The Web of Life; or, the story of Peter Holgate's love

Front matter

OR, THE STORY OF PETER HOLGATE'S LOVE. BY BLANCHE ATKINSON- ' ■ The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together ; our virtues would be proud, if ourfaults whipped them not." Shakespeare. GEORGE ALLEN, SUNNYSIDE, ORPINGTON, KENT. 1S89. [All rights reserved.} Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. WHEN MORNING DAWNS .... I II. "PETER HOLGATE, PROVISION MERCHANT" 8 III. PETER SURPRISES HIMSELF . . . -19 IV. PEGGY IS PROMOTED TO HONOUR . . 25 V. CHANGES; AND MORE CHANGES . . -32 VI. TRECASTLE 41 VII. A YOUTHFUL EPICUREAN . . . .52 VIII. EACH AFTER HIS KIND 62 IX. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 71 X. BOB WRITES A

LETTER 79 XI.

THOMAS GREENAVOOD HAS VIEWS . . 88 XII. SWEET SEVENTEEN 103 XIII. DREAMS Ill XIV. "I MUST BE FREE!" 121 XV. MARRIED AND SETTLED . . . .127 XVI. THE BROTHERS .136 XVII. REVENGE IS SAVEET 143 XVIII. THE TERRIBLE REALITY . . . .151 XIX. MAKING THEMSELVES AT HOME . . . 158 XX. THE GOODAVINS OF GOODWIN HALL . . CONTENTS, VIII CHAPTER PAGE XXI. PEGGY IS "TAKEN UP" BY MRS. GOODWIN . 187 XXII. PEGGY GOES INTO SOCIETY .... 200 XXIII. POLITICAL ECONOMY 211 XXIV. A LESSON FOR PHILANTHROPISTS . .221 XXV. HARRY GETS SOME ADVICE . . . .232 XXVI. GOING DOWN HILL 245 XXVII. "A GREAT DEAL MAY HAPPEN IN A AVEEK" . 255 XXVIII. THE SEAMY SIDE 264 XXIX. THE CHAIN GALLS 275 XXX. THE CHAIN IS BROKEN . . . .284 XXXI. SOCIETY IS OUTRAGED 292 XXXII. MORE ELOQUENCE 302 XXXIII. DOMESTIC FELICITY 314 XXXIV. GERALD HAS HIS REVENGE AT LAST . .326 XXXV. A MAIDEN ALL FORLORN .... 334 XXXVI. MRS. WETHERLAM SPEAKS HER MIND . THE WEB OF LIFE.

Chapter I. Aa'hen Morning Daavns

PEGGY ! " " Peggy's not here yet, and won't be for another hour or more. Just you lie still, and don't worrit yourself ! The theatre's not out till eleven, and it's only going ten. She can't be here for a good bit yet, if she 'urries ever so. So you might as well be easy, and not worrit yer 'ead about Peggy. She's all right, and a lucky girl too, to be took on for the Pantermind. Hoav you'd have done without her wages, / don't know. You falling ill, and never fit to earn another penny. Eh ! it's a good thing you came to die in my 'ouse. It isn't every one could have got the girl put out so quick. So don't you Avorrit ! " The woman thus counselled lay on a wretched bed in a wretched garret ; and it was plain that before long all " Avorry " Avould be over for her for ever. Still the words of her adviser did not seem to soothe her.

She fixed her eyes upon her with a feverish glance, clutched at the torn and dirty counterpane with trembling fingers, and said, — " I must see Peggy before I die ! The doctor I says I can't liA-e many hours. If I should die before she comes ! . . . Mrs. Norridge ! for God's sake go and bring her ! " Mrs. Norridge was a big, coarse-looking Avoman of a not very respectable appearance. She was dirty and frousy ; her face was red and bloated ; her breath was not sweet, and her hands were not gentle. But she had spoken with as kindly a tone as was possible, and had touched the dying woman's pillow, with a thought of making it more comfort able. At this appeal, however, she laughed harshly, and her face hardened. " Well ! of all the unreasonable creatures you're the unreasonablest ! As if they'd let the child come off the stage at this hour for all the dying mothers as ever was !

If you'll only keep yerself quiet, you'll see her. And if not, you can leave her to me." The dying woman threw out her hands with a feeble cry. " Do you think I wouldn't look after her ? " Mrs. Norridge went on ; " why, I don't mind making you a solemn promise that when you're gone I'll keep her, and bring her up as if she Avas my OAvn child. It's a kind of fate you dying here ; and if I do a good turn to a' orphan, it'll be none the worse for me ! Peggy '11 be all right, I tell you, and get on just as well without you as with you. You'd never be good for anything again, if you got over this. You leave Peggy to me, and die easy, my dear ! " Mrs. Meredith turned her face aAvay, with a sound betAveen a sob and a groan. For Mrs. Norridge was not one in whose keeping a mother would care to leave her child.

" Bless you ! " she Avent on, with another laugh, " the girl's so pretty and taking that she'll be worth more than her keep to me soon. She's got a start AVHEN MORNING DAAVNS. 3 too now, and she'll be a ballet girl, and a favourite with the gentlemen one of these days, no fear ! She'll take after you, ma'am, and " " Oh, hush ! hush ! give me something to keep me alive till Peggy comes — and then leave me ! " Mrs. Norridge snorted angrily, " That's all the thanks one gets for sitting up hour after hour Avith a dying woman , and offering to take charge of her child when she's gone ! Perhaps she don't rightly know Avhat she's saying ! " Then she went to the mantelpiece, poured a little brandy from a medicine bottle into a cracked cup, and lifting the dying woman's head, put it to her lips. "She'll need no more !

" she muttered, and finished the contents of the bottle ; raked the bit of fire together, and blew out the candle. " It's no good wasting candles, and it's as easy to die in the dark as the light ! I'm a lot out of pocket already, to say nothing of having a death in the 'ouse. But I'll get my penn'orth out of Miss Peggy one of these days ! " And so soliloquizing, Mrs. Norridge clattered doAvnstairs to her OAvn apartment, where she soon slept the sleep of one whose conscience is at ease. But the dying woman in the garret dare not sleep, lest she should never wake. She lay quite still, with wide-open eyes, and Avatched the flickering shadows play on the bare, damp-stained walls and sloping ceiling ; or the star-sprinkled patch of the heavens through the skylight opposite to her. Sometimes the tears gathered in her eyes, and rolled down her .thin cheeks ; sometimes her lips moved, and broken Avordsfell from them.

" Save her, O God ! save her from that. . . . Not to be like her mother ! Let me live till daylight — only till daylight ! " Now and then louder noises than usual in the street below, shouts of angry voices, or bursts of rough laughter, would make her shudder, or turn with a weary sigh of impatience. The rumble of Avheels in the great city around was gradually groAA'ing less ; the rattle of carts, the noise of voices and footsteps gradually ceased ; in the house, as in the street, all was silent at last ; and the mother listened intently. Just as a church clock struck half-past eleven the step she Avas waiting for was heard — a quick, light step, Avhich seemed hardly to touch the pavement as it came nearer and nearer along the street. Then it stopped. There was a sound of the house door opening and shutting, and in another instant a young girl came quickly into the room.

The fire leaped up, and threw a sudden gleam upon the child's bright face and golden hair — and to the mother's longing eyes it Avas an angel face. " My darling ! my precious Peggy ! " she mur mured, as, in a loving embrace, she forgot the misery of the long hours that Avere past. " Oh, mother, I have run so fast, I am out of breath!" the child said ; "we Avere later than usual, and I can't bear leaving you ! I won't go any more. I must do something else until you are better. Has that horrid Mrs. Norridge given you your medicine, and ■ Mother ! what is it ? Oh ! what is the matter ? " For Peggy had lighted the candle, and noAv saAv that Avhile she had been away some strange change had come to her mother. " Sit down by me, Peggy, and listen carefully." Mrs. Meredith spoke in a Ioav voice, but it was calm and deliberate ; and the child, with an awed look in her eyes, did as she Avas bid.

"The doctor has been to see me this evening, and he says I shall not get better unless I can have more nourishment — wine, and things like that." " Oh ! then you must have them ! What can we do ? Can we sell anything more, or " " Hush, my darling. I Avant ycu to listen to me. WHEN MORNING DAAVNS. 5 I have one friend Avho would help me, if he knew I was in such need. You must go to him ! " " To-night ? " the child said, eagerly, half rising. " As soon as it is daylight, — not yet, not just yet. When I call you, and tell you to get up, you must go instantly. You must not speak to Mrs. Norridge, nor to any one in the house. I shall not be long alone, and you must lose no time. He lives in Liverpool. It is a long Avay from Manchester. How much money have we ? " The child took out a purse, and counted one shilling and ninepence.

" It will not pay for all the distance ; but you must go to the station, and ask for the first train for Liverpool, and say you want a ticket for as far on the way to Liverpool as you can get for that money. Do you understand, Peggy ? " " Yes ; but it will be a long time before I get back to you, mother . Must I go ? " " Yes, yes ! You must go. I shall be all right until you come back. I have Avritten a letter for you to take to my friend. You will have a long Avay to walk, but some one will help you perhaps ; and you will be safe Avhen once you get to him, — you will be safe, my darling ! " And the mother dreAv the child down, and kissed her passionately. " But are you sure he will come at once and bring you what you want ? Cannot we write ? " " No. Perhaps he would not come for a letter.

You must go; and you must do exactly Avhat he bids you. Noav look in the box ; there is a letter. Put it in your pocket at once. And get my old grey shawl from behind the door, and put it ready with your things. You will be cold, so early. Now, come and lie down by me, and sleep till I waken you. Don't take anything off. I Avant you to be quite ready when I call you. . . . There. . . . Say your prayers by my side once more ! ... Be good always, Peggy ! be good, whatever happens. . . . And now good night, my darling ! Sleep till I waken you." The child was too tired and too bewildered and frightened to question any more. She did as she was told. For the last time she said " Our Father " with her mother's thin hands clasped round hers ; and then crept close to her side, and put her warm, soft cheek against the worn face on the pillow.

" How bright the stars are to-night 1 That's the beauty of an attic, that the stars shine right into it !" she said, sleepily ; and in a few moments her eyes, themselves as bright as stars, were closed, and the child slept peacefully. She did not feel the tears which fell upon her face ; she did not hear the agonized prayers which all through the night went up from the lips and heart of the poor woman — a woman whose life had been far from blameless, and who had never prayed for herself as she prayed for her child. Suddenly Peggy was wakened. Her mother's voice sounded very strange and weak. " Be quick, Peggy !" she said. " Do exactly as I have told you. Be quick ! " Hardly conscious of what she was doing, the child put on her hat, wrapped the shawl about her, and gathered up her little bundle.

" Let me call Mrs. Norridge to come to you, or let me light the fire " " No, no ! You must not disturb any one. Kiss me, Peggy, and go ! " The room was very dark. The stars even had gone, and only a pale grey gleam came through the skylight. Peggy groped her way to her mother's side, and stooped to kiss the face she could not clearly see. " Good-bye ! I will be as quick as ever I can. AA'HEN MORNING DAAVNS. 7 But I don't like to leave you " There Avas a sob from the child, but no word from the mother; only a long, long kiss, and lingering pressure of the cold hands. And then Peggy, crying bitterly, very cold, and frightened, and miserahle, but resolute, crept doAvnstairs, and out into the dark street. And the mother, when she heard the door closed behind her, and the last sound of the light, SAvift footsteps had ceased, closed her eyes with a sigh of thankfulness.

" Thank God ! and iioav I can go to sleep ! " When Mrs. Norridge came into the garret an hour or tAvo later, Mrs. Meredith was dead, with a happy smile on her lips. The night of suffering was o\'er, and a new day had daAvned.

Chapter II

" PETER HOLGATE, PROVISION MERCHANT." MR. PETER HOLGATE was a very successful man. He was accustomed to say that the Lord had blessed his humble efforts, and that to him appeared to account sufficiently for the fact that he had " begun life without a penny in his pocket " (as the saying is, though we all begin life equally desti tute of either pockets or pennies), and at fifty had as many pounds as his pocket could hold. But to his neighbours this explanation did not seem satisfactory. Those who knew most of Peter did not see any valid reason why his efforts should have been more blessed than those of other men. They had watched him from the time when he was shop-boy to old Willis, and slept in a cupboard under the counter, until the day old Willis died, and Peter, Avho was then foreman, proved that the business belonged to him, as he had been advancing money on it to keep Willis out of difficulties.

Every one had wondered where Peter got the money from to lend ; and every one had envied him when he had the shop finely fitted up, and his own name painted where that of Willis had so long been — Peter Holgate, Provision Merchant. But even his friends — that is to say, those who were most intimate with him, and hoped to derive some benefit from their intimacy — had never known him do a kind thing to any creature, or ever supposed him capable of kindness, generosity, " PETER HOLGATE, PROVISION MERCHANT.' 9 hospitality, philanthropy, or any of the virtues Avhich are commonly supposed to merit a heaA'enly blessing. And so it was only Peter himself who ahvays maintained that the " Lord had blessed his efforts." Other people, according to their views of morality, called him a skinflint, a miser, a mean old money-bag ; or a thoroughly clever man of business, Avith a shrewd head on his shoulders ; a man who could see Avhat he Avas about, a safe man, a sound man, " a man Avorth his thousands, sir !

" Peter himself cared little what his neighbours thought. He had knoAvn hardships. He had once been young, though it Avas hard to believe it ; and it was rumoured that he had even once been gay, and that there Avere shreds of a love-story hanging about his past life. But no one could pick up enough to piece together a rational tale ; and no one had ever been in his confidence. Now that Peter was well knoAvn to be rich, he liA'ed as plainly as when he was poor, and seemed to grudge every penny. He had no one to help him but a shop-boy. He Avas in the shop himself from eight in the morning till eight at night (later on Saturdays), in his Avhite apron and bib, and little grey cap, weighing out butter and lard, cutting up bacon and ham and cheese ; ahvays busy, always quiet, with a keen eye on everything, strictly just in his dealings, correct in his AA'eights; but neA'er giving aAvay so much as a rind of bacon, or a crust of cheese.

No customer ever got more civility from him than another. He never cringed to the rich nor bullied the poor, but treated the public all round with equable independence. His shop was in a busy street, and there Avas plenty of competition; but Peter held his own, and piled up money. He never boasted, and never grumbled. He did not say that he was going to be ruined if times Avere bad, nor launch out into grandeur or display if times were good. Yet every one knew well enough that Peter Holgate had been one of the luckiest specu lators in all Liverpool, and that bacon and lard had turned to gold in his hands. Of course, love-story or not, he had never married, and no one dreamed that he ever would. The idea was utterly incon gruous. Among the congregation at the Wesleyan Chapel which he regularly attended, young maids had groAvn to old maids, sitting Sunday after Sunday under his very eyes.

But though they knew all about his money, no one of them had ever had any hope of winning his affections ; and though unmarried, he was never counted as " marriageable." And so Peter Holgate flourished and waxed fat — figuratively speaking ; as a matter of fact, he looked at fifty as old and withered as most men at seventy. For, somehow or other, money in the bank is not half so good a preserver of youth as warmth in the heart ; and Peter was morally starved in spite of all his wealth. He was a little man, slightly made ; and he seemed to get smaller and smaller as he grew older. When he stood in his large white apron and close grey cap, surrounded by massy cheeses, heavy sides of bacon, and tubs of butter, and all manner of fat food, he might have been an emblem of starvation — a shrivelled, wizened old man ; his face grey and lined with mean Avrinkles ; his eyes cold and sharp as steel — eyes Avhich seemed to have never known either a tear or a smile, — this was the rich, successful Peter Holgate.

He never left his shop during the day, except to come into the little back parlour for his meals, and then he Avatched through the window for any customer, and would not let any one weigh out a pound of cheese but himself. For his sister, Priscilla, Avho Avas the only person in the house, " PETER HOLGATE, PROVISION MERCHANT." I I besides Peter and the shop-boy, Avas the last person in the AA'orld whom he could have trusted to Aveigh cheese. Priscilla Avas a sore trial to Peter. He had done his utmost to teach her his theories of justice in the matter of Aveights and measures, and his principles of dealing with the poor. But she was the most unteachable woman in the Avorld ; and he kneAv that even yet she would give the food off her own plate, or the clothes off her back, if she could without being found out.

In appearance Priscilla was exactly like Peter — Avith a difference. She was two years older than he, but looked younger ; for Avhen she smiled all the wrinkles seemed to be smoothed out of her face, and the sweetness of her blue eyes lit it up with the light of happiness. And she often smiled. Priscilla Avas one of those rare souls who accept their lot as a blessing, whatever it may be. She had never in her life been disappointed or discontented. She never thought that any one did wrong wilfully. " Poor thing ! " was the harshest judgment she ever passed on any felloAv-creature ; and she looked upon Peter's love of money as a melancholy affliction, Avhich she pitied from the bottom of her heart, usually speaking of her rich brother as " poor Peter." Many years ago, Peter had been dangerously ill, and Priscilla had left her situation in a gentleman's family, and come to nurse him.

He had found her very useful, and more economical than a hired serA-ant ; and so, though her fondness sor giving often made him angry, and though it was a perpetual trouble that he could not trust her in the shop, he did not want her to leave him, and, on the whole, cared more for Priscilla than for any other living creature, though that may not be saying much. On her side there was no advantage in the change. She gave up independence, easy Avork, and good living, for grudgingly given doles, and virtual slavery. But then, " poor Peter " Avas her only brother, and she could take care of him ; and to be wanted to take care of some one is enough to make a woman happy. It Avas Saturday evening, and nearly closing time. Peter stood behind his counter, slowly and with extreme care weighing two ounces of cheese for a woman.

It Avas a miserably wet night ; and a cold wind came in bitter gusts, making the gas flare up, and bloAving Peter's apron about Avhen he came forward to dig out a lump of butter from a keg, or to reach down a flitch of bacon. The wind and rain were right upon that side of the street ; the rain, drifting in, had made a wet patch on the sawdusted floor, and the wet feet of the customers had trampled it into an uncomfortable condition. Peter looked at the clock, and then at the still busy street. It wanted five minutes to ten, but he was cold and tired. "James," he said to the boy, " put out gas, and close shop." He was as sparing of his words as of other things, and never used an unnecessary article. James gladly handed the woman her parcel, and went to.put up the shutters. Peter swept the money off the counter into the till, and felt for his key to lock it up for the night.

A girl passed the shop window, stopped, looked up at the name, and came back. "You're too late; it's closing time," said James, roughly. There was no answer ; but the girl staggered a little farther in, and leaned against the cheeses which made a column at the side of the entrance, as though she could get no farther. " Don't stand against cheeses like that," said Peter, in his thin, rasping voice. " Business is over. Be off!" The girl did not seem able to move. She was fumbling in her pocket, and Peter came from be hind the counter angrily to hasten her dismissal. " PETER HOLGATE, PROVISION MERCHANT." 13 " Cheeses not put there for beggars to lean against. Get away ! No use for beggars to come here," he said. Still the girl did not move. The rain beat upon her where she stood, and streamed down from her.

The Avind blew her thin skirts and gre)' shaAvl about. Her face was white and pitiful ; and when Peter came near her she held out a trembling hand with a letter in it, and said, " Is this you, sir ? " The letter was addressed correctly. " Yes, it is ; but it's too late to attend to it to-night. Come on Monday, if you Avant anything. Get off noAv ; it's closing time." He put out his hand to push the child aAvay. She was nearly as tall as he, but had a child's face ; and suddenly something in the look of the pleading eyes fixed on his made him pause, and feel hot and strange. " Please read the letter. It's from my mother ! " the child said, with a sob in her voice ; and Peter tore it open. He read it through twice before he spoke again, standing in the middle of the shop under the flaring gaslight ; the trembling little figure in the soaked garments leaning against the column of cheeses, the boy busily putting up the shutters, — and outside the noisy street and the bitter wind and rain.

" Come in," Peter said at last, putting the letter in his pocket. Then he turned to the boy. " Here's your Avages, and you can go." Peggy stumbled a little farther into the shop, and sat down on a stool by the counter, never taking her eyes from Peter's face. He looked sorely perplexed. He counted out the boy's shillings ; he locked the door after him ; put out all the lights but one, and then turned to Peggy. This Avas written in Manchester. When did you leave there ? " " Very early this morning." " What have you been doing all day ? " " Walking, since I left the train. And I'm so tired ! I had not money enough for all the way." " And — your mother sent you ? She told you to come to me ? " " Yes. And oh ! sir, she will die if you don't help her. She is so ill ; and the doctor says she must have food, and we have no money."

There was a pause. Peter had taken the letter out of his pocket again, and looked at it. " And what are you going to do now ? " he said, still in the sharp, suspicious tone which was usual with him. " Whatever you tell me. Mother said you were her only friend, and that you would help her." Peter's face twitched, and he turned away. " Priscilla ! " In an instant the door into the back parlour opened, and a little woman came briskly towards them, knitting as she came. She looked in wild amazement from the little man, still in his white apron, to the girl crouched upon the stool by the counter, whose Avhite face, in its expression of childish forlornness, smote her to the heart. "Oh! my poor, dear child " she began; but Peter interrupted her severely. " No foolery of that sort, Priscilla ! Take this child to the kitchen — and — you can give her some thing to eat."

Pity almost overcoming her surprise, Priscilla took the girl's cold, wet hand in hers, and drew her aAvay Avithout another Avord. Peter gave a gasp of relief Avhen they were gone. Then he put out the gas, took off his apron and cap, and went into the back parlour, where a small fire was burning, and the table laid for supper. " PETER HOLGATE, PROVISION MERCHANT." I 5 He sat down, and once more took out the letter from Peggy's mother. He opened it, spread it upon the table, laid his hand upon it, and looked absently into the fire. And there he saAv a vision. A radiant creature, in glittering garments, all gauze and spangles, with gleaming smiles and sunny glances, laid a dazzling white hand in his, and said, " Oh yes, if you like I will promise anything ! " Was it really this withered hand of his, Avith fingers crooked, as though to grasp more easily, which had once held that soft fair hand in a grasp which it thrilled him to remember even now ?

Was it his cold, dead heart which had throbbed Avith passion when he felt the touch of those warm lips ? Was it to him those half-laughing words had been said, " I promise ; I promise ! " TAventy-five years ago ; and from that night, when for the only time he had kissed the Avoman he loved, when she had made him mad Avith happiness by her promise to be his Avife, he had had no sign of her existence, no Avord to show that she remembered him. She had deceived him cruelly. She had disappeared Avith a 3'oung Captain Meredith the very day after her promise to Peter, leaving no message, expressing no regret. It had taken a long time to kill the passion Avhich must other- Avise have killed him ; and AA'ith his loA'e for this Avoman, Peter believed he had destroyed all his power of loving. His heart turned to bitterness.