By Birth a Lady
by George Manville Fenn · English · Gutenberg #34142 · 622,679 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: By Birth a Lady
Author: George Manville Fenn
Release date: October 26, 2010 [eBook #34142]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34142
Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY BIRTH A LADY ***
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Volume 1, Chapter I.
SOMETHING ABOUT A LETTER.
"He mustn't have so much corn, Joseph," said Mr Tiddson, parish doctor
of Croppley Magna, addressing a grinning boy of sixteen, who, with his
smock-frock rolled up and twisted round his waist, was holding the
bridle of a very thin, dejected-looking pony, whose mane and tail seemed
to have gone to the cushion-maker's, leaving in their places a few
strands that had missed the shears. The pony's eyes were half shut, and
his nose hung low; but, as if attending to his master's words, one ear
was twitched back, while the other pointed forward; and no sooner had
his owner finished speaking than the poor little beast whinnied softly
and shook its evidently remonstrating head. "He mustn't have so much
corn, Joseph," said Mr Tiddson importantly. "He's growing wild and
vicious, and it was as much as I could do this morning to hold him."
"What did he do, _zir_?" said the boy, grinning a wider grin.
"Do, Joseph? He wanted to go after the hounds, and took the bit in his
teeth, and kicked when they crossed the road. I shall have to diet him.
Give him some water, Joseph, but no corn."
The poor pony might well shake his head, for it was a standing joke in
Croppley that the doctor tried experiments on that pony: feeding him
with chaff kept in an oaty bag, and keeping him low and grey hound-like
of rib, for the sake of speed when a union patient was ill.
But the pony had to be fetched out again before Joseph had removed his
saddle; for just as Mr Tiddson was taking off his gloves and overcoat,
a man came running up to the door, and tore at the bell, panting the
while with his exertions.
"Well, what now? Is Betty Starger worse?"
"No,"--puff--"no, sir;"--puff--"it's--it's--"
"Well? Why don't you speak, man?"
"Breath, sir!"--puff. "Run--all way!--puff."
"Yes, yes," said Mr Tiddson. "And now what is it?"
"Hax--haxiden, sir," puffed the messenger.
"Bless my soul, my good man! Where?" exclaimed the doctor, rubbing his
hands.
"Down by Crossroads, sir; and they war takin' a gate off the hinges to
lay him on, and carry him to the Seven Bells, when I run for you, sir."
"And how was it?--and who is it?" said the doctor.
"Gent, sir; along o' the hounds."
"Here, stop a minute," exclaimed the doctor, ringing furiously till a
servant came. "Jane, tell Joseph to bring Peter round directly; I'm
wanted.--Now go on, my good man," he continued.
"See him comin' myself, sir. Dogs had gone over the fallows, givin'
mouth bea-u-u-tiful, when he comes--this gent, you know--full tear,
lifts his horse, clears the hedge, and drops into the lane--Rugley-lane,
you know, sir, where the cutting is, with the sand-martins' nestes in
the bank. Well, sir, he comes down nice as could be, and then put his
horse at t'other bank, as it couldn't be expected to get up, though it
did try; and then, before you know'd it, down it come back'ards, right
on to the poor gent, and rolled over him, so that when three or four on
us got up he was as white and still as your 'ankychy, sir, that he war;
and so I come off arter you. And you ain't got sech a thing as a drop
o' beer in the house, have you, sir?"
"No, my man, I have not," said Mr Tiddson, mounting his steed, which
had just been brought round to the front; "but if you will call at my
surgery when I return, I daresay I can find you a glass of something.--
Go on, Peter."
But Peter did not seem disposed to go on; and it was not until his bare
ribs had been drummed by the doctor's heels, and he had been smitten
between the ears by the doctor's umbrella, that he condescended to
shuffle off in a shambling trot--a pace that put the messenger to no
inconvenience to keep alongside, since it was only about half the rate
at which he had brought the news.
To have seen Mr., or, as he was generally called, _Dr._ Tiddson ride,
any one would have called to mind the printed form upon his medicine
labels--"To be well shaken;" for he was well shaken in the process, and
had at short intervals to push forward his hat, which made a point of
getting down over his ears. But, though not effectively, Dr Tiddson
and his pony Peter managed to shuffle over the ground, and arrived at
the Seven Bells--a little roadside inn--just as four labouring men bore
a gate to the door, and then, carefully lifting an insensible figure,
carried it into the parlour, where a mattress had been prepared by the
landlady.
Dr Tiddson did not have an accident to tend every day, while those he
did have to do with were the mishaps of very ordinary people. This,
then, was something to make him descend from his pony with the greatest
of dignity, throwing the reins to the messenger, and entering the little
parlour as if monarch of all he surveyed.
"Tut--tut--tut!" he exclaimed. "Clear the room directly; the man wants
air. Mrs Pottles, send every one out, and lock that door."
The sympathising landlady obeyed, and then the examination commenced.
"Hum!" muttered the doctor. "Ribs crushed--two, four, certainly;
probable laceration of the right lobe; concussion of the brain,
evidently. And what have we here? Dear me! A sad case, Mrs Pottles;
a fracture of the clavicle, I fear."
"Lawk a deary me! Poor gentleman! he 'ave got it bad," said the
landlady, raising her hands.
"Yes, Mrs Pottles," said the doctor, compressing his lips, "it is, I
fear, a serious case. But we must do what we can, Mrs Pottles--we must
do what we can."
"Of course we must, sir!" exclaimed the landlady. "And what shall us do
first?"
"Let me see; another pillow, I think, Mrs Pottles," said the doctor,
not heeding the question. "He will not be able to leave here for some
time to come."
Mrs Pottles sighed; and then from time to time supplied the doctor with
bandages, water, sponge, and such necessaries as he needed; when, the
patient presenting an appearance of recovering from his swoon, they
watched him attentively.
"He won't die this time, Mrs Pottles," said the doctor, with authority.
"Lawk a deary me! no, sir, I hope not," said the landlady--"a fine,
nice, handsome young fellow like he! He'll live and break some 'arts
yet, I'll be bound. It's all very well for old folks like us, sir, to
die; but I shouldn't like to see him go that-a-way--just when out taking
his pleasure, too."
Mr Tiddson did not consider himself one of the "old folks," so did not
reply.
"A poor dear!" said Mrs Pottles. "I wonder who he is? There'll be
more 'n one pair o' bright eyes wet because of his misfortun', I know.
You've no idee, sir, how like he is to my Tom--him as got into that bit
of trouble with the squire, sir."
"Pooh, woman!--not a bit. Tchsh!"
The raised finger of the doctor accompanied his ejaculation, as the
patient unclosed his eyes, muttered a little, and then, turning his
head, seemed to sink into a state of half sleep, half stupor.
The doctor sat for some time before speaking, frowning severely at the
landlady, and then impatiently pulling down the blind to get rid of half
a dozen lads, who were spoiling the symmetry of their noses against the
window.
"I s'pose you have no idea who he is?" said the doctor at last.
"Not the leastest bit in the world, sir. They do say they've had a
tremenjus run to-day. But perhaps we shall have some of the gents
coming back this way, and they may know him."
"Precisely so, Mrs Pottles; but you'd better feel in his pockets, and
we may be able to find out where his friends are, and so send them word
of his condition."
"Lawk a deary me, sir! But wouldn't it be wrong for me to be peeping
and poking in his pockets? But how so be if _you_ wish it, sir, I'll
look."
"I _don't_ wish it, Mrs Pottles; but it is our duty to acquaint his
friends, so you had better search."
Now Mrs Pottles's fingers were itching to make an examination; and
doubtless, had the doctor left, her first act would have been to "peep
and poke," as she termed it; so, taking up garment after garment, she
drew out a handsome gold watch and seal chain with an eagle crest; then
a cigar-case bearing the same crest, and the letters "C.Y.;" and lastly
a plain porte-monnaie, containing four sovereigns and some silver.
"No information there, Mrs Pottles. But I'll make a list of these, and
leave them in your charge till the patient recovers."
"Lawk a deary me, no, sir, don't do that! We're as honest as the day is
long here, sir, so don't put no temptation in our way. Make a list of
the gentleman, if you like, and leave _him_ in our charge, and we'll
nurse him well again; but you'd better take the watch and things along
of you."
"Very good, Mrs Pottles--ve-ery good," said the doctor, noting down the
articles he placed in his pocket, and thinking that, even if called upon
for no further attendance, through the coming of some family doctor, he
was safe of the amount in the porte-monnaie, for he considered that no
gentleman would dream of taking that back.
"And you think he'll get well, then, sir?" said Mrs Pottles.
"Ye-e-e-s--yes, with care, Mrs Pottles--with care. But I'll ride over
to my surgery now, and obtain a little medicine. I shall be back in an
hour."
Mrs Pottles curtsied him out, and then returned to seat herself by her
injured visitor, looking with motherly admiration on his broad white
forehead and thick golden beard, as she again compared him with her Tom,
who got into that bit of trouble with the squire. But before the doctor
had been gone an hour, the patient began to display sundry restless
movements, ending by opening his eyes widely and fixing them upon the
landlady.
"Who are you? and where am I?" he exclaimed. "Let me see, though--I
recollect now: my horse came down with me. I don't think I'm much hurt,
though."
"O, but you are, sir, and very badly, too. Mr Tiddson says you are to
be very quiet."
"Who the deuce is Mr Tiddson?" said the patient, trying to rise, but
sinking back with a groan.
"Lawk a deary me, sir! I thought everybody know'd Mr Tiddson: he's our
doctor, and they do say as he's very clever; but he ain't in rheumatiz,
for he never did me a bit o' good."
"Poor dad!" muttered the young man thoughtfully, and then aloud: "Give
me a pen and ink and a sheet of paper."
"But sewer_ly_, sir, you're not going to try to--"
"Get me the pen and ink, woman!" exclaimed the sufferer impatiently.
Mrs Pottles raised her hands, and then hurriedly placed a little dirty
blotting-case before her guest, holding it and the rusty ink so that he
was able to write a short note, which he signed, and then doubled
hastily, for he was evidently in pain.
"Let some man take that to the King's Arms at Lexville, and ask for Mr
Bray. If he is not there, let them send for him; but the note is to be
given to no one else."
"Very good, sir," said the woman; "but it's a many miles there. How's
he to go?"
"Ride--ride!" exclaimed the sufferer impatiently, and then he sank back
deeper in his pillow.
"I didn't think, or I would have sent for some one else," he muttered,
after a pause; "but I daresay he will come."
And then he lay thinking in a dreamy, semi-delirious fashion of the
contents of that note--a note so short, and yet of itself containing
matter that might bring to the writer a life of regret, and to another,
loving, gentle, and true-hearted, the breaking of that true gentle
heart, and the cold embrace of the bridegroom Death!
Volume 1, Chapter II.
"BAI JOVE!"
Three months after the incidents recorded in the last chapter,
Littleborough Station, on the Great Middleland and Conjunction Railway,
woke into life; for it was nearly noon, and the mid-day up-train would
soon run alongside of the platform, stay for the space of half a minute,
and then proceed again on its hurrying, panting course towards the great
metropolis; for though such a thing did sometimes happen, the taking up
or setting down of passengers at Littleborough was not as a matter of
course. Nobody ever wanted to come to Littleborough, which was three
miles from the station, and very few people ever seemed to take tickets
from Littleborough to proceed elsewhere: the consequence being that the
station-master--a fair young man with budding whiskers, and a little
cotton-woolly moustache--spent the greater part of his time in teaching
a rough dog to stand upon his hind-legs, to walk, beg, smoke pipes, and
perform various other highly interesting feats, while the one porter
spent his in yawning and playing "push halfpenny," right hand against
left--a species of gambling that left him neither richer nor poorer at
the day's end. But his yawning was something frightful, being extensive
enough to have startled a child into the belief that ogres really had an
existence in the flesh, though the said porter was after all but a
simple, lazy, ignorant boor, with as little of harm in his nature as
there was of activity.
But, as before said, Littleborough Station now woke into life; for after
crawling into the booking-office, and yawing frightfully at the clock,
the porter went and turned a handle, altering the position of a signal,
and then returned to find the station-master framed in the little
doorway through which he issued tickets, and now pitching little bits of
biscuit for the dog to catch.
"Here's summun a-coming!" said the porter, excitedly running to the door
and checking a yawn half-way.
"No!--is there?" cried the station-master, running out, catching up the
dog and carrying it in, to shut himself up once more behind his official
screen and railway-clerk dignity.
"Swell in a dog-cart, with groom a-drivin'," said the porter aloud; and
then, as the vehicle came nearer: "Portmanty and bag with him, and that
there gum's all dried up, and won't stick on no labels. Blest if here
ain't somebody else, too, in the 'Borough fly, and two boxes on the
top."
The porter threw open the doors very widely, the station-master tried
his ticket-stamper to see if it would work, and then peered excitedly
out for the coming travellers.
He had not to wait long. The smart dog-cart was drawn up at the door;
and as the horse stood champing its bit and throwing the white foam in
all directions, a very languid, carefully-dressed gentleman descended,
waved his hand towards his luggage and wrappers in answer to the
porter's obsequious salute, and then sauntering, cigar in hand, to the
station-master's pigeon-hole, he languidly drawled out:
"First cla-a-ass--London."
"Twenty-eight-and-six, sir," said the station-master, when the traveller
slowly placed a sovereign and a half before him.
"Tha-a-anks. No! Give the change to the porter fellare." And the new
arrival strolled on to the platform, leaving the porter grinning
furiously, and carrying the portmanteau and bag about without there
being the slightest necessity for such proceedings.
Meanwhile the fly had drawn up, the driver dismounted, and opened the
door for a closely veiled young lady in black to alight, when she
proceeded to pay the man.
"Suthin' for the driver, miss, please," said the fellow gruffly.
"I understood from your master that the charge would be five shillings
to the station," said the new arrival, in a low tremulous voice.
"Yes, miss, but the driver's allus hextry. Harf-crown most people gives
the driver."
There was no sound issued from beneath that veil, but the motion of the
dress showed that something very much like a sigh must have been
struggling for exit as a little soft white hand drew a florin from a
scantily-furnished purse, and gave it to the man.
"Humph," growled the fellow, "things gets wuss and wuss," and climbing
on to his box-seat, he gathered up reins and whip, and sat stolid and
surly without moving.
"Will you be kind enough to lift down my trunks?" said the traveller
gently.
"You must ast the porter for that 'ere," said the man: "we're drivers,
we are, and 'tain't our business. Here, Joe, come and get these here
trunks off the roof," and he accompanied his words with a meaning wink
to the porter, which gentleman, in the full possession of an unlooked--
for eighteenpence, felt so wealthy that he could afford to be
supercilious.
"What class, miss?" he said, reaching his hand to a trunk.
"Third, if you please," was the reply.
"Ah! there'll be something extry to pay for luggidge: third-class
passengers ain't allowed two big boxes like these here.--Why didn't you
put 'em down, Dick?"
"Ain't got half paid for what I did do," said the driver gruffly.
"People as can't afford to pay for flies oughter ride in carts. Mind
that 'ere lamp!"
Certainly a lamp had a very narrow escape, as trunk number one was
brought to the ground with a crash, the second one being treated almost
as mercilessly, but without a word from their owner, who quietly raising
her veil and displaying a sweet sad face, now went to the pigeon-hole,
regardless of the leering stare bestowed upon her by the exquisite, who
had sauntered back into the booking-office.
"Third-class--London," said the station-master aloud, repeating the fair
young traveller's words. "Nine-and-nine;" and he too bestowed a not
very respectful stare.
The threepence change was handed to the porter, with a request that he
would see the boxes into the van, which request, and the money, that
incorruptible gentleman received with a short nod and an "all right,"
pocketing the cash in defiance of all by-laws and ordinances of the
company.
Turning to reach the platform, the young lady--for such her manners
indicated her to be--became aware of the fixed insolent stare of the
over-dressed gentleman at her side, when quietly and without ostentation
the black fall was lowered, and she walked slowly to and fro for a few
minutes, in expectation of the coming train--hardly noticing that she
was met at every turn, and that the gentlemanly manoeuvres were being
watched with great interest by station-master and porter.
"Nice day, deah!" was suddenly drawled out; and the traveller started to
find that, in place of being met at every turn, her persecutor was now
close by her side. Quickening her steps, she slightly bent her head and
walked on; but in vain.
"Any one going to meet you?" was next drawled out; when turning shortly
round, the young traveller looked the exquisite full in the face.
"I think you are making a mistake, sir," she said coldly.
"Mistake? No, not I, my deah," was the insolent reply. "Give me your
ticket, and I'll change it;" and the speaker coolly held out a
tightly-gloved hand.
The black veil hid the flush that rose to the pale face, as, glancing
rapidly down the line for the train that seemed as if it would never
come, the traveller once more quickened her steps and walked to the
other end of the platform; for there was no waiting-room at the little
wooden station, one but newly erected by way of experiment.
"Now, don't be awkward, my deah," drawled the exquisite, once more
overtaking her. "Here we are both going to town together, and I can
take care of you. Pretty gyurls like you have no business to travel
alone. Now, let me change your ticket;" and again he stretched forth
his hand. "I'll pay, you know."
"Are you a gentleman, sir?" was the sudden question in reply to his
proposition.
"Bai Jove, ya-a-a-s!" was the drawled reply, accompanied by what was
meant for a most killing leer.
"Then you will immediately cease this unmanly pursuit!" exclaimed the
lady firmly; and once more turning, she paced along the platform.
"Now, how can you now," languidly whispered the self-styled gentleman,
"when we might be so comfortable and chatty all this long ride? Look
here, my deah--take my arm, and I'll see to your luggage."
As he spoke, with the greatest effrontery he caught the young
traveller's hand in his, and drew it through his arm--the station-master
and porter noting the performance, and nodding at one another; but the
next moment the former official changed his aspect, for the hand was
snatched away, and the young lady hurried in an agitated manner to the
booking-office.
"Have you a room in which I could sit down until the train comes?" she
exclaimed. "I am sorry to trouble you; but I am travelling alone,
and--"
"To be sure you are, my deah," drawled the persecutor, who had
laughingly followed, "when you have no business to do such a thing, and
I won't allow it. It's all right, station-master--the train will be
here directly. I'll see to the lady: friend of mine, in fact."
"Indeed! I assure you, sir," exclaimed the agitated girl, "I do not
know this gentleman. I appeal to you for protection."
Here, in spite of her self-control, a sob burst from her breast.
"Here, this sort of thing won't do, sir," said the youth, shaking his
head. "I can't allow it at my station. You mustn't annoy the lady,
sir." And turning very pink in the face, he tried to look important;
but without success.
"I think you have the care of this station, have you not, my good lad?"
drawled the exquisite.
"Yes, I have, sir," was the reply, and this time rather in anger, for
the young station-master hardly approved of being called a "good lad."
"Then mind your station, boy, and don't interfere."
"Boy yourself, you confounded puppy!" exclaimed the young fellow, firing
up. "I never took any notice till the lady appealed to me; but if she
was my sister, sir, I'd--I'd--I don't know what I wouldn't do to you!"
"But you see she is not your sister; and you are making a fool of
yourself," drawled the other contemptuously.
"Am I?" exclaimed the young man, whose better nature was aroused. "I
consider that every lady who is being insulted is the sister of an
Englishman, and has a right to his help. And now be off out of this
office, for I'm master here; and you may report me if you like, for I
don't care who you are, nor yet if I lose my place."
Red in the face, and strutting like a turkey-cock, the young man made at
the dandy so fiercely, that he backed out on to the platform, to have
the door banged after him so energetically, that one of the panes of
glass was shivered to atoms.
"Come in here, miss, and I'll see that he don't annoy you again. Why
didn't you speak sooner? Only wish I was going up to London, I'd see
you safe home, that I would, miss; only, you see, I should lose my berth
if I was absent without leave; and that wouldn't do, would it? May
p'r'aps now, for that chap's a regular swell: come down here last week,
and been staying at old Sir Henry Warr's, at the Beeches; but I don't
care; I only did what was right--did I, miss?"
"Indeed, I thank you very, very much!" exclaimed the protected one,
holding out a little hand, which was eagerly seized. "It was very kind;
and I do sincerely hope I may not have been the cause--"
Here a sob choked further utterance.
"Don't you mind about that," said the young man loftily, and feeling
very exultant and self-satisfied. "I'd lose half a dozen berths to
please you, miss--I would, 'pon my word. Don't you take on about that.
I'm your humble servant to command; and let's see if he'll speak to you
again on my platform, that's all!"
Here the young man--very young man--breathed hard, stared hard, and
blushed; for his anger having somewhat evaporated, he now began to think
that he had been very chivalrous, and that he had fallen in love with
this beautiful girl, whom it was his duty to protect evermore: feelings,
however, not at all shared by the lady, who, though very grateful, was
most earnestly wishing herself safely at her destination. The
embarrassing position was, however, ended by the young station-master,
who suddenly exclaimed:
"Here she comes!"
Then he led the way, pulling up his collar and scowling very fiercely
till they reached the platform, where the exquisite was languidly pacing
up and down.
"Now, you take my advice, miss," said the protector: "you jump into the
first cab as soon as you get into the terminus, and have yourself driven
home: I'll see that you ain't interfered with going up. I wish I was
going with you; and, 'pon my word, miss, I should like to see you
again."
"Indeed, I thank you very much," said the stranger. "You have acted
very nobly; and though you may never again be thanked by me, you will
have the reward of knowing that you have protected a _sister_ in
distress."
She laid a stress upon the word "sister," as if referring to the young
fellow's manly reply to the dandy. But now "she"--that is to say, the
train--had glided up, when, turning smartly--
"See those boxes in, Joe!" exclaimed the station-master; and then
catching the traveller's hand in his, he led her to the guard. "Put
this young lady in a compartment where there's more ladies," he said.
"She's going to London, and I want you to see that she's safely off in a
cab when she gets there. She's my sister."
"All right, Mr Simpkin--all right," said the guard.
"Good-bye, miss--good-bye!" exclaimed the young man confusedly, shaking
her hand. "Business, you know--I must go."
Just at that moment a thought seemed to have struck the dandy, who made
as if to get to where the porter was thrusting the two canvas-covered
trunks into the guard's van; but he was too late.
"Now, then, sir, if you're going on!" exclaimed the station-master.
"Third-class?" he asked by way of a sneer.
"Confound you! I'll serve you out for this--bai Jove I will!" muttered
the over-dressed one, jumping hastily into a first-class _coupe_, when,
looking out, he had the satisfaction of seeing the young station-master
spring on to the step of a third-class carriage, and ride far beyond the
end of the platform, before he jumped down and waved him a triumphant
salute as the train swept by.
The dandy made a point of going up to that carriage at every stopping--
station where sufficient time was afforded; but the fair young traveller
sat with her face studiously turned towards the opposite window.
"I've a good mind to ride third-class for once in a way," the gentleman
muttered, as he passed the carriage during one stoppage.
Just then a child cried out loudly; and a soldier, smoking a dirty black
pipe, thrust his head out of the next compartment with a "How are you,
matey?"
"Bai Jove, no! Couldn't do it!" murmured the exquisite, with a shudder;
and he returned to his seat, to look angry and scowling for the rest of
the journey.
He had made up his mind, though, as to his proceedings when they reached
London; but again he was doomed to disappointment; for on his
approaching the object of his pursuit in the crowd, he found the stout
guard a guard indeed in his care of his charge; when, angrily turning
upon his heel, he made his way to the luggage-bar, where, singling out
the particular trunks that he had seen at Littleborough, he pressed
through the throng, and eagerly read one of the direction-labels.
"Bai Jove!" he exclaimed, with an air of the most utter astonishment
overspreading his face; and then again he read the direction, but only
again to give utterance to his former ejaculation--"Bai Jove!"
He seemed so utterly taken aback that he did not even turn angrily upon
a porter who jostled him, or upon another who with one of the very boxes
knocked his hat over his eyes. The cab was laden and driven off before
his face so slowly that, once more alone, he could have easily spoken to
the veiled occupant. But, no: he was so utterly astounded that when he
hailed a hansom, and slowly stepped in, his reply to the driver as he
peered down through the little trap was only--
"Bai Jove!"
"Where to, sir?" said the man, astonished in his turn.
"Anywhere, my good fellow."
"All right, sir."
"No, no--stop. Drive me to the Wyndgate Club, Saint James's-square."
"All right, sir."
And the cab drove off, with its occupant wondering and startled at the
strange fashion in which every-day affairs will sometimes shape
themselves, proving again and again how much more wild the truth can be
than fiction, and musing upon what kind of an encounter his would be
with the fair traveller when next he went home.
There was no record kept of the number of times the over-dressed
gentleman gave utterance to that peculiarly-drawling exclamation; but it
is certain that he startled his valet by jumping up suddenly at early
morn from a dream of his encounter, to cry, as if disturbed by something
almost painful:
"Who could have thought it? Bai Jove!"
Volume 1, Chapter III.
BLANDFIELD COURT.
"Did you ring, sir?" said a footman.
"Yes, Thomas. Go to Mr Charles's room, and tell him that I should be
glad of half an hour's conversation with him before he goes out, if he
can make it convenient."
The library-door of Blandfield Court closed; and after taking a turn or
two up and down the room, Sir Philip Vining--a fine, florid, grey-headed
old gentleman--stood for a moment gazing from the window at the sweep of
park extending down to a glittering stream, which wound its way amidst
glorious glades of beech and chestnut, bright in the virgin green of
spring. But anxious of mien, and ill at ease, the old gentleman stepped
slowly to the handsome carved-oak chair in which he had been seated, and
then, intently watching the door, he leaned back, playing with his
double gold eyeglass.
Five minutes passed, and then a step was heard crossing the hall--a step
which made Sir Philip's face lighten up, as, leaning forward, a pleasant
smile appeared upon his lip. Then a heavy bold hand was laid upon the
handle, and the patient of Dr Tiddson--fair, flushed, and
open-countenanced--strode into the room, seeming as if he had brought
with him the outer sunshine lingering in his bright brown hair and
golden beard. He swung the door to with almost a bang; and then--free
of gait, happy, and careless-looking, suffering from no broken rib,
fractured clavicle, or concussed brain, as predicted three months
before--he strode towards Sir Philip, who rose hurriedly with
outstretched hands.
"My dear Charley, how are you this morning? You look flushed. Effects
remaining of that unlucky fall, I'm afraid."
"Fall? Nonsense, dad! Never better in my life," laughed the young man,
taking the outstretched hands and then subsiding into a chair. "Mere
trifle, in spite of the doctor's long phiz."
"It is going back to old matters, but I'm very glad, my dear boy, that I
saw Max Bray, and learned of your condition; and I've never said a word
before, Charley, but why should you send for him in preference to your
father?"
"Pooh!--nonsense, dad! First man I thought of. Did it to save you
pain. Ought to have got up, and walked home. But there, let it pass.
Mind my cigar?"
"No, no, my dear boy, of course not," said the old gentleman, coughing
slightly. "If it troubles me, I'll open the window."
"But really, father," said the young man, laying his hand tenderly on
Sir Philip's arm, "don't let me annoy you with my bad habit."
"My dear boy, I don't mind. You know we old fogies used to have our bad
habits--two bottles of port after dinner, to run down into our legs and
make gouty pains, eh, Charley--eh? And look here, my dear boy--look
here!"
Charley Vining laughed, and, leaning back in his chair, began to send
huge clouds of perfumed smoke from his cabana, as his father drew out a
handsome gold-box, and took snuff _a la_ courtier of George the Fourth's
day.
"I don't like smoking, my boy; but it's better than our old drinking
habits."
"Hear--hear! Cheers from the opposition!" laughed the son.
"Ah, my dear boy, why don't you give your mind to that sort of thing?
Such a fine opening as there is in the county! Writtlum says they could
get you in with a tremendous majority."
"Parliament, dad? Nonsense! Pretty muff I should be; get up to speak
without half-a-dozen words to say."
"Nonsense, Charley--nonsense! The Vinings never yet disgraced their
name."
"Unworthy scion of the house, my dear father."
"Now, my dear Charley!" exclaimed Sir Philip, as he looked with pride at
the stalwart young fellow who was heir to his baronetcy and broad acres.
"But, let me see, my dear boy; John Martingale called yesterday while
you were out. He says he has as fine a hunter as ever crossed country:
good fencer, well up to your weight--such a one as you would be proud of
I told him to bring the horse on for you to see; for I should not like
you to miss a really good hunter, Charley, and I might be able to screw
out a cheque."
"My dear father," exclaimed the young man, throwing his cigar-end
beneath the grate, "there really is no need. Martingale's a humbug, and
only wants to palm upon us some old screw. The mare is in splendid
order--quite got over my reckless riding and the fall. I like her
better every day, and she'll carry me as much as I shall want to hunt."
"I'm glad you like her, Charley. You don't think her to blame?"
"Blame? No! I threw her down. I like her better every day, I tell
you. But you gave a cool hundred too much for her."
"Never mind that. By the way, Charley, Leathrum says they are hatching
plenty of pheasants: the spinneys will be full this season; and I want
you to have some good shooting. The last poacher, too, has gone from
the village."
"Who's that?" said Charley carelessly.
"Diggles--John Diggles. They brought him before me for stealing
pheasants' eggs, and I--and I--"
"Well, what did you do, dad? Fine him forty shillings?"
"Well, no, my boy. You see, he threw himself on my mercy--said he'd
such a character no one would employ him, and that he wanted to get out
of the country; and that if he stopped he should always be meddling with
the game. And you see, my dear boy, it's true enough; so I promised to
pay his passage to America."
"A pretty sort of a county magistrate!" laughed Charley. "What do you
think the reverend rectors, Lingon and Braceby, will say to you? Why,
they would have given John Diggles a month."
"Perhaps so, my dear boy; but the man has had no chance, and--No; sit
still, Charley. I haven't done yet; I want to talk to you."
"All right, dad. I was only going to give the mare a spin. Let her
wait." And he threw himself back in his chair.
"Yes, yes--let her wait this morning, my dear boy. But don't say `All
right!' I don't like you to grow slangy, either in your speech or
dress." He glanced at the young man's easy tweed suit. "That was one
thing in which the old school excelled, in spite of their wine-bibbing
propensities--they were particular in their language, dressed well, and
were courtly to the other sex."
"Yes," yawned Charley; "but they were dreadful prigs."
"Perhaps so--perhaps so, my dear boy," said the old gentleman, laying
his hand upon his son's knee. "But do you know, Charley, I should like
to see you a little more courtly and attentive to--to the ladies?"
"I adore that mare you gave me, dad."
"Don't be absurd. I want to see you more in ladies' society; so
polishing--so improving!"
"Hate it!" said Charley laconically.
"Nonsense--nonsense! Now look here!"
"No, dad. Look here," said Charley, leaning towards his father and
gazing full in his face with a half-serious, half-bantering smile
lighting up his clear blue eye. "You're beating about the bush, dad,
and the bird won't start. You did not send for me to say that
Martingale had been about a horse, or Leathrum had hatched so many
pheasants, or that Diggles was going to leave the country. Frankly,
now, governor, what's in the wind?"
Sir Philip Vining looked puzzled; he threw himself back in his chair,
took snuff hastily, spilling a few grains upon his cambric shirt-frill.
Then, with his gold-box in his left hand, he bent forward and laid his
right upon the young man's ample breast, gazing lovingly in his face,
and said:
"Frankly, then, my dear Charley, I want to see you married!"
Volume 1, Chapter IV.
CONCERNING MATRIMONY.
Charles Vining gazed half laughingly in his father's earnest face; then
throwing himself back, he burst into an uncontrolled fit of merriment.
"Ha, ha, ha! Me married! Why, my dear father, what next?" Then,
seeing the look of pain in Sir Philip's countenance, he rose and stood
by his side, resting one hand upon his shoulder. "Why, my dear father,"
he said, "what ever put that in your head? I never even thought of such
a thing!"
"My dear boy, I know it--I know it; and that's why I speak. You see,
you are now just twenty-seven, and a fine handsome young fellow--"
Charley made a grimace.
"While I am getting an old man, Charley, and the time cannot be so very
far off before I must go to my sleep. You are my only child, and I want
the Squire of Blandfield to keep up the dignity of the old family.
Don't interrupt me, my boy, I have not done yet. I must soon go the way
of all flesh--"
"Heaven forbid!" said Charley fervently.
"And it is the dearest wish of my heart to see you married to some lady
of good birth--one who shall well do the honours of your table.
Blandfield must not pass to a collateral branch, Charley; we must have
an heir to these broad acres; for I hope the time will come, my boy,
when in this very library you will be seated, grey and aged as I am,
talking to some fine stalwart son, who, like you, shall possess his dear
mother's eyes, ever to bring to remembrance happy days gone by, my boy--
gone by never to return."
The old man's voice trembled as he spoke, and the next moment his son's
hands were clasped in his, while as eye met eye there was a weak tear
glistening in that of the elder, and the lines seemed more deeply cut in
his son's fine open countenance.
"My dear father!" said the young man softly.
"My dear Charley!" said Sir Philip.
There was silence for a while as father and son thought of the days of
sorrow ten years back, when Blandfield Court was darkened, and steps
passed lightly about the fine old mansion, because its lady--loved of
all for miles round--had been suddenly called away from the field of
labour that she had blessed. And then they looked up to the portrait
gazing down at them from the chimneypiece, seeming almost to smile sadly
upon them as they watched the skilful limning of the beloved features.
A few moments after, a smile dawned upon the old man's quivering lip,
as, still retaining his son's hand, he motioned him to take a seat by
his side.
"My dear Charley," he said at last, "I think you understand my wishes."
"My dear father, yes."
"And you will try?"
"To gratify you?--Yes, yes, of course; but really, father--"
"My dear boy, I know--I know what you would say. But look here,
Charley--there has always been complete confidence between us; is
there--is there anything?"
"Any lady in the case? What, any tender _penchant_?" laughed Charley.
"My dear father, no. I think I've hardly given a thought to anything
but my horses and dogs."
"I'm glad of it, Charley, I'm glad of it! And now let's quietly chat it
over. Do you know, my dear boy, that you are shutting yourself out from
an Eden? Do you not believe in love?"
"Well, ye-e-es. I believe that you and my dear mother were most truly
happy."
"We were, my dear boy, we were. And why should not you be as happy?"
"Hem!" ejaculated Charley; and then firmly: "because, sir, I believe
that there is not such a woman as my dear mother upon earth."
The old gentleman shaded his eyes for a few moments with his disengaged
hand.
"Frankly again, father," said the young man, "is there a lady in view?"
"Well, no, my dear boy, not exactly; but I certainly was talking with
Bray over our port last week, when we perhaps did agree that you and
Laura seemed cut out for one another; but, my dear boy, don't think I
want to play the tyrant and choose for you. They do say, though, that
the lady has a leaning your way; and no wonder, Charley, no wonder!"
"I don't know very much about Laura," said Charley musingly. "She's a
fine girl certainly; looks rather Jewish, though, with those big red
lips of hers and that hooked nose."
"My dear Charley!" remonstrated Sir Philip.
"But she rides well--sits that great rawboned mare of hers gloriously.
I saw her take a leap on the last day I was out--one that I took too,
about half an hour before that fall; but hang me if it wasn't to avoid
being outdone by a woman! I really wanted to shirk it."
"Good, good!" laughed Sir Philip.
"But she's fast, and not feminine, to my way of thinking," said Charley,
gazing up as he spoke at the picture above the mantelpiece, and
comparing the lady in question with the truly gentle mother whom he had
almost worshipped. "She burst out with a hoarse `Bravo!' when she saw
me safely landed, and then shouted, `Well done, Charley!' and I felt so
nettled, that I pulled out my cigar-case, and asked her to take one."
"But she did not?" exclaimed Sir Philip.
"Well, no," said Charley, "she did not, certainly--she only laughed; but
she looked just as if she were half disposed. She's one of your Spanish
style of women: scents, too, tremendously--bathes in Ihlang-Ihlang, I
should think; perhaps because she delights in garlic and onions, and
wants to smother the odour!"
"My dear boy--my dear boy!" laughed Sir Philip, "you do really want
polish horribly! What a way to speak of a lady! It's terrible, you
know! But there, don't judge harshly, and you are perfectly unfettered;
only just bear this in mind: it would give me great pleasure if you were
to lead Laura Bray in here some day and say--But there, you know--you
know! Still I place no tie upon you, Charley: only bring me some fair
sweet girl--by birth a lady, of whom I can be proud--and then all I want
is that you shall give me a chair at your table and fireside. You might
have the title if it were possible, but you shall have the Court and the
income--everything. Only let me have my glass of wine and my bit of
snuff, and play with your children. Heaven bless you, my dear boy!
I'll go off the bench directly, and you shall be a county magistrate;
but you must be married, Charley--you must be married!"
Charley Vining did not appear to be wonderfully elated by his future
prospects, for, sighing, he said:
"Really, father, I could have been very happy to have gone on just as we
are; but your wishes--"
"Yes, my dear boy, my wishes. And you will try? Only don't bother
yourself; take time, and mix a little more with society--accept a few
more invitations--go to a few of the archery and croquet parties."
"Heigho, dad!" sighed Charley. "Why, I should be sending arrows for fun
in the stout old dowagers' backs, and breaking the slow curates' shins
with my croquet mallet! There, leave me to my own devices, and I'll see
what I can do!"
"To be sure--to be sure, Charley! And you do know Maximilian Bray?"
"Horrid snob!" laughed Charley, "such a languid swell! Do you know what
our set call him? But there, of course you don't! `Donkey Bray' or
else `Long-ears!'"
"There, there--never mind that! I don't want you to marry him, Charley.
And there--there's Beauty at the door!" exclaimed the old gentleman,
shaking his son's hand. "Go and have your ride, Charley! Good-bye!
But you'll think of what I said?"
"I will, honestly," said the young man.
"And--stay a moment, Charley: Lexville flower-show is to-morrow. I
can't go. Couldn't you, just to oblige me? I like to see these affairs
patronised; and Pruner takes a good many of our things over. He
generally carries off a few prizes. I see they've quite stripped the
conservatory. You'll go for me, won't you?"
"Yes, father, if you wish it," sighed Charley.
"I do wish it, my dear boy; but don't sigh, pray!"
"All right, dad," said the young man, brightening, and shaking Sir
Philip's hand, "I'll go; give away the prizes, too, if they ask me," he
laughed. And the next moment the door closed upon his retreating form.
Sir Philip Vining listened to his son's departing step, and then
muttering, "They will ask him too," he rose, and went to the window,
from which he could just get a glimpse of the young man mounting at the
hall-door. The next moment Charley cantered by upon a splendid roan
mare, turning her on to the lawn-like sward, and disappearing behind a
clump of beeches.
"He's a noble boy!" muttered the father proudly; and then as he walked
thoughtfully back to his chair, "A fine dashing fellow!"
But of course these were merely the fond expressions of a weak parent.
Volume 1, Chapter V.
CHARLEY'S ENCOUNTERS.
"Bai Jove, Vining! that you?" languidly exclaimed a little, thin,
carefully-dressed man, ambling gently along on one of the most
thoroughly-broken of ladies' mares, whose pace was so easy that not a
curl of her master's jetty locks was disarranged, or a crease formed in
his tightly-buttoned surtout. His figure said "stays" as plainly as
figure could speak; he wore an eyeglass screwed into the brim of his
very glossy hat; his eyes were half closed; his moustache was waxed and
curled up at the ends like old-fashioned skates; and his
carefully-trained whiskers lightly brushed their tips against his
shoulders. And to set off such arrangements to the greatest advantage,
he displayed a great deal of white wristband and shirt-front; his collar
came down into the sharpest of peaks; and he rode in lemon-kid gloves
and patent-leather boots.
"Hallo, Max!" exclaimed Charley, looking like some Colossus as he reined
in by the side of the dandy, who was going in the same direction along a
shady lane. "How are you? When did you come down?"
"So, so--so, so, mai dear fellow! Came down la-a-ast night. But pray
hold in that confounded great beast of yours: she's making the very
deuce of a dust! I shall be covered!"
Charley patted and soothed his fiery curveting steed into a walk, which
was quite sufficient to keep it abreast of Maximilian Bray's ambling
jennet, which kept up a dancing, circus-horse motion, one evidently
approved by its owner for its aid in displaying his graceful
horsemanship.
"Nice day," said Charley, scanning with a side glance his companion's
"get-up," and evidently with a laughing contempt.
"Ya-a-s, nice day," drawled Bray, "but confoundedly dusty!"
"Rain soon," said Charley maliciously. "Lay it well."
"Bai Jove, no--surely not!" exclaimed the other, displaying a great deal
of trepidation. "You don't think so, do you?"
"Black cloud coming up behind," said Charley coolly.
"Bai Jove, mai dear fellow, let's push on and get home! You'll come and
lunch, won't you?"
"No, not to-day," said Charley. "But I'm going into the town to see the
saddler. I'll ride with you."
"Tha-a-anks!" drawled Bray, with a grin of misery. "But, mai dear
fellow, hadn't you better go on the grass? You're covering me with
dust!"
"Confounded puppy! Nice brother-in-law! Wring his neck!" muttered
Charley, as he turned his mare on to the grass which skirted the side of
the road, as did Bray on the other, when, the horses' paces being
muffled by the soft turf, conversation was renewed.
"Bai Jove, Vining, you'll come over to the flower-show to-morrow, won't
you? There'll be some splendid girls there! Good show too, for the
country. You send a lot of things, don't you?--Covent-garden stuff and
cabbages, eh?"
"Humph!" growled Charley. "The governor's going to have some sent, I
s'pose; our gardener's fond of that sort of thing. Think perhaps I
shall go."
"Ya-a-s, I should go if I were you. It does you country fellows a deal
of good, I always think, to get into society."
"Does it?" said Charley, raising his eyebrows a little.
"Bai Jove, ya-a-s! You'd better go. Laura's going, and the Lingon's
girls are coming to lunch. You'd better come over to lunch and go with
us," drawled the exquisite.
"Well, I don't know," said Charley, hesitating; for he was thinking
whether it would not be better than going quite alone--"I don't know
what to say."
"Sa-a-ay? Sa-a-ay ya-a-s," drawled Bray. "Come in good time and have a
weed first in my room; and then we'll taste some sherry the governor has
got da-awn. He always leaves it till I come da-awn from ta-awn. Orders
execrable stuff himself, as I often tell him. Wouldn't have a drop fit
to drink if it weren't for me. You'd better come."
"Well, really," said Charley again, half mockingly, "I don't know what
to say."
"Why, sa-a-ay ya-a-as, and come."
"Well, then, `ya-a-as'!" drawled Charley, in imitation of the other's
tone.
But Maximilian Bray's skin was too thick for the little barb to
penetrate; and he rode gingerly on, petting his whiskers, and altering
the sit of his hat; when, being thoroughly occupied with his costume,
horse and man nearly came headlong to the ground, in consequence of the
mare stumbling over a small heap of road-scrapings. But the little
animal saved herself, though only by a violent effort, which completely
unseated Maximilian Bray, who was thrown forward upon her neck, his hat
being dislodged and falling with a sharp bang into the dusty road.
"All right! No bones broken! You've better luck than I have!" laughed
Charley, as he fished up the fallen hat with his hunting-whip. "Nip her
well with your knees, man, and then you won't be unseated again in that
fashion. Here, take your hat."
"Bai Jove!" ejaculated the breathless dandy, "it's too bad! That fellow
who left the sweepings by the roadside ought to be shot! Mai dear
fellow, your governor, as a magistrate, ought to see to it!
Tha-a-anks!"
He took his hat, and began ruefully to wipe off the dust with a scented
handkerchief before again covering his head; but though he endeavoured
to preserve an outward appearance of calm, there was wrath in his breast
as he gazed down at one lemon-coloured tight glove split to ribbons, and
a button burst away from his surtout coat. He could feel too that his
moustache was coming out of curl, and it only wanted the sharp shower
which now came pattering down to destroy the last remains of his
equanimity.
"Bai Jove, how beastly unfortunate!" he exclaimed, urging his steed into
a smart canter.
"Well, I don't know," said Charley coolly, in his rough tweed suit that
no amount of rain would have injured. "Better to-day than to-morrow.
Do no end of good, and bring on the hay."
"Ya-a-as, I suppose so," drawled Bray; "but do a confounded deal of
harm!" and he gazed at the sleeves of his glossy Saville-row surtout.
"O, never mind your coat, man!" laughed Charley. "See how it lays the
dust!"
"Ya-a-as, just so," drawled Bray. "I shall take this short cut and get
home. Only a shower! Bye-bye! See you to-morrow! Come to lunch."
The ragged lemon glove was waved to Charley as its owner turned down a
side lane; and now that his costume was completely disordered and wet,
he made no scruple about digging his spurs into his mare's flanks, and
galloping homewards; while, heedless of the sharply-falling rain,
Charley gently cantered on towards the town.
"Damsels in distress!" exclaimed the young man suddenly. "`Bai Jove!'
as Long-ears says. Taken refuge from the rain beneath a tree! Leaves,
young and weak, completely saturated--impromptu shower--bath! What
shall I do? Lend them my horse? No good. They would not ride double,
like Knight Templars. Ride off, then, for umbrellas, I suppose. Why
didn't that donkey stop a little longer? and then he could have done
it."
So mused Charley Vining as he cantered up to where, beneath a spreading
elm by the roadside, two ladies were waiting the cessation of the rain--
faring, though, very little better than if they had stood in the open.
One was a fashionably-dressed, tall, dark, bold beauty, black of eye and
tress, and evidently in anything but the best of tempers with the
weather; the other a fair pale girl, in half-mourning, whose yellow hair
was plainly braided across her white forehead, but only to be knotted
together at the back in a massive cluster of plaits, which told of what
a glorious golden mantle it could have shed over its owner, rippling
down far below the waist, and ready, it seemed, to burst from prisoning
comb and pin. There was something ineffably sweet in her countenance,
albeit there was a subdued, even sorrowful look as her shapely little
head was bent towards her companion, and she was evidently speaking as
Charley cantered up.
"Sorry to see you out in this, Miss Bray," he cried, raising his
low-crowned hat. "What can I do?--Fetch umbrellas and shawls? Speak
the word."
"O, how kind of you, Mr Vining!" exclaimed the dark maiden, with
brightening eyes and flushing cheeks. "But really I should not like to
trouble you."
"Trouble? Nonsense!" cried Charley. "Only speak before you get wet
through."
"Well, if you really--really, you know--would not mind," hesitated Laura
Bray, who, in spite of the rain, was in no hurry to bring the interview
to a close.
"Wouldn't mind? Of course not!" echoed Charley, whose bold eyes were
fixed upon Laura Bray's companion, who timidly returned his salute, and
then shrank back, as he again raised his little deer-stalker hat from
its curly throne. "Now, then," he exclaimed, "what's it to be?--shawls
and Sairey Gamps of gingham and tape?"
"No, no, Mr Vining! How droll you are!" laughed the beauty. "But if
you really wouldn't mind--really, you know--"
"I tell, you, Miss, Bray, that, I, shall, only, be, too, happy," said
Charley, in measured tones.
"Then, if you wouldn't mind riding to the Elms, and asking them to send
the brougham, I should be so much obliged!"
"All right!" cried Charley, turning his mare. "Max has only just left
me."
"But it seems such a shame to send you away through all this rain!" said
Laura loudly.
"Fudge!" laughed Charley, as, putting his mare at the hedge in front,
she skimmed over it like a bird, and her owner galloped across country,
to the great disadvantage of several crops of clover.
"What a pity!" sighed Laura to herself, as she watched the retreating
form. "And the rain will be over directly. I wonder whether he'll come
back!"
"Do you think we need wait?" said her companion gently. "The rain has
ceased now, and the sun is breaking; through the clouds."
"O, of course, Miss Bedford!" said Laura pettishly. "It would be so
absurd if the carriage came and found us gone;" when, seeing that the
dark beauty evidently wished to be alone with her thoughts, the other
remained silent.
"Who in the world can that be with her?" mused Charley, as he rode
along. "Might have had the decency to introduce me, anyhow. Don't know
when I've seen a softer or more gentle face. Splendid hair too! No
sham there: no fear of her moulting a curl here and a tress there, if
her back hair came undone. No, she don't seem as if there were any sham
about her--quiet, ladylike, and nice. 'Pon my word, I believe Laura
Bray would make a better man than Max. Seem to like those silver-grey
dresses with a black-velvet jacket, they look so--There, what a muff I
am, going right out of the way, while that little darling is getting wet
as a sponge! Easy, lass! Now, then--over!" he cried to his mare, as
she skimmed another hedge. "Wonder what her name is! Some visitor come
to the flower-show, I suppose--_fiancee_ of Long-ears probably. Steady,
then, Beauty!" he cried again to the mare, who, warming to her work, was
beginning to tear furiously over the ground; for, preoccupied by
thought, Charley had inadvertently been using his spurs pretty freely.
But he soon reduced his steed to a state of obedience, and rode on,
musing upon his late encounter.
"Can't be!" he thought. "A girl with a head like that would never take
up with such a donkey! Ah, there he goes, drenched like a rat! Ha, ha,
ha! How miserably disgusted the puppy did look! Patronising me, too--a
gnat! Advising me to go into society, etcetera! Well, I can't help it:
I do think him a conceited ass! But perhaps, after all, he thinks the
same of me; and I deserve it.
"Dear old dad," he mused again after awhile. "Like to see me married
and settled, would he? What should I be married for?--a regular
woman-hater! Why, in the name of all that's civil, didn't Laura
introduce me to that little blonde? Like to know who she is--not that
it matters to me! Over again, my lass!" he cried, patting the mare as
she once more bounded over a hedge, this time to drop into a lane
straight as a line, and a quarter of a mile down which Maximilian Bray
could be seen hurrying along--Charley's short cut across the fields
having enabled him to gain upon the fleeing dandy.
"May as well catch up to him, and tell him what I've seen," said
Charley, urging on his mare. "No, I won't," he said, checking. "Better
too, perhaps. No, I won't. Why should I send the donkey back to them?
Not much fear, though: he'll be too busy for a couple of hours restoring
his damaged plumes--a conceited popinjay!"
He cantered gently on now, seeming to take the shower with him, for he
could see, on turning, that it was getting fine and bright. But the
rain had quite ceased as he rode up to the door of the Brays' seat--a
fine old red-brick mansion known as the Elms--just as a groom was
leading the ambling palfrey to its stable at the King's Arms--there not
being accommodation in the paternal stables--a steed not much more than
half the size of the great rawboned hunter favoured by Max's masculine
sister.
"Why, here's Mr Charley Vining!" cried a shrill loud voice, from an
open window. "How de do, Mr Vining--how de do? Come to lunch, haven't
you? So glad! And so sorry Laura isn't at home! Caught in the shower,
I'm afraid."
The owner of the voice appeared at the window, in the shape of a very
big bony lady in black satin--bony not so much in figure as in face,
which seemed fitted with too much skull, displaying a great deal of
cheek prominence, and a macaw-beaked nose, with the skin stretched over
it very tightly, forming on the whole an organ of a most resonant
character--one that it was necessary to hear before it could be
thoroughly believed in. In fact, with all due reverence to a lady's
nose, it must be stated that the one in question acted as a sort of
war-trump, which Mrs Bray blew with masculine force when about to
engage in battle with husband or servant for some case of disputed
supremacy.
"Ring the bell, girls," shrieked the lady; "and let some one take Mr
Vining's horse. Do come in, Mr Vining!"
"How do, Vining--how do?" cried a little pudgy man, appearing at the
window, but hardly visible beside his lady--Mrs Bray in more ways than
one eclipsing her lord. "How do? How's Sir Philip?"
"Quite well, thanks; but not coming in," cried Charley, from his horse's
back. "Miss Bray and some lady caught in the rain--under tree--bad
shelter--want the brougham."
"Dear me, how tiresome!" screamed Mrs Bray. "But must we send it,
Ness?"
Mr Bray, named at his baptism Onesimus, replied by stroking his cheek
and looking thoughtfully at his lady.
"The rain's about over now, and they might surely walk," shrieked Mrs
Bray. "Dudgeon grumbles so, too, when he has to go out like this, and
he was ordered for two o'clock."
"Better send, my dear," whispered Mr Bray, with a meaning look.
"Vining won't like it if you don't."
Mrs Bray evidently approved of her husband's counsel; for orders were
given that the brougham should be in immediate readiness.
"They won't be long," she now screamed, all smiles once more. "But do
come in and have some lunch, Mr Vining: don't sit there in your wet
clothes."
"No--no. I'm all right," cried Charley. "I'm off again directly."
But for all that, he lingered.
"You'll be at the flower-show to-morrow, won't you?" said Mrs Bray.
"Well, yes, I think I shall go," said Charley. "I suppose everybody
will be there."
"O, of course; Laura's going. I suppose you send some things from the
Court?"
"Yes," said Charley; but he added, laughing, "What will be the use, when
you are going to send such a prize blossom?"
"For shame, you naughty man!" said Mrs Bray. "I shall certainly tell
Laura you've turned flatterer."
"I say, Charley Vining," squeaked a loud voice from the next window,
"we're going to beat you Court folks."
"We are, are we?" laughed Charley, turning in the direction of the
voice, which proceeded from a very tall angular young lady of sixteen--a
tender young plant, nearly all stem, and displaying very little blossom
or leaf. She was supported on either side by two other tender plants,
of fourteen and twelve respectively, forming a trio known at the Elms as
"the children." "I'm very glad to hear it, Miss Nell; but suppose we
wait till after the judge's decision. But there goes the carriage.
Good-bye, all!"
And turning his horse's head, he soon overtook the brougham, when, after
soothing Mr Dudgeon, the driver, with a shilling, the progress was
pretty swift until they reached the tree, where, now finding shelter
from the sun instead of the rain, yet stood Laura Bray and her
companion.
"O, how good of you, Mr Vining! and to come back, too!" gushed Laura,
with sparkling eyes. "I shall never be out of debt, I'm sure. I don't
know what I should have done if it had not been for you!"
"Walked home, and a blessed good job, too!" muttered Mr John Dudgeon.
"Don't name it!" said Charley. "Almost a pity it's left off raining."
"For shame--no! How can you talk so!" exclaimed Laura, shaking her
sunshade at the speaker. "But I really am so much obliged--I am
indeed!"
Charley dismounted and opened the carriage-door, handing in first Miss
Bray, who stepped forward, leaned heavily upon his arm, and then took
her place, arranging her skirts so as to fill the back seat, talking
gushingly the while as she made play at Charley with her great dark
eyes.
But the glances were thrown away, Charley's attention being turned to
her companion, who bent slightly, just touched the proffered hand, and
stepped into the brougham, taking her seat with her back to the horse.
"So much obliged--so grateful!" cried Laura, as Charley closed the door.
"I shall never be able to repay you, I'm sure. Thanks! So much!
Good-bye! See you at the flower-show to-morrow, of course?
Good-bye!--_good-bye_!"
"She's getting a precious deal too affectionate! Talk about wanting me
to marry _her_, why she'll run away with _me_ directly!" grumbled
Charley, as Mr Dudgeon impatiently drove off, leaving the young man
with the impression of a swiftly passing vision of Laura Bray showing
her white teeth in a great smile as she waved her hand, and of a fair
gentle face bent slightly down, so that he could see once more the rich
massive braids resting upon a shapely, creamy neck. "Have they been
saying anything to her?" said Charley, as the brougham disappeared.
"She's getting quite unpleasant. Grows just like the old woman:
regularly parrot-beaked. Why didn't she introduce me? Took the best
seat, too! Looks strange! I say, though, `bai Jove'--as that sweet
brother says--this sort of thing won't do! I should like to please the
dad; but I don't think I could manage to do it `that how,' as they say
about here. She quite frightens me! Heigho! what a bother life is when
you can't spend it just as you like! Wish I was out in Australia or
Africa, or somewhere to be free and easy--to hunt and shoot and ride as
one liked. Let's see: I shall not go over to the town now--it's nearly
lunch-time, and I'm wet."
He had mounted his horse, and was about to turn homeward, when something
shining in the grass caught his eye, and leaping down, he snatched up
from among the glistening strands, heavy with raindrops, a little golden
cross--one that had evidently slipped from velvet or ribbon as the
ladies stood beneath that tree.
"That's not Miss Laura's--can't be!" muttered Charley, as he gazed
intently at the little ornament. "Not half fine enough for her."
Then turning it over, he found engraved upon the reverse:
"E.B. From her Mother, 1860."
"E.B.--E.B.--E.B.! And pray who is E.B.?" muttered Charley, as, once
more mounting, he turned his horse's head homeward. "Eleanor B. or
Eliza--no, that's a housemaid's name--Ernestine, Eva. Who can she be?
Not introduced--given the back seat--hardly spoken to, and yet so
ladylike, and--There, get on, Beauty! What am I thinking about? We
sha'n't be back to lunch."
He cantered on for a mile: and then as they entered a sunny lane--a very
arcade of gem-besprinkled verdure--he drew rein, and taking the little
cross from his pocket, once more read the inscription.
"`E.B. From her mother, 1860.' And pray who is her mother? and who is
E.B.? Nobody from about here, I'll be bound. But what a contrast to
that great, tall, dark woman! And they call her beautiful! Not half so
beautiful as you, my lass!" he cried, rousing himself, and patting his
mare's arched neck. "You are my beauty, eh, lass? Get on, then!"
But as Charley Vining rode on he grew thoughtful, and more than once he
absently muttered:
"Yes; I think I'll go to the flower-show to-morrow!"
Volume 1, Chapter VI.
A SECOND MEETING.
Maximilian Bray, Esq., clerk in her Majesty's Treasury, Whitehall, sat
in his dressing-room soured and angry. He had been hard at work trying
to restore the mischief done by the rain; but in spite of "Bandoline"
and "Brilliantine," he could not get hair, moustache, or whiskers to
take their customary curl: they would look limp and dejected. Then that
superfine coat was completely saturated with water, as was also his hat,
neither of which would, he knew, ever again display the pristine gloss.
And, besides, he had been unseated before "that coarse boor, Charley
Vining," and the fellow had had the impertinence to grin. But, there,
what could you expect from such a country clown? Altogether, Maximilian
Bray, Esq., was cross--not to say savage--and more than once he had
caught himself biting his nails--another cause for annoyance, since he
was very careful with those almond-shaped nails, and had to pare, file,
and burnish them afterwards to remove the inequality.
The above causes for a disordered temper have been recorded; but they
were far from all. It is said that it never rains but it pours, and as
that was the case out of doors, so it was in. But it would be wearisome
to record the breaking of boot-loops, the tearing out of shirt-buttons,
and the crowning horror of a spot of iron-mould right in the front of
the principal plait. Suffice it that Maximilian Bray felt as if he
could have quarrelled with the whole world; and as he sat chilled with
his wetting, he had hard work to keep from gnawing his finger-nails
again and again.
He might have gone down into the drawing-room, warm with the sun, while
his northern-aspected window lent no genial softness; but no: there was
something on his mind; and though he was dressed, he lingered still.
He knew that the luncheon bell would ring directly; in fact, he had
referred several times to his watch. But still he hung back, as if
shrinking from some unpleasant task, till, nerving himself, he rose and
went to the looking-glass, examining himself from top to toe, grinning
to see if his teeth were perfectly white, dipping a corner of the towel
in water to remove the faintest suspicion of a little cherry tooth-paste
from the corner of his mouth, biting his lips to make them red, trying
once more to give his lank moustache the customary curl, but trying in
vain--in short, going through the varied acts of a man who gives the
whole of his mind to his dress; and then, evidently thoroughly
dissatisfied, he strode across the room, flung open the door, and began
to descend the stairs.
The builder of the Elms, not being confined for space, had made on the
first floor a long passage, upon which several of the bedrooms opened;
and this passage, being made the receptacle for the cheap pictures
purchased at sales by Mr Onesimus Bray, was known in the house as the
"long gallery."
Descending a short flight of stairs, Maximilian Bray was traversing this
gallery, when the encounter which in his heart of hearts he had been
dreading ever since he came down the night before was forced upon him;
for, turning into the passage from the other end, the companion of Laura
Bray's morning walk came hurriedly along, slackening her pace, though,
as she perceived that there was a stranger in advance; but as their eyes
met, a sudden start of surprise robbed the poor girl for a few moments
of her self-control; the blood flushed to her temples, and for an
instant she stopped short.
But Maximilian Bray was equal to the occasion. He had fought off the
encounter as long as he could; but now that the time had come, he had
determined upon brazening it out.
"Ha ha!" he laughed playfully. "Know me again, then? Quite frightened
you, didn't I? Shouldn't have been so cross last time, when I only
wanted to see you safe on your journey. Didn't know who I was, eh?
But, bai Jove! glad to see you again--am indeed!"
There was no reply for an instant to these greetings. But as the flush
faded, to leave the lace of her to whom they were addressed pale and
stern, Maximilian Bray's smile grew more and more forced. The words
were too shallow of meaning not to be rightly interpreted; and
overcoming the surprise that had for a few moments fettered her, the
fair girl turned upon Bray a keen piercing look, as moving forward she
slightly bent, and said coldly in her old words:
"I think, sir, you have made some mistake."
"Mistake? No! Stop a minute. No mistake, bai Jove--no! You remember
me, of course, when I startled you at the station. Only my fun, you
know, only that young donkey must interfere. Glad to see you again--am,
indeed, bai Jove! We shall be capital friends, I know."
As he spoke, he stepped before his companion, arresting her progress,
and holding out his hand.
Driven thus to bay, the young girl once more turned and faced her
pursuer with a look so firm and piercing, that he grew discomposed, and
the words he uttered were unconnected and stammering.
"Sorry, you know, bai Jove! Mistook my meaning. Glad to see you
again--am, bai Jove! Eh? What say?"
"I was not aware that Mr Maximilian Bray and the gentleman"--she laid a
hardly perceptible emphasis on the word "gentleman"--"whom I encountered
at that country station were the same. Allow me to remind you, sir,
that you made a mistake then in addressing a stranger. You make another
error in addressing me again; for bear in mind we are strangers yet.
Excuse me for saying so, but I think it would be better to forget the
past."
"Ya-as, just so--bai Jove! yes. It was nothing, you know, only--"
Maximilian Bray stopped short, for the simple reason that he was alone;
for, turning hastily, his companion had retraced her steps, leaving the
exquisite son of the house--the pride of his mother, the confidant of
his sister, and the pest of the servants--looking quite "like a fool,
you know, bai Jove!"
They were his own words, though meant for no other ears but his own,
being a little too truthful. Then he stood thinking and gnawing one
nail for a few moments before continuing his way down to the
dining-room.
"So we are to be as if we met for the first time, are we?" he muttered;
and then his countenance lighted up into an inane smile as he thought to
himself, "Well, I've got it over. And, after all, it's something like
being taken into her confidence, for haven't we between us what looks
uncommonly like a secret?"
Volume 1, Chapter VII.
A DAWNING SENSE.
They were rather famous for their flower-shows at Lexville, not merely
for the capital displays of Nature's choicest beauties, educated by
cunning floriculturists to the nearest point to perfection, but also for
their wet days. When the exhibition was first instituted, people said
that the marquee was soaked and the ladies' dresses spoiled, simply
because the show was held upon a Friday. "Just," they said, "as if
anybody but a committee would have chosen a Friday for an outdoor fete!"
But, if anything, the day was a little worse upon the next occasion,
when Thursday had been selected, the same fate attending the luckless
managers upon a Monday, a Tuesday, and a Wednesday. But now at last it
seemed as if the fair goddess Flora herself had enlisted the sympathies
of that individual known to mortals as "the clerk of the weather," and,
in consequence, the day was all that could be desired. In fact, the
weather was so fine, that the bandsmen of the Grenadier Guards, instead
of coming down in their old and tarnished uniforms--declared, as a rule,
to be good enough for Lexville--mustered in full force, gorgeous in
their brightest scarlet and gold. The committee-men had shaken hands in
the secretary's tent a dozen times over as many glasses of sherry, and
forgotten to eat their biscuits in their hurry to order the cords of
Edgington's great tent to be tightened, so potent were the rays of the
sun; while within the canvas palace, in a golden hazy shade, the floral
beauties from many a hot house and conservatory were receiving the last
touches by way of arrangement.
Lexville was in a profound state of excitement that day, and Miss
l'Aiguille, the dressmaker, declared that she had been nearly torn to
pieces by her customers.
"As for Miss Bray," she said, "not another dress would she make for
her--no, not if she became bankrupt to-morrow--that she wouldn't! Six
tryings-on, indeed, and then not satisfied!"
However, Miss l'Aiguille's troubles were so far over that, like the rest
of Lexville, she had partaken of an early dinner, or lunch, and prepared
herself to visit the great fete.
Lexville flower-show was always held in the grounds of one of the county
magistrates, the Rev Henry Lingon, concerning whose kindness the
reporter for the little newspaper generally went into raptures in print,
and received orders for half-a-dozen extra copies the next bench-day.
And now fast and furiously the carriages began to set down--the wealth
and fashion of the neighbourhood making a point of being the earlier
arrivals, so as to miss the crowd of commoner beings who would
afterwards flock together.
"Ah, Vining! You're here, then, mai dear fellow! Why didn't you come
to lunch?" exclaimed Maximilian Bray, sauntering up to the young man,
who, rather flushed and energetic, was talking to a knot of
flower-button-holed committee-men.
"How do, Max?" exclaimed Charley, hastily taking the extended hand, and
giving it a good shake. Then, turning to the committee-men: "Much
rather not--would, really, you know--don't feel myself adapted. Well,
there," he exclaimed at last, in answer to several eager protestations,
"I'll do it, if you can get no one else!--Want me to give away the
prizes," he said, turning to Max Bray, who was gazing ruefully at his
right glove, in whose back a slight crack was visible, caused, no doubt,
by the hearty but rough grasp it had just received.
"To be sure--of course!" drawled Bray. "You're the very man, bai Jove!
But won't you come towards the gate? I expect our people here
directly."
Nothing loth, Vining strolled with his companion down one of the
pleasant floral avenues, but seeing no flowers, hearing no band; for his
gaze, he hardly knew why, was directed towards the approach; and though
Maximilian Bray kept up a drawling series of remarks, they fell upon
inattentive ears.
"Do you expect them soon?" said Charley at last, somewhat impatiently,
for he was growing tired of his companion's chatter.
"Ya-as, directly," said Bray, smiling. "But, mai dear fellow, why
didn't you come over and then escort them?"
Charley did not answer; for just then he caught sight of Laura, radiant
of lace and dress, sweeping along beside Mrs Bray, who seemed to cut a
way through the crowd at the farther part of the great marquee.
"Here they are," said Bray, drawing Charley along; "so now you can be
out of your misery."
"What do you mean?" said Charley sharply.
"Bai Jove! how you take a fellow up! Nothing at all--nothing at all!"
Charley frowned slightly, and then suffered himself to be led up to the
Elms party, Mrs Bray smiling upon him sweetly, and Laura favouring him
with a look that was meant to bring him to her side.
But Laura's look had not the desired effect; for Charley stayed talking
to Mrs Bray, after just passing the customary compliments to the
younger lady.
A frown--no slight one--appeared on Laura's brow; but in a few seconds
it was gone, and, walking back a few paces, she stayed by her younger
sisters, with whom Charley could see the young lady of the previous
day's encounter.
And now he would have followed Laura in the hope of obtaining an
introduction, but he was arrested by a stout committee-man.
"Would he kindly step that way for a moment?"
With an exclamation of impatience, the young man followed, to find that
his opinion was wanted as to the suitability of the site chosen for the
distribution of the prizes.
"But surely you can obtain some one else?" exclaimed Charley.
"Impossible, my dear sir," was the reply.
So, after two or three unavailing attempts to obtain a substitute,
Charley gave in; for the owner of the grounds, upon being asked,
declared that a better choice could not have been made; the principal
doctor shook his head; while Mr Onesimus Bray literally turned and fled
upon hearing Charley's request. So, with a feeling of something like
despair, the elected prize-giver began to cudgel his brains for the
verbiage of a speech, telling himself that he should certainly break
down and expose himself to the laughter of the assemblage; for the
grandees from miles round had made their way to Lexville to patronise
the flower-show; and at last, quite in despair, Charley walked hurriedly
down one of the alleys of the garden, passing closely by the Bray party,
and making Laura colour with annoyance at what she called his neglect.
But Charley Vining's perturbed spirit was not soothed by the anticipated
solitude of the shady alley; for, before he had gone twenty yards, he
saw Max Bray side by side with the lady who had occupied a goodly share
of his thoughts since the encounter of the previous day.
Their backs were towards him, but it was quite evident that Mr
Maximilian Bray was exerting himself to be as agreeable as possible to
his companion, though with what success it was impossible to say. At
all events, Charley Vining turned sharply round upon his heel, with a
strange feeling of annoyance entirely new pervading his spirit.
"How absurd!" he muttered to himself. "What an ass I was to come to a
set-out of this kind! No fellow could be more out of place!"
Turning out of the alley, he made his way, with rapid, business-like
steps, on to the lawn, where the rapidly-increasing company were now
gathering in knots, and listening to one of Godfrey's finest selections.
To an unbiased observer, the thought might have suggested itself that
there was as bright a flower-show, and as beautiful a mingling of hues,
out there upon the closely-shaven turf, as within the tent; but Charley
Vining was just then no impartial spectator; and, though more than one
pair of eyes grew brighter as he approached, he saw nothing but two
figures slowly issuing from the other end of the alley, where the
guelder roses were showering down their vernal snows.
"I should uncommonly like to wing that Max Bray's neck!" said Charley to
himself, as he threw his stalwart form into a wicker garden-chair, which
creaked and expostulated dismally beneath the weight it was called upon
to bear; and then, indulging in rather a favourite habit, he lolled
there, muttering and talking to himself--cross-examining and answering
questions respecting his uneasiness.
But the more he thought, the more uneasy he grew, and twice over he
shifted his seat to avoid an attack from some conversational friend whom
he saw approaching.
"There, this sort of thing won't do!" he exclaimed at last. "I'm afraid
I'm going on the pointed-out road rather too fast. Suppose I take a
dose of the Bray family by way of antidote."
So, leaving his seat, he strode towards where he could see Laura's white
parasol; but his intent was baffled by a couple of committee-men, who
literally took him into custody--their purpose being to give him divers
and sundry explanations respecting the distribution of the prizes.
Volume 1, Chapter VIII.
SHOOTING AN ARROW.
To have seen the company assembled in the Reverend Henry Lingon's
grounds upon that bright afternoon, it might have been imagined that for
the time being no marring shadow could possibly cross any breast; for,
gaze where you would, the eye rested upon bright pleased faces wreathed
in smiles, groups, whose aspect was of the happiest, setting off
everywhere the Watteau-like landscape. But for all that, there were
faces there wearing but a mask, and to more than one present that fete
was fraught with _ennui_ and disappointment. Toilettes arranged with
the greatest care had, in other than the instance hinted at, been
without effect; while again, where, in all simplicity, effect had not
been sought, attentions had been paid distasteful even to annoyance.
The Lexville flower-show had assembled together enough to form a little
world of hopes and fears; and, fete-day though it had been, there were
aching hearts that night, and tearful eyes moistening more than one
pillow--the pillows of those who were young and hopeful still, in spite
of their pain, though they were beginning to learn how much bitterness
there is amidst the dregs of every cup--dregs to be drained by all in
turn, earlier or later, in their little span.
But now the band was silenced for a while, and the company began to
cluster around a temporary platform erected for the occasion, where the
hero of the day was to distribute to the expectant gardeners the rewards
of their care and patience.
Not that there is much to be called heroic in giving a few premiums for
the best roses, or pansies, or stove-plants; but if the distributor be
young, handsome, disengaged, heir to a baronetcy, and rich, in many eyes
he becomes a hero indeed--a hero of romance; and bitter as were the
feelings of Charley Vining, who declared to himself that his speech was
blundering, that he had looked _gauche_ and red-faced, and that any
schoolboy could have done better, there were plenty of hearty plaudits
for him, and more than one bright young face became suffused with the
rapid beating of its owner's heart, as for a moment she thought that a
glance was directed expressly at her.
Poor deluded little thing, though! It was all a mistake; for Charley
Vining went through his business like an automaton, seeing nothing but a
simple, half-mourning muslin dress, and a pale, sweet face in a lavender
bonnet, which had appeared to him to have been haunted the whole day
long by what he had once indignantly called "a tailor's dummy"--to wit,
the exquisite and elaborately-attired form of Maximilian Bray.
But at length the distribution was at an end, and gardener, amateur, and
cottager had been dismissed. Hot, weary, and glad to get away, Charley
had hurried from the group of friends and acquaintances by whom he had
been surrounded, when at a short distance off he espied Laura Bray, and
his heart smote him for his neglect of the daughter of a family with
whom he had always been very intimate.
"Too bad, 'pon my word!" said Charley hypocritically, for at the same
moment other thoughts had flashed across his mind. However, he drew
down that mental blind which people find so convenient wherewith to
shadow the window of their hearts, and strode across the lawn towards
Laura, who was apparently listening to the conversation of a gentleman
of a more fleshy texture than is general with young men of three- or
four-and-twenty.
"At last!" muttered Laura Bray, as Charley came smiling up to where she
stood; and now beneath that smile the feeling of anger and annoyance at
what she had looked upon as his neglect melted away. True, he owed her
no allegiance; but she had set herself upon receiving his incense, and
the afternoon having passed with hardly a word, a feeling of
disappointment of the most bitter nature had troubled her: the music had
seemed dirge-like, the brilliant flowers as if strewn with ashes. At
times she was for leaving; but no, she could not do that. She had
darted angry and reproachful glances at him again and again, but without
effect, and then looked at him with eyes subdued and tearful, still in
vain: he had seemed almost to avoid her, and such pains too as she had
taken to make herself worthy of his regard! How she had bitten her lips
till the blood had nearly started from beneath the bruised skin! Rage
and disappointment had between them shared her breast. Then in a fit of
anger she had commenced quite a flirtation with Hugh Lingon, the son of
the owner of the grounds, a fat young gentleman from Cambridge, an
ardent croquetist, but rather famed in his set for the number of times
he had been "ploughed for smalls." Hugh Lingon had been delighted,
smiling so much that the great creases in his fat face almost closed his
eyes. He even went so far as to squeeze Laura's hand, and to tell her
that the cup ought to have been presented to her as the fairest flower
there; but Charley Vining had not seemed to mind the attentions in the
least--he had not even appeared troubled; and at last poor Hugh Lingon
was snubbed while uttering some platitude, and sent about his business
by the imperious beauty, to make room for Charley Vining, whose pleasant
smile chased away all Laura's care.
Of course she must make allowances for him. He had been busy and
bothered about the prize-giving, so how could he attend to her? He was
different from other men: so frank and straightforward and bold. She
had always felt that he must love her; and after what Sir Philip Vining
had hinted to papa, and papa had told mamma, and mamma had pinched her
arm and told her in a whisper, what was there to prevent her being Lady
Vining and the mistress of Blandfield Court?
"At last!" said Laura, and this time quite aloud, as Charley came up;
when, taking his arm, she bestowed upon him a most reproachful glance.
"I declare I thought your friends were to be quite neglected!"
"Neglected? O, I don't know," said Charley; and then there was a pause.
"Why, you grow quite _distrait_," said Laura pettishly. "Why, what can
you see to take your attention there?"
She followed his gaze, which was directed towards a seat across the
lawn, whereon were her companion of the day before, one of the
"children," and Max Bray leaning in an attitude over the back.
"Shall we be moving?" said Charley abstractedly.
"O yes, please do!" said Laura. "I'm dying for want of an ice, or a cup
of tea. I've been pestered for the last half-hour by that horrible fat
boy!"
"Fat boy!" said Charley wonderingly.
"Yes; you know whom I mean--Hugh Lingon. So glad to have you come and
set me free!"
Charley Vining did not say anything; but he led his companion towards
the refreshment-tent, carefully avoiding the open lawn, and taking her,
nowise unwilling, round by the shady walks where there were but few
people, her steps growing slower, and her hand more heavy in its
pressure. And still Charley Vining was quiet and thoughtful; but he led
his companion to the refreshment-tent, handed the demanded ice, and then
sauntered with her towards the lawn, still gay with fashionably-dressed
groups.
"Had we not better get in the shade?" said Laura languidly. "The
afternoon sun is quite oppressive."
"Let's cross over to Max," said Charley. "That seems a pleasant shady
seat."
Laura did not speak, but she looked sidewise in his preoccupied
countenance, and, evidently piqued at what she considered his
indifference, allowed herself to be led across the lawn.
"By the way, Miss Bray," said Charley suddenly, "you never introduced me
to your lady friend."
"Lady friend!" said Laura, as if surprised.
"Yes, the fair girl that friend Max there seems so taken with. Is it
his _fiancee_?" Laura Bray's eyes glittered as she bent forward and
looked intently in her companion's face; then a tightness seemed to come
over the muscles of her countenance, giving her a hard bitter look, as a
flash of suspicion crossed her mind. The next moment she smiled; but it
was not a pleasant smile, though it displayed two rows of the most
brilliantly-white teeth. But, apparently determined upon her course,
she increased the pace at which they were walking till they stood in
front of the seat where, with a troubled look in her eyes, sat,
listening perforce to the doubtless agreeable conversation of Mr
Maximilian Bray, the lady of the railway station, and the companion of
Laura in the brougham.
It was with a look almost of malice that, stopping short, Laura fixed
her eyes upon Charley Vining, to catch the play of his countenance as,
without altering the direction of her glance, she said aloud:
"Miss Bedford, this gentleman has requested to be introduced to you--Mr
Charles Vining." Then, with mock courtesy, and still devouring each
twitch and movement, she continued: "Mr Charles Vining--Miss Bedford,
_our new governess_!"
Volume 1, Chapter IX.
AN UNEXPECTED PROTECTOR.
Mr Onesimus Bray led rather an uncomfortable life at home, and more
than once he had confided his troubles to the sympathising ear of Sir
Philip Vining. Laura was given to snubbing him; Max made no scruple
about displaying the contempt in which he held his parent; while as to
Mrs Bray, the wife of his bosom, the principal cause of his suffering
from her was the way in which she sat upon him.
Now it must not be supposed that Mrs Bray literally and forcibly did
perform any such act of cruelty; for this was only Mr Bray's
metaphorical way of speaking in alluding to the way in which he was kept
down and debarred from having a voice in his own establishment, the
consequence being that he sought for solace and recreation elsewhere.
Mr Onesimus Bray was far from being a poor man; so that if he felt
inclined to indulge in any particular hobby, his banker never said him
"Nay," while if Mrs Bray's somewhat penurious alarms could be laid by
the promise of profit, she would raise not the slightest opposition to
her husband's projects. At the present time, Mr Bray's especial hobby
was a model farm, in which no small sum of money had been sunk--of
course, with a view to profit; but so far the returns had been _nil_.
The old farmers of the neighbourhood used to wink and nod their heads
together, and cackle like so many of their own geese at what they called
Mr Bray's "fads"--namely, at his light agricultural carts and wagons;
despising, too, his cows and short-legged pigs; but, all the same,
losing no chance of obtaining a portion of his stock when occasion
served.
Moved by a strong desire to possess the finest Southdown sheep in the
county, Mr Bray had purchased a score of the best to be had for money,
among which was a snowy-wooled patriarchal ram, as noble-looking a
specimen of its kind as ever graced a Roman triumphal procession ere
bedewing with its heart's blood the sacrificial altar. Gentle, quiet,
and inoffensive, the animal might have been played with by a child
before it arrived at Mr Bray's model farmstead; but having been there
confined for a few days in a brick-walled pig-sty, the unfortunate
quadruped attracted the notice of the young gentleman whose duty it was
to clean knives, boots, and shoes at the Elms, and wait table at dinner,
clothed in a jacket glorious with an abundant crop of buttons gracefully
arranged in the outline of a balloon over his padded chest. It occurred
to this young gentleman one afternoon when alone, that a little playful
teasing of the ram might afford him some safe sport; so fetching a large
new thrum mop from the kitchen, he held it over the side of the pig-sty,
shaking it fiercely and threateningly at the ram, till the poor beast
answered the challenge of the--to him--strange enemy by backing as far
as possible, and then running with all his might at the
suddenly-withdrawn mop, when his head would come with stunning violence
against the bricks, making the wall quiver again.
The pleasant pastime used to be carried on very frequently, till most
probably, not from soreness--rams' heads being slightly thick, and able
to suffer even brick walls--but from disappointment at not being able to
smite its adversary, the ram became changed into a decidedly vicious
beast, and, as such, he was turned out into one of Mr Bray's pleasant
meadows.
Now, as it fell upon a day, perfectly innocent of there being any
vicious animal in the neighbourhood, Ella Bedford had passed through
this very meadow during a walk with her three pupils. The morning was
bright and sunshiny, and the sight of a fine snowy-wooled sheep cropping
the bright green herbage was not one likely to create alarm. Had it
been a cow, or even a calf, it might have been different, and the stiles
and footpaths avoided for some other route; for the female eye is a
strong magnifier of the bovine race, and we have known ladies refuse to
pass through a field containing half-a-dozen calves, which had been
magnified, one and all, into bulls of the largest and fiercest
character.
There was something delightful to Ella in the sweet repose of the
country around. The grass was just springing into its brightest green,
gilded here and there with the burnished buttercups, while in every
hedge-side "oxlips and the nodding violet" were blooming; the oaks, too,
were beginning to wear their livery of green and gold. The birds sang
sweetly as they jerked themselves from spray to spray, while that Sims
Reeves of the feathered race--the lark--balanced himself far up in the
blue ether, and poured out strain after strain of liquid melody. There
was that wondrous elasticity in the air, that power which sets the heart
throbbing, and the mind dreaming of something bright, ethereal,
ungrasped, but now nearer than ever to the one who drinks in the sweet
intoxicating breath of spring.
There was a brightness in Ella's eye, and a slight flush in her cheek,
as she walked on with her pupils, smiling at each merry conceit, and
feeling young herself, in spite of the age of sorrow that had been hers.
For a while she forgot the strange home and the cool treatment she was
receiving; the unpleasant attentions, too, of the hopeful son of the
house; the meeting in the gallery. The wearisome compliments at the
flower-show were set aside; for--perhaps influenced by the bright
morning--Ella's cheek grew still more flushed, and in spite of herself
she dwelt upon the scene where she pictured two beings addressed by a
frank bold horseman; and as his earnest gaze seemed directed once more
at her, Ella's heart increased its pulsations, but only to be succeeded
by a dull sense of aching misery, as another picture floated before her
vision, to the exclusion of the sunny landscape and the glorious spring
verdure. The sweet liquid trill of the birds, too, grew dull on her
ear; for she seemed once more to see the same earnest gaze fixed upon
her face, and then to watch the start of surprise--was it
disappointment?--as again Laura Bray's words rang on her ears:
"Miss Bedford, our new governess!"
It was time to cease dreaming, she thought.
Walks must come to an end sooner or later; and a reference to her watch
showing Ella Bedford that they would only reach the Elms in time for
lunch, they began to retrace their steps, when, to the young girl's
horror, she saw that they had been followed by no less a personage than
Mr Maximilian Bray, whose first act upon reaching them was to take his
place by Ella's side, and send his sisters on in advance.
But that was not achieved without difficulty, Miss Nelly turning round
sharply and declining to go.
"I shan't go, Max! You only want to talk sugar to Miss Bedford; and ma
says you're ever so much too attentive--so there now!"
Ella's face became like scarlet, and she increased her pace; but a
whisper from Max sent Nelly scampering off after her two sisters--now
some distance in advance--when he turned to the governess.
"Glad I caught up to you, Miss Bedford--I am, bai Jove! You see, I
wanted to have a few words with you."
"Mr Maximilian Bray will, perhaps, excuse my hurrying on," said Ella
coldly. "It is nearly lunch-time, and I am obliged to teach punctuality
to my pupils."
"Bai Jove! ya-as, of course!" said Max. "But I never get a word with
you at home, and I wanted to set myself right with you about that
station matter."
"If Mr Bray would be kind enough to forget it, I should be glad," said
Ella quickly.
"Bai Jove! ya-as; but, you see, I can't. You see, it was all a joke so
as to introduce myself like, being much struck, you know. Bai Jove,
Miss Bedford! I can't tell you how much struck I was with your personal
appearance--can't indeed!"
Ella's lip curled with scorn as she slightly bent her head and hurried
on.
"Don't walk quite so fast, my dear--Miss Bedford," he added after a
pause, as he saw the start she gave. "We shall be time enough for
lunch, I daresay. Pleasant day, ain't it?"
Ella bent her head again in answer, but still kept on forcing the pace;
for the children were two fields ahead, and racing on as quickly as
possible.
"Odd, wasn't it, Miss Bedford, that we should have met as we did, and
both coming to the same place? Why don't you take my arm? There's
nobody looking--this time," he added.
The hot blood again flushed up in Ella's cheek as she darted an
indignant glance at her persecutor; but there was something in Max
Bray's composition which must have prevented him from reading aright the
signs and tokens of annoyance in others; and, besides, he was so lost in
admiration of his own graces and position, that when, as he termed it,
he _stooped_ to pay attentions to an inferior, every change of
countenance was taken to mean modest confusion or delight.
"There, don't hurry so!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Bai Jove, what a
fierce little thing you are! Now, look here: we're quite alone, and I
want to talk to you. There, you needn't look round: the children are
half-way home, and we shall be quite unobserved. Bai Jove! why, what a
prudish little creature you are!"
Ella gave a quick glance round, but only to find that it was just as Max
had said. There was a sheep feeding in the field, whose hedges were of
the highest; and for aught she could see to the contrary, there was no
assistance within a mile, while Max Bray had caught her hand in his, and
was barring the route.
Regularly driven to bay, Ella turned upon him with flaming face, trying
at the same moment to snatch away her hand, which, however, he held the
tighter, crushing her fingers painfully, though she never winced.
"Mr Bray," she exclaimed, "do you wish me to appeal to your father for
protection?"
"Of course not!" he drawled. "But there now--bai Jove! what is the use
of your putting on all those fine airs and coy ways? Do you think I'm
blind, or don't understand what they mean? Come now, just listen to
what I say."
Before Ella could avoid his grasp, he had thrown one arm round her
waist, when he started back as if stung, for a loud mocking laugh came
from the stile.
"Ha, ha, ha! I thought so! I knew you wanted to talk sugar to Miss
Bedford."
At the same moment Max and Ella had seen the merry delighted countenance
of Nelly, who had crept silently back, but now darted away like a deer.
A cold chill shot through Ella Bedford's breast, and it was with the
greatest difficulty that she could force back the angry tears as she saw
that her future was completely marred at the Elms--how that she was, as
it were, at the mercy of the young girl placed in her charge, unless she
forestalled any tattling by complaining herself of the treatment to
which she had been subjected.
"There, you needn't mind her!" exclaimed Max, who partly read her
thoughts. "I can keep her saucy little tongue quiet. You need not be
afraid."
"Afraid!" exclaimed Ella indignantly, as she turned upon the speaker
with flashing eyes, and vainly endeavoured to free the hand Max had
again secured.
"Handsomer every moment, bai Jove!" exclaimed Max. "You've no idea how
a little colour becomes you! Now, I just want to say a few--"
"Are you aware, sir, that this is a cruel outrage?--one of which no
gentleman would be guilty."
"Outrage? Nonsense! What stuff you do talk, my dear! I should have
thought that, after what I said to you at the flower-show, you would
have been a little more gentle, and not gone flaming out at a poor
fellow like this. You see, I love you to distraction, Miss Bedford--I
do indeed. Bai Jove, I couldn't have thought that it was possible for
any one to have made such an impression upon me. Case of love at first
sight--bai Jove, it was! And here you are so cruel--so hard--so--'Pon
my soul I hardly know what to call it--I don't, bai Jove!"
"Mr Bray," said Ella passionately, "every word that you address to me
in this way is an insult. As the instructor of your sisters, your duty
should be to protect, not outrage my feelings at every encounter."
She struggled to release her hand, but vainly. Each moment his grasp
grew firmer, and, like some dove in the claws of a hawk, she panted to
escape. She felt that it would be cowardly to call for help; besides,
it would be only making a scene in the event of assistance being near
enough to respond to her appeal; and she had no wish to figure as an
injured heroine or damsel in distress. Her breast heaved, and an angry
flush suffused her cheeks, while, in spite of every effort, the great
hot tears of annoyance and misery would force themselves to her eyes.
She knew it not--though she saw the exquisite's gaze fixed more and more
intently upon her--she knew not how excitement was heightening the soft
beauty of her face, brightening her eyes, suffusing her countenance with
a warm glow, and lending animation where sorrow had left all tinged with
a sad air of gloom--an aspect that had settled down again after the
brightness given by the early part of her walk.
"There now, don't be foolish, and hurt the poor little white hand! You
can't get away, my little birdie; for I've caught you fast. And don't
get making those bright eyes all dull and red with tears. I don't like
crying--I don't indeed, bai Jove! Now let's walk gently along together.
There--that's the way. And now we can talk, and you can listen to what
I have to say."
In spite of her resistance, he drew the young girl's hand through his
arm, and held it thus firmly. But to walk on, Ella absolutely refused;
and stopping short, she tried to appeal to his feelings.
"Mr Bray," she said, "as a gentleman, I ask you to consider my
position. You have already done me irreparable injury in the eyes of
your sister; and now by this persecution you would force me to leave my
situation, perhaps with ignominy. I appeal to your feelings--to your
honour--to cease this unmanly pursuit."
"Ah, that's better!" he said mockingly. "But I'm afraid, my dear, you
have a strong tinge of the romantic in your ideas. I see, you read too
many novels; but you'll come round in time to my way of thinking, only
don't try on so much of this silly prudishness, my dear. It don't do,
you know, because I can see through it. There, now, don't struggle;
only I'm not going to let you go without something to remember this
meeting by. Now don't be silly! It's no robbery--only an exchange. I
want that little ring to hang at my watch-chain, and you can wear this
one for my sake. There!" he exclaimed triumphantly, as he succeeded in
drawing a single gem pearl ring from her finger and placing one he drew
from his pocket in its place, Ella the while alternately pale and red
with suppressed anger, for she had vainly looked around for help; and
now forcing back her tears, and scorning to display any farther
weakness, she took off the ring and dashed it upon the path.
"What a silly little thing it is!" laughed Bray, who considered that he
was honouring her with his attentions, however rough they might be.
"But it's of no use: you don't go till that ring is on your darling
little finger--you don't, bai Jove!"
Was there to be no help? A minute before, she would have refused
assistance; for she did not believe that any one professing to be a
gentleman would so utterly have turned a deaf ear to her protestations
and appeals. From some low drink-maddened ruffian she might have fled
in horror, shrieking, perhaps, for help; but here, with the son of her
employers, Ella had believed that her indignant rejection of the
insulting addresses would have been sufficient to set her at liberty.
She was, then, half stunned as to her mental faculties on finding that
her words were mocked at, her appeals disregarded, and even her
indignant looks treated as feints and coyness. But then, poor girl, she
did not know Maximilian Bray, and that his gross nature was not one that
could grasp the character of a good and pure-hearted woman. It was
something he could not understand. He measured other natures by his
own, and acted accordingly. Once only the thoughts of Ella Bedford flew
towards Charles Vining, as if, in spite of herself, they sought in him
her natural protector, but only for an instant; and now, seriously
alarmed, she gazed earnestly round for aid. She would have even gladly
welcomed the mocking face of Nelly, and have called her to her side.
But no, Nelly had hurried away, content and laughing at what she had
seen: and now from the indignant flush, Ella's face began to pale into a
look of genuine alarm. But help was at hand.
Still holding tightly by her hand, Max Bray stooped to recover the ring,
when, suddenly as a flash of light, a white rushing form seemed to dart
through the air, catching Max Bray, as he bent down, right upon the
crown of his hat, crushing it over his eyes, and tumbling him over and
over, as a fierce "Ba-a-a-a!" rung upon his astonished ears.
Set free by this unexpected preserver, Ella, panting and alarmed, fled
for the stile and climbed it, when, looking back, she saw that she was
safe, while Max Bray rose, struggling to free himself from his
crushed-down hat; but only for his father's prize Southdown to dart at
and roll him over again: when, once more rising to his feet, he ran,
frightened and blindfold, as hard as he could across the field in the
opposite direction.
Ella saw no more. It did not fall to her lot to see Max Bray make a
blind bound--a leap in the dark--from his unseen pursuer, and land in
the midst of a dense blackthorn hedge, out of which he struggled, torn
of flesh and coat, to free himself from the extinguishing hat, and gaze
through the hedge-gap at his assailant, who stood upon the other side
shaking his head, and bucking and running forward "ba-a-a-ing"
furiously.
For a few moments Max Bray was speechless with rage and astonishment.
To think that he, Maximilian Bray, should have been bowled over,
battered, and made to flee ignominiously by a sheep! It was positively
awful.
"You--you--you beast! you--you woolly brute!" he stuttered at last.
"I'll--I'll--bai Jove, I'll shoot you as sure as you're there!--I will,
bai Jove!"
But now the worst of the affair flashed upon him, making torn clothes,
thorns in the flesh, and battered hat seem as nothing, though these were
in his estimation no trifles; but this was the second time within the
past few days that he had been wounded in his self-esteem.
"And now there's that confounded coy jade run home laughing at me--I'm
sure she has!" he muttered. "Not that there was anything to laugh at;
but never mind: `Every dog--' My turn will come! But to be upset like
this! And--what? you won't let me come through!"
There was no doubt about it. The Southdown was keeping guard at the
stile, and Max Bray, after trying to repair damages, was glad to make
his way back to the Elms by a circuitous route, and then to creep in by
the side-door unseen, vowing vengeance the while against those who had
brought him to that pass.
"But I'll make an end of the sheep!" he exclaimed--"I will, bai Jove!"
Volume 1, Chapter X.
ELLA'S COMFORTER.
Most persons possessed of feeling will readily agree that scarcely
anything could be more unpleasant than for a gentleman, bent upon making
himself attractive to a lady, to meet with such a misfortune as to be
taken, while in a stooping position, for a defiant beast, and to have to
encounter the full force of a woolly avalanche, or so much live mutton
discharged, as from a catapult, right upon the crown of his head. Max
Bray was extremely sore afterwards--sore in person and temper: but the
most extraordinary part of the affair is, that his head never ached from
the fierce blow. It would perhaps be invidious to offer remarks about
thickness, or to make comparisons; but certainly for two or three days
after, when he encountered Ella Bedford, Max Bray did wear, in spite of
his effrontery, a decidedly sheepish air. But not for a longer period.
At the end of that time a great deal of the soreness had worn off, and
he was nearly himself again.
But with Ella Bedford the case was different. She was hourly awakening
to the fact that hers was to be no pleasant sojourn at the Elms; and
with tearful eyes she thought of the happy old days at home before
sickness fell upon the little country vicarage, and then death removed
the simple, good-hearted village clergyman from his flock, to be
followed all too soon by his mourning wife.
"I have nothing to leave you, my child--nothing!" were almost the
father's last words. "Always poor and in delicate health, I could only
keep out of debt. But your mother, help her--be kind to her," he
whispered.
Ella Bedford's help and kindness were only called for during a few
months; and then it fell to her lot to seek for some situation where the
accomplishments, for the most part taught by her father, might be the
means of providing her with a home and some small pittance.
By means of advertising, she had succeeded in obtaining the post of
governess at the Elms, and it was while on her way to fill that post
that she had encountered the hopeful scion of the house of Bray. It
was, then, with a feeling almost of horror that she met him again at the
Elms, and her first thought was that she must flee directly--leave the
house at once; her next that she ought to relate her adventure to some
one. But who would sympathise with her, and rightly view it all? She
shrank from harsh loud-voiced Mrs Bray; and, almost from the first
meeting, Laura had seemed to take a dislike to her--one which she made
no scruple of displaying--while, as a rule, she tried all she could to
how the immeasurable distance she considered that there existed between
her and the dependent.
On the day of the sheep encounter, agitated, wounded, and with great
difficulty keeping back her tears, Ella hurried on; and had Max Bray's
position been one of danger, it is very doubtful whether any assistance
would have been rendered him through Ella, so thoroughly was she taken
up with her own position. She felt that she must be questioned
respecting her charges reaching home alone; they would certainly talk
about her staying behind with their brother, and the culminating point
would be reached when Miss Nelly declared what she had seen.
Well might the poor girl's heart beat as she hastened on; for it seemed
as if, through the persecution of a fop, her prospects in life were to
be blighted at the outset. But there's a silver lining to every cloud,
it is said; and before Ella had gone half a mile, to her great joy she
saw Nelly seated with her sisters by a bank, gathering wild flowers, and
then tossing them away.
Fortune favoured her too when they reached the Elms: luncheon--the
children's dinner--had been put back for half an hour because Mr
Maximilian had not returned.
"Mr Maximilian" did not show himself at all at table that day, and,
glad of the respite, Ella sought her bedroom directly after, to think
over the past, and try and decide what ought to be her course under the
circumstances. What would she not have given for the loving counsel of
some gentle, true-hearted woman! But she felt that she was quite
alone--alone in the vast weary world; and as such thoughts sprang up
came the recollection of the happy bygone, sweeping all before it; and
at last, unable to bear up any longer, she sank upon her knees by the
bedside, weeping and sobbing as if her poor torn heart would break.
She struggled hard to keep the tears back, but in vain now--they would
come, and with them fierce hysterical sobs, such as had never burst
before from her breast. Then would come a cessation, as she asked
herself whether she ought not to acquaint Mrs Bray with her son's
behaviour?--or would it be making too much of the affair? Then she
reviewed her own conduct, and tried to find in it some flaw--some want
of reserve which had brought upon her the insults to which she had been
subjected. But, as might be expected, the search was vain, and once
more she bowed down her head and sobbed bitterly for the happy past, the
painful present, and the dreary future.
It was in the midst of her passionate outbursts that she suddenly felt
some one kneel beside her, and through her tears she saw, with wonder,
the friendly and weeping face of Nelly, who had crept unperceived into
the room.
"O, Miss Bedford! Dear, dear Miss Bedford, please don't--don't!" sobbed
the girl, as, throwing her long thin arms round Ella, she drew her face
to her own hard bony breast, soothing, kissing, and fondling her
tenderly, as might a mother. "Please--please don't cry so, or you'll
break my heart; for, though you don't think it, I do love you so--so
much! You're so gentle, and kind, and wise, and beautiful, that--that--
that--O, and you're crying more than ever!"
Poor Nelly burst out almost into a howl of grief as she spoke; but, like
her words, it was genuine, and as she pressed her rough sympathies upon
her weeping governess, Ella's sobs grew less laboured, and she clung
convulsively to the slight form at her side.
"There--there--there!" half sobbed Nelly. "Try not to cry, dear; do
please try, dear Miss Bedford; for indeed, indeed it does hurt me so!
You made me to love you, and I can't bear to see you like this!"
So energetic, indeed, was Nelly's grief, that, as she spoke, she kicked
out behind, overturning a bedroom chair; but it passed unnoticed.
"They say I'm a child; but I'm not, you know!" she said half
passionately. "I'm sixteen nearly, and I can see as well as other
people. Yes, and feel too! I'm not a child; and if Laury raps my
knuckles again, I'll bite her, see if I don't! But I know what you're
crying about, Miss Bedford, and I saw you wanted to cry all dinner-time,
only you couldn't; it's about Max; and you thought I should tell that he
put his arm round your waist. But I shan't--no, not never to a single
soul, if they put me in the rack! He's a donkey, Max is, and a
disagreeable, stupid, cox-comby, stubborn, bubble-headed donkey, that he
is! I saw him kiss Miss Twentyman, who used to be our governess, and
she slapped his face--and serve him right too, a donkey, to want to kiss
anybody--such stupid silly nonsense! It's quite right enough for girls
and women to kiss; but for a man--pah! I don't believe Max was ever
meant to be anything but a girl, though; and I told him so once, and he
boxed my ears, and I threw the butter-plate at him, and the butter stuck
in his whiskers, and it was such fun I forgot to cry, though he did hurt
me ever so. But I'm not a child, Miss Bedford, and I do love you ever
so much, and I'll never say a single word about you and Max; and if he
ever bothers you again, you say to him, `How's Miss Brown?' and he'll
colour up, and be as cross as can be. I often say it to make him cross.
He used to go to see her, and she wouldn't have him because she said he
was such a muff, and she married Major Tompkins instead. But it does
make him cross--and serve him right too, a nasty donkey! Why, if he'd
held my hand like he did yours to-day, I'd have pinched him, and nipped
him, and bitten him, that I would! He sha'n't never send me away any
more, though; I shall always stop with you, and take care of you, if
you'll love me very much; and I will work so hard--so jolly hard--with
my studies, Miss Bedford, I will indeed; for I'm so behindhand, and it
was all through Miss Twentyman being such a cross old frump! But you
needn't be afraid of me, dear; for I'm not a child, am I?"
As Nelly Bray had talked on, fondling her to whom she clung the while,
Ella's sobs had grown less frequent, and at last, as she listened to the
gaunt overgrown girl's well-meaning, half-childish, half-womanly words,
she smiled upon her through her tears; for her heart felt lighter, and
there was relief, too, in the knowledge that Nelly was indeed enough of
a true-hearted woman to read Max Bray's conduct in the right light, and
to act accordingly.
"You darling dear sweet love of a governess!" cried Nelly rapturously,
as she saw the smile; and clinging to her neck, she showered down more
kisses than were, perhaps, quite pleasant to the recipient. "You will
trust me, won't you?"
"I will indeed, dear," said Ella softly.
"And you won't fidget?"
"No," said Ella.
"And now--that's right; wipe your eyes and sit down--and now you must
talk to me, and take care of me. But you are not cross because I came
up without leave?"
"Indeed, no," said Ella sadly. "I thought I was without a friend, and
you came just at that time."
"No, no, you mustn't say that," said Nelly, "because I am not old and
sensible enough to be your friend. But it hurt me to see you in such
trouble, and I was obliged to come; and now you won't be miserable any
more; and you mustn't take any notice if Laury is disagreeable--a nasty
thing! flirting all day long with my--with Mr Hugh Lingon," she said,
colouring. "But there, I'm not ashamed: Hugh Lingon is my lover, and
has been ever since he was fourteen and I was six--when he used to give
me sweets, and I loved him, and used to say he was so nice and fat to
pinch! And Laury was flirting with him all that afternoon at the show,
when Max would hang about--a great stupid!--when I wanted to explain
things; for you know she was flirting with Hugh because that dear old
Charley Vining wouldn't take any notice of her. He is such a dear nice
fellow! But I do not love _him_, you know, only like him; and he likes
me ever so much. He told me so one day, and gave me half-a-crown to
spend in sweets--wasn't it kind of him? He'll often carry a basket of
strawberries or grapes over for me and the girls, or fill his pockets
with apples and pears for us; when, as for old Max, he'd faint at the
very sight of a basket, let alone carry it! You will like Charley. He
_is_ nice! Laury loves him awful--talks about him in her sleep! But I
do not think he cares for her,--and no wonder! But I say, Miss Bedford,
how nice and soft your hand is! and, I say, what a little one! Why,
mine's twice as big!"
Ella smiled, and went on smoothing the girl's rough hair, but hardly
heeding what she said--only catching a word here and there.
"I shouldn't never love Charley Vining," said Nelly, whose grammar was
exceedingly loose, "but I should always like him; and if I don't marry
Hugh Lingon, I mean to be an old maid, and wear stiff caps and pinners,
and then--You're beginning to cry again, and it's too bad, after all
this comforting up!"
"No, indeed, my child," said Ella, rousing herself. "I was only
thinking that when things are at the blackest some little ray of hope
will peep out to light our paths."
"I say," said Nelly, "is that poetry?"
"No," said Ella, smiling sadly.
"Ah, I thought it was," said Nelly. "But then I'm so ignorant and
stupid! Mamma says I'm fit for nothing, and I suppose she's right! But
there, I'm making you tired with my talking, and I won't say another
word; only don't you fidget about Max--only snub him well; and I
wouldn't tell pa or ma, because it might make mischief."
Hanging as it were in the balance, Ella allowed the advice of the
child-woman at her side to have effect, and determined to say nothing--
to make no complaints, trusting to her own firmness to keep her
persecutor in his place until his visit was at an end. It was, perhaps,
a weak resolve; but who is there that always takes the better of two
roads? It was, however, her decision--her choice of way--one which led
through a cloud of sorrow, misery, and despair so dense, that in after
time poor Ella often asked herself was there to be no turning, no byway
that should lend once again, if but for a few hours, into the joyous
sunshine of life?
Volume 1, Chapter XI.
CROQUET AND ROQUET.
"Bai Jove, seems a strange thing!" said Max Bray at breakfast-time,
about a week after the events recorded in the last chapter--"seems a
strange thing you women can't settle anything without showing your
teeth!"
"You women, indeed! Max, how can you talk so vulgarly!" exclaimed
Laura.
And then there was silence, for Ella Bedford entered the breakfast-room
with her charges.
Strange or not, there had been something more than a few words that
morning in the breakfast-room between Mrs Bray and her daughter,
concerning a croquet-party to come off that afternoon upon the Elms
lawn. As for Mr Bray, he had taken no part in the discussion,
"shutting-up"--to use his son's words--"like an old gingham umbrella,
bai Jove!"
However, hostilities ceased upon the appearance of Ella with the
children; and Mrs Bray, after shrieking for the tea-caddy, sat down to
the urn, and the morning meal commenced.
"Of course, mamma," said Laura suddenly, "you won't think of having the
children on the lawn?"
"O, I daresay, miss!" cried Nelly, firing up. "Just as if we're to be
set aside when there's anything going on! Charley Vining says I play
croquet just twice as well as you can; and I know he's coming to-day on
purpose to see me!" she added maliciously.
Mr Bray shook his head at her, and Ella slightly raised one finger; but
as she made a rule of never correcting her charges when father or mother
was present, she did not speak.
"Hold your tongue, you pert child!" exclaimed Laura, with a toss of the
head. "You'll let Miss Bedford keep them in the schoolroom, of course,
mamma?"
"Indeed, I don't see why they should not have a game as well as their
sister!" shrieked Mrs Bray, from behind the urn; for after the
hostilities of that morning mamma would not budge an inch.
The breakfast ended, Nelly ran round to give Mrs Bray a sounding kiss,
and then danced after her sisters and their governess into the
schoolroom.
"There, hooray! Beaten her!" shouted Nelly, clapping her hands. "I
knew what she meant, Miss Bedford. She didn't want you to be on the
lawn and come and play; and now she's beaten, and serve her right too!
She's afraid Charley Vining will take more notice of you than he does of
her, and I shall tell him."
"My dear Nelly!" exclaimed Ella, with a look of pain on her countenance;
when her wild young charge dropped demurely into a seat, and began to
devour French irregular verbs at a tremendous rate, working at them
thoroughly hard, and, having a very retentive memory, making some
progress.
These were Ella's happiest moments; for, in spite of their roughness,
the three girls in her charge, one and all, evinced a liking for her;
and save at times, when she broke out into a thorough childish fit,
Nelly grew hourly more and more womanly under her care. But Ella was
somewhat troubled respecting the afternoon's meeting, and would gladly
have spent the time in solitude, for it was plain enough that she was to
be present solely out of opposition to Laura; and in spite of all her
efforts, it seemed that she was to grow daily more distasteful to the
dark beauty, who openly showed her dislike before Ella had been in the
house a week.
However, the schoolroom studies made very little progress that morning;
for before long Mrs Bray entered to give orders respecting dress,
sending Nelly into ecstasies as she cast her book aside; and at three
o'clock that afternoon, as Laura swept across the lawn to meet some of
the coming guests, there was a look of annoyance upon her countenance
that was ill-concealed by the smile she wore.
"So absurd!" she had just found time to say to Mrs Bray, "bringing
those children and their governess out upon the croquet-ground as if on
purpose to annoy people, who are made to give way to humour their
schoolroom whims!"
Mrs Bray's reply was a toss of the head, as she turned off to meet her
hopeful son Max, who, after pains that deserved a better recompense, now
made his appearance dressed for the occasion.
"Just in time, bai Jove!" he drawled; and then he started slightly, for,
making a survey of the lawn, he suddenly became aware that Ella Bedford
was seated within a few yards with her pupils. "O, here's Miss
Bedford!" he exclaimed; "and, let's see, there's Laura; and who are
those with her? O, the Ellis people. They don't play. I want to make
up a set at once--want another gentleman. Why, there's Charley Vining
just coming out of the stable-yard; rode over, I suppose. Perhaps he'll
play."
Ella shrank back, and sent an appealing look towards Mrs Bray; but as
Max had said Miss Bedford was to play, there was no appeal.
"Perhaps Miss Nelly here would like to take my place?" said Ella.
"O, dear me, no, Miss Bedford! Mr Maximilian selected you as one of
the set, and I should not like him to be disappointed," said Mamma Bray.
"You'll play, Vining?" drawled Max.
"Well, no; I don't care about it," said Charley good-humouredly. "I'll
make room for some one else."
"Ya-a-as, but we haven't enough without you," said Max. "You might take
a mallet, you know, till some one else comes."
"O, very good," said Charley, who had just caught sight of Ella with a
mallet in her hand. "I'm ready."
"Then we'll have a game at once before any one else comes. Now then,
Laura, here's Charley Vining breaking his heart because you don't come
and play on his side. I daresay, though, Miss Bedford and I can get the
better of you."
But Max Bray's arrangement for a snug _parti_ of four was upset by fresh
arrivals--Hugh Lingon, looking very stout, pink, and warm, with a couple
of sisters, both stouter, pinker, and warmer, and a very slim young
curate from a neighbouring village, arriving just at the same time.
Then followed a little manoeuvring and arranging; but in spite of
brother and sister playing into each other's hands, the game commenced
with Max Bray upon the same side as Laura, one of the stout Miss
Lingons, and the slim curate; while Charley Vining had Ella under his
wing.
Croquet is a very nice amusement: not that there is much in the game
itself, which is, if anything, rather tame; but it serves as a means for
bringing people together--as a vehicle for chatting, flirting, and above
all, carrying off the _ennui_ so fond of making its way into social
fashionable life. You can help the trusting friend so nicely through
hoop after hoop, receiving all the while such prettily-spoken thanks and
such sweet smiles; there is such a fine opportunity too, whilst assuming
the leadership and directing, for enabling the young lady to properly
hold her mallet for the next blow--arranging the little fingers, and
pressing them inadvertently more tightly to the stick; and we have known
very enthusiastic amateurs go so far as to kneel down before a lady, and
raise one delicate _bottine_, placing it on the player's ball, and
holding it firmly while the enemy is croque'd. _Apropos_ of enemies,
too, how they can be punished! How a rival can be ignominiously driven
here and there, and into all sorts of uncomfortable places--under bushes
and behind trees, wired and pegged, and treated in the most cruel
manner!
And so it was at the Elms croquet-party. Looking black almost as night,
Laura struck at the balls viciously--a prime new set of Jaques's best--
chipping the edge of her mallet, bruising the balls, and driving Ella
Bedford's "Number 1, blue," at times right off the croquet-ground. Not
that it mattered in the least; for in spite of his self-depreciation,
Charley Vining was an admirable player, making long shots, and fetching
up Ella's unfortunate ball, taking it with him through hoop after hoop,
till Laura's eyes flashed, and Max declared, "bai Jove!" he never saw
anything like it; when Charley would catch a glimpse of Ella's troubled
look, recollect himself, and perform the same acts of kindness for the
plump Miss Lingon, to receive in return numberless "O, thank you's!" and
"O, how clever's!" and "So much obliged, Mr Vining!" while "that
governess," as Laura called her, never once uttered a word of thanks.
As for Hugh Lingon, he was always nowhere; and as he missed his aim
again and again, he grew more and more divided in his opinions.
First he declared that the ground was not level; but seeing the good
strokes made by others, he retracted that observation, and waited
awhile.
"I don't think my ball is quite round, Vining," he exclaimed, after
another bad stroke.
"Pooh! nonsense!" laughed Charley. "You didn't try; it was because you
didn't want to hit Miss Bray."
"No--no! 'Pon my word, no--'pon my word!" exclaimed Hugh, protesting as
he grew more and more pink.
"Did his best, I'd swear--bai Jove, he did!" drawled Max, playing, and
sending poor Lingon off the ground.
Then, after a time, Lingon had his turn once more.
"It's not the ball, it's this mallet--it is indeed!" he exclaimed, after
an atrocious blow. "Just you look here, Vining: the handle's all on one
side."
"Never mind! Try again, my boy," laughed Charley; and soon after he had
to bring both his lady partners up again to their hoop, sending Laura's
ball away to make room for them, and on the whole treating it rather
harshly, Laura's eyes flashing the while with vexation.
"I like croquet for some things," said Laura's partner, the thin curate,
after vainly trying to render her a service; "I but it's a very
unchristian-like sort of game--one seems to give all one's love to one's
friends, and to keep none for one's enemies."
"O, come, I say," laughed Charley, who seemed to be in high spirits.
"Here's Mr Louther talking about love to Miss Bray!"
"Indeed, I assure you--" exclaimed the curate.
"But I distinctly heard the word," laughed Charley.
"Was that meant for a witticism?" sneered Laura.
"Wit? no!" said Charley good-humouredly. "I never go in for that sort
of thing."
"Bai Jove, Vining! why don't you attend to the ga-a-a-me?" drawled Max,
who was suffering from too much of the second Miss Lingon--a young lady
who looked upon him as an Adonis.
"Not my turn," said Charley.
"Yes, yes!" said Hugh Lingon innocently. "Miss Bedford wants you to
help her along!"
"Of course," sneered Laura. "Such impudence!"
But Charley did not hear her words; for he was already half-way towards
poor Ella, who seemed to shrink from him as he approached, and watched
with a troubled breast the efforts he made upon her behalf.
"Now it's my turn again," said Hugh. "Now just give me your advice
here, Vining. What ought I to do?"
Charley interrupted a remark he was making to Ella Bedford, and pointed
out the most advantageous play, when Hugh Lingon raised his mallet, the
blow fell, and--he missed.
"Now, did you ever see anything like that?" he exclaimed, appealing to
the company.
"Yes, often!" laughed Charley.
"But what can be the reason?" exclaimed Lingon.
"Why, bai Jove! it's because you're such a muff, Lingon, bai Jove!"
exclaimed Max.
"I am--I know I am!" said Lingon good-humouredly. "But, you know, I
can't help it--can't indeed!"
The game went on with varying interest, Charley in the intervals trying
to engage Ella in conversation; but only to find her retiring, almost
distant, as from time to time she caught sight of a pair of fierce eyes
bent upon her from beneath Laura's frowning brows. But there was a
sweetness of disposition beaming from Ella's troubled countenance, and
the tokens of a rare intellect in her few words--spoken to endeavour to
direct him to seek for others with more conversational power, but with
precisely the contrary effect--that seemed to rouse in Sir Philip
Vining's son feelings altogether new. He found himself dwelling upon
every word, every sweet and musical tone, drinking in each troubled,
trembling look, and listening with ill-concealed eagerness even for the
words spoken to others.
"Bai Jove!" exclaimed Max at length, angrily to his sister, "what's the
matter with that Charley Vining?"
"Don't ask me!" cried Laura pettishly, as she turned from him to listen
to and then to snub the slim curate, who, after ten minutes'
consideration, had worked up and delivered a compliment.
Once only did Ella trust herself to look at Charley, taking in, though,
with that glance the open-countenanced, happy English face of the young
man, but shrinking within herself the next instant as she seemed to feel
the bold, open, but still respectfully-admiring glance directed at her.
Two other croquet sets had been made upon the great lawn; and, taking
the first opportunity, Ella had given up her mallet into other hands--an
act, to Laura's great disgust, imitated by Charley Vining, who, however,
found no opportunity for again approaching Ella Bedford until the hour
of dinner was announced, when, the major portion of the croquet-players
having departed, the remainder--the invited few--met in the
drawing-room.
Volume 1, Chapter XII.
CROSS UPON CROSS.
"Will you take down Miss Bedford, Max?" said Mrs Bray, according to
instructions from her son, who, however, was not present, his toilet
having detained him; and, therefore, trembling Ella fell to the lot of
Charley Vining, whom, she knew not why, she seemed to fear now as much
as she did Max Bray.
And yet she could not but own that he was only frank, cordial, and
gentlemanly. Only! Was that all? She dared not answer that question.
Neither could he answer sundry questions put by his own conscience, as
from time to time he encountered angry, reproachful glances from the
woman who sat opposite, but to whom, whatever might have been assumed,
he had never uttered a word that could be construed into one of love.
Somehow or another, during that dinner, Sir Philip's words would keep
repeating themselves to Charley, and at last he found himself muttering:
"Shut myself out from an Eden--from an Eden!" while, when the ladies
rose, and the door had closed upon the last rustling silk, a cloud
appeared to have come over the scene, and he sat listening impatiently
to the drawl of Max, and the agricultural converse of Mr Bray.
It was with alacrity, then, that Charley left the table, when, upon
reaching the drawing-room, he found Laura hovering in a paradise of
musical R's, as she sat at the piano, rolling them out in an Italian
bravura song, whose pages, for fear that he should be forestalled by
Charley Vining, Hugh Lingon rushed to turn over.
"Now Miss Bedford will sing us something," shrieked Mrs Bray; and not
daring to decline, Ella rose and walked to the piano, taking up a song
from the canterbury. But her hands trembled as a shadow seemed to be
cast upon her; and without daring to look, she knew that Charley Vining
was at her side, ready to turn over the leaves.
"If he would only go!" she thought; and then she commenced with
tremulous voice a sweet and plaintive ballad, breathing of home and the
past, when, living as it were in the sweet strain, her voice increased
in volume and pathos, the almost wild expression thrilling through her
hearers, till towards the end of the last verse, when forgetting even
Vining's presence in the recollections evoked, Ella was brought back to
the present with a start, as one single hot tear-drop fell upon her
outstretched hand.
How she finished that song she never knew, nor yet how she concealed her
painful agitation; but her next recollection was of being in the
conservatory with Charley Vining, alone, and with his deep-toned voice
seeming to breathe only for her ear.
"You must think it weak and childish," he said softly; "but I could not
help it," he added simply. "Perhaps I am, after all, only an overgrown
boy; but that was my dear mother's favourite song--one which I have
often listened to; and as you sung to-night, the old past seemed to come
back almost painfully. But I need not fear that you will ridicule me."
"Indeed, no!" said Ella softly. "I can only regret that I gave you
pain."
"Pain! No, it was not pain," said Charley musingly. "I cannot explain
the feeling. I am a great believer in the power of music; and had we
been alone, I might have asked you to repeat the strain. I am only too
glad, though, that my poor father was not here."
There was a pause for quite a minute--one which, finding how her
companion had been moved, Ella almost feared to break; when seeing him
start back, as it were, into the present and its duties, she made a
movement as if to return.
"But one minute, Miss Bedford," said Charley. "You admire flowers, I
see. Look at the metallic, silvery appearance of these leaves."
"Pray excuse me, Mr Vining," said Ella quietly, "but I wish to return
to the drawing-room."
"Yes--yes--certainly!" exclaimed Charley. "But one moment: I have
something to say to you."
"Mr Vining is mistaken," said Ella coldly; "he forgets that I am not a
visitor or friend of the family. Pray allow me to return!"
"Of course--yes!" said Charley. "But indeed I have something to say,
Miss Bedford. Look here!"
He drew the little gold cross from his pocket, and held it up in the
soft twilight shed by the coloured lamps, when his companion uttered a
cry of joy.
"I have grieved so for its loss!" she exclaimed. "You found it?"
"Yes; beneath that tree where you were taking refuge from the rain. I
know it was my duty to have returned it sooner; but I wished to place it
in your hands myself."
"O, thank you--I am so grateful!" exclaimed Ella, hardly noticing the
_empressement_ with which he spoke.
"I wished, too," said Charley, speaking softly and deeply, "for some
reward for what I have done."
"Reward?" ejaculated Ella.
"Surely, yes," said Charley, laying his hand upon the tiny glove resting
upon his arm. "You would accord that to the poorest lout who had been
the lucky finder."
"Reward, Mr Vining?" stammered Ella.
"Yes!" exclaimed Charley, his rich deep voice growing softer as he
spoke. "And but for those words upon the reverse side, I would have
kept the cross as an emblem of my hope. I, too, had a mother who is but
a memory now. But you will grant me what I ask?"
"Mr Vining," said Ella gravely, but unable to conceal her agitation,
"will you kindly lead me back to the drawing-room?"
"I thank you for restoring me the cross, which I had never hoped to see
again."
She held out her hand, and the little ornament was immediately placed
within her palm.
"You see," said Charley, "I trust to your honour. I am defenceless now,
but you will give me my guerdon?"
"Reward?" said Ella again.
"Yes," said Charley eagerly; "I do not ask much. That rose that you
have worn the evening through: give me that--I ask no more."
"Mr Vining," said the agitated girl, "I am poor and friendless, and
here as a dependent. I say thus much, since I believe you to be a
gentleman. You would not wilfully injure me, I am sure; but this
prolonged absence may give umbrage to my employers. Once more, pray
lead me back!"
Charley was moved by the appeal, and he turned on the instant.
"But you will give me that simple flower?" he said.
"Mr Vining," said Ella with dignity, "would you have me lose my
self-respect? I thank you for the service--indeed I am most grateful--
but I cannot accede to your request."
"I had hoped that I might be looked on as a friend," said Charley
gloomily, as he once more arrested his companion's steps; "but there, I
suppose if it had been--Pish! forgive me, pray!" he exclaimed. "How
weak and contemptible I am! Miss Bedford, I am quite ashamed to have
spoken so. But tell me that you forgive me, and--"
"Is Miss Bedford so mortally offended?" said a voice close at their
side. "I have no doubt we can manage to obtain her forgiveness for you,
Mr Vining. But not to-night, as there will not be time.--Nelly wants
you in the schoolroom, Miss Bedford, and then, as it is late, perhaps
you had better not return to the drawing-room this evening."
Ella Bedford started, as, with flashing, angry eyes, Laura Bray stepped
forward from behind the thick foliage of an orange-tree, and then,
without a word--for she could not have spoken, so bitter, so cruel were
the tones, and so deep the sting--Ella glided from the conservatory,
leaving Laura face to face with Charley.
"I am sorry to have interrupted so pleasant a tete-a-tete!" exclaimed
Laura tauntingly.
There was no answer. Charley merely leaned against the open window, and
gazed out upon the starry night; for he could not trust himself to
speak, since every humiliating word addressed to his late companion had
seemed to cut into his own heart; and had he spoken, it would have been
with some hot angry words, of which he would afterwards have repented.
"Had I known that Mr Charles Vining was so pleasantly engaged, I would
not have come," said Laura again bitterly, and with reproach in every
tone of her voice.
Again angry words were on Charley's lips; but for the sake of her who
had left him he crushed them down, as he stood listening to the
impatient foot of the angry girl beating the tiled floor, and seemed to
feel her eyes burning him as they literally flashed with suppressed
rage.
"Perhaps now that Mr Vining is disengaged he will lead me back to the
drawing-room, as it might be painful to his feelings for people
afterwards to make remarks upon our absence."
Charley started at this, and made a movement as if to offer his arm; but
the remembrance of the cruel insult to the dependent yet rankled in his
breast, and he seemed to shrink from the angry woman as from something
that he loathed.
Laura saw it, and a sob of rage, disappointment, and passion combined
burst from her breast. But even then, if he had made but one sign, she
would have softened and thrown herself weeping upon his breast,
reproaching, upbraiding, but loving still, and ready to forgive and
forget all the past. But Charles Vining was touched to the quick, and,
in spite of his calm unmoved aspect, he was hot with passion, wishing in
his heart that Max had been the offender, that he might have quenched
his rage by shaking him till those white teeth of his chattered again.
Then came, though, the thought of Ella Bedford and her position. If he
was cold and distant to Laura, would she not visit it upon that
defenceless girl? Then he told himself she could behave with no greater
cruelty, humiliate her no more, and he felt that he could not play the
hypocrite. His growing dislike for Laura Bray was fast becoming a
feeling of hatred, and facing her for a moment, he was about to leave
the conservatory alone; but no, the gentlemanly courtesy came back--he
could not be guilty of rudeness even to the woman he despised; and
without a word, he offered his arm, and prepared to lead her back to the
drawing-room.
For a moment Laura made as if to take the proffered arm; but at that
moment she caught sight of Charley's frowning, angry face, when, with a
cry of passionate grief, she darted past him, and the next instant he
saw her cross the hall and hurry upstairs.
"Hyar--hyar, Vining, mai dear fellow, where are you?" cried a drawling
voice from the other end of the conservatory.
"Confound it all!" ejaculated Charley, waking as it were into action at
the tones of that voice, when with a bound he leaped from the window out
on to the lawn, thrust out his Gibus hat, crushed it down again upon his
head, and set off with long strides in the direction of the Court.
Volume 1, Chapter XIII.
THE CLEARING OF A DOUBT.
"My dear boy, yes--of course I will; and we'll have a nice affair of it!
Edgington's people shall fit up a tent and a kiosk, and we'll try and
do the thing nicely. You're giving me great pleasure in this, Charley--
you are indeed!"
"Am I, father?" said Charley, whose heart smote him as he spoke, telling
himself the while that he was deceiving the generous old man, with whom
he had hitherto been open as the day.
"Yes, my dear boy--yes, of course you are! It's just what I wanted,
Charley, to see you a little more inclined for society. You'll have
quite a large party, of course?"
"Well, no, father," said Charley; "I think not. Your large affairs are
never so successful as the small ones."
"Just so, my dear boy; I think you are right. Well, have it as you
please, precisely, only give your orders. Slave of the lamp, you know,
Charley--slave of the lamp: what shall I do first?"
"Well, dad," said Charley, flushing slightly, "I thought, perhaps, you
wouldn't mind doing a little of the inviting for me."
"Of course not, my dear boy. Whom shall I ask first?"
"Well, suppose you see the Brays," said Charley, whose face certainly
wore a deeper hue than usual.
"To be sure, Charley!" said the old gentleman, smiling.
"They've been very kind, and asked me there several times, so you'll ask
them all?"
"Decidedly!" said the old gentleman.
"We must have Max," said Charley; "for he keeps hanging about here
still."
"O, of course!" said Sir Philip.
"And Laura, I suppose," said Charley, feeling more and more
conscience-stricken.
"By all means, my dear boy!" laughed the father.
"And then there are the three girls, _and the governess_," said Charley.
"Should you ask them?" said Sir Philip.
"O yes, decidedly!" said Charley. "I'm very fond of that second girl,
Nelly; she's only a child, but there's something nice and frank and open
about her. She will be sure to make up for the unpleasantry of having
Max."
"Very good, Charley--very good!" said Sir Philip.
"I wouldn't be put off with any of them," said Charley, in a curious
hesitating way. "Perhaps they'll say that they had better not all come;
but they can't refuse you anything, so insist upon them bringing the
children and Miss Bedford."
"Miss who?" said Sir Philip.
"Miss Bedford--the governess," said Charley, who coughed as if something
had made him husky. "I particularly wish for them all to come."
"It shall be just as you like, my dear boy," said Sir Philip gaily;
"only let's do the thing well, and not let them go away and find fault
afterwards."
Charley Vining left his father ill at ease and dissatisfied, for he felt
that he was deceiving the old man; but, like many more, he crushed down
the obtrusive thoughts, and, going round to the stable, he mounted his
mare as soon as it could be got ready, and rode slowly and thoughtfully
away.
"What's come to the young governor?" said one of the stablemen.
"O, the old game!" said another. "He's been betting heavy on the Derby,
and lost, and the old gentleman won't pay his debts. I shouldn't be at
all surprised if as soon as he comes in for the place, he'll make the
money fly."
"Don't think it's that," said the other. "But he never takes a bit of
notice of his 'orses now; if they look well, they do, and if they don't
look well, they don't; but he's never got a word to say about them.
There's something wrong, safe."
There was a good deal of truth in the remarks of the servants; for the
Charley Vining of the present was certainly not the Charley Vining of a
month before. Since the night of the croquet-party he had several times
met Laura Bray, who, like himself, had endeavoured to ignore entirely
their encounter in the conservatory, speaking in the most friendly
manner, and endeavouring to the best of her ability to bring Charley
more to her side. In fact, so completely was the past evaded, that
Charley called several times, meeting a warmer welcome at every visit;
but not once did he encounter Ella. He was very little more fortunate
during his rides: once he pressed forward his horse upon seeing her at
some distance down a lane with the "children;" but suddenly Max Bray
made his appearance, as if by magic, and fixing upon him, kept by his
side for quite an hour; another time Max was walking with his sisters
and their governess; while upon a third occasion Max was coming in the
other direction, as if purposely to meet them, and as Charley rode away
his brow grew dark, and he asked himself what it meant.
In fact, watch as carefully as he would for a meeting, his efforts
seemed in vain; while the more he was disappointed, the more eager he
became.
It was upon one of these occasions that he had drawn up his horse by a
hedge-side, gazing angrily after the distant party, consisting of Ella,
two of the children, and Max, when, angry and disappointed, he was
considering whether he should canter up after them or turn back.
"Why should I bother myself?" he muttered. "If she likes that donkey
dangling after her, I'm quite convinced that she would not approve of
rough unpolished me. I'll give up. Max shall have the field to
himself, and I'll go back and ask the governor to let me live in peace.
I've only been making a mistake, and neglecting everything for the sake
of a pleasant-looking face. Hallo!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" rang out a merry laugh.
"Look at Sir Dismal, pausing thoughtfully beneath the trees."
Charley looked up, to see peering down upon him, from between the bushes
on the high bank, the bright merry face of Nelly, with her hair tangled,
her straw hat bent of brim, and a general aspect about her hot face and
tumbled clothes of having been tearing through a wood.
"What, my little dryad!" laughed out Charley, brightening in an instant.
"How is the little wood-nymph?"
"O, so jolly hot and tired, Charley! I've cut away from them, run up
the bank, and scampered through Bosky Dell, and tore my dress ever so
many times. But I wasn't going to stay; at least, I ought to have
stayed," she added thoughtfully, "but I felt as if I couldn't, for old
Max would have made me ill--he would, bai Jove!" she laughed, mocking
her brother's drawl with all accuracy which delighted Charley.
"Been having a walk?" he said.
"Walk, yes," exclaimed Nelly; "and one can't stir without stupid old Max
coming boring after us, bothering Miss Bedford to death with his
drawling nonsense. She hates him, and he will follow us about, because
he has grown so fond of his little sisters. But, I say, Charley Vining,
do give me--no, not give, lend me sixpence to buy some sweets. We spent
every halfpenny, and it isn't pocket-money till to-morrow night."
"I never give money to beggars at the roadside," laughed Charley, who
seemed somehow to be brightening up under his young friend's
revelations.
"Now don't be a nuisance," laughed Nelly, "or I'll tease you. I know
why you were looking down the lane so miserably; it was because Max was
along with--"
"Hold your tongue, do, you saucy puss!" roared Charley, with flaming
face. "How dare you!"
"There! I knew I was right," laughed the girl. "I'm not a bit afraid
of you, Charley Vining. But, I say, such a game: there, hold your arms,
and I could jump down from here right on to the dear old mare just
before you, and you could hold me tight, and we'd play at you being
young Lochinvar, and gallop off with me. Wouldn't it be fun?"
"But there's no bridegroom to dandle his bonnet and plume," laughed
Charley.
"There's an ungallant cavalier!" said Nelly, with her wicked eyes
dancing with glee. "Now, if it had been Miss Bed--ha, ha, ha!" she
shrieked, as Charley made a dash at her by forcing his mare half-way up
the bank. "Don't you do that, Charley, or you'll go down again, and
have to be carried on a gate--and I don't want you to be hurt any more,"
she said seriously. "But there, I must go back and save my poor dear
darling Miss Bedford from being bored to death by old stupid. I'm glad
I've seen you, though; it's done me ever so much good. I say, Charley
Vining, isn't Miss Bedford nice?"
"I daresay she is; but I know very little of her," said Charley coolly.
"O, there's a story!" exclaimed downright Nelly. "I know you think ever
so much of her, or else you would not stop looking miserable after her.
There, I've done, and I won't tease you any more; but I do want to
borrow sixpence. Old Max wouldn't lend me one if I was starving. Thank
you! O, a shilling!" exclaimed Nelly, actively catching the coin he
threw. "Now I'm going; but, I say, do come and see us. You would like
my Miss Bedford so!"
Before Charley Vining could answer, Nelly had dashed off, taking a short
cut, and he saw her no more; but from that day Charley's spirits rose;
and when once or twice more he encountered the walking party, he did not
feel so troubled of heart, but rode gaily up, saluting all, taking the
first opportunity of frowning and shaking his head at merry laughing
Nelly.
Volume 1, Chapter XIV.
A FAMILY PARTY.
"Surely, Miss Bedford, you never think of going to Sir Philip Vining's
party such a figure as that!"
It was the day of the Blandfield Court invitation, and the ladies were
assembling in the drawing-room. For, some days before, in accordance
with his promise, Sir Philip had been over to the Elms, taking Laura
quite by surprise when he supplemented his invitation by a request that
Miss Bedford might also be of the party.
"Miss Bedford--our governess!" stammered Laura, completely taken aback.
But she was herself again the next instant, as she saw through the
arrangement.
"Sir Philip has been deceived," she thought; "but I am not so easily put
off, nor yet cast off," she muttered.
What should she do? Display open anger, or temporise until Ella Bedford
could be dismissed--ignominiously dismissed--from her situation?
Laura Bray was angry, and therefore she talked to herself in strong
language, and called things by unpleasant names. But she must act in
some way, she thought; it would never do for her to give up all for
which her ambitious nature thirsted. She had set herself upon being
Lady Vining, and after a fashion she loved Charley, who, from being free
and friendly, and on happy laughing terms with her, seemed daily to be
growing more and more distant; for she was not deceived by his assumed
sociability. She herself had acted so as to try and efface the past;
but there was still the recollection of the conservatory scene, and
though she tried to set it down as merely a bit of flirtation--one that
she ought to pass over without notice--her heart would not accept of the
flattering unction; for she knew Charley Vining to be too sterling, too
generous a man to trifle with the feelings of any woman.
Then why was he trifling with her? she exclaimed vehemently. Had she no
claims to his consideration? There was a dull heavy feeling came over
her, as she thought of how he had never been more than friend to her,
and that the warmth had been entirely on one side.
But she felt that it would not do to show her anger--kindness would
perhaps work a change; and until her rival--no, she would not dignify
her with that title--till this governess had gone, she would assume an
appearance of sorrow, trying the while to win Charley back from his
passing fancy. She could have bitten her tongue for the ill-judged
hasty words she had spoken; but O, if she could but detect this Miss
Bedford in some light coquettish act, some behaviour too frivolous for
her position, it should go hard with her!--for at the present--probably
on account of the dislike openly shown--Mrs Bray and her hopeful son
seemed disposed to treat their dependent with more consideration, which
was really the case on the part of the former, whose mental constitution
was such that she could not conceive the possibility of any one holding
a paid position to perform certain duties possessing the sensitiveness
and thoughts of a lady.
Laura had determined to temporise, and also to counterplot. It struck
her that Sir Philip had been deceived, and hurriedly rising, she left
the room.
It was evident to her sharpened perceptibilities that it was Charley's
doing that Miss Bedford was invited; and she determined Sir Philip
Vining should see who was the lady his son wished to be of the party.
Laura's heart beat quickly, as, with assumed kindness and gentleness of
mien, she returned from the schoolroom with Ella, and introduced her to
Sir Philip.
"I thought that Miss Bedford would like to thank you herself, Sir
Philip, for your kind invitation," she said, by way of explanation of
her sudden act; and then she watched attentively the effect produced.
She was right. Sir Philip was startled, and as he rose to cordially
greet and repeat his invitation, he gazed almost wonderingly at the
sweet mien and gentle face before him, raising Ella's hand, and with all
the grace of an old courtier, kissing it respectfully, moved by the true
homage he felt for so much youth and beauty. But as he released her
hand, there was a troubled puzzled look in the old gentleman's face--a
look that was still there when at last he took his leave to go
thoughtfully homeward; for now it again struck him that Charley's
impressive demand that the governess should be asked was a little
strange, though here was the key.
Sir Philip dismissed the thought that oppressed him, though. Charley
was too noble to be moved by any disloyal acts; and as to stooping--
pooh! it was absurd! He was growing an old woman, full of nervous fears
and fancies; and casting his "whimsies," as he called them, away, he
entered with all his heart into the preparations for the little fete.
And now the day had arrived, and the ladies were assembling in the
drawing-room, where Mr Bray and "Mr Maximilian" were already waiting.
Mrs Bray had sailed and rustled into the room in a tremendously stiff
green brocade dress, to be complimented by her lord as resembling a
laurel hedge, and by her son for her May-day aspect and
Jack-in-the-green look. But Mrs Bray was satisfied, and that was
everything. Her satisfaction was evident by the way in which she swept
round the room, making a vortex that caught up the light chairs and
loose articles that came within its reach.
"Bai Jove, there, why don't you mind!" exclaimed Max, as the glossy hat
left upon the couch was sent spinning across the room. "Why don't you
sit down?"
Mrs Bray did not reply, but she would not have sat down in that dress,
save in the carriage, upon any consideration--at all events, not until
after it had been seen at Blandfield.
Max's hat was made smooth sooner than his temper, and he was still
muttering and grumbling when Nelly and her sisters came bounding in,
like three tall, thin, peripatetic tulips, followed closely by Laura,
glorious with black hair, flashing eyes, amber moire, and black lace.
Mr Onesimus Bray placed his hands in his pockets and walked smilingly
round his daughter, in whom he took immense pride; but the attempt that
he made to kiss her was received with a shriek of horror, his daughter
darting back beyond his reach, and at the same time bringing forth an
oath from her brother's lips, as she swept the glossy, newly-brushed hat
from the marqueterie table whereon it had been placed for safety.
"For shame, Max!" exclaimed his mother.
"Bai Jove, then, it's enough to make an angel swear! How would you like
a fellow to tread on your bonnets?"
The ladies shuddered.
"Never mind, then--a poor old Max!" exclaimed mischievous Nelly, who had
but a few minutes before been snubbed by her brother; and, stooping
down, she picked up the unfortunate hat, and, before she could be
arrested, carefully brushed all the nap up the wrong way, Max sitting
completely astounded the while at the outrage put upon him.
What he would have said remains to this day unknown. His mouth had
gasped open after the fashion of an expiring aquarium pet, and he was
about to ejaculate, when he stopped short; for Ella Bedford came quietly
into the room, the centre, as it were, of a soft cloud of grey barege,
which gave to her pale gentle features almost an ethereal expression,
but which called forth from the gorgeous amber queen the remark standing
at the head of this chapter:
"Surely, Miss Bedford, you never think of going to Sir Philip Vining's
party such a figure as that!"
Ella coloured up, and then said gently: "Shall I change the dress for a
plain muslin, Miss Bray?"
"O, I'm sure I don't know!" exclaimed Laura, with a toss. "I think--"
"I think the dress looks uncommonly nice, Miss Bedford--I do, bai Jove!"
drawled Max, fixing his glass in his eye, and staring furiously.
It was the first act of kindness Max Bray had done for many a long day;
but it caused a shrinking sensation in her for whom it was intended,
while Laura darted at her a fierce look of hatred, and then an angry
glance at her brother.
Ella looked inquiringly at Mrs Bray, as if for instructions; but that
lady always sided with son Max, as did Mr Bray, as far as he dared,
with his daughter.
"I almost think--" he ventured to observe.
"Don't talk stuff, Ness!" shrieked his lady. "What do you know about a
lady's dress? If it was a fleece or a pig--There, I think Miss
Bedford's things will do very nicely indeed; and if some people would
only dress as neatly, it wouldn't half ruin their parents in
dressmakers' bills."
Laura did not condescend to answer, but throwing herself into a chair,
she took up a book, pretending to read, but holding it upside down, till
Nelly laughingly called attention to the fact.
"Pert child!" exclaimed Laura fiercely.
"Don't care!" laughed Nelly. "So the book _was_ upside down; and I'd
rather be a pert child than a disagreeable, sour old maid!"
"You'd better send that rude tom-boy to bed--you had, bai Jove!" drawled
Max.
"Ah!--and I'd rather be a rude tom-boy than a great girl, bai Jove, Mr
Max!" cried Nelly; whereupon Mr Bray laughed, Mrs Bray scolded, and
Nelly pretended to cry, directing a comical look the while at her
father, who, whatever his weakness, was passionately fond of his girls.
The crunching of the gravel by the wheels of the wagonette put a stop to
the rather unpleasant scene, when, to Laura's surprise, Max jumped up
and handed Ella down to the carriage, returning afterwards for his
sister, who favoured him with a peculiarly meaning look; one which he
replied to in as supercilious a manner as he could assume.
"What does it mean, Max?" she whispered, as they descended the stairs.
"More affection for your little sisters?"
"My dear Laura," drawled Max, "will you take my advice and adopt a
motto?"
"Motto?" said Laura inquiringly.
"Ya-as, bai Jove! the very one for you--just suited to the occasion:
_Laissez-aller_. Do you understand?"
Laura looked at him meaningly, but made no reply, for they had reached
the carriage.
Volume 1, Chapter XV.
CHARLEY'S FETE.
In spite of her annoyance, Laura's eyes sparkled when they reached the
Court; for Sir Philip hurried to the carriage, welcoming the party most
warmly, and, handing her out, he led her himself to the beautiful little
kiosk, and then took her from place to place, according to her
attentions that made more than one match-making mamma with marriageable
daughters look meaningly at the same daughters, and then think of
Charley Vining with a sigh.
But if Laura was in high glee, so was not Max, who had to stand by while
Charley carried off Ella Bedford, Nelly laughingly fastening upon his
other arm.
"A rude coarse beast, bai Jove!" muttered Max elegantly, as he tried
vainly to get the little button of his glove secured. "Let him have a
fall again, and see if I'll go to his help!"
"I shall come with you if I may," said Nelly demurely.
"To be sure!" laughed Charley, whose heart throbbed with pleasure as he
felt--nay, hardly felt--the light pressure of the grey glove upon his
arm. "Miss Bedford won't mind, I hope. Do you know, Miss Bedford, I'm
rather glad you are with us? I'm almost afraid Nelly means some inroad
upon my purse."
"No, I don't," said Nelly, "so don't be afraid;" and then she walked
very demurely by their side, Charley encouraging her to stay upon
observing Ella's constraint and troubled looks.
"She'd be off like a frightened pigeon--dove, I mean!" muttered Charley,
as he looked down at the almost painful face beside him. But a little
quiet conversation upon current topics seemed to set her more at ease,
and, after a while, Hugh Lingon approaching, Charley Vining whispered,
loudly enough, though, for Nelly to hear:
"Now I'm going, Miss Bedford, for here comes Nelly's intended. I hope
you will play the _chaperone_ most stringently."
Nelly rewarded him with a sharp pinch as he left them, Hugh Lingon
taking his place; and Ella, whose heart beat almost painfully, asking
herself the reason why.
But Charley Vining had laid his plans that day, and he felt he must
proceed with caution. So hurrying himself, he acted the part of host
with admirable tact, picking out the ladies who seemed neglected,
forming sets for croquet, handing refreshments, or escorting little
parties to the lake-like river for boating; distributing himself, as it
were, throughout the grounds, and at last interrupting a tete-a-tete
between Laura and Hugh Lingon, who had soon forsaken the ladies left in
his charge.
Laura commenced a little _minauderie_, professing to be unable to leave
Mr Lingon; but she gave up directly she saw Charley's laugh, for she
knew that it would be--nay, was--seen through. She knew Charley Vining
to be different from most men of her acquaintance; and accepting his
offer, she gladly took his arm, making the match-making mammas to
whisper, as the handsome couple passed through the grounds, "There,
didn't I tell you so?" and then to gossip about how they had had their
suspicions concerning the purpose of the fete.
But Laura's pleasure was but short-lived; for though Charley was
pleasant, gay, and chatty, he was nothing more, and though he carefully
avoided referring to the croquet-party, she felt that he was not as she
could wish.
"He'll go back to her as soon as, with any decency, he can," she
thought; and her teeth were set, and her fingers clenched, pressing the
nails almost through her gloves, as she forced back a sigh.
But she soon cheered up, for she told herself it was not for long, and
determined to try if gentleness would gain the day; she listened to all
her companion said, striving the while, without being obtrusive, to
obliterate her past words of anger.
Laura was wrong; for it was not for a considerable time, and until he
had played cavalier to many a lady--winning the thanks and smiles of Sir
Philip, who was delighted at his son's efforts--that he sought once more
Ella Bedford, followed by Sir Philip's eyes; the old gentleman gazing
uneasily after him as he went up and offered his arm, which was
reluctantly taken.
"I'm going now," said Nelly, who had kept with her guard the whole time;
"I want something to eat. I declare, Charley Vining, I've only had one
thin slice of butter spread with bread-crumbs, and a cup of tea;" and
before a word could be said, she had darted off.
Sir Philip's were not the only eyes that followed Charley Vining to
where sat Ella Bedford; for as Max Bray followed him at a distance, as
if by accident Laura did the same, and brother and sister gave genuine
starts as they encountered at the union of two alleys.
"Grows quite romantic, bai Jove!" sneered Max; but he relapsed into an
uncomfortable look on seeing the penetrating gaze directed at him by his
sister.
"Let me take your arm," she said coldly; and then, as the shades of
evening were fast falling, they walked slowly on together, towards a
part of the grounds now apparently deserted.
Meanwhile Charley Vining had led Ella across the lawn, pressing her to
partake of some refreshment, but in vain; and at last, in spite of
herself, she found that she was alone with him, in a secluded part of
the grounds.
"There is a seat here," said Charley. "Shall we rest for a few
minutes?"
"It would hardly be advisable," was the quiet reply; "the evening is
damp." And then for a few moments there was a pause, as they still
walked slowly on, Charley with his heart beating heavily, and Ella eager
to return to the throng upon the lawn--a throng that the afternoon
through she had avoided--and hardly liking to speak, lest she might
betray her agitation, and that she looked upon this otherwise than as an
ordinary attention of host to one of his guests.
For Ella was not blind: her woman's instinct had whispered to her
respecting the many attentions pressed upon her, and she trembled as she
recalled the night when the cross was returned; for her heart told her
that such things must not be--that she must be cold and cautious,
guarding and steeling herself against tender emotions, for she was but
the poor paid governess, and this man, whose arm she lightly touched,
was almost engaged to Laura Bray.
But the silence was broken at length by Charley, who spoke deeply, as he
stopped short by a standard covered with pale white roses, whose perfume
seemed shed around upon the soft night air.
"Miss Bedford," he said, "I have been in pain, almost in agony, for many
days past; and till I found that I had been wronging you, it seemed to
me that life was going to be unbearable."
"Pain!--wronging me!" exclaimed Ella.
"Yes," he said; "but hear me out. I am no polished speaker, Miss
Bedford--only a simple, blunt, and I hope honest and truthful man. A
week or two since I believed that you favoured the suit of Max Bray:
to-night I will not insult you with questions, but tell you honestly I
do not believe that to be the case; and when the conviction flashed upon
me that I was wrong, I tell you frankly my heart leaped with joy. You
may ask why: I will tell you."
"Mr Vining," exclaimed Ella, "this must not be; you forget yourself,
your position--you forget me when you talk so. Pray lead me back."
"You speak as if my words pained you, Miss Bedford," said Charley
huskily. "Pray forgive me if they do. Nay, but a few minutes longer."
He caught one hand in his, and as she glanced for an instant in his
direction, the rising moon gleaming through the trees lit up his
handsome earnest face, photographing it, as it were, upon her brain; for
to her dying day she never forgot that look--that countenance so
imploringly turned upon her.
"Miss Bedford--Ella," he whispered, "I love you tenderly and devotedly!
This is no light declaration: till I saw you, woman never occupied my
thoughts. You see by my brusque ways, my bluntness, that I have been no
dallier in drawing-rooms, no holder of lady's silk. Till now, my loves
have been in the stables, kennels, fields. Blunt language this--
uncomplimentary perhaps; but I am no courtier. I speak as I feel, and I
tell you that to win your love in return would be to make me a happy
man."
"Mr Vining," exclaimed Ella, vainly trying to release her hand, "lead
me back, pray!"
"Nay," said Charley, with sadness in his tones, "I will not force you to
listen to me;" and he released her hand. "I was hopeful that you would
have listened to my suit."
"Indeed--indeed," said Ella, "I cannot, Mr Vining: it can never be.
You forget--position--me!"
She could say no more--her words seemed to stifle her; and had she
continued speaking, she felt that she would have burst into tears.
"I forget nothing," said Charley, almost sternly. "How can I forget?
How can I ever forget? But surely," he said, once more catching her
hand in his--"surely you cannot with that sweet gentle face be cruel,
and love to torture one who has spoken simply the truth--laid bare to
you his feelings! You believe what I say?"
"Yes, yes!" almost sobbed Ella. "But indeed--indeed it can never be.
Do not think me either harsh or cruel, for I mean it not."
"What am I to think then?" said Charley bitterly. "Is it that you
reject me utterly, or am I so poor a wooer that you would have me on my
knees, protesting, swearing? No; I wrong you again: it is not that," he
exclaimed passionately. "Look here, Ella"--he plucked one of the white
roses, tearing his hand as he did so, the blood appearing in a long mark
across the back--"emblematic," he said, smiling sadly, "of my love. You
see it has its smarts and pains. You refused me so slight a gift once,
but take this; and though I am a man I can freely say that my love for
you is as pure and spotless as that simple flower. You will not refuse
that?"
He could see the tears in her eyes, and that her face was drawn as if
with pain; but one trembling hand was extended to take the flower; then,
before he could recover from his surprise, she had turned from him and
fled; when, with almost a groan, he threw himself upon the garden-seat,
remaining motionless for a few moments, and then rising to hurry back to
the marquee.
Volume 1, Chapter XVI.
THE ECHOES OF CHARLEY'S DECLARATION.
Two minutes had scarcely elapsed before there was the faint rustling of
a lady's dress and the creaking of a boot, and then two pale faces--
those of brother and sister--appeared from a neighbouring clump of
evergreens, gazed cautiously about for a few moments, and then moved
away in another direction; the moon just beginning to cast their shadows
upon the dewy lawn upon whose turf they walked, perhaps because it
hushed their footsteps.
They had hardly disappeared before there was another faint rustling,
and, eagerly peering about, Nelly Bray appeared, her girlish face
looking half merry, half anxious, in the moonlit glade.
"A nasty, disagreeable, foxy pair of old sneaks!" she exclaimed--"to go
peeping and watching about like that, and all because they were as
jealous as--as jealous as--well, there, I don't know what. I know I was
watching too, but I wouldn't have done so for a moment, if it hadn't
been to see what they were going to do. I wouldn't have been so mean
and contemptible--that I wouldn't! But O, wasn't it grand!" she
exclaimed, clasping her hands. "Ah, don't I wish I was like Miss
Bedford, to have such a nice boy as Charley Vining to fall in love with
me and tell me of it, and then for me to reject him like that! I don't
believe she meant it, though, that I don't. She couldn't! Nobody could
resist Charley Vining: he's ever so much nicer than Hugh Lingon, and I'd
run away with him to-morrow, if he asked me--see if I wouldn't! But
there ain't no fear of that. I knew he was in love with her--I was sure
of it. And didn't he speak nicely! Just as if he felt every word he
said, and meant it all--and he does, too, I know; for he's a regular
trump, Charley is, and I shall say so again, as there's no one to hear
me--he's a regular trump, that he is; and I don't care what any one
says. Wouldn't it be nice to be Miss Bedford's bridesmaid! I should
wear--Here's somebody coming!"
Nelly darted off, reaching the door just as leave-takings were in vogue;
Sir Philip and Charley handing the Bray family to the waiting carriages;
but in spite of then efforts, there was an appearance of constraint
visible.
"Why, here's the little rover!" exclaimed Charley, as Nelly appeared.
"Where have you been?"
"Looking after and helping my friends, as a rover should, Mr
Croquet-player!" exclaimed Nelly pertly, as she looked Charley full in
the face; while, as he was helping her on with a shawl, she found means
to make him start by saying:
"Look out! Max and Laura were listening!"
The next moment the carriage had driven off, leaving Charley standing
motionless, and thinking of the pale-faced girl who had leaned so
lightly upon his arm as he handed her to the carriage, and wondering
what would follow.
"Charley, my dear boy, the Miss Lingons!"
So spoke Sir Philip, rousing the young man from his abstraction, when he
hastened to make up for his want of courtesy as guest after guest
departed, till the last carriage had ground the gravel of the drive, for
the fete was at an end. But as Sir Philip sat alone in his library,
thoughtful and fatigued, it seemed to him that the affair had not been
so successful as he could have wished; and that night--ay, and for many
nights to come--he was haunted by a vision of a fair-haired girl, with
soft grey eyes which seemed to ask the protection of all on whom they
rested; and somehow Sir Philip Vining sighed, for he felt troubled, and
that matters were not going as he had intended.
Meanwhile the Brays' wagonette rolled on till it reached the Elms.
Hardly a word had been spoken on the return journey; for Mr Bray was
hungry, Mrs Bray cross, and Max and his sister thoughtful, as was Ella
Bedford. Nelly had spoken twice, but only to be snubbed into silence;
and it was with a feeling of relief shared by all, that they descended
and entered the house.
Mrs Bray and her lord directly took chamber candlesticks, Mr Bray
whispering something to the butler respecting a tray and dressing-room.
Ella hurried away with her charges, while Max opened the drawing-room
door and motioned to his sister to enter; but she took no heed of his
sign, as, with angry glances, she followed Ella till she had
disappeared.
"Come here," said Max. "I want you."
"I'm tired," said Laura. "You must keep it till the morning."
"I tell you I want you now!" he exclaimed almost savagely, the man's
real nature flashing out as he cast the thin veil of society habit
aside, and spoke eagerly.
"Then I shall not come," said Laura, turning away.
"If you dare to say a word about all this, I'll never forgive you!" he
whispered.
"I can live without Mr Max Bray's forgiveness," said Laura tauntingly.
"Confound you, come down!" he exclaimed, as Laura ascended the stairs.
"I will not have her spoken to about it unless I speak."
"Good-night, Max," was the cool reply; and he saw her pass through the
swing door at the end of Mr Bray's picture-gallery; while foaming and
apparently enraged, he made a bound up a few stairs, but only to descend
again, enter the drawing-room, and close the door.
The door had hardly closed before Laura appeared again, without a
chamber candlestick, to lean over the balustrade eager and listening as
she peered down into the hall. But there was not a sound to be heard;
and hurrying back along the gallery, she stopped at Ella's door, and
then, without knocking, turned the handle and entered.
Volume 1, Chapter XVII.
A VIAL OF WRATH.
"And, pray, what are you doing here?" exclaimed Laura Bray, as she saw
the tall slim form of her sister Nelly standing between her and the
object of her dislike.
"Talking to Miss Bedford, if you must know, my dear sister," said Nelly
pertly; but the next moment she encountered a glance from Ella, in
obedience to which she was instantly silent; and, crossing over, she
kissed the pale girl lovingly, and said, "Good-night."
But all this was not lost upon Laura, who bit her lips till Nelly had
half hesitatingly quitted the room.
"What sweet obedience!" she then said sarcastically. "Really, Miss
Bedford, you must give me some lessons in the art of winning people's
affections. I have no doubt that papa will satisfy you if there is any
extra charge."
Ella did not speak; but her gentle look might have disarmed animosity,
as she turned her soft eyes almost appealingly towards her irate
visitor. She was in some degree, though, prepared for what was coming,
for Nelly had lingered behind to place her on her guard; and as she
stood facing Laura she did not shrink, neither did she make answer to
the taunts conveyed in those bitter words.
"I trust that you have enjoyed a pleasant evening, Miss Bedford,"
continued Laura, who seemed to be working herself up, and gathering
together the battalions of her wrath, ready for the storm she meant to
thunder upon the defenceless head before her. But still there was no
reply in words--nothing but the calm pleading gaze from the soft grey
eyes.
"Can we make arrangements for you to be introduced to some other family,
where you can carry on your intrigues?"
Still no answer--only a pitiful, almost imploring look that ought to
have disarmed the most wrathful. But at this moment Ella involuntarily
raised a white rose, which till then had remained concealed, as her hand
hung down amidst the soft folds of her dress; and no sooner did Laura
catch sight of the blossom than, interpreting the act to be one of
insolent triumph, she threw herself upon the shrinking girl, tore the
flower from her hand, and flung it upon the floor, where she crushed it
beneath her foot as she stamped upon it furiously.
"How dare you!" she almost shrieked, in tones that bade fair some day to
rival those of Mamma Bray. "Such cowardly--such insolent acts! To dare
to insult me after practising your low cunning to-day, laying your
snares for my poor unworldly brother, and then setting other traps--to--
to--inveigle--to entrap--There, don't look at me with that triumphant
leer! You shall be turned out of this house, into which you have gained
entrance by false pretences, so as to act the part of a scheming
adventuress!"
For a few moments Laura seemed as if she would strike the object of her
resentment, so fierce was the burst of passion that came pouring forth--
the unlucky act having roused every bitter and angry feeling in her
breast: disappointed love, ambition, hatred--all were mingled into a
poison that was like venom to her barbed and stinging words, as she
stooped even to abusing the innocent cause of her dislike.
At length Ella raised her hands, and spoke deprecatingly; but each
appeal only seemed to rouse Laura to fresh outbursts of violence, so
that at last the bitter taunts and revilings were suffered in silence,
the angry woman's voice rising louder with her victim's patience, till,
alarmed by her daughter's angry, hysterical cries, Mrs Bray hurried
into the room.
"What is the meaning of all this?" she shrieked. "Laura!--Miss Bedford!
Are you both mad?"
Ella was about to speak, but Laura fiercely interrupted her.
"Speak a word if you dare!" she said. "I will not have anything said!
Such insolence is insupportable."
"But what has Miss Bedford been doing?" shrieked Mrs Bray. "You are
alarming the whole house. What does it mean?"
"Nothing. Let it rest," cried Laura, cooling down rapidly, but with
face a-flame; for she could not bear her mother to be a witness to her
humiliation, there being, based on Laura's slight exaggerations of one
or two attentions, a full belief in the Bray family that even if the
question had not been put by Charley Vining, matters had so far
progressed that he was sure to be her husband: hence her objection to a
word being uttered; and, shrinking back, Ella stood with bended head,
while a passage of arms took place between mother and daughter, Mrs
Bray's curiosity increasing with Laura's reticence.
Finding though, at last, that nothing was to be gained, Mrs Bray
followed Laura from the room; and Ella, trembling with excitement and
the agitation of many painful hours, was about to welcome the solitude
hers at last, when once more the door opened, and, pale and
wild-looking, so that she felt to pity her, Laura again appeared,
closing the door carefully behind her, and then standing to gaze
thoughtfully in Ella's face.
She had come to threaten--to try and enforce silence; but her voice was
husky; the fierce passion which had before sustained her had now passed
away, and the weak woman, cut to the heart by disappointment, was once
more asserting herself.
For quite five minutes she stood with heaving breast, trying to speak,
but the words would not come; and at last, dreading to let the woman she
hated and despised, one whom she looked upon as full of deceit and
guile, gaze upon and triumph in her tears, Laura turned and fled from
the room; and once more Ella was alone.
Volume 1, Chapter XVIII.
ANALYSIS OF THE HEART.
Alone--alone once more in her bedroom, the scene of so many bitter
tears, Ella stood with flushed cheeks, and eyes that seemed to burn,
thinking of the words that had been uttered to her that day. She held
the crushed rose in her hand--the flower Laura had with cruel hand
snatched away and cast down, and upon which she had trampled with as
little remorse as upon her feelings. But the agitated girl had once
more secured the torn blossom, to stand gazing down upon its bruised
petals.
What did he say? That he loved her--her whom he had seen so few times!
He loved her: he, the heir to a baronetcy, loved her--a poor governess,
the persecuted, despised dependent of this family--that his love for her
was as pure as that white blossom! It could not be. And yet he had
spoken so earnestly; his voice trembled, and those low soft utterances
so tenderly, so feelingly whispered, so full of appeal and reverence,
were evidently genuine. They were not the words of the thoughtless, the
lovers of conquest, the distributors of vain compliments, empty
nothings, to every woman who was the toy of the hour. And he was no
weak boy, ready to be led away by a fresh face--no empty-headed coxcomb,
but a man of sterling worth.
There was a plain, straightforward, manly simplicity in what he had said
that went home to her heart; there was a nobility in his disappointment
and anger which made her thrill with the awakening of new thoughts, new
senses, that had before lain dormant in her breast; there was the
sterling ring of the true gentleman in his every act and look and word,
and--Ah, but--no--no--no! She was mad to harbour such thoughts, even
for an instant; it was folly--all folly. How could she accept him, even
if her heart leaned that way? It would be doing him a grievous wrong,
blighting his prospects, tying him down to one unworthy of his regard.
She could not--she did not love him. Love! What was it to love? She
had loved those who were no more; but love him, a stranger! What was it
to love?
Beat, beat!--beat, beat!--beat, beat! Heavy throbbings of her poor
wounded heart answering the question she had asked, plainly, and in a
way that would not be ignored, even though she pressed that
flower-burdened hand tightly over the place, and laid the other upon her
hot and tingling cheeks. But even if she knew it, could she own to it?
No! impossible; not even to herself. That was a secret she could not
ponder on, even for an instant.
And yet he had said that he loved her! What were his words? She must
recall them once more: that his love for her was as truthful and as pure
as that flower--that poor crushed rose.
As she thought on, flushed and trembling, she raised the flower nearer
and nearer to her face, gazing at the bruised petals, crushed, torn, and
disfigured. It was to her as the reading of a prophecy--that his pure
love for her was to become torn and sullied, and that, for her sake, he
was to suffer bitter anguish, till, like that flower, his love should
wither away. But there would still be the recollection of the sweet
words, even as there stayed in the crushed blossom its own sweet
perfume, the incense-breathing fragrance, as she raised it more and more
till the hot tears began to fell.
No, she did not love him--she could not love him: it was folly--all a
dream from which she was awaking; for she knew the end--she knew her
days at the Elms must be but few--that, like a discarded servant, she
must go: whither she knew not, only that it must be far away--somewhere
to dream no more, neither to be persecuted for what she could not help.
No; she did not love him, and he would soon forget her. It could be but
a passing fancy. But she esteemed him--she must own to a deep feeling
of esteem for one of so noble, frank, and generous a nature. Had he not
always been kind and gentle and sympathising--displaying his liking for
her with a gentlemanly respect that had won upon her more and more?
Yes, she esteemed him too well, she was too grateful, to injure him ever
so slightly; and her greatest act of kindness would be to hurry away.
The fragrance from the poor crushed flower still rose, breathing, as it
were, such love and sweetness; recalling, too, the words with which it
was given so vividly, that, betrayed beyond her strength to control the
act, for one brief instant Ella's lips were pressed softly, lovingly,
upon the flower--petals kissing petals--the bright bee-stung and ruddy
touching the pale and crushed; and then, firmly and slowly, though each
act seemed to send a pang through her throbbing heart, Ella plucked the
rose in pieces, telling herself that she was tearing forth the mad
passion as she went on showering down the creamy leaflets, raining upon
them her tears the while, till the bare stalk alone remained in her
hands--her cruel hands; for had she not been tearing and rending her own
poor breast as every petal was plucked from its hold? For what availed
the deceit? The time had been short--they had met but seldom: but what
of that? The secret would burst forth, would assert itself; and she
knew that she loved him dearly--loved him so that she would give her
life for his sake; and that to have been his slave--to have been but
near him--to listen to his voice--to see his broad white forehead, his
sun-tinged cheeks, and clustering brown hair; not to be called his, but
only to be near him--would be life to her; while to go far--far--far
away, where she might never see him more, would be, as it were,
tottering even into her grave.
No; there was no one looking: it was close upon midnight, but she
glanced guiltily round, as with burning cheeks she sank upon her knees,
whispering to that wild beating heart that it could not be wrong. And
then she began to slowly gather those petals, taking them up softly one
by one, to treasure somewhere--to gaze upon, perhaps, sometimes in
secret; for was it not his gift that she had cast down as if it had been
naught? She might surely treasure them up to keep in remembrance of
what might have been, had hers been a happier lot.
Then came once more the thoughts of the past evening, and more than ever
she felt that she must go. She would see him no more, and he would soon
forget it all. But would she forget? A sob was the answer--a wild
hysterical sob--as she felt that she could not.
One by one, one by one, she gathered those leaflets up to kiss them once
again; and that night, flush-cheeked and fevered, she slept with the
fragments of the blossom pressed tightly to her aching breast, till calm
came with the earliest dawn, and with the lightening sky dreams of hope
and love and happiness to come, with brighter days and loving friends,
and all joyous and blissful. She was walking where white rose petals
showered down to carpet the earth; the air was sweet with their
fragrance, and she was leaning upon his stout arm as he whispered to her
of a love truthful and pure as the flowers around; and then she awoke to
the bare chill of her own stiffly-papered, poorly-furnished room, as
seen in the grey dawn of a pouring wet morning, with the wind howling
dismally in the great old-fashioned chimney, the rain pattering loudly
against the window-panes, and hanging in great trembling beads from the
sash. It was a fit morning, on the whole, to raise the spirits of one
who was dejected, spiritless, almost heart-broken; find it was no wonder
that Ella Bedford's head sank once more upon the pillow, which soon
became wet with her bitter tears.
For how could she meet the different members of that family? She felt
as if she was guilty; and yet what had she done? It was not of her
seeking. She could have wept again and again in the despair and
bitterness of her heart; but her eyes were dried now, and she began to
ponder over the scenes of the past night.
She rose at last to go down to the schoolroom, for it was fast
approaching eight, and as she descended, her mind was made up as to her
future proceedings. She would go carefully on with her duties; but in
the course of the morning, if not sent for sooner, she would herself
seek Mrs Bray, and ask to be set at liberty, so that she might
elsewhere seek a home--one that should afford her rest and peace.
Volume 1, Chapter XIX.
THE MAKING OF A COMPACT.
Breakfast over at the Elms, and no improvement in the weather.
Maximilian Bray said that it was impossible to go out, "bai Jove!" so he
was seated in a low _bergere_ chair in the drawing-room. He had taken a
book from a side table as if with the intention of reading; but it had
fallen upon the floor, Max Bray not being at the best of times a reading
man; and now he was busy at work plotting and planning with a devotion
worthy of a better cause. His head was imparting some of its ambrosia
to the light chintz chair-cover, for he had impatiently thrown the
antimacassar under the table. Then he fidgeted about a little, altered
the sit of his collar and wristbands, and at last, as if not satisfied
with his position, he removed his chair farther into the bay, so that
the light drapery of the flowing curtains concealed his noble form from
the view of any one entering the room, when, apparently satisfied, he
gazed thoughtfully through the panes at the soaked landscape.
Max Bray had not been long settled to his satisfaction when Laura
entered, shutting the door with a force that whispered--nay, shouted--of
a temper soured by some recent disappointment. She gave a sharp glance
round the room, and then, seeing no one, threw herself into a chair, a
sob at the same moment bursting from her breast.
"She shall go--that she shall!" exclaimed Laura suddenly, as she gave
utterance to her thoughts. "Such deceit!--such quiet carneying ways!
But there shall be no more of it: she shall go!"
Laura Bray ceased speaking; and, starting up, she began to pace the
room, but only to stop short on seeing her brother gazing at her with a
half-mocking, half-amused expression of countenance from behind the
curtain.
"You here, Max!" she exclaimed, colouring hotly.
"Bai Jove, ya-a-as!" he drawled. "But, I say, isn't it a bad plan to go
about the house shouting so that every one can hear your bewailings,
because a horsey cad of a fellow gives roses to one lady and thorns to
another?"
"What _do_ you mean, Max?" said Laura.
"What do I mean! Well, that's cool, bai Jove! O, of course nothing
about meetings by moonlight alone, and roses and vows, and that sort of
spooneyism! But didn't you come tearing and raving in here, saying that
she should go, and that you wouldn't stand it, and swore--"
"O, Max?" cried Laura passionately.
"Bai Jove! why don't you let a fellow finish?" drawled Max. "Swore, I
said--swore like a cat just going to scratch; and I suppose that you
would like to scratch, eh?"
"But, Max, did you really hear what I said?" cried Laura.
"Hear? Bai Jove! of course I did--every word. Couldn't help it. Good
job it was only me."
"How could you be so unmanly as to listen!" cried Laura.
"Listen? Bai Jove, how you do talk! I didn't listen; you came and
raved it all at me. And so she shall go, shall she?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Laura, firing up, and speaking viciously, "that she
shall--a deceitful creature! I see through all her plots and plans, and
I'll--"
"Tear her eyes out, won't you, my dear, eh? Now just look here, Laury:
you think me slow, and all that sort of fun, and that I don't see
things; but I'm not blind. So the big boy has kicked off his
allegiance, has he? and run mad after the little governess, has he? and
the big sister is very angry and jealous!"
"Jealous, indeed!" cried Laura--"and of a creature like that!"
"All right; only don't interrupt," said Max mockingly. "Jealous, I
said, and won't put up with it, and quite right too! But, all the same,
I'm not going to have her sent away."
"And why not, pray?" cried Laura with flashing eyes.
"Because I don't choose that she shall go," said Max coolly.
Laura started, and then in silence brother and sister sat for a few
moments gazing in each other's eyes, a flood of thought sweeping the
while across the brain of the latter as she recalled a score of little
things till then unnoticed, or merely attributed to a natural desire to
flirt; but, with the key supplied by Max Bray's last words, Laura felt
that she could read him with ease, and her brow contracted as she tried
to make him shrink; but that did not lie in her power.
"Max!" she exclaimed at last, "I'm ashamed of you! It's mean, and
contemptible, and base, and grovelling! I'm disgusted! Why, you'll be
turning your eyes next to the servants' hall!"
"Thank you, my dear!" drawled Max. "Very high-flown and grand! But I
shall be content at present with the schoolroom. And now suppose I say
I'm ashamed of you; and, bai Jove, I am! A girl of your style and
pretensions, instead of winking at what you've seen, or coming to your
brother for counsel, to go howling about the house--"
"Max!" half shrieked Laura. "I don't care--bai Jove, I don't!" he
exclaimed. "So you do go howling about the house like a forlorn
shepherdess, bai Jove, so that every one can see what a fool you are
making of yourself!"
"And pray what would my noble brother's advice be?" cried Laura
sarcastically.
Max Bray was another man for an instant, as, starting up in his chair,
he caught his sister by the arm, drawing her towards him until she sank
down in a sitting position upon the ottoman at his feet, when, with the
drawling manner and affectation gone, he leaned over her, talking in a
low earnest voice, and so impressively, that Laura's mocking smile gave
place to a look of intense interest. She drew nearer to him at length,
as he still talked on eagerly; then she clasped her hands together, and
rested them upon his knees.
"But no!" she exclaimed, suddenly starting as it were from something
which seemed to enthral her, "I will not be a party to it, Max!"
"Very good, my dear," he said cavalierly; "then you shall have the
pleasure of watching progress, and seeing yourself thrust out, if you
please. Bai Jove, though, Laury, I did think you were a girl of more
spirit! Seems really, though, a good deal smitten, does Charley."
Laura's countenance changed, and her teeth were set together.
"I shall let him go on, then, for my part, if you choose it to be so."
"I choose!" cried Laura, with the tears in her eyes. "O, Max, why do
you torture me?"
"Then look here!" said Max.
And once more he leaned over towards her, assuming a quiet ease, but at
the same time it was plain to see that he was greatly excited. He
talked on and on impressively, with the effect of making Laura's lips
part and her eyes to glisten with a strange light. Then a pallor
overspread her countenance, but only to be swept away by a look of
exultation as Max still talked on.
"But it is impossible, Max!" cried Laura, at length.
"Perhaps you'll leave me to judge about that, and think only of your own
part!" he said coolly. "Is my advice--are my offers--worth accepting?"
"O yes, Max, yes!" cried Laura excitedly; "I'd do anything!"
"I don't want you to do anything," said Max, smiling with triumph; "only
what I advise. Help me, and I will help you with all my heart. But I
always knew that you would. You say that you
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