nt matter" said Helen.
"Well the long and the short of it is Helen" said Cyril "I want to marry
you?
"Really" said Helen "you've been long enough getting to the point."
"Have I?" said Cyril shyly "well now that I have come to it, do you love
me enough to marry me?"
"Ye-es" replied Helen slowly.
"You seem rather doubtful" said Cyril.
"It's best to be so at first" replied Helen.
"Not in my case surely" answered Cyril, "oh Helen do say yes and make me
a happy man."
"Yes" murmered Helen softly.
"Oh you angel" gasped Cyril "do you really mean it?"
"Of course I do" said Helen, "and I _do_ love you Cyril."
"Thank you so much" said Cyril "well now let's hurry home and ask your
father I'm in such a terrific hurry."
"Don't be absurd" said Helen "I want to stay in the sunshine."
"Anything to please you dear" said Cyril re-seating himself on the
grass.
"Cyril, I think you'll make a model husband" said Helen.
"I'm sure I will" laughed Cyril and with that they got up to walk home.
At the bottom of the hill they spied Mr. Winston. He looked up as he
saw them coming and waved his hand furiously.
When they met Mr. Winston he turned directly to Helen, "what do you
think Helen, I've furnished the attic all by myself, the only thing
Marshland did was to scrub the floor and nail up the curtains."
"How nice" said Helen "but father I've something far more important to
tell you."
"Dont say it my child" said the old man "your faces tell me what it is
and I give my consent on the spot."
And he plunged his stick into the ground to mark the vehemance of his
words.
CHAPTER 5
GLADYS LINCARROL
The week that followed that day was a happy one indeed. Helen and Cyril
were more together than ever and then too each day brought it nearer to
when Gladys was to come.
At last Monday morning came, and Helen was so excited she could hardly
eat her dinner, and Mr. Winston got quite cross when she refused some
beautiful cherry pie.
"Do hurry up father" exclaimed Helen at last, "I want to have the room
nice and tidy for Gladys and Mr. Palsey."
"My dear I wont starve for any amount of grand ladies" replied Mr.
Winston heartily.
Helen smiled languidly and began to arrange the flower stand by the
window.
At 4 o'clock precisely a dainty little dog cart drew up at Beach Dale.
Helen, peeping from behind the drawing room curtains, saw, first a tall
man dressed in a blue suit and black hat and gloves, jump down from the
cart and hold out his hand to a young lady who tripped lightly down and
tossed a silver coin to the coachman.
The next moment the drawing room door was flung open and Marshland's
clear voice was heard announcing, "Miss Lincarrol--Mr. Palsey."
"Oh dear Gladys, I am so delighted to see you" cried Helen in her
sweetest tones.
"And I am equally glad to meet you" cried Gladys, "and allow me to
introduce my future husband James Palsey."
"How do you do" said Mr. Palsey gravely as he held out his well gloved
hand.
At that minute Mr. Winston entered the room dressed in his best things.
"Well Gladys my dear and how are you he cried cheerfully "what a big
person you are to be sure, quite half a head taller than Helen I
declare."
Gladys laughed affectedly and held out her small hand; she then
introduced Mr. Palsey, who, during all this merriment had stood as grave
as a judge.
"Do come and have some food pleaded Helen pointing to the dainty little
equipage already set out on a bamboo table by the open window.
"Oh thank you" said Gladys and she began to take off her gloves and turn
up her veil preparatory to eating.
"Wont you take a seat Mr. Palsey?" asked Helen as she poured out the
tea.
"Thanks" replied the gentleman and he sat down on the edge of a whicker
chair. Here will be a good opportunity to describe Gladys Lincarrol and
her young man.
Mr. Palsey was a tall broad shouldered man about 37, with a solemn face
and large hands. His black hair was curly and plentiful and his small
green eyes twinkled queerly if he was at all pleased. He was attired in
blue, as I said before and in addition to this he wore patent leather
boots and a crimson tie.
Gladys was also tall, but very slim. She had golden hair with a reddish
tinge and blue eyes. She was very pale and her mouth had a peculiar
twitch of conciet. She wore a lovely pink muslin dress and kid gloves to
match. A large white hat adorned her pretty head, and she wore a bunch
of violets at her neck.
Tea over, Helen proposed a stroll around the village.
"Oh yes, that will be very nice, dont you think so Jim?" asked Gladys.
"Yes I do, thanks" replied Mr. Palsey.
So the trio linked arms and walked slowly down the garden path, and Mr.
Winston settled himself comfortably once more and prepared to read the
"Star."
CHAPTER 6
A DISSOPOINTING LETTER
He had barely got through the first paragraph when Marshland entered
with a letter.
"For you sir" she said placing it on her master's lap.
"Thanks" said Mr. Winston opening the envelope as he spoke.
The letter ran thus:
H. M. Prison,
Warwick.
DEAR SIR,
You are requested to come up here by the first
train tomorrow morning to hang Mr. Smith, who has
lately murdered his wife and three children. It is
a serious case, and I am sure you will sympathize.
Belive me dear sir
Yours etc
C. L. PORTER (head warder of the
county prison).
To. J. Winston Esq: Beach Dale, Kenalham Hants.
Mr. Winston sighed as he closed the letter.
"Oh dear oh dear" he cried, "here I have to leave my happy home, just
when Gladys and James have arrived, Marshland" he added.
"Yes sir" said the servant coming forward.
"I shall have to leave home early tomorrow" said Mr. Winston "how will
you get on with out me?"
"Oh sir, I think we shall get on all right" responded Marshland "I'll
keep an eye on the young ladies and Mr. Palsey will cheer them up I
know."
"I dont know that" said Mr. Winston "he seems a very dull gentleman."
"Do he really sir" said Marshland "well I'm sure I'm very sad."
"But do you think you can mannage without me? I shall not be away more
than three days" asked Mr. Winston.
"Oh yes sir, dont you fret" replied Marshland and now is there anything
I can do for you?"
"No nothing thank you" said Mr. Winston "but when the young ladies and
Mr. Palsey come in, send Miss Helen to me."
"Yes sir" said Marshland quitting the room.
Barely had the door closed on Marshlands comely figure, when it opened
again and Cyril Sheene came bounding in.
"Hullo Winston" he cried "I heard you had some friends down, so I
thought I'd just drop in and be introduced."
"They're all out at present" said Mr. Winston with a vain attempt at a
smile, "sit down wont you they'll be in soon."
Cyril flung himself down in an arm chair and then glanced at Mr.
Winston.
"Why Winston old fellow" he cried, you dont look yourself, is anything
up?"
"Oh nothing said Mr. Winston tapping the table nervously."
"Now look here" said Cyril "you cant get round me like that, I know
something is wrong, you might as well tell me."
"Very well Cyril I'll tell you" said Mr. Winston and he handed the
letter to Cyril, who read it carefully through. As he did so a marked
change came over his face, a change from a pleasant faced young man to
that of a stern, cold, yet pleased person.
"So you're off tomorrow?" remarked he as he folded the paper.
"Yes I suppose so" said Mr. Winston.
"How you must feel leaving the girls all alone" said Cyril.
"I do" said Mr. Winston, "but I know Marshland will take good care of
them and you'll look in wont you?"
"Well I was about to suggest going up with you" said Cyril "I know a few
friends in Warwick and you'd be all the better for a companion."
"It is kind of you Cyril" said Mr. Winston "but I'd rather you stopped
to take care of Helen."
"Oh Helen will be all right with Marshland and Mr. Palsey in the house"
said Cyril "I think you need me more."
"I suppose I do" replied Mr. Winston "but my poor little Helen."
"Well I'll stay if you like, but you wont be away more than three days
and what Helen wants with me hanging about I dont know." said Cyril.
"Well I'll take your advice and accept you as a companion, and thanks a
thousand times Cyril" replied Mr. Winston.
At that moment the door opened and Helen came running in.
"Well father dear" she said, "I was told you wanted me, so I just came
down while Gladys changes her dress."
"Yes dear" said Mr. Winston I am afraid I have some rather bad news for
you."
"Oh dear father what is it?" exclaimed Helen kneeling down by the chair.
"I must go to Warwick early to-morrow dear on a hanging matter" replied
Mr. Winston "I shall be back in three days."
"Oh father" cried Helen "just when Gladys and Mr. Palsey have come down
Oh I am sorry" and her pretty eyes filled with tears.
"Yes dear I am sorry too" remarked Mr. Winston slowly, "but you'll be
all right wont you?"
"Oh yes father" said Helen "I was not thinking of myself, but it always
knocks you up so, and just when we're all so happy."
"Well Cyril has offered to go with me and keep me company" said Mr.
Winston "you wont miss him much will you?"
"Oh Cyril I am glad" exclaimed Helen. "I feel far easier now, you'll
take such care of father I know."
"Yes Helen I will" said Cyril folding Helen in his arms and kissing her
forehead.
"Thank you Cyril" said Helen returning her lover's kiss.
Soon after Gladys and Mr. Palsey came in, and a merry farewell evening
was spent, Cyril at the head of the fun.
Next morning Helen was up early toasting some bread for her father's
breakfast; she made the table and room as cosy as she could and then
waited her fathers coming down.
He came at last looking worn and pale but he enjoyed his meal and
cheered up a little as he ate it.
"Now dear, is your portmanteau ready?" enquired Helen trying hard to
keep back her tears.
"Yes dear quite" returned the father "and Cyril will meet me at the
station you know."
"Yes he told me so" replied Helen.
"Well goodbye darling, keep a good heart and I'll be back on Thursday at
the latest" said Mr. Winston.
"Goodbye dear father" rejoined the girl "I'll try and be cheerful but it
is hard you know."
"I know it dear" said Mr. Winston and then turning to Marshland he added
"goodbye Marshland, take good care of the young ladies and keep an eye
on Mr. Palsey."
"I will sir" returned Marshland and then she and Helen stood at the door
the latter waving her handkerchief to the dear father who was never more
to enter his happy home in Kenalham.
CHAPTER 7
THE ALARM
Helen Winston found it very hard to be merry without her father, but she
did her best and Gladys took her little attentions very kindly.
"What do you propose doing now? she asked when breakfast was cleared
away.
"I must attend to the housekeeping first and then I thought a walk on
the hills would be nice" answered Helen.
"Very good" said Gladys "we can go and visit the old castle you talk so
much about."
"Yes" said Helen, and she tripped down stairs, more for the pleasure of
a comforting talk with Marshland than to order the dinner.
In an hour's time they were all ready and started on their breezy walk.
"How lovely it is up here," remarked Gladys.
"Yes is'nt it beautiful" replied Helen thinking of the last time she was
up there."
The little promenade quite cheered Helen up, and she and Gladys did some
shopping in the afternoon while Mr. Falsey stayed at home to smoke his
pipe.
The next day passed pretty much the same as the first and by Thursday
morning Helen was all smiles again, knowing that by tea-time her dear
father would be home again.
In the afternoon she went out and bought a tea cake for tea. She had tea
laid out on the best bamboo table with the blue and gold tea cups and
she also put fresh flowers in all the vases and all together the little
drawing room had a truly home-like aspect.
At 4 o'clock a ring was heard at the front door.
"How funny of father to ring" cried Helen "I thought he would be sure to
come in and supprise me."
"Perhaps he thought it would supprise you more if he rung," replied
Gladys.
"Ah perhaps so" responded Helen giving a last touch to the pink
rose-buds which drooped prettily over the china vases.
At that moment Marshland entered the room with a frightened look on her
face.
Coming up she handed a telegram to Helen "its given me such a turn miss"
she explained "them telegrams always seem to carry bad news."
Helens face grew pale and she hastily opened the envelope.
The moment her eyes rested on the words, she uttered a cry of anguish
and flung the telegram away from her. "Oh I know its father" she cried.
"Hush hush miss" said Marshland soothingly and picking up the telegram
she too read the fatel words. The telegram ran as follows:
Come at once, a terrible thing has happened.
SHEENE.
Marshland's honest face grew ashy as she read the words, but she tried
to control her feelings for Helens sake.
"Well miss it is a terrible thing" she said "but we can but hope for the
best, what train will you go by miss."
"Oh I dont know, dont ask me," cried poor Helen.
"Dont cry so Helen dear" said Gladys "after all it may not be as bad as
Mr. Sheene thinks."
"Wont you allow me to come to Warwick with you Miss Winston?" asked Mr.
Palsey kindly.
"You're very kind" sobbed Helen, "but Gladys wont like it."
"Dont think of me for one instant" said Gladys, patting Helen's head "of
course you'll go with her James and Marshland and I will keep house till
you come back."
"I had better go tonight" said Helen getting up from the sofa and
glancing at the pretty little tea table, which five minutes ago she had
arranged with such love and care.
"Yes miss, the telegram says at once" replied Marshland, "I wonder when
the next train is."
"I can tell you" cried Mr. Palsey producing a time table from his pocket
and running his finger down the column.
"Poor Helen" said Gladys kissing her fondly.
"Seven fifteen is the next" said Mr. Palsey, "that'll give you nice time
to get ready," and it gets to Warwick at 11-30.
"That will do" replied Helen "will you put my things together for me, I
feel so faint."
"Yes dearie" replied Marshland. Now Helen dear you rest on the sofa and
I'll bring you some tea" said Gladys. Helen flung herself down, quite
worn out.
Gladys gave her a cup of strong tea and bathed her hot head with eau de
cologne.
"I'll go and order the dog-cart, to drive us to the station" said Mr.
Palsey.
"Yes be quick James, you must not be late" replied Gladys.
For in an hour's time all was ready. Helen, with a white shawl over her
face was standing at the door while Mr. Palsey put the bags into the dog
cart.
"Goodbye Helen dear" cried Gladys "keep up a good heart and James will
take every care of you."
"Goodbye Gladys" said Helen "and thanks so much for sparing him to me."
"Goodbye Miss Helen my love" cried poor old Marshland wiping her eyes on
her apron, "write as soon as you can and let me know how the master is."
"Yes of course I will" cried Helen, jumping into the dog cart, "goodbye
all, goodbye and in an other minute the dog cart was out of sight, and
Marshland returned to her work, and Gladys to the deserted drawing
room.
CHAPTER 8
BAD NEWS
The journey on which Helen and Mr. Palsey had set out was a very long
one indeed and May though it was the night was very chilly.
Helen shivered as she got into the train and drew her shawl round her.
Mr. Palsey had taken first class tickets, and so soothing was the motion
of the train and so comfortable the seat in which she found herself that
Helen soon dropped asleep.
"Now I can think over things a bit," said Mr. Palsey taking some papers
from a black bag by his side, "jolly nice of Gladys to suggest me coming
up here, though she didn't know why I wanted to come poor girl; odd that
I didn't hear from Sheene today, I quite expected a line or a telegram
to say how matters stand. It may here be mentioned that Mr. Palsey and
Cyril Sheene were by no means new acquaintances and had met many times
in London and even once or twice before in Kenalham.
"Odd how Cyril found out about that secret shelf mused Mr. Palsey "a
whole bag of gold he said, how Winston saved it I dont know, ah he was a
rich man with all his poor living and scanty furniture. I think there
were some jewils in the safe too but of course it is the money, the gold
I'm putting myself to this for and with a cold laugh, he drew out some
closely written papers and read them eagerly, putting pencil marks by
certain paragraphs in the document.
The train flew on nearing Warwick rapidly.
At last Helen awoke with a start and found Mr. Palsey taking forty winks
opposite her.
She rubbed her eyes and looked out of the window, "how dark it is" she
thought and its raining too, how horrible and she nestled under her
fluffy shawl. Presently the train stopped with a jerk and Mr. Palsey
woke up.
"This is Warwick" he said picking up his bag "train's late and it is
twenty to twelve.
"How late" quoth Helen and with a sigh she followed Mr. Palsey on to the
crowded platform.
It was a dreary sight which met the weary girl's eyes. The rain was
pouring heavily and the whole station looked wet and miserable. The gas
lights flickered in the wind making hideous shadows on the walls. The
porters, cold and cross looking, poor things, were bustling about,
crying the name of the station at the tops of their voices, and a thin
shaggy dog, evidently lost, was howling pitiably, tending by no means to
cheer poor Helen's quaking heart.
"I thought Cyril would be sure to meet you" said Mr. Palsey suddenly
"you go into the waiting room and warm yourself and I'll walk up the
road a bit and see if I see him, for I dont know what house to go to do
you?"
"No" said Helen, "oh Mr. Palsey I'm so unhappy and with a faint cry she
turned away and buried her face in her shawl.
"Poor thing" thought Mr. Palsey "she cant guess the worst yet," out loud
he added "hush Miss Winston, you are over fatigued, that is all, would
you like a cup of coffee? the refreshment room is not yet closed."
"I could'nt drink or eat" replied Helen sadly "I'll go and sit by the
fire while you look for Cyril.
"Very well" said Mr. Palsey, and he turned round and went off in an
opposite direction.
Helen entered the waiting room and sat by the fire her tired eyes
covered with her hands. Presently she raised her white face and glanced
at the clock. Two old ladies sitting near, noticed her pale frightened
face.
"Have you come a long journey" asked one "you look very tired."
"I am very tired, and miserable too" broke forth Helen in the fullness
of her heart "oh why am I dragged up here in this cruel fashion, oh what
has happened to father?" she burst into heart broken sobbing.
The old ladies looked very much alarmed and after bidding Helen a kind
good night, gathered up their wraps and departed.
The time sped on and still nether Cyril nor Mr. Palsey arrived.
Helen grew terrified and was on the point of going out on to the
platform when the door opened and the two men appeared.
Mr. Palsey looked much the same, Cyril was clad in a heavy ulster and
his face was white and scared.
Cyril was speaking as the two entered and Helen caught the last words,
"just as we could have wished" he was saying. "Oh Cyril Cyril" cried
Helen and she flung herself into his arms.
"My darling" gasped Cyril and a queer gurgle sounded in his throat.
"What is it Cyril, what has happened?" cried Helen, clutching hold of
his coat.
"Hush darling" said Cyril, "come outside.
Helen was quite overcome by now and she allowed herself to be led out by
Cyril and Mr. Palsey.
"Shall you tell her tonight" whispered Mr. Palsey.
"It is better to get it over" replied Cyril, "Helen dear, be prepared
for bad news."
"Yes yes anything" gasped Helen nervously "father is ill I know very
ill, oh Cyril tell me quickly."
"Worse than that" said Cyril and he clasped her tightly to him.
"Not dying moaned Helen, "oh Cyril not dying.
Cyril said nothing, but Mr. Palsey whispered "out with it Sheene, she
must know soon."
"He is dead" cried Helen wildly, "say the words Cyril say them."
Cyril bowed his head "yes" he murmured "dead--murd----
"Hush" whispered Mr. Palsey striking him on the arm, "you idiot, keep
quiet."
With a shriek, Helen tore herself from Cyril's grasp and ran like the
wind, she herself knew not wither; at the station gate her strength
failed her, she turned, she tottered, she tried to scream and fell
insensible at the feet of the villians.
CHAPTER 9
HELEN'S ACCTIDENT
Cyril and Mr. Palsey lost no time in conveying Helen to a cab which was
waiting outside. They placed her on one of the seats and bade the cabman
drive directly to number 2 Medina Road, where Cyril was lodging.
"How will you manage about the money Cyril?" presently asked Mr. Palsey.
"Dont speak to me of money?" cried Cyril bitterly, "oh Helen Helen" and
he bent over his unconcious sweetheart.
"Pon me word Cyril" cried Mr. Palsey "you're a born idiot, the girl will
soon recover, you'll marry her and we'll go halfs with the money, its
simply ridiculous the way you mople and mumble over her, let her alone
I say and tell me how the murd--the bussiness went off."
"I've told you twice it was very successful" replied Cyril impatiantly.
"You're trying to hide something I can see" cried Mr. Palsey
passionately, "you'd best tell me, or not a farthing of the money shall
be yours."
"I dont see that" said Cyril cooly, "you dont even know where the safe
is." Mr. Palsey bit his lips in suppressed anger. Cyril's words were
stiningly true and made him boil with passion. "Here we are" said Cyril,
as the cab stopped at a dimly lighted street corner.
"Hi cabman, get down and open the door" screamed Mr. Palsey.
The man shuffled down from the box and opened the door.
"Any luggage" he asked roughly.
"No" replied Mr. Palsey "there is a young lady fainted and we are going
to carry her in to this house."
"Right" responded the man and he stood aside while Cyril and Mr. Palsey
came gingerly out carrying Helen between them.
As they were ascending the steps a rough looking man in a torn red
shirt and battered hat came up and addressed himself to Cyril.
"Hi sir" he cried out "what about that L10 you promised; I'm a poor
starving man and I cant wait much longer.
"Bother" muttered Cyril "here man will a shilling suffice for this
evening, I'll pay the rest tomorrow."
"All right" grumbled the man, "unless you pay up tomorrow it'll be the
last job I do for you," and with an oath the man departed.
Cyril lead the way into a dimly lighted parlour and with Mr. Palseys
help Helen was soon arranged on the sofa.
Some supper consisting of cold mutton, vegitables and a jug of ale was
laid out on a round table in the centre of the room, and small parrifin
lamp burnt on the mantleshelf. Going over to this last object Cyril
screwed it up, so that its glare fell, full on Helen's face.
"Why she's hurt herself terribly" cried Cyril in alarm, pointing to a
wound in her forehead from which blood had been streaming down her face.
"Is your landlady up?" enquired Mr. Palsey seriously.
"I should rather doubt it, why?" asked Cyril.
"Because Miss Winston should be taken to her bedroom at once, I'm afraid
it is a bad cut" replied Mr. Palsey.
"I'll ring" responded Cyril and he acted accordingly.
In ten minutes or so an oldish woman entered holding a candle and her
garments had evidently been flung on in a hurry.
"What now sir?" she asked.
"Sorry for disturbing you Mrs. Pollard but this young lady of mine has
had a terrible fall and must be taken to her bedroom at once, we thought
it was only a faint said Cyril.
"Lardy dardy" exclaimed Mrs. Pollard "poor young lady, I'll see to her
at once sir."
She left the room and soon returned with an other servant and the two
carried Helen to her bedroom where they bathed her face with cold water
and put her to bed as carefully as possible.
"You'd best go for the doctor Mary" said Mrs. Pollard "say nothing to
the young gentleman and be as quick as you can.
Meanwhile Cyril and Mr. Palsey sat down to their supper.
"Poor Helen" cried Cyril at last.
"Oh stop that tune do" cried Mr. Palsey "tell us what happened."
"It was all done as pre-arranged. I waited till the man was hanged and
the yard emptied of people and while Mr. Winston was putting away the
scaffold the blow was struck" said Cyril.
"By you?"
"No"
"Who then?"
"Oh that lout you saw at the door just now, he decided to do the job for
L10, I had hard work to make him do it just at first" replied Cyril.
"Indeed" said Mr. Palsey "what was his name?"
"Jack Jenkins" replied Cyril a terrific beggar and drunkard too I
belive."
"Oh" laughed Mr. Palsey "and what plan did you adopt about the gun?"
"I did'nt do that" responded Cyril "when Jenkins had done his part of
the bussiness, I got a knife, steeped it in red ink and laid it by Mr.
Winston's side, as he was prostrated on the ground."
"And that will lead the police to belive it was suicide you think?"
asked Mr. Palsey.
"I think so" replied Cyril with a groan "at last that seemed to be the
general opinion when the poor fellow was taken to the mortuary."
"Why do you say "poor fellow?" asked Mr. Palsey.
"Because I do think he is a poor fellow and I'm sorry I ever did the
thing" cried Cyril and he brought his fist down on the table with such
force that the jug of beer toppled over and fell on the floor.
At that moment the door opened and Mrs. Pollard poked her head in "if
you please sir" she said "we've thought fit to send for Dr. Poppet, and
he's waiting in the hall."
"Very well" said Cyril with dignity "show him upstairs and when he has
seen Miss Winston let him come and have a word with me."
"Miss Winston" cried Mrs. Pollard "why sir is she any relation to the
poor hangman as was killed after the affair."
"Yes woman" cried Cyril hotly "she is his daughter, now go for pity's
sake"
Mrs. Pollard hastily withdrew and commanded Dr. Poppet to follow her.
"Its a serious case sir" she said cheerily opening Helen's door "step
this way please."
Dr. Poppet stepped that way and went over to Helens bed, where Mary the
under servant was putting ointment on the wound.
"Hem" grunted the doctor seriously "not as bad as I feared, but very
dangerous for all that, she must be kept very quiet Mrs. Pollard and
must only take liquid food, she will probably awake by 5 or 6 o'clock
and you may give her a little milk, "I'll call again tomorrow on my
rounds, keep her head cool or fever of some kind may set in and effect
the brain."
"Your instructions shall be carried out to the letter" said Mrs. Pollard
and with that she led him down to talk with Cyril Sheene.
CHAPTER 10
IN THE COURT OF JUSTICE
The next morning Helen was sadly feverish, though quite sensible.
From the time she woke up 11-30 a.m. she never opened her lips.
She was very feverish and her brain very much upset.
Mr. Palsey decided not to tell Helen the fearful news till she was
better and indeed it was a wise thing to do. Helen smiled and looked
pleased when Cyril went to see her, but turned away in disgust when Mr.
Palsey went near her.
"Helen dear" said Cyril "I am going out now, is there anything you would
like me to buy for you?"
"No nothing" replied Helen "let me be alone, I want no one near me."
Cyril sighed, took up his hat and departed.
Entering the sitting room he found Mr. Palsey busy writing.
"James" said Cyril "I must go out now, will you come."
"No I cant" replied Mr. Palsey "I am very busy."
Cyril again gave a sigh of relief, and opening the front door went out.
The storm of the night before had quite subsided and the sun was shining
brightly.
To tell the truth, Cyril was very glad to hear that Mr. Palsey could not
go out, for he himself was going to the court of Justice to appear as
witness concerning the death of Mr. Winston, which some of the
detectives suspected to be murder and some suicide.
The court was densely crowded and in consequence very hot and stuffy.
Cyril forced his way through the crowd and seated himself in the witness
box, where sat two other men, Mr. Porter the head warder of the prison
and Dr. Slyn, both of whom had held conversation with Mr. Winston, an
hour or so before his death.
"Not many witnesses for so serious a case" cried the judge in loud tones
as he eyed the three desolate looking men.
Cyril was the first witness as he knew more of the deceased than either
of the other two. He had to relate all he knew of Mr. Winston's past
life and in conclusion the judge asked him if he thought Mr. Winston
looked like commiting suicide when he went to hang Mr. Smith.
Cyril replied that Mr. Winston looked rather morbid on the day of the
execution and otherwise no other change was visible.
The judge coughed, "summon the detectives" he cried.
The detectives (three in number) advanced.
"Now Mr. Slag" said the judge, addressing the leader of the three men,
"what is your opinion of this terrible case, murder or suicide?"
Cyril waited open mouthed for the reply, his whole life depended on Mr.
Slag's reply.
Mr. Slag evidently did not like giving his opinion in public and he
hesitated before speaking.
"I say it was murder" cried one of the other detectives.
Cyril could have screamed with vexation.
"Are you aware Mr. Tix that your opinion was not asked" enquired the
judge dryly "Mr. Slag if you please" he added authoritivly.
"I say suicide most decidedly replied Mr. Slag "I am a trained detective
my lord and am not likely to make a mistake, Mr. Rennet is also of my
opinion."
"Very well" said the judge writing in his note book.
"I am convinced it is suicide and so is the jury and you may go Mr.
Slag, the case is with drawn where are Mr. Winston's relations who will
bury the deceased?"
A stir in the witness box and Cyril came forward "I will undertake to
pay for the burial" he said.
"You?" cried the astonished judge "who are you pray?"
"My name is Cyril Sheene" replied Cyril getting very red "and I am the
greatest friend poor Mr. Winston had, besides his daughter who I know is
penniless.
"Very well" said the judge "you are a good benevolent man.
Little did the simple minded judge know, that the innocent looking
person he addressed in such kind tones was the real murderer of Mr.
Winston.
CHAPTER 12
HELEN'S RESOLVE
Cyril Sheene returned home to his lodgings quite satisfied with the
conclusion the case had come to. Entering the sitting room, he found Mr.
Palsey still busy writing, though the dinner was ready and fast getting
cold.
"Still busy?" cried Cyril, pulling off his gloves and sitting down to a
tempting looking dinner of juicy well cooked mutton chops, arranged
against a mountain of frothy mashed potatoes.
"Yes I'm terrificly busy" responded Mr. Palsey tearing up a large sheet
of foolscap as he spoke.
"Well lets have dinner now" responded Cyril sitting down as he spoke.
"Oh all right" replied Mr. Palsey, who was not the least hungry, "where
have you been all the morning?"
"In court" responded Cyril absently gazing at the mutton chops.
"In court man!" cried Mr. Palsey "what do you mean?"
"I mean what I say" replied Cyril. "I was in court, acting witness in
Mr. Winston's case."
"Really?" gasped Mr. Palsey "what is the result?"
"The case is withdrawn" replied Cyril feverishly, "they are convinced it
is suicide."
"Thank goodness" ejaculated Mr. Palsey "then we are well out of the
mess."
"Yes" answered Cyril and then vouchsafing no more the two men sat down
to their dinner.
Half way through ***y were interupted by Mrs. Pollard, who came in in a
great fluster.
"Please sir" she said in a hurry "Miss Winston seems so queer, she has
got up and dressed herself and wishes to see you at once."
"My stars" screamed Cyril, forgetting in his excitement what a gentleman
he was and with that he rushed upstairs to Helen's bedroom.
He found Helen standing by the bed, her hands beating wildly against her
heart and a hectic spot burning on her cheek.
She was completely dressed even to her grey travelling cloak which hung
limply on her shoulders.
"Cyril," she cried wildly, "I am going home, I can bare this
imprisonment no longer."
"Helen, my darling cried Cyril astounded by her words.
"Yes it is true" cried Helen again. "I shall go home now now--this
instant why am I kept in ignorance of my father's death? I know who
murdered him in spite of secrecy," she screamed," it was Mr. Palsey,
that false villain below," "Helen cried Cyril," "how could it be Mr.
Palsey, why I should know it if it was he, dont be absurd dear, get into
bed again do you know you are very ill, and to go out would be madness."
"I dont care" screamed Helen, her eyes dilating and her cheeks burning.
"I shall go home, I tell you it was Mr. Palsey who murdered my father
if you dont know it Cyril, I do so there,"
"Helen" said Cyril firmly "be calm and I will tell you about your poor
father's death."
"Tell me" cried Helen and she sank exhausted into a chair.
"I fear" began Cyril "I greatly fear that your poor dear father
commited--had reasons for depriving himself of life."
"What!" cried Helen, starting to her feet, "you Cyril Sheene dare to
insult me to my face, will you too turn, false, oh how dare you say my
father commited suicide."
"I dare Helen because I know it" replied Cyril.
"You dont know it" screached Helen, "oh Cyril," and the poor un nerved
girl sank sobbing on the bed.
"Hush Helen," cried Cyril stroking her ruffled hair, "we wont talk about
it any more, but indeed you can not go home today, it is impossible."
"I must I must" moaned Helen "oh Cyril let me go, I want to see
Marshland."
"Helen, you cant go" replied Cyril "why do you want Marshland?"
"Because she is my only true friend" cried Helen.
"Helen am I not a true friend" asked Cyril reproachfully.
"Yes Cyril you are" said Helen, "but do let me go."
Cyril remembering the doctors directions that Helen was to have
everything she wanted, replied "very well Helen, you may go to-morrow,
and now get back to bed and rest."
"No, no" said Helen "I must go tonight."
"But your father is to be burried today," replied Cyril.
"Never mind" cried Helen shaking her aching head, "It would break my
heart to attend the funeral, I must go tonight."
"Very well" said Cyril "I will go with you, by the 8-40 train, but now
do rest darling."
"Thank you, thank you Cyril" replied Helen gratefully and closing her
eyes she fell into a heavy sleap."
CHAPTER 13
THE DISGUISE
Cyril was greatly troubled about Helen's strange conduct; he knew it was
not good for her to travel in her present condition, and then again it
would do her just as much harm not to go as she desired it so much.
He went down to the sitting room and related all the story to Mr. Palsey
and waited eagerly for a reply.
"Why man alive!" shrieked Mr. Palsey "this is greatest piece of luck we
could possibly hope for."
"Luck?" cried Cyril "what do you mean?"
"Why dont you see?" said Mr. Palsey "it is impossible for Helen to
travel alone, and therefore you and I must accompany her, and of course
it will be the very chance of chances to rob the safe."
"But you cant go with her" replied Cyril "though of course I must."
"Why cant I go if you please?"
"For the simple reason that Helen suspects you to be guilty of murdering
her father," replied Cyril, trying to appear unconcerned.
"What?" shrieked Mr. Palsey thumping his knees vigerously, 'dont be an
idiot, how can she suspect me?"
"Well she does" answered Cyril "but you may be quite easy, for she will
not speak of it."
She'd better not" cried Mr. Palsey biting his moustache.
"But you see James, it is quite impossible for you to travel with us, so
you had better wait and come by a later train, there is one at 9-12 I
know" replied Cyril.
"No that wont do," said Mr. Palsey "it would upset my plans, besides
making it too late to rob the safe with ease."
"What will you do then?" asked Cyril. "I will disguise myself" returned
Mr. Palsey "I have a heavy green ulster upstairs, which I know Miss
Winston has not seen and grey slouch hat; and a false beard which I used
when acting a play some time ago and if I put a little walnut juice upon
my countenance I think I shall be sufficiently at least to deceive Miss
Winston."
"Capital" exclaimed Cyril, "put on the things now and see how you look."
Mr. Palsey rummaged in his portmanteau and produced the required
articles. The beard was a trifle crumpled, but Cyril who was neat handed
quickly combed it out and made it look as good as new.
Mr. Palsey then put on the ulster and big felt hat and attached the
beard to his chin by a bit of elastic. Cyril then applied to his face,
and in a minute he was disguised into a fearce foreign looking man.
"Its a splended get up" said Cyril, eyeing the villain admiringly.
"I wont take it off" said Mr. Palsey opening his purse and taking out
ten shillings "I will go straight to the station and wait there, give
this money to Mrs. Pollard for me, it what I owe her for the lodgings
you know.
"Very well" cried Cyril "but you'll have a long wait at the station."
"I know" said Mr. Palsey "but I can amuse myself with a few comic papers
and a pipe."
"So with a hearty shake of the hands the two villains sealed the
compact.
CHAPTER 14
HOME AGAIN
Cyril was very busy all that afternoon; he barely had time to attend Mr.
Winston's funeral, which he did however for politeness sake.
It was not a grand funeral by any means and I think it would have broken
Helen's heart to see the plain unvarnished coffin which her poor
father's remains were deposited in.
When Cyril returned from the ceremony, he settled his accounts with Mrs.
Pollard and then proceeded to pack his portmanteau, which piece of
business did not take him very long.
He was about to depart from his room, when something lying upon the
floor attracted his attention.
It was a water coloured painting of Mr. Winston.
How Cyril's heart smote him, as he gazed at those calm, stern features
and mild blue eyes, with so much trust in their orbs.
He hastily shuffled the painting into his pocket, and with something
between a groan and a sarcastic laugh, made a rapid retreat down the
stair case.
Helen was waiting in the hall.
She looked a very different girl from the bright rosy faced Helen of a
week ago.
Her cheeks were white and hollow save for one hectic spot and her great
hazel eyes seemed too dark for her face. Her dark hair was limp and
uncurled, and her lips were as ashy as her face. She looked a sad little
picture, indeed, as she stood there in the hall, with her grey cloak
loosly buttoned round her, and her new black crape hat contrasting
queerly with her ghost-like countenance.
Cyril's heart of stone was quite touched as he saw her looking so vastly
changed.
"Come Helen" he said carresingly as he patted her hair behind, "it feels
like old times to be walking with you again."
"Perhaps it does to you" quoth Helen bitterly "but to me it is
unbearable."
Cyril said nothing, but gently helped her down the steps. In an hours
time they were at the station.
Helen sat on a seat to rest till the train came up, and Cyril went over
to the bookstall, keeping close to a remarkably tall foreign looking
gentleman who was laughing over Tit Bits.
"Come away," whispered Helen to Cyril "that man reminds me of the two
faced villain Mr. Palsey."
"Helen" muttered Cyril between his teeth "be quiet do; please to
remember that with all his villainy he is a perfect gentleman."
"Ah" said Helen "you too admit that he is a villain."
Cyril saw he had made a mistake and the hot blood rushed to his face.
"Dear me" he said cooly "I am always blurting out things I dont mean."
Helen was beginning to see through him.
"Cyril" she said faintly "I hope you are not a villain too."
"Why of course I'm not" replied Cyril "come, here is the train."
Helen followed Cyril to a first class carriage, noticed that the foreign
looking man, otherwise Mr. Palsey, jumped into a second class department
and closed the door with a bang.
"This is a fast train" said Cyril as he got on to the seat.
"Indeed?" replied Helen, and with a deep drawn sigh she placed her
bundle on the rack.
"Helen wont you eat your supper," asked Cyril "it is nearly nine
o'clock, you must be hungry.
"Very well" replied Helen and she opened her bag.
"What have you got?" asked Cyril eargerly.
"Only a small pot of calf's foot jelly" answered Helen.
"Oh" said Cyril in a dissopointed tone, "why you ought to have had fruit
and cold fowl."
"Dont speak to me of cold fowls" cried Helen in disgust and having
finished her jelly she sank into repose.
The train was an express and reached Kenalham a little before 10-30.
Helen burst into tears as she stepped on to the platform. "Oh how sad,
how sad" she moaned.
The dog cart was waiting for them and Cyril jumped quickly in, helping
Helen as he did so.
For ten minutes or more, the cart stopped, and Helen found herself once
more on the threshold of her home.
CHAPTER 15
THE ROBBERY
The door was opened by Marshland who having heard the fearful news was
attired in deep mourning.
"My darling Miss Helen!" cried the old servant.
"Oh Marshland" cried Helen "I feel so terribly ill."
"Come to bed at once miss and you shall have some hot wine" said
Marshland "step into the drawing room sir" she added seeing Cyril
waiting in the passage.
"Goodnight Helen dear" cried Cyril, then turning to the servant he added
"thank you I will rest for one moment, but I must go then, as I have a
friend waiting for me in the town."
"Very well sir" said Marshland "you can let yourself out cant you?"
"Oh yes" cried Cyril and he betook himself to the drawing room.
As I have already mentioned, Helen was feeling weak and ill and her head
ached as though it would split. Marshland put her to bed very carefully
and gave her some hot wine to drink.
Once in between the beautiful cool sheets with the breeze blowing in at
the open window stirring the dainty white muslin curtains, Helen dropped
into a dull heavy sleep, but she was so restless that Marshland dared
not leave her.
As the clock on the stairs struck 12-30 Helen seemed to grow quieter, so
Marshland drew down the blind, snuffed the candle and went downstairs.
She bolted the hall door and peeped into the drawing room.
"I heard Mr. Sheene go some hours ago" she muttered "and all the windows
are bolted, so off I go to bed to rest my weary limbs."
So the old woman went to her room, knocking at Gladys's door as she
went, to assure that she was going to bed, for Gladys who was highly
nervous had insisted on this.
Helen slept heavily till about 2 o'clock in the morning, when she was
awakened by some strange sounds below.
She sat up in bed and listened, the sounds continued and feeling
frightened she called Marshland.
But the old servant was asleep and for a little while the noises ceased.
Helen thinking it was her fancy turned in her bed and fell into a doze.
In less than 2 minutes she was awakened by the furious ringing of a
bell.
For a moment her heart stood still and her very blood ran cold. Then in
one desperate moment she recollected the sound of the bell.
Springing from her bed she flew to the door crying as she did so "the
safe, the safe!!"
Wildly she flew down the passage her brain dazed her heart beating
loudly.
Her eyes were too dilated to see, and in flying along she struck her
head against a tall old clock and would have fallen headlong
downstairs, to certain death, but a pair of arms were hastily flung
around her and in another moment two unconscios figures were lying
motionless in the still dark passage with only the pale moonlight
lighting up their rigid faces.
CHAPTER 16
"SETTLED"
Marshland had not been awakened by the bell and so when she got up next
morning at 6 o'clock, she was entirely innocent of the nights events.
Putting on her apron she hastily went downstairs. Half way down the
passage she caught sight of something white.
"Tut tut" she exclaimed "I wonder if those are my clean aprons or caps,
they must have fallen from the beams." But here her wonderings were
overun by the fact that the white things were no other than the
prostrate bodies of Helen and Gladys.
Marshland uttered a stifled cry, but recovering her presence of mind she
instantly raised Helen in her arms. Gladys had by this time quite
recovered and was kneeling by her cousin on the floor.
"Raise yourself Miss Gladys" said Marshland "and help me take Miss Helen
to her room."
Gladys rose directly and Helen was soon upon her bed once more.
She soon opened her eyes and fixed them on her cousin, "go away" she
said calmly "I want to speak to Marshland."
Gladys left the room and Helen's calm manner changed to one of absolute
fury.
Darting to her feet, she seized Marshland's shoulder, her white lips
parted in feverish anxiety.
"The safe" she cried quick Marshland it has been robbed--I heard the
bell--go and see quick, oh Marshland hurry--hurry."
Marshland had her doubts as to the robbery, but to quiet Helen she went
downstairs to ascertain.
Entering the drawing room to her great alarm she found the window wide
open, and she knew she had shut and bolted it the night before.
Advancing in some consternation she saw the bolt had _not_ been tampered
with and her eyes wandered to the safe. Dragging back the curtain she
perceived to her great horror that the gauze door was wide open and the
black leather bag which contained all the money, gone.
"Oh Heavens" ejaculated the old woman "all the money gone, yes every
brass farthing of it, my poor Miss Helen you'll have to go begging now
and in sober earnest too."
It may here be mentioned that Mr. Winston had left a will leaving all
his money to Helen, and the gold which that bag contained was all he had
left, so that gone, Helen would have to set about to earn her own
living. Mr. Winston had before his death written on a slip of paper "all
this gold is bequeathed to my daughter Helen on the day when I shall be
called upon to die." This he had sealed with his private seal and put at
the bottom of the bag so that the thief (whoever he might be) had
carried that signature with him.
Marshland lost no time in seeing what else had been robbed and found to
her relief that the ivory box containing the valuable old jewils had not
been touched.
Taking it in her trembling hand, she carried it to Helen's room. "Here
Miss" she said, see the jewils have not been touched but--but--her
white lips refused to say any thing else, but Helen took up the strain,
"the money is gone, yes I knew it Marshland and I am left alone a beggar
in this cruel, cruel world. All this she uttered in so calm a tone as to
quite supprise Marshland.
"Dont say alone miss" cried the faithful servant, for I will be with you
through thick and thin.
At that moment the door opened and Gladys announced that Mr. Sheene was
waiting in the parlour, together with Mr. Palsey. Helen dressed herself
quickly and leaning on Gladys's arm for support she entered the much
disturbed drawing room.
Cyril was standing by the window, his hands in his trouser pockets
looking desperatly ill.
Mr. Palsey looked as stern and hard as ever, and with his cigarette
between his lips he appeared to be taking a general survey of the room.
"Good morning Miss Winston" he cried totally ignoring his future wife,
"if you have any brains they ought to tell you what I am here about.
Before Helen had time to reply Gladys stepped forward and laying her
hand on Mr. Palsey's arm looked in his face steadily and said. "James,
I dont know what you intend saying but I am sure it is cruel and cutting
and I beg and pray of you to keep quiet whatever it is. Helen is, as you
know in great trouble about her dear father, and added to that, a
robbery has been commited in the night, which has deprived her of all
the money which had been left her and so she has now to earn her own
living----"
"Hold" cried Cyril suddenly turning round, "I have already heard of this
terrible robbery and though I have to grovell in the very ground, Helen
shall never have to earn her own living, in the presence of everyone
here I repeat my words. I intend as soon as possible to take Helen to
London and marry her on the first opportunity which presents itself; I
have" he added, "though no one may know it, a private bussiness in
Holburn, which consists of a small office in which I employ two clerks,
my living appartments are at the back of this office or (home affair) as
I generally call it, and mark my words all of you here Helen would lead
a very happy life, and if my bussiness should prosper I will go and live
in Paris or Rome if Helen should prefer it."
"Thank you Cyril" said Helen, "I will spend one more week here to
collect my belongings and then only too gladly will I go with you to
your office. I have only one request to make."
"What is that?" asked Cyril.
"A very simple one" replied Helen "only that Marshland should come with
us and be our servant."
"Certainly," answered Cyril. "I shall be only too pleased, for the one
servant I have is just leaving and I am sure Marshland will suit."
"Pardon me" said Mr. Palsey "I think Cyril, if you take my advice you
will leave this wicked interfeering old woman behind I warn you she will
be the plague of your life, for I myself have had experience of what she
can do poking her nose into people's rooms, the meddling old cat."
"Mr. Palsey" said Helen calmly and with great dignity "perhaps you will
allow Cyril to settle this matter, and if you will allow me to add, I
would far rather be a meddling old cat, than a cruel hard hearted person
who could murder a good innocent man for the sake of his money, and then
could look the daughter of that man in the face with a cold unflinching
gaze."
Gladys uttered a low scream and staggered towards the door; she is
loosing her head she sobbed, "going mad, and all through you James." For
Gladys knew nothing of Helen's suspicions.
"No Gladys" replied Helen, "dont cry, for I am not loosing my head or
going mad either, and you have my utmost pity for having a husband such
as he."
But nothing could soothe poor Gladys and as Helen stooped to comfort
her, Mr. Palsey took the opportunity of speaking to Cyril.
"You idiot" he hissed "look what you have led Helen up to, making her
speak to me like that, now I doubt if Gladys will belive in me, and if
she does not there will be an end to my rich marriage."
"I dont care" said Cyril, for he truly felt he had the upper hand, "I
consider it would be a very good thing if Miss Lincarrol does not marry
you for she is too good a girl to be joined with a low villain like
you."
"Very well" cried Mr. Palsey savagely "as you evidently consider
yourself a saint, (though you did help me in the murder and other
matters too) perhaps it will be better for both of us if we seperate at
once.
I have my half of the money and you have yours, so that is all settled,
you can take Helen to London and marry her and I will take Gladys to
Norfolk where all her relations live and marry her when I get settled
and the less we hear of each other the better, that is my opinion and I
hope it suits you.
"It does" replied Cyril calmly "let us tell the girls and the sooner you
and Gladys get packed off the better for I must stay here another week
with Helen."
"Gladys" cried Mr. Palsey firmly "get up at once and stop crying."
Gladys dried her eyes and sat up.
"Look here" continued Mr. Palsey, "you and I are going back to Norfolk
this evening as soon as we can mannage it, and Mr. Sheene intends
stopping another week with Miss Winston till he goes to London and
remember the less you and she hear of one another the better; you will
be much better for the loss of her company and your relations too would
much rather you left here, it is taking effect on your health my dear,
so be ready to start by 6 o'clock this evening and I will call for you;
you and Helen will have plenty of time to say your last adieu before
that; is that settled?" he added turning to Cyril.
"Quite" replied Cyril.
Gladys broke into heart broken sobbing but being used to obey she ran
quickly upstairs to collect her things.
With a cry Helen ran to Cyril and put her arms round his neck.
Mr. Palsey bit his lips and turning to the window he turned over the
past events in his mind and he thought how very well he had managed that
last little bit of business.
CHAPTER 17
BOUND FOR NORFOLK
Let us now return to Gladys.
Arrived at her bedroom she began to collect her various articles of
clothing in a hazy and disturbed manner, every now and then sitting down
to burst into a terrible fit of weeping.
It took her over half an hour to pack up, and then having bathed her
burning face, she began to feel very hungry.
Finding a few biscuits in a tin, she lost no time in eating them and
then she rang her bell.
To her supprise Helen came to the door instead of Marshland.
"Oh dear Gladys" cried Helen kindly "I am so very sorry that you are
going."
"Oh Helen," sobbed Gladys "it nearly breaks my heart to think of it, and
we may not even write to each other."
"Dont say that" cried Helen, "if ever I can manage it I'll always send
you a note privately, for I shall never forget Gladys that you saved my
life."
Gladys could not speak for crying.
"Now Gladys" said Helen "do stop crying or you will be ill, did you want
anything when you rang just now."
"Oh yes please" replied Gladys "if I might have something to eat, I am
so very hungry."
"Certainly, dear" said Helen and she darted downstairs, soon to return
with a plate of well cut ham and a couple of poached eggs and a
comforting cup of coffee.
Having spread this out, she sat down to watch Gladys eat it.
The poor girl looked very worn out and tired and great red and black
lines encircled her blue eyes, "oh Helen" she said at last "do tell me
what you meant by speaking so strongly to James just now.
The tears came into Helen's eyes, "dont ask me Gladys dear" she said,
some day I will contrive to let you know by letter but I cant tell you
now."
A silence followed and then Helen spoke again, "do you know" she said.
"I am very glad things have turned out like this. I shall be happy too
and perhaps forget all about me and all this misery."
"Oh Helen" cried Gladys "I will never forget you it will be impossible."
"I dont know" said Helen "you see its like this, although we shall write
to each other (for my mind is made up on that score) when once you are
happy, though you will not exactly forget _me_, you will forget this
misery at parting and so you will be able to think of me without pain or
regret, and it will be like a wound which though healed over is still to
be seen, do you under stand?"
"Yes dear Helen" said Gladys "there is certainly truth in what you say,
but do you think we shall either of us be happy again?"
"Yes" said Helen with a smile, "I do, light is certainly breaking
through the darkness after all Gladys"
Ah Helen!, happily for you that you can see the bright light appearing,
but there are dark clouds gathering in the distance which you do not see
but which nevertheless are coming nearer and nearer and will soon burst
over your head and extinguish the sunshine and the light.
The dreary morning passed away at last and the afternoon followed suit.
A quarter to six found Gladys and Helen taking a last farewell in the
drawing room before Mr. Palsey arrived.
"Oh Helen shall we ever meet again, sobbed Gladys.
"Hush hush" said Helen "dont cry Gladys and let me give you some advice
before you go. Dont sob or show any emotion when you bid me goodbye and
if afterwards Mr. Palsey should mention me to you be quite calm and show
him you do not care, when next we meet I'll tell you my reasons and be
sure they're good ones."
Voices were heard at the front door and going into the hall, they found
Mr. Palsey and Cyril talking and a carriage waiting at the gate.
"Goodbye Miss Lincarrol" said Cyril as he took her hand "I am sorry you
have to go."
"Not at all" said Gladys brightly "goodbye Mr. Sheene, thanks for all
your kindness."
Here Mr. Palsey interposed "goodbye Miss Winston" he said raising his
hat.
Helen drew herself up and gave him a look (such a one as once seen never
forgotten) and then turning to her friend said, "well goodbye Gladys, a
pleasant journey to you dear."
"Goodbye Helen" said Gladys bravely and calmly and without a break in
her voice.
"I hope you will enjoy yourself in London."
Mr. Palsey looked astounded, he had expected a loud fit of crying at
least.
"Wont you say goodbye to me Miss Winston he asked sheepishly.
"No cried Helen in a laud voice, "it was an evil day for you Mr. Palsey
when my good father asked you to his house."
Mr. Palsey jumped into the open fly and put his bag beside him.
Helen stood on the steps waving her hand with tears in her eyes, while
Gladys, for the sake of the friend she loved, sat erect and tearless in
the carriage which soon wheeled her away from "Beach Dale" and its
occupants.
CHAPTER 18
THE OFFICE
Left alone in the dreary little cottage, a sense of utter lonliness came
over Helen. She truly felt as though the one spark of happiness in her
life had faded. Sitting down in an arm chair, she took up some crochet
and tried to do a little work before sunset.
In a few minutes Cyril entered, fresh from a country walk.
"Ah Helen" he cried "you're busy I see."
"No I'm not" replied Helen sadly "did you want me for anything?"
"Well I was thinking it might be as well to go and see the autioneer,
Mr. Graham," replied Cyril "you see all this furniture must be sold and
a week is but a short time to settle everything."
"Yes I presume that would be best" said Helen with a sigh "where does
this Mr. Graham live?" "Not a very long way off" replied Cyril "49
Eastern Grove is his address"
"Oh yes I know" said Helen "when shall we start?"
"Now, if you like" said Cyril
"Very well," and Helen tossed away her crochet and put on her hat.
It did not take very long to reach Eastern Grove, a pretty little street
at the end of Kenelham. Helen stood by while Cyril arranged matters to
his own taste. At last all was settled and Mr. Graham politely promised
to be round at Beach Dale by 9 o'clock the next morning.
The next three days were busy ones indeed for Helen. All day she was
flying up and downstairs, from attic to kitchen placing the furniture to
be sold in lots and keeping what she wanted to take, in her own bedroom.
Marshland helped all she could but being old and stiff she could do
little but sit in the kitchen and moan at the loss of her beloved
master's goods.
Friday came at last (the day Cyril had arranged for starting) and Helen
was up early taking a last look at the rooms, garden walks etc., that
she loved.
It was a boiling hot day and they had to start in the middle of the
heat.
A large waggon came to the door wherein all the odd pieces of furniture
were packed and the trunks and boxes being put on the top of that,
Helen and Marshland got a small wooden bench which they put at the door
of the waggon for, as Marshland truly remarked "Air was better than
comfort," and there they seated themselves to drive to the
station--Cyril had gone on to take the tickets and see about a
comfortable carriage.
It was two o'clock by the time they reached Holburn.
Cyril jumped out, ordered a hansom while Helen attended to the luggage.
"Now Marshland" cried Cyril "you and Miss Helen will kindly get into
this hansom and I'll tell the man where to drive to, I have a bussiness
matter to settle, but you can tell the servant girl I'll be into tea."
Helen and Marshland got hastily into the hansom, to the old servant's
inexpressible delight who had never ridden in anything but the customary
Kenelham dog cart, and the waggon she had recently quitted. Helen
however was too tired to notice anything and the new sights and sounds
had no charm for her country eyes.
Presently the cab stopped at a small dreary looking office with the name
Sheene & Co: in guilt letters on the window. Two men evidently the
clerks, were watching with intense excitement the descent of the two
ladies from the cab, their faces being pressed upon the iron blind of
the office window.
Helen went up the steps and timidly rang the "visitors bell."
It was soon answered by a rought untidy looking servant girl, with no
cap and a dirty cotton dress, whom Marshland eyed with intense disgust.
"Are you Mr. Sheene's ladies?" asked the girl.
"Yes" replied Helen "and Mr. Sheene wished me to say you were to show us
to our rooms at once, he himself will not be in till tea time."
"All right" responded the servant "step and in and follow me."
She then led the way down a narrow passage past the home affair, till
she came to a door which she flung open, announcing it was the sitting
room.
"You wont want your bedrooms yet awhile" she said "because they're not
ready."
"Oh pray dont trouble" said Helen.
"Very well" replied the girl and she went off closing the door behind
her.
"The slovenly creature" cried Marshland "Mr. Sheene has evidently had no
practice in choosing his domestics.
The room in which they found themselves was rather small and very
stuffey, the window being tight shut and the blind down. A red carpet
adorned the floor a common deal table with a check cloth stood in the
middle of the room, and three chairs were carefully arranged round it. A
leather armchair was by the fireplace adorned by a crochet antimicassa,
and a sofa of the same description was by the window. The mantle piece
was furnished with two glass vases, and a clock, and a large photograph
of Cyril and his two clerks. A sideboard was by the door covered with a
clean cloth, a parrafin lamp, two trays and a bowl of lavender.
"What do you think of it?" asked Helen after she had opened the window
and taken off her hat and gloves.
"Humph" said Marshland looking round "pretty fair, but law Miss Helen,
comparing it with your father's dainty little parlour its a mere
scullery."
"Yes" said Helen "but dont let us hurt poor Cyril's feelings, no doubt
he likes it."
"No doubt" replied Marshland.
By 5 o'clock Cyril came in, very hot but happy for all that. "Well
Helen" he said "what do you think of your future abode?"
"Oh its very nice" answered Helen.
"Well let us ring for tea" cried Cyril "you will take your meal with us
tonight Marshland, but tomorrow you will find your place in the kitchen
with Alice the maid, who will do all the hard work while you preside."
Marshland looked pleased but said nothing.
Alice brought in the tea, and the three made it off shrimps and bread
and butter and by that time Helen was pleased to go to bed, quite
pleased with her first day in London.
Helen's bedroom was at the top of a very steep staircase and it was even
more stuffy than the sitting room. A rather dirty white blind hung in
the window, which Marshland instantly tore down, "the filthy rag" she
exclaimed "never mind Miss Helen, in a few weeks, I'll have this fit for
a lady and the sitting room too for that matter.
The iron bed stead was of the collapsible kind and Helen had to prop it
up with empty trunks in order to get a night's rest, but what with the
squalling of the office cats and the noise of the clerks and servants
below, it was in the small hours of the morning before either she or
Marshland got a wink of sleep.
CHAPTER 19
IMPROVEMENTS
It was 8 o'clock, the following morning when Helen was awakened by
hearing a loud dispute outside her door between Marshland and Alice
Grimstone (the maid).
Glancing at her watch, Helen jumped out of bed and began her toilet and
half way through she was interrupted by Alice bouncing in announcing it
was gone 8 o'clock and would she (Helen) care about any water for
washing. Helen declared she would, upon which she was presented with a
can of hot water and a clean towel, soap already having been provided.
Having placed the last hair pin in her knob and fastenned her white
blouse, Helen went down to the sitting room, where a smell of hot coffee
and fried bacon greated her nose.
"Ah this is Marshland's cooking" thought Helen as she raised the cover
of the dish. A great improvement was also visible in the room itself. It
had been well dusted and swept and a few london flowers adorned the
mantle shelf, a clean white curtain hung in the window, and Helen's work
box and other little articles lay about the room, making it look far
more home like than on the preceding evening.
Cyril (Helen had heard) rose very late, so she was forced to partake of
her breakfast alone.
As soon as she had finnished, she rang the bell and ordered a fresh meal
to be got ready for Cyril, for she really wished to please him and hoped
in a few days time to have the house really nice.
Then Helen thought she would go out and buy a few things, so calling
Marshland she said "I am going out now Marshland, and lunch will be at
1.30 if you please. Mr. Sheene likes high tea at 7 in the future we will
follow this rule, breakfast at 9. lunch at 1.30, high tea at 7, Wine and
biscuits 9.30."
"Very well miss" replied Marshland "I'll see to it"
"Yes" said Helen and do make that girl work for pity's sake, she is so
lazy."
"That she is miss" replied Marshland "She'll find her work set now I've
come."
Helen laughed "very well" she replied "I'll be in soon. I only want to
buy a chicken and a yard or so of muslin for curtains."
So going out, Helen hailed a hansom and got proudly in, much to the envy
of Netherby and Wilson (the two clerks) to whom she had not yet been
introduced.
And so day followed day and Helen always found plenty to do. She was a
first rate house keeper and Cyril treasured her accordingly. Marshland
too made vast improvements in the lower regons. Alice was made to work
hard and keep herself tidy.
A bright yellow canary was purchased, and hung in the sitting room
window to Helen's great delight, and she had no time to be unhappy.
Cyril seemed to prefer being engaged so the marriage was put off, and
Helen was once more light hearted and merry and her gay laugh might
often be heard as she chatted cheerily to the clerks or played comic
songs on the little harmonium.
And yet no one is there to warn Helen of the approaching danger and
misery.
CHAPTER 20
THE SILVER TEAPOT
Time sped on and nothing happened to alarm or upset Helen untill a
certain October morning.
She had just commenced her breakfast, when in came Cyril attired in his
best black suit and stiff collar.
"Why Cyril" cried Helen "how very early you are."
"Yes I am" responded Cyril triumphantly "I am going to see a friend who
lives in Piccadilly and I doubt if I shall be back before 10 or 11
tonight."
"Really?" said Helen, "well make a good breakfast or you'll be quite
done up."
Cyril made a hearty meal and then went to the front door to see if the
weather promised to be fair; it looked rather gloomy, but no rain fell.
As though a sudden thought had struck him, Cyril turned round and
entered the office.
"Netherby" he cried sharply "who's afternoon out is it, your's or
Wilson's?
"It is Mr. Wilson's sir" replied Netherby.
"Then see he does'nt have it" said Cyril shortly "I have my own reasons
for wishing you both to remain at home today, and dont forget the office
is in your charge today Netherby; admit no gossiping women or
tradesmen."
"No sir" replied the clerk. Cyril turned to leave the office, nearly
knocking Helen over as he did so. "Are you off?" she enquired "put on
your overcoat dear, it is very chilly."
"All right" said Cyril and he reached his blue melton from the peg.
As Helen was helping him on with his coat she noticed something silver
sticking out of the breast pocket.
"Why whatever is this?" she asked in supprise, "it looks like the best
silver tea pot."
"Best silver tea pot!" cried Cyril scornfully, as though a man cant
carry his cigarette case about with him."
But he looked uncommonly angry for all that and Helen had seen and felt
quite enough to convince her that it was the best tea pot and she felt
her heart turn sick as she closed the front door after Cyril's
retreating figure.
CHAPTER 21
THE PAWN TICKET
Helen's heart was beating fast, as she went back to the sitting room,
"oh dear" she cried sitting down on the sofa "whatever is Cyril up to I
wonder it _was_ a tea pot I know and it was wrapped in cotton wool too
for it felt soft, I do hope he is up to no tricks."
Finding nothing to do Helen sat down to strum on the harmonium, but this
did not soothe her spirits and she wandered about the room till her eye
fell on a little white ticket lying on the hearth rug. She could not
bear to see paper on the floor, so she hastily picked it up, and before
tossing it into the fire she looked at it well to make sure it was
nothing important.
Helen know enough to see at first glance it was a pawn ticket for a
valuable silver sugar baisen worth L1.10.0.
Her cheeks grew white as she read it and she felt her fingers growing
stiff. "Of course" she cried "its as plain as day light, Cyril has
pawned the best sugar baisen for a few trumpery shillings, oh I'm sure
he is getting into bad company" and she commenced to weep. "And I know
he means to pawn the tea pot too."
But this was only the beginning of another long series of troubles for
poor Helen, but happily for her she did not know that or it might have
driven her mad.
CHAPTER 22
AN UNEXPECTED VISIT
Helen's weeping had given her a headache and she was taking a doze on
the sofa, when angry voices were heard at the front door. The voices
were those of Mr. Netherby and a young lady evidently in great distress.
Helen came to the passage to hear what was the matter "I tell you I've
had orders from Mr. Sheene to let no gossiping women inside this office"
cried Mr. Netherby. "But I'm not a gossiping woman" said the lady in
agitation.
"And how do I know that?" enquired Mr. Netherby. "I tell you I am a
hater of gossip" screamed the lady "and here it is pouring rain and you
have the audacity to keep me waiting at the front door, when I ask to
see the lady of the house."
"There is no lady of this house" said Mr. Netherby "except Mrs.
Marshland and she rules it with a firm hand"
"I want to see Miss Winston" cried the lady now almost in tears.
Here Helen interupted, "Mr. Netherby" she said "If this lady wishes to
see me, kindly let her in at once."
"I've got the master's orders not to" replied Netherby firmly.
"Insolent person!" cried Helen "obey me at once, open the door."
Netherby was alarmed and opening the door he fled into the office
leaving his mistress to admit her guest if she would.
"Can I do anything for you my good lady?" asked Helen opening the door
wide.
With a cry the lady flung herself into Helen's arms, saying "oh Helen
Helen, how very glad I am to see you."
"Why Gladys" cried Helen "how came you here?" "Oh its a long story" said
Gladys (for it was she) "if I may come in, I'll tell it to you."
"Yes do" said Helen "stay the whole day if you will, for Cyril is out
and I am entirely alone" So saying Helen led the way to the sitting
room, where Gladys soon divested herself of her dripping cloak and hat,
and sat down by the fire to warm herself. "How dreadfully wet you are"
said Helen as she shook out Gladys's cloak.
"I had to walk all the way from Holburn station" replied Gladys "there
were no cabs to be seen" "Dear dear" said Helen "I hope you wont take
cold."
"Not I" laughed Gladys "and now Helen dear if you are ready I'll tell
you why I came here."
"Yes do" pleaded Helen drawing her chair to the fire. "It is a long
story" mused Gladys gazing into the fire, as though she could see the
events of the past three months of her life written there in letters of
red and gold. "as you know Helen, when I left Kenelham I went with James
straight to Norfolk, where my parents and relations live. James and I
stayed there for, say three weeks, and during that time I was perfectly
happy. I did not write to you as I didn't know your address, I presume
you did'nt know mine. Well at the end of these three weeks James got an
invatation to go and stay with some people in Brighton and he asked me
to go too I was glad to do so as I had never been to that part at all.
So it was arranged for me to go and we started. We had not been there a
week when a marked changed came over James. He grew white and thin and
seemed so terribly nervous about the smallest thing. Men were constantly
calling to see him and after their visits he looked even worse. It was
not a large house where we stayed, and my room was next to his. He went
to bed very late and I fancy he slept badly. I constantly heard him moan
and walk about his room, and what terrified me so much was he used to
talk about murders and robberies. So I took to listening to him, by
putting my bed close to the wall. And I believe he found it out, for he
took to ill treating me, that is to say he was not kind, and he called
me horrible names. I felt it very much indeed and it must have made me
look ill, for Mrs Martin (the hostess) said she thought the sea air did
not agree with me and advised James to take me to some place where I
had not been before. Accordingly we arranged to take a small house in
Richmond for a few months till I got better. There it is we are living
now. We have most comfortable rooms in a nice house overlooking the
terrace gardens. Our landlady is a very good soul, and though I am much
better for the change, James is not, he remains the same. All at once I
remembered what you said to him that day about a murder. So I resolved
to come and find out where you lived. I told James I wanted a whole day
to do as I liked and I took a train for Holburn and I was directed where
to go to, and here I am arrived in the very knick of time, just as Mr.
Sheene is off for the day and you are quite alone to answer any
questions I put to you."
During the latter part of Gladys's story Helen had grown very white and
she now paced the room in breathless agitation.
"What is it Helen?" enquired Gladys.
"Yes I knew I was right" muttered Helen half aloud "it is true too true
alas! but my revenge is at hand."
"Helen do sit down" cried Gladys "you look quite scared, I hope my story
has not frightened you."
"Frightenned me, No" cried Helen loudly "you have only confirmed doubts
which have been lingering in my brain for month's past."
"Doubts, what doubts." asked Gladys.
"Oh Gladys" cried Helen bursting into tears "thank goodness you came to
me today, for you may yet be saved from a terrible misfortune."
"For pity's sake Helen speak out" cried Gladys "you talk like a
tragedian Gladys" said Helen "did you say that Mr. Palsey talked about
murders and robberies?"
"Yes" replied Gladys sadly "he certainly made use of those two words."
"Shall I tell you why?" asked Helen "I shall be much obliged if you
will" answered Gladys.
"Mr. Palsey's conscience has begun to trouble him" replied Helen.
"Oh Helen what do you mean?" cried Gladys wildly.
"Simply this" said Helen "you know when my poor father died, people said
it was suicide."
"Yes, but I never belived that" said Gladys with marked descision.
"Evidently the detectives have found out their mistake" replied Helen
"you say, men are constantly calling on Mr. Palsey."
"Yes" replied Gladys "they are, but Helen whatever do you mean."
"Gladys" said Helen, "dont hate me for what I am going to tell you; I
only do it because I love you and wish to save you, it is a blessing you
came here today, I suppose in another week you would have married Mr.
Palsey but you wont now, for the man you call your lover is the murderer
of my father."
Gladys gave a loud groan and sank helpless to the floor.
Helen ran to lift her up and after dashing some water on her face was
happy to see her open her eyes.
"Gladys, dear Gladys" she cried "I should not have told you."
"Yes, yes" said Gladys faintly, "you did quite right, only it was such a
shock to me, after beliving in him all these months."
"Of course it is" replied Helen soothingly "thank goodness I shall never
have cause to doubt Cyril's honour."
"Oh Helen what shall I do?" moaned poor Gladys "to think of going back
to sleep in the house with a villian like him "he might try to murder
me in the night."
"Why not stay here a few nights till you think of some plans" suggested
Helen "we have heaps of room."
"Oh no no" cried Gladys desperately "I dare not vex James like that and
besides Mr. Sheene would not have me in his house."
"Oh Gladys" cried Helen "he would be only too pleased to be of help to
you."
"No he would not" said Gladys "he hates me."
"Gladys!" screamed Helen "how can you?"
"It is true" said Gladys "and I will tell you why."
Helen gave a snort of disgust but she listened attentively for all that.
"You see" said Gladys "I had to walk from Holburn Station as you know
and it took me some time as I did not know the way; I had just caught
sight of this office from the opposite side of the road and was going to
cross, when the door opened and Mr. Sheene himself came out, he did not
see me at first, he appeared to be looking at the sky, but the moment he
caught sight of me his face darkened directly, he looked at me for a
minute with posative hatred in his eyes, and then turning round he went
into the office, to give an order, I presume that order was that no
women were to be let in, because the instant I asked to see you, I was
furiously assaulted by a presuming clerk, who called me a gossiping
woman, and no end of horrid names."
"Oh" said Helen rather crossly "I think you must be mistaken, but all
the same if you wont stay the night, you wont,"
"I really can not," replied Gladys.
"Did Cyril speak to you when he came out again?" enquired Helen.
"Dear me no" replied Gladys "I took jolly good care he should'nt, so I
bolted into a confectioners to escape him, where I had to go to the
trouble of buying a bath bun; but anything was better than not seeing
you."
"Dont be sarcastic" returned Helen hotly "you dont treasure me as muc
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