They have their Reward: a novel

Front matter

% fto&ri. BY BLANCHE ATKINSON, AUTHOR OF "THE WEB OF LIFE,' ETC. " There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough hew them how we will." Shakespeare. GEORGE ALLEN, 8, BELL YARD, TEMPLE BAR, LONDON; AND SUNNYSIDE, ORPINGTON. 189O. [All rights reserved.'] Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. To A. C, my friend and fellow-worker, our book, which owes its origin to her imagination, and its completion to her aid, is affectionately inscribed. B. A. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. ONE EVENT HAPPENETH TO ALL ... I II. THE HERO MAKES HIS BOW . . * . .12 III. HE CONDESCENDS TO BE AMUSED . . 20 IV. THE KIND OF WOMAN BERNARD ADMIRES . 30 V. THE FABLE OF THE CHINA JUG . ,. -36 VI. " SHE SHALL BE FOUND ! " . . . .46 VII. ON THE MERSEY 50 VIII. JOANNA LEARNS WHAT IT IS TO BE A FAILURE 58 IX.

THE HOME OF THE HEIRESS . . .66 X. THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS . . .80 XI. MR. MYERS IS NOT TO BE MOVED . . 89 XII. DICK'S EMBASSY 98 XIII. A KNIGHT ERRANT . . . . . 1 09 XIV. AN INNOCENT PLOT . . . . . 1 16 XV. JOANNA TAKES HER OWN WAY . . .128 XVI. A PATRON OF ART _ 1 43 XVII. BERNARD RECEIVES A SHOCK . . IS2 XVIII. JUST TOO LATE l6l XIX. WHY DICK'S LETTER WAS NOT ANSWERED . 1 CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XX. MADAME LOYSEAU'S BOARDING-HOUSE . 1 84 XXI. MADAME UNDERTAKES A CHARGE . . 192 XXII. MONSIEUR FABRE TO THE RESCUE . -199 XXIII. "THERE'S MANY A SLIP " . . . 208 XXIV. love versus PRUDENCE . . . .217 XXV. A FREAK OF FATE 23 1 XXVI. " THE IDES OF MARCH " . . . . 239 XXVII. FOUND ! 246 XXVIII. "WHAT HAVE I TO DO WITH LOVE?" . 253 XXIX. DELILAH ....... 261 XXX. THE KIND OF WOMAN BERNARD DISLIKES 272 XXXI.

IN THE SUNSHINE 282 XXXII. MRS. NORTH DISAPPROVES . . . 290 XXXIII. AN UNGENEROUS HERO .... 298 XXXIV. MR. PRYDE'S FASCINATING FRIEND . . 309 XXXV. APPLES OF SODOM . . . . .321 XXXVI. COUNSEL AND CONFESSION . . .329 XXXVII. JOANNA CANNOT FORGET .... 340 XXXVIII. A DELIGHTFUL SURPRISE .... 348 XXXIX ALICE'S TROUBLE ..... 359 XL. BERNARD REPENTS . . . . -371 XLI. THE BEGINNING OF THE END . . . 383 XLII. MR. MYERS MEETS HIS MATCH . . . 392 XLIII. DICK CUTS THE KNOT .... 403 XLIV. THE REWARD OF MERIT . . . .412 XLV. "ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL" . . THEY HAVE THEIR REWARD -*-

Chapter I. One Event Happeneth To All

SAMUEL BOOKER, ESQ., J.R, one of the richest men in the county, worth half-a-million of money, was dying ; and not a soul in the world cared, any more than if he had been a pauper. But this fact, though he knew it well enough, was no trouble to him. He had lived without love, and he could die without it. He had lived hardly, and he was dying hardly. He was holding on to his love less Life, with a grim grasp, as though it were some thing very precious. The doctors said that he had a wonderful constitution ; and although he was dying at last, in spite of doctors and constitution, the doctors were right. For a creature so complex as man to keep body and soul together for eighty years, systematically starving the soul all that time, is surely a proof of a wonderful constitution ! Samuel Booker himself only regretted that he had to die, because Life meant power over money ; and that he was resolved to keep, to some extent, even when life should end.

Samuel Booker had what he called " loved " one i THEV HAVE THEIR REWARD. 2 person besides himself during his long life ; and he loved her, in his way, still. As he sat, propped among pillows, in a great chair by the fireside, in the room which he would never leave alive, he was thinking of her ; but there was no softness in his glassy eyes, no relaxing of the hard lines about his coarse lips. Sometimes a pathetic loveliness gathers round the end of an old person's life, as bright clouds about' the sunset after a grey day, even when there has been no loveliness before. But Samuel Booker was unlovely to the last. Death itself could not touch with sublimity the sordidness of his countenance — a sordidness to which greater emphasis was given by the splendour of his surroundings. He was wrapped in a gorgeous dressing-gown ; his feet, in embroidered slippers, rested on a velvet stool ; and there were heavy velvet hangings to the bed and windows.

The room was of fine pro portions, and remarkable for its loftiness and for the elaborate finish of every detail, from the maho gany doors and wainscoting to the richly moulded cornices. And in the midst of this magnificence the mean, coarse, ugly old man, the owner of it, was dying beyond all help. As the clock struck five a sick-nurse came into the room, mixed the invalid's medicine, and took it to him. " Hasn't she come yet ? " he said querulously. " Yes, sir, ten minutes ago. But it was a tedious journey, and they are having some tea in the library," answered the nurse. " They ! Who the devil are they ? " " Mrs. North and her son, sir." " Who asked her son to come, I'd like to know ? / sent for her, but who the " "Well, sir, he's come with his mother," inter rupted the nurse; "but you need not see him, of course, if you don't wish.

Don't worry yourself about him." She shook up the pillows, and did little things about the room, not heeding the growling voice which still persisted in asking, " Who the devil sent for him ? " In a few moments he said, " I should think she's had time enough for tea now, nurse. Tell her to come ! " " The lady was very tired, sir. Won't you wait a bit?" " No, I won't. Tell her to come. I didn't send for her to come from London to Wales to sit drinking tea with her son. There's plenty of folk would be glad to come further for what she's going to get. Wait, indeed ! why " "Very well, sir, don't excite yourself. I'll tell her," and the nurse left the room. But it was fully a quarter of an hour before Mr. Booker's longed-for visitor entered with a quiet, quick step, went up to him, and said in a pleasant voice as she put out her hand, " I am very sorry to find you so ill, Mr. Booker."

A light came into the old man's face, and his lips moved tremulously. He took her warm soft hand in his withered, wrinkled one, and looked at her eagerly. " You always spoke the truth, Mary, but I doubt if that's true ; I don't think you are really sorry ! " " Yes, I am. How can I help being sorry to see any one suffer ? " Then at a sign from Mr. Booker the nurse placed a chair near him and went away ; and Mrs North, drawing it a little further off, sat down. " I don't suffer," he said, " so you need not pity me for that. In fact, my dear, I want no pity. I never have suffered all my life. They tell me I'm dying now, but I don't know what of, nor why they can't keep me alive a bit longer. If / had been a doctor, and studied the matter, I'd have been able to keep a man alive who has never had a day's illness all his life, or I would give up doctoring.

They're a set of fools, these doctors ! Here I've been pouring guineas into 'em the last six months, and they can't keep me alive much longer, they say." " You ought to be very thankful you have had no suffering, and now " "And now it's all over, and the game's ended," he interrupted. " Yes ! and I don't complain. I've had my share ; and now I've got to go like the rest." Then at last he turned his eyes away from his visitor's face and stared into the fire ; and there was silence in the room, but for the sputtering of the flames and the ticking of the clock on the mantel piece. It was no wonder Mr. Booker had wanted to see Mary North, nor that he had looked at her so long when she came. She had one of those sweet faces which seem to tell the whole story of woman's tenderness and endurance ; a face which was more than beautiful, a face good to have near one in life, near one in the hour of death.

She was over fifty ; but her fair hair was still abundant, her complexion pure, her eyes bright. There was an indescribable charm about her. A sense of universal motherliness, a warm-heartedness ; it was comforting only to be with her ; one felt desolate when she went away. As she sat silently by the dying old man tears came into her eyes. " Of course we all know that we must die — sooner or later," she began with an evident effort ; " but, Mr. Booker, it is very awful to know that it is so near ! I hope you Perhaps you would like the clergyman " then she hesitated, and Mr. Booker looked at her curiously. " Now, my dear Mary, don't let us have any cant, if you please," he said, and laughed. "You think it is your duty to ask about the state of my soul, I suppose ? You were going to ask me to see the parson ?

No — I want no parsons about me, as you ought to know. No, no ! I've lived without 'em, and I can die without 'em. Don't look so shocked, my dear. You've done your duty in mentioning it, and I'm not at all offended, and you must not think I'm a heathen. I believe the Almighty rewards every man according to his works. He's rewarded me according to mine. I've succeeded because I deserved to succeed. There's only been one thing I've wanted which I've not had, and that was an heir — a son of my own to follow me." Mrs. North flushed as she said, " But you had a daughter, Mr. Booker ; and she " He interrupted her angrily. " A daughter ! How do you know the brat was my daughter ? Your foreigners are all alike, and there was a dark, devilish handsome young fellow used to come skulking after my wife " " Mr. Booker, how dare you ?

I won't hear you say such things," broke in Mrs. North. " You know as well as I that your poor young wife was as inriocent as a child ! " "Howdojyow know? You knew nothing of my wife, my ' poor young wife,' as you choose to call her." " But I can remember my mother telling me about her — the beautiful girl you brought home from Spain as your wife, the loveliest creature she had ever seen ; and how sad it was that she died so soon, and left her little baby girl. My mother was always so sorry for the little motherless thing, and so was I." "What's the use of crying over them, or talking of them now ? " Mr. Booker said in a hard voice. " If my wife was beautiful didn't I know it ? That was why I made her my wife. I took her for a bad debt from her father, an old rascal of a Spanish nobleman who owed me a thousand pounds.

And a bad bargain she was ! She did nothing but fret and mope herself to death ; and then left me with a little white-faced brat of a girl, who did nothing all her life but annoy me. Faugh ! I hate to think of it ! Marrying that Spanish beauty was the only foolish thing I ever did in my life. Now the wise things people do, as I was saying, are rewarded, and bring pleasant thoughts when a man comes to die. When I bought this estate, for instance, I knew there was coal on it, though no one else did ; and I got it dirt cheap, and I've made half a million of money. Think of that ! And then tell me if the Almighty does not reward everyone according to his works ! " His eyes glistened as he laid his skinny hand upon hers ; but she was silent, and he went on. " It was your father, you know, Mary, who put me up to buying it.

He was a clever fellow, and had been going in for geology, and chemistry, and all sorts of sciences ; but he wasn't practical, poor fellow, and he had no capital, and he wouldn't speculate with other people's. I wanted him to be my partner in the business, but he said that kind of thing didn't suit him ; and so he sat up there at the old farm on the hills, among his sheep, and watched the stars, and dreamt away his life in his poetical, idiotic way, and died as poor as he was born." " I would rather have been my father, for all that," said Mrs. North softly. Mr. Booker laughed. " That's only prejudice, my dear, natural prejudice ; and that girl you call my daughter — Joanna — she always turned you against me, Mary. Yes ! She was a nice, dutiful daughter, wasn't she ? You needn't shake your head.

You know there was never any love lost between me and her. . . . No, as I was saying, to have had you for my wife, and the mother of my son and heir, has been the one thing in life I have wanted which I couldn't get, and it was Joanna who always set you against me." Mrs. North drew her hand away from his with an expression of annoyance which she could not hide, and moved as if to rise. " No, no, you mustn't go away yet," the old man said piteously. " I haven't more than a few days to live, my dear, and I won't vex you. I promise I won't say anything about that again, if you don't like it. Let me hold your hand. It can't do you any harm to be kind to a dying old man." " I want to be kind ; and to persuade you to do right now is the greatest kindness I can do you, Mr. Booker. I came here, when you sent for me, on purpose to remind you of your daughter, my dear, dead friend !

Yes, you may hold my hand if you will listen quietly to what I want to say about her." He gave a nod of assent, and a chuckling laugh, and leant back on his pillows, holding her hand in his, turning her wedding-ring round and round, and stroking her soft white fingers, like a child. " You remember that Joanna died eight years ago, and left one little girl ? " Mrs. North said. " Yes ; she had nothing but a girl, of course, like my wife," he muttered. " Her husband had died before that," Mrs. North went on ; " and when I heard from her little girl, she told me that her mother had bidden her write to me and tell me she was dying. I tried to find the child, of course ; but the poor little thing had put no address to her letter. The postmark was Paris, but I was very poor then, and could not go to look for ner , and though I made all the enquiries I could, I never got a single trace of her.

You remember I sent you word at the time, but you would do nothing. Oh ! it was very, very cruel ; it is horrible to think of ! Perhaps both Joanna and her child may have been in want, while you were piling up heaps of useless gold." " Yes, yes ! that's it— heaps of gold ! — heaps of gold ! " he muttered again, smiling vacantly as he played with her hand, his eyes resting sometimes on it and sometimes on her sweet, pleading face, with great content, but with apparent indifference to what she said. " Think— oh, think ! your own daughter, your own grandchild ! How can you be so hard-hearted as not to care what became of them ? " " Why do you call me hard-hearted ? I don't want to think of them," he said, testily ; " my daughter — as you call her — ran away from home. It was her own doing. She deserved to starve, and her child too !

Much better such like paupers should starve. Why should you fret yourself about them ? But, Mary, my dear," and his voice suddenly softened, " there was no need for you ever to be poor. I'd have given you anything you wanted, for the asking. Yes, and without wanting anything back, either. No ; don't turn your face away ; let me see you. Why didn't you ask me to help you when you were poor ? " " Because, thank God, I was able to keep myself and my boy honestly, without that." " Your boy ! Yes, I heard you had a boy, and he has come here with you. I want to see your boy," the old man said. " Very well, another time. But you have not heard all I want to say yet. Oh, Mr. Booker, I want you to promise me that you will have measures taken now to find Joanna's child ; and that you will leave your money to her, and so do right at last.

You must promise me that — you must ! The child can surely be found, if proper measures are taken, even now." " Do you know where she is ? " he said, with sudden suspicion. " No, indeed. I wish I did. I have never ceased trying to find her ; but, you know, it costs money to make such enquiries ; and I have never had much. But she could be found, and she must be found ! You must do right to her now, for your wife's sake, for your daughter's sake, for your own sake, if you hope for the mercy we all need, at last. Oh ! what can I say to touch you, to persuade you ? " It was curious to see the woman so deeply in earnest, and the man so utterly unmoved. He shook his head as he calmly stroked the hand he still held ; a smile wrinkled about his lips, and his gaze dwelt with greedy satisfaction on her face.

" You had better have said for your sake, Mary ! That would be more likely to touch me, if anything could. But come, come ! Don't worry yourself so much, for it's no use. I don't want to hear any more about Joanna, nor her child ; and if you've said your say, I'll tell you what I mean to do with my money. It's no use you trying to persuade me to change my mind ; and perhaps you'll be satisfied when you hear what I'm going to do, and why I sent for you. I mean to leave every penny to you, Mary ; and it's half a million of money — half a million of money," he repeated slowly. " You'll be sorry you have said so many hard things of me after this, won't you ? You see I get nothing in return now. I can't buy you ; I never could. I would have given all I had for you, any time this last thirty years.

But it was no use ; and all I have ever had has been your dislike. You have been hard, very hard to me. You never even let me hold your hand before, Mary, like this. You never sat quietly by my side for an hour before, and let me look at your sweet face as much as I liked. Well ! it's made this dying a bit easier. Of course I know it's only because I'm dying that you are kind to me ; and you'll never regret being kind to a dying old man. Yes — it's half a million of money. You'll think better of me now, won't you ? " She could not help being touched, though she had disliked and despised the man always, and dis liked and despised him still. He had broken his wife's heart, and let his daughter die in want ; yet there was something pathetic in this constant dog like love, and she smiled for the first time since she had come into the room, and said gently, " Yes, I'll promise to think better of you, if you will only do what is right to please me.

That is all I want. You know I do not want your money." " What is it you want me to do ? I'll do anything to please you when you speak and look at me like that, Mary." " I want you to leave your money to your granddaughter, to Joanna's child. She must have it. It is hers by right ! " He shook his head. "That's nonsense, utter nonense ; and you know I can't do that, even to please you. Why do you tease me when I tell you I have made up my mind ? But I'm getting tired now. I can't argue about it with you this evening. My lawyer is coming to-morrow, and I'm going to settle everything. I wanted him to meet you here, and I have been waiting for you to come. I don't like you to leave me, my dear . . . but I'm getting very tired, and I can't argue. . . . You'll try to think better of me, now you know what I'm going to do for you, won't you ?

" Mrs. North rose, with a sigh and a look of relief. "Good-night, Mr. Booker; I'm afraid I've tired you. But promise me you will think about your grand-daughter, and make up your mind to do right to her, now — at last ! " and her eyes were full of entreaty. "I'll promise one thing; not to decide anything until I've talked to your son," he said. "And — yes, I'll promise to think about Joanna's child — if you will give me a kiss, Mary ! " She did not hesitate a moment ; but with a blush like a girl's stooped and touched his wrinkled old face, and said, " I pray God to give you softer thoughts towards those you have wronged."

Chapter II. The Hero Makes His Bow

MEANWHILE, downstairs in the library, Bernard North had occupied himself during his mother's absence in examining the contents of the bookshelves, and criticising the pictures. Both books and pictures were good of their kind, but not interesting. They expressed no personal choice, but were evidently provided by the upholsterer with the rest of the furniture. The room was stately and luxurious, but oppressively formal ; so at least, Bernard North decided as he finished his tour of inspection, and stood on the hearthrug, looking about him. Mrs. North's son was twenty-seven years of age, though his smooth face and fair complexion made him look much younger. He was tall and handsome, a son of whom a woman has a right to be proud. His eyes were blue, his hair light and silky, and his lips delicately sensitive, like his mother's ; but his forehead was squarer, his chin firmer than hers, and he had a half-careless, half-supercilious expression, as though life in its present aspect did not meet with his entire approval, which was very unlike Mrs. North's sweet and contented expression.

He was standing with his back to the fire, leaning against the mantelpiece, when his mother came into the room. "Well," he said, "how is old Moneybags? " But instead of answering she came up to him quickly, and put her hands on his shoulders. " Let me look into an honest human face again, Bernard. Thank God your eyes are not cruel, and your mouth is not drawn in with meanness, and your jaws are not brutal. He is dreadful, Bernard — and I have kissed him ! " and half crying, half laughing, she hid her face on her son's shoulder. He laughed. " Why did you do it if you disliked it ? And you need not mind, poor little mother, now it's over." " Oh dear, dear ! This wretched, horrid money ! " Mrs. North went on, as she dried her tears. " He declares he will leave it all to me ! Did you ever hear such an absurd and odious thing ?

It's most unnatural and wicked of him. As if / wanted his horrid half a million of money ! " " Half a million ! " echoed Bernard, " and you don't want it, do you say ? Did I hear a woman in her senses say she did not want half a million of money ? " " No, of course I don't want it, and I won't have it ; and you are not to have it either, Bernard. We have no right to it, and his granddaughter has, and he must be made to leave it to her ; and she must be found ! Don't you understand ? " " Not in the least, my dear madam ! But — don't you think that, on the whole, you had better let things ' slide ' ? Half a million of money won't drop into your lap every day. If it had been a few thousands now, I could understand you declining it, on principle. It is quite common to be rich. But half a million is another thing !

It is distinguished to be very rich ! And really, I beg humbly to submit, that I could help you to spend it ; and should find the position novel and entertaining. I don't feel that it would embarrass me in the least. If you are so singular in your tastes that you don't want money, I'm bound to confess that I do — occasionally ! " " Bernard, don't laugh about it," Mrs. North said gravely. "It's no laughing matter. I have made him at least promise to think about poor Joanna's daughter, and not to decide anything until he has seen you, and talked it over again ; and that is something gained. I had to kiss him to get him to promise even that ! " She made a little grimace, and Bernard laughed again. " And so you kissed away half a million of money ? A costly kiss, my dear romantic mother ! " " My dear boy, you don't mean to say you are sorry ?

Oh, Bernard, to-morrow you shall see that old miser, dying in the midst of his magnificence, without one kind or gentle thought, without one soul to regret him ; and you will not wish for his money ! It would bring us no good. It belongs by right to his daughter's child — and she shall have it ! " " Hear, hear ! It's a very beautiful sentiment ; all your sentiments are beautiful ; and if the young lady can be produced — well and good ! Still, it's only human nature to find it unfortunate that your beauti ful sentiments prevent you accepting this old gentle man's fortune, as he wishes ; and there's a great deal of human nature in your degenerate son, Mrs. North ! " " I never know whether you are laughing at me or not, Bernard ; but at least promise me, faithfully, that you won't let him persuade you to have it; you won't let him leave it to you ?

" and the mother held her son's hands in hers, and looked at him earnestly. He gave a tragic sigh ; and then in a tone of melodramatic solemnity said, "Give me one kiss then ; but one, and farewell fortune, wealth, power, fame ! For thy sake, sweet mother, I renounce them all ! But really, we must never let anybody know what we have done, or we should both be locked up as lunatics. To refuse half a million of money is not the act of sane persons, you know ; and now, do let us be serious, and get ready for dinner. That venerable old butler of your friend Moneybags, told me some time ago that dinner would be served for us at seven, as usual, and I'm sure it's going to be an important function." As a matter of fact everything went qn in the great stately house exactly as usual. The house keeper and butler treated Mrs. North and her son with the deepest respect ; and all things were maintained in perfect order, as though the master might have been expected to resume his every-day habits at any instant.