Goldthorne Hall: an English tale, during the reign of Louis Philippe, King of the French. By 'Épine d'or.'

Front matter

GOLDTHORNE HALL: stnglisjjr Cale, DURING THE REIGN OF LOUIS PHILIPPE, KING OF THE FRENCH. in "EPINE D'OR." LONDON: WILLIAM MACINTOSH, 24, Patebnoster Row. 1871. PKEFACE. A lone house, without the appendage of a garden, would, to the beholder, present anything but an interesting or vivifying scene : so would this small volume, if permitted to make its way into the world unaccompanied by an introductory chapter or preface. Goldthorne Hall, when first commenced, was intended as a short, fragmentary tale of fiction for one of the numerous weekly publications. It was written spontaneously, and without premeditation, during one evening ; then, through an unexpected event, it was thrown aside pendant five or six days, yet ever and anon thought of. Upon perusing it a second time, it presented to the writer a plot or ground work for a more lengthened tale, provided the several personages were more fully developed.

In consequence, it was re-written ; and, to invest each character with a life-like reality, an accumulation of facts, acquired through a long Continental residence, were employed to bear upon the subject. Goldthorne Hall is an English tale during the reign of the late Louis Philippe, King of the French. Many of

Preface

. the incidents portrayed therein are, it is needless to remark, gathered altogether from personal observation. To sustain the interest throughout the entire book, without flagging from beginning to end, has been the endeavour. To those who, like the author, have often crossed the English Channel, most of the scenes will be easily re cognisable. And now, in laying this small work of memory and imagination before the public, the hope is that kind indulgence will be extended, and forgiveness accorded through any amenities or shortcomings. C. B. St. Albans. taoe 3S CONTENTS.

Chapter I

Ada and Claire St. Ives — A sister's letter — A boundary — Mrs. Goldthorne — Mrs. St. Ives in Boulogne — A view of dissipating sad thoughts 1 CHAPTEK II. An apartment in the Rue St. Croix — A promise — Madame de Vaux's mission — Plaintive lamentations — An arrival — The Rev. George Granger 10

Chapter III

A loving letter — Tears shed in memory — A fire — Uncle John — Old Lott — The blacksmith makes a mistake — Margery's letter — Three sisters in one — A quarrel — Too much of the Law 18

Chapter IV

A subdued time — Lottie commences to pack — Good-bye — The driver of the smaU van — " Oh, Lott ! " said Margery — AU small :_(> CHAPTER v. Continuation of Lottie Law — The blacksmith's sorrow — After breakfast — The fame of a pretty bonnet — Lottie's reception — A successful guess — Significant consultations — A good omen — At a large bay window— Ann — crossing a stile CONTENTS. VI I'AOK Ill 68

Chapter VI

Violette's arrival in England— Changes Mrs. St. Ives' love of Goldthorne Hall— Ada's resolve— Claire converses with her sister — Comfortably accommodated — Cousin John

Chapter VII

Imagination's fairy reins — A fond dream — Edward Ozanne somewhat forgetful — The identical tombstone — Violette's question, " Are you tired of ? " — Haunted with Goldthorne HaU — The rector of Grasslands — Mrs. Ozanne's dinner party 47

Chapter VIII

Mrs. Goldthorne bewilders Violette — What the maiden's knowledge gained — Some few particulars relating to Goldthorne HaU .... 58

Chapter IX

An express purpose — More than one pair of eyes — Dear humble Grasslands — M. Le Pasteur Granger — Why Arthur went to Paiis — Managing a little affair — Claire's merry mood — Arthur's improvement — The dream is over — Clasped hands — That wiU never do 64 CHAPTER x. An orphan's sensitiveness — A sweet smUe — A pretty spot — Anticipating winter — A confidant of cousin Claire

Chapter XI

No hasty decision — An important disclosure — Personate the kind fairy— Discretionary judgment— Somewhat confused— An objection to say fareweU — Extreme agitation — A church contribution — A nervous temperament — Something on his mind — A paltry sum ....... CONTENTS. VII PAGE 106 115 136

Chapter XII

Going to the rectory — An idle rumour — Exalting my cousin — A sinful wish — The bearer of a love message — Finn assurance — Counter check — Statements as weU as sentiments — ContinuaUy employed — Deep reflection — Has Dozey lost a shoe ? — WoefuUy disappointed — Vivid imagination — A proviso — A sad vacancy 95

Chapter XIII

Is she not a child of France — Wait, Violette — According to the law of France — The exile's fareweU — A cheque for ninety thousand francs — Blending the Enghsh and French language — Take care of my flower — AU the wisdom of the peers and deputies of France — Portly John and Portly Jane

Chapter XIV

Imperfect French — Meditating upon a dark cloud — A rehgious brother — Very Uttle to communicate — A cosy time — Sublime grandeur — SmaU pension — An earnest conversation — Sundry rides — Fabulous — Set at bay by a boy and girl CHAPTER xv. Could you only imagine ? — Number of facts — Par example — Indecision—Take an old man's advice — La rose sans epines — Innocent of poUtical affairs — A Manchester lady — Enghsh delicacies, mince pies — A novel dish — Abound in the old Parisian houses 122

Chapter XVI

The English Times and Punch — An Englishman — Steep hills — All of the same famUy — A compound of petit verres — ObUvious 130

Chapter XVII

Admiral St. Ives — A Sunday feeling — My pet, my jewel — Our neighbours across the sea gain an advantage in consequence of Ecarte — Respectful distance — What the admiral's prize money affected — Violette's surprise — State secret CONTENTS.

Chapter XVIII. Page

What shall I do ?— Outlandish relative— Nothing should tempt me to disobey — Less like a criminal — Aunt Goldthorne s prediction verified — An hermit or a monk — One out of three hundred and sixty-four — A delusive hope. . . 145

Chapter I

"Yes, yes," mentally thought Ada St. Ives. "My cousin Violette must marry, mamma dear ! " exclaimed the young girl. " "Will you grant me your assistance in the projection of an innocent plot, or scheme, which I have formed expressly to mislead my cousin, with a view of proving beneficial to her ? " "But how can you possibly tell, Ada love, whether it will eventually prove for her benefit ? " answered Mrs. St. Ives. " Well, mamma, you must acknowledge how frequently I have heard you say how happy you should be were our dear Violette happily settled. We know that she does not possess any fortune : and in these mercenary times, that advantage is, or appears to be, the first grand object in life." " And you, my dear girl, would in all probability imagine the same, were you less amply provided for.

Happily, you know not the sad reality of straitened means, which debar many sincere Christians from aiding their fellow-creatures." I! " All very true, mother dear ; yet I sometimes feel inclined to envy my cousin, who can never be sought in marriage for the sake of her money ; while my sister and myself are continually haunted with that idea. Come, mamma, say you will at least sanction it : — your last remark adds more importance to my request. At that moment, Mrs. St. Ives perceived her younger daughter, accompanied by an old and esteemed friend who had "recently returned from Scarborough, approaching the house. Without replying to her daughter's request, she rose hastily, and passed out of the glass door to meet them. Ada was ensconced in a fauteuil in a contrary direction, and therefore did not see her sister or her mother's friend approaching.

Taking her mother's abrupt departure as a disapproval, she ran and left the room, pondering how she should mature the scheme, which had lately engrossed her mind. Ada and Claire St. Ives were twin sisters, and would, on attaining their majority, come into possession of large fortunes. Unhappily, their fond father had died ere they had completed their seventeenth year : he knew he could not recover from the sudden and fatal illness, which had spread sorrow within the household ; also that he should leave his wife and young daughters at a period when the latter most required a father's care. Nearly three years had elapsed since that melancholy event. Ada and Claire St. Ives were very pretty and interesting girls, each pos sessing the kindest heart : they were ever ready to befriend the unfortunate, more particularly their youn^ cousin, Violette Le Tour, who was the only daughter of Mrs. St. Ives' youngest sister, who had died on the Continent leaving her child entirely unprovided for.

Prior to leaving this -world for a better, she indited a most affectionate and touching letter to her sister, bequeathing to her care and gentle guidance her cherished child. " She will be unto you as a third daughter, my beloved sister. Your own dear girls, being so richly endowed, they will in all probability marry into suitable families : you will then, as years increase, require an intelligent companion. As a portionless girl, unhappily, she cannot think of marriage, nor do I think her independent spirit will permit her to enter any family as a penniless bride. Cherish her for the sake of your once happy sister of merry memory; — of late, my sorrows. have been unmitigated. Let me see you once more, if possible, and receive from you the consoling assurance, that you will accept the charge of my orphan girl, ere I quit this world for ever.

Should you refuse this my last request, her only resource is as a governess, she having been educated with that view." Such was the purport of the letter which Mrs. St. Ives received fifteen months prior to the commencement of this tale, and upon making known the contents to her young daughters, they with their pure and earnest natures en treated their mother to accept the charge of their cousin Violette. Many were the interesting conversations which the sisters indulged in relating to the pitiable prospects of their cousin ; and during Mrs. St. Ives' absence at Tours, the French city in which her sister had located herself and child subsequent to the death of her husband Colonel Le Tour, they had concocted several fairy romances sufficient to form volumes, had they had the perseverance to employ their time with manuscript writing, — their cousin being invariably the heroine.

Ada and Claire had scarcely known their aunt, she having been an alien from England so long, neither were they acquainted with any particulars of her life. In one of her letters to their mother, soon after she became a widow, she had represented herself as greatly troubled in consequence of a member of her late husband s family proposing a convent as Violette's future home. Hitherto they had been exceedingly kind ; yet that cruel suggestion, to separate her darling girl from her, had cancelled all obligation. "I shall entreat and beseech of mamma, when she returns," said Claire, " to allow me, when I arrive at that boundary, twenty one (which, I suppose, signifies wisdom's age), to settle a portion of my fortune on my cousin." " A bright idea, my dear sister, and one which I shall endeavour to emulate ; it will never do for the younger to rival the elder, — the latter young lady possessing the ad vantage in age fifteen minutes; and," continued Ada, "do not name the subject of our converse to Mrs. Goldthorne, or she will persuade mamma not to permit anything of the kind."

Mrs. Goldthorne was an elderly and distant relative, who previous to the last five years had been merely Mrs. Richard Goldthorne ; and the young Claire, then about fourteen, had incurred her great displeasure through calling her one day Aunt Dick. She now revelled in the above name un molested, she made frequent visits to Belmont Priory, and had ever been in constant attendance on one or another of the Goldthorne family, and was in consequence acquainted with many ancestral anecdotes ; and although somewhat eccentric she possessed many sterling qualities. She had now been summoned to stay at the Priory durin°- the unavoidable absence of Mrs. St. Ives. Mrs. Goldthorne certainly did not anticipate the arrival of the orphan girl with the same enthusiastic pleasure as the sisters; she very frequently w-aried and irritated them by saying, " How do you know that your cousin will prove as amiable as you delight to portray her ?

You must recollect that she is an only child, and most only children are spoilt: they expect a vast deal too much, and are not half so ready with kind attentions as those who have been brought up with others. Again, if I am right in my conclusions, she has been educated by a Roman Catholic lady. She will, it is possible, find England dull, compared with her own gay country, with its amusing Sunday entertainments. I am convinced, and you, my dear girls, may rest assured, that she will possess revolutionary principles, which you will have to gloss over with a series of fetes." "Aunt Goldthorne," for so the girls called her, "how can you say such cruel things?" answered Claire. "I am sure she has not been educated by a lady professing that persuasion. It is possible you may not regard our cousin the same as you do my sister and myself, in consequence of not having been the first to announce her birth, which event took place on the Continent."

"And her mother's marriage, also," replied Mrs. Gold thorne, (who had, with that exception, been present at all the marriages, births, and deaths, of the Goldthorne family) ; "and as the old squire, the father of Mrs. St. Ives, had remarked when he became a widower, 'She bears our name, and is now the only female who does : therefore let her be welcome to our hearth.' " The girls were not to be discouraged : they continued to imagine their cousin as gentle and affectionate as she had been eight years back, at which period she had visited England with her mother, who was then in delicate health. Ada had never forgotten the beautiful little girl's sad and plaintive voice, as she murmured one night in her sleep, " I have neither brother nor sister." The child must then evidently have been cognisant of the affection which existed between her cousins Ada and Claire St. Ives.

The latter remark of Claire's had certainly much to do with Mrs. Goldthorne's tantalizing suggestions. Yes, the beautifm Agnes Goldthorne had married, in a strange land, one whose fathers had from generation to generation professed the Romish faith. She had very much to plead in excuse, her husband being exceedingly handsome, and possessed of all the courtesies of life, so attracting to a young and ingenuous girl. When Colonel Le Tour had asked her to be his wife, the fair English girl had naively answered by saying, " Leopold, can you not get a wife in your own country ? " Then, as Mrs. Goldthorne had justly observed, Mrs. Le Tour had entirely diverged from the family names. Had she have named her young daughter, Isabelle, Catharine, or Henrietta, either would have formed a link in connection with the past associations of Goldthorne Hall.

When Mrs. St. Ives left Belmont Priory on her sad mission, she proceeded to Gravesend, accompanied by her daughter's maid ; she being younger than her own attendant, and more able to accommodate herself to foreign travel than one of more advanced age. At the above place they went on board a Boulogne steamer, fully expecting to enter that port during the early part of the evening, allowing sufficient time to refresh themselves ere proceeding on their route by the night diligence to Paris. Greatly were her expectations disappointed, when, only about half way of the voyage, a storm suddenly arose, the sea became darker as the tremen dous waves rose higher and higher ; and for some few hours the vessel remained tossing to and fro, buffeted by the swell of the undercurrent. Now, when the storm had happily passed, and the vessel arrived within a short distance of the town, the captain descended the cabin stairs, entered I GOLDTHORNE HALL. the saloon, and in a lively jocose way entreated the pas sengers to cultivate patience, as they would be unable to enter port until the early morning landingtide.

Independent of having a thorough dislike to Sunday travelling, Mrs. St. Ives was too fatigued to continue her journey; so she decided to remain in the above town until Monday. She had recon ciled herself to that decision, as upon again reading her sister's letter, it did not, she imagined, with the exception of its brevity, indicate extreme weakness. Not feeling herself equal to a solitary promenade in that interesting seaport, she stationed herself at the casement of her chamber, which commanded a fair view of the market ; and,'with the idea of distracting her mournful thoughts, she remarked more particularly the busy throng, also the buzz and din proceeding from the many voices, like unto the murmur of the restless ocean, — causing her to imagine that they had assembled to converse, as well as to sell their mer chandise.

She had seen many of the country vendors, mounted on donkeys well laden, or seated in their carts, arrive from the adjacent villages ; some of the latter being two, three, or four leagues distant from the town. She heard friendly greetings exchanged, as each took their accustomed place. Soon she perceived long rows of the country peasants in dark cloaks, seated facing each other, their eyes sparkling with pleasure when the well-known purchasers waded through the increasing crowd, expressly to select from the first fair display. Occasionally the swallows flapped their wings and twittered as they flew past her window. The old church of St. Nicolas appeared literally surrounded by the richest produce of the country. And in the midst of a jargon of voices, also dissent and barter, the organ calmly sent forth sweet strains.

The day continued warm and sultry, the storm not having visited that locality. Towards five o'clock Nature refreshed the air by graciously sending a bountiful and gentle rain, laying the dust which had in the morning proved so detrimental to the clear ruddy faces of the peasants, also to the fichu or mouchoir worn by the women over their snow-white caps. As soon as the large drops of rain began to descend, a show of quaint umbrellas of various colours was suddenly seen to form a covering to the market, also to the motley assemblage of persons. Soldiers, in groups of three and four, hastened to the adjoining guard-house ; traders who had the privilege ensconced themselves in a species of box resembling a sentry-box, belonging to the market, and which generally stood on the north side of the church of St. Nicolas; other merchants or vendors collected their several commodities which remained unsold, and de parted; others hastened to well-known shops to make an exchange for goods mostly required in their village.

Several sweepers with their brooms quickly dispersed the young porteures, who lingered on the church steps counting the sous received during the day; carts drove round, into which the refuse of the market was thrown ; and by the time the rain had ceased there remained scarcely any traces of the day's traffic. The paving-stones of the large square began to dry; and tranquillity resumed its sway as the country people returned home well pleased with the bright pieces of cent-sous. The following day being Sunday, Mrs. St. Ives attended service at the English church in the Rue de Temple. She was much pleased with the sermon, by the Rev. , who had baptised her sister Agnes's young daughter. The same busy scene had been passing in the city of Tours, which has been represented as having taken place in the town of Boulogne ; as, with rarely any exception, GOLDTHORNE HALL. the market-day in one large town is the same as that in another.

It was the evening. The last echo from the rappel had floated away ; and the fair city was falling into repose. Now and then ascended the sound of a footfall, heard more particularly in a chamber in consequence of the windows being partly open. It was a large roomy house, situated in one of the principal streets, designated in these pages as the Rue Saint Croix. The sound proceeded from one or more of the passing inhabitants who bad remained longer than usual, pour causer un peu; until, as Pere Jacques had intimated, the moon threw her brightest beams over the city. Pere Jacques was the lamplighter, and was often heard apostrophising that luminary, as when that sphere held fair vigil his services were dispensed with. Now, when his daughter Celestine entered her father's chamber (which evidently represented the spare bedroom, that being the best front room of their small house on the ground floor,) to say "Bon soir, mon pere'' he tenderly embraced her while saying — " Do not be frightened, mon enfant ; Adolphe will have the light of the moon to guide him to-night instead of the lamps ; and although he is somewhat small of stature, he will become bravely valiant when he perceives how gigantically she has photographed him."

He had once witnessed and heard a party of young English and French gallants, who had been indulging rather freely with the wines of the country, dispute through not recognising their own shadow ; each inclining to claim the one most erect. Pere Jacques was a keen observer of the moon's fickle changes. His young daughter had that day been betrothed to Adolphe.

Chapter II

The apartment to which the sound of Adolphe's footsteps ascended was large and airy, having two recesses; one serving as a dressing-room, and the other containing a couch, prettily draped with white muslin curtains. At the extremity of the chamber was seen a second couch, similarly arranged. Between the two windows appeared a circular table, on which were several small bottles containing medicine, a glass dish, on which remained a few delicious white strawberries, culled that morning from within the grounds belonging to Blanc Pignon, a chateau so named. On one side of the large inlaid mirror, above the grey marble chimney piece, was an illuminated scroll, entitled " Watch and Pray." A refreshing odour from the flowers stationed in the balcony, also eau de Cologne, pervaded the apartment. Above the table was suspended a book-shelf, on which were placed several English books : conspicuous was the Bible ; a book of daily prayers, two or three juvenile hymn-books, and some others for the use of schools, which, on opening, displayed, written in neat characters, the name of Violette Le Tour.

On the couch at the further end of the room, and supported partly by several large, square pillows, lay a pale and delicate English lady, who seemed to be suffering from an internal malady; ever and anon the converse, so difficult to the invalid, being interrupted by a distressing cough. " Draw nearer, my dear friend," said she to a French lady, who had resided with her ever since the death of the colonel, her husband ; " I know not how to thank you for GOLDTHORNE HALL. the affectionate sympathy which you have ever so generously shewn to me and my child." Madame de Vaux approached. She could only press her friend's hand ; the deep emotion which she experienced prevented her from replying. " And you, Violette, my dear girl, come here : let me hold your hand. Madame has solemnly promised not to desert you when I am gone."

A shudder passed through the young girl's frame, as she thought of the doctor's parting words to her in the morning, enjoining her not to betray symptoms of grief while in the sick lady's presence. " Violette, my beloved ." Here she was interrupted, and prevented for the time through a difficulty in breathing. A simple remedy was speedily administered by Violette, which relieved her mother sufficiently to enable her to make known to her young daughter her last wishes and injunctions. "And now," said she, "you must assure me, in the presence of our faithful friend, that you will not reveal to your aunt the particulars which I have this night confided to you, until ." " My dear mother," replied the sorrow-stricken girl, " you are sadly agitated. Only try to calm yourself, and I will promise all you desire."

It is very possible that had the sick lady's sister, Mrs. St. Ives, arrived, she would have received in confidence the revelation which Mrs. Le Tour now urgently desired to be kept profoundly secret, and Mrs. St. Ives would have been made acquainted with the one great sorrow of her sister's life. " And," continued Mrs. Le Tour, " it is getting late. Violette, love, you must retire ; you look weary ; endeavour to get a good night's rest, that you may gain strength to enable you to render mo the same loving attentions as usual. God bless you, my child." " And you also, my own dear mother," responded the gentle girl, while fondly embracing her. Violette then glided from the apartment, and sought her own chamber. It was late ere sleep closed over the weeping girl's sorrow. " What is the time ?" enquired the invalid of her friend.

" It is almost twelve," answered the latter, who rose and passed out of the sick lady's room. She returned in less than five minutes, and approaching the invalid, took her hand as she said, — " Elle dort comme tine ange." Daring the whole time of Mrs. Le Tour's illness, one of madame's nightly missions had been to visit Violette's bedside, the fond mother had been so anxious about her child. Love, with all its strength and power, had bound the mother and child as one. The following morning, ere the reveil sounded in the streets of Tours, the poor lady's spirit had fled. Violette was an orphan in the land of her birth, unknown by all her relatives. " To grace the calm, sacred spot, Of everlasting flower ; As a beauteous rose she stood, Until tempest's crushing hour." The funeral had taken place, and Violette had seen the earth cover her mother's remains.

She had also seen the fairest flowers planted upon the sacred spot, even one whom both had carefully tended. She had been entreated by the medical attendant not to embitter her mother's last moments by shewing her grief, and she had obeyed him. Calmly in all her youthful beauty she had listened to her dying injunctions ; and now that all was over, the great sorrow which had been pent up so long within her loving heart came forth in plaintive lamentations. "Violette, my dear girl," said Madame de Vaux, "you must not grieve in this distressing manner. My poor child, try to bear this bereavement with greater resignation. Remember whose hand has laid this sorrow on your young life ; it is for a wise purpose. Think how your mother must have suffered loin de sa patrie, and without the solace of her beloved sister."

" Oh, madame," exclaimed the heart-broken girl, " what have I done that I should be left in this world alone ? You ask me to stifle this great agony. It is crushing me, killing me." " Hush, my darling Violette. You must not question why your mother has been removed from you. Come, bathe that poor weeping face. To-day madame your aunt is expected. Imagine how distressed she will be when she learns her sister has departed before she could arrive. Do you think, love, you will know your aunt ? I think you were nearly nine years of age when you last saw her ; that was eight years ago, and I, at that period, was very un settled. I became then a convert to your religion, which caused a separation from my family ; also unhappy conten tions, more especially as we belonged to the ancient Noblesse de France.

After your beloved mother became a widow, I found a home with her, through the kind introduc tion of Monsieur le Pasteur Granger. She had then learned resignation, had learned to bear the loss of fortune, and ." Here she stopped, and taking a letter from her pocket, she placed it in Violette's hand, saying, — "Take it, love ; it is the letter in which your aunt has promised to fulfil the last earthly wishes of your beloved mother. You will be affectionately welcomed by a fond aunt and loving cousins, while I shall be obliged to seek a logement au troisieme ou au quatrieme. Oh, Violette, where shall I find a home since she is gone ?" Thus did Madame de Vaux endeavour to draw the bereaved girl from the absorbing grief which threatened to overwhelm her. Violette rose from the side of the couch near which she was kneeling, her weeping face nearly buried amongst the cushions.

She threw her arms round the lady's neck, and earnestly implored her not to leave her. "I cannot be separated from you, dear madame. My aunt cannot be the kind and gentle being that my beloved mother has portrayed, should she be so cruel as to separate me from your watchful solicitude." Just then a carriage was heard by the concierge of the house, to rattle down the Rue St. Croix, followed immedi ately by a loud and ponderous knock on the porte cochere, announcing an arrival; and before Violette had sufficient time to efface the traces of grief from her countenance, Mrs. St. Ives entered the apartment. She recognised her niece instantly, she being the exact counterpart of her sister Agnes, when they had unhappily lost their mother. Violette's mourning attire indicated that she had arrived too late.