Courtleroy

Front matter

THE HEIRESS OF COURTLEROY. THE PRETTYMAN'S HAVE A LITTLE CONFAB. THE HEIRESS OF COURTLEROY. BY ANNE BEALE, Author of " Gladys the Reaper;" " Squire Lisle's Bequest;" " Queen o' the May;" &c. ILLUSTRATED BT T. C H- CASTLE. LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, Limited, 49 OLD BAILEY, E.C. GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND DUBLIN 1893. CONTENTS. Chap. Page I. Concerning adopting a Child, 9 II. A Waif in the Square, 18 III. A Born Soldier, 28 IV. An Uncertain Welcome, 35 V. An Eventful Dat, 44 VI. A Mimic Battle, 52 VII. Courtleroy, 59 VIII. The Curate's Family, 67 IX. Correspondence, 75 X. The Handel Festival, 83 XI. Summerlands, 89 XII. Introductions, 97 XIII. Searle the Bailiff, 104 XIV. Her Pension, 112 XV. Mimica's First Proposal 118 XVI. In Farmer Bezley's Barn, 124 XVII. Misunderstandings, 131 XVIII. United and Parted, 136 XIX.

The Le Roy Town House, 140 XX. Unit and Co 147 XXI. Mimica and the Tenants, 154 XXII. Searle taken Aback, 160 XXIII. Aroused at Last, 167 XXIV. Driven to Bay, 174 XXV. "An Out-and-out Villain," CONTENTS. VI Chap. Page XXVI. Ruined, 19° XXVII. Horace 196 XXVIII. "Never go to Church," 201 XXIX. An Attempt on Life, 208 XXX. Trust Yourself, 216 XXXI. Music has Charms, 222 XXXII. Short Notice, 230 XXXIII. The Lost Straduarius, 236 XXXIV. Patrick Again 241 XXXV. All that Biddy knew 248 XXXVI. Poor Horace! 255 XXXVII. Partially Restored, 261 XXXVIII. Taken at Unawares, 268 XXXIX. Gratitude, 275 XL. Reading Himself in, 281 XLI. Christmas-day, 287 XLII. Simple Truthfulness, 293 XLIII. Confessions, 299 XLIV. Disclosures, 304 XLV. "More than my life," 308 XLVI. Excitement, 314 XLVII. Comforting Lady Helena, 321 XLVIII.

A Mystery to Himself, 325 XLIX. The Tables Turned 329 L. Honours, 334 LI. "To Margaret," 340 LI I. Another Banquet, ILLUSTRATIONS. Page The Prettymans have a Little Confab, . . . Fronts. 10 "My uncle does not want me here," said Mimica, . . 43 "Am I like what you fancied?" she asked, .... 91 Barber brings Startling News, 152 Mimica expostulates with her Uncle, 206 "Whatever betide we are Friends," said Mimica, . . 267 "Pray come to the Point," said Le Roy hoarsely, . . 307 "One simple white cross among many," 341

Chapter I Concerning Adopting

A CHILD. p^cy^grjl SHOULD like to adopt a child, my dear," said Ifvi: rfe/i Prettyman to her husband, as they sat .L 1! \r8 over the fire one frosty winter's evening. " -^ child! What has put thai into your head, Lou?" returned Mr. Prettyman, aroused from a doze. " Well, in the first place, you know we haven't any of our own, and we're both very fond of children; in the second, that stirring evangelist I heard the other day said he wished all the ladies who went about with lap-dogs would adopt city arabs instead of pugs; in the third, as you know, we have no heir to speak of; in the fourth, a child would be an interest, and give me occupation, for now we're rich I seem to have nothing to do; in the fifth — " " Four heads are enough for any sermon, Lou. What if we give up this grand house in our square, and return to the lodging at Canonbury, where you used to cook the chop while I steamed the potatoes?

I have never since tasted such chops and potatoes. Nowadays meat is tough, and potatoes ain't mealy. To be sure, they're always mashed, and chops are turned into ' cotelettes a la something.' 'Work is its own reward,' as somebody said, and our reward was appetites larger than our dinners. Suppose we beirin life again?" " Perhaps we should, Joe, if we adopted a child." Mrs. Prettyman said this reflectively. She had been meditating on her subject ever since she had heard the evangelist whose words she quoted, and fancied she had thoroughly digested it. She was — or supposed herself — a great thinker as well as a great talker, and she had come to the conclusion that a child in the house was an absolute necessity. "I see but one objection to your plan, Lou," said Mr. Prettyman, who was somewhat of a wag, and as great a talker as his wife.

" Suppose he was to turn out a thief, or a murderer, for, you know, we mightn't be sure of his parents, and there's a great talk nowadays of heredity; or, if it was a she, perhaps she would elope with the footman, as her mother would probably have been — not the best of women, a drunkard, or worse, if worse could be — " " How you do run off, Joe. Of course we must have a he, and we should be careful to inquire particularly into his parentage. He must be ' the orphan of respectable parents,' as the polling-papers and candidate-cards always say." "Then you wouldn't like a gutter-child, after all, Lou?" " Well, not exactly ; for, since you subscribe to so many orphanages, I should think we had a claim on them, and I daresay they would enter into our views on the subject, and let us pick and choose, and make inquiries as to the boy's antecedents — " "I daresay they would; but where did you pick up that grand word, Lou?

Somebody asked me the other day about my antecedents, and I said I had none. I shut my friend up by telling him I had always made up my accounts day by day, both secular and religious, and I reckoned the present moment all I knew about." "That's quite my opinion, Joe; and, if we adopt a child, the sooner we do it the better. I suppose I picked vm the word from Milly Heath, who is always talking about hers. " "Poor soul! I shouldn't think she had any to boast of." "She doesn't mean her ancestors, Joe; only what she has gone through all her life. And now she is as anxious as possible about Mrs. Le Roy, who she thinks is really dying. I looked across the square this morning, and saw the doctor's carriage as well as her son's at the door." "She has been dying ever since we have been in the square.

But here's Sampson at last, and our cotelettes and pommes de terre are cooked for us without our superinten dence." " Hush, my dear. The servants needn't know." Mrs. Prettyman whispered this last sentence as she took her husband's arm, and they went into a comfortable dining room, where a substantial dinner awaited them. But it was not, as the worthy Joe implied, either French or Russian, but essentially English. " Plain roast and boiled " was still his motto, albeit he was not an old man, and had dined at many an aldermanic banquet. He and his wife looked, as they sat side by side at the large, round dining-table, as well-to-do and happy a pair of model London citizens as the greatest capital of the world could produce. They always sat side by side, except on state occasions, and always kept up a perpetual flow of talk.

Sampson was in their confidence in most matters — the chops and potatoes might have been an exception — and his master appealed to him occasionally to decide on some disputed point in which arbitration seemed desirable. His mistress was not always pleased with these measures, and was wont to say, as soon as the butler's back was turned : " I declare, Joe, I will never speak again all dinner-time. One can't say a word without your dragging Sampson into the conversation. It really isn't genteel." She said something of the kind on the present occasion, for while Sampson was removing the remains of some excellent fried soles— fried whole and not filleted, be it under stood, dislike of filets being one of Mr. Prettyman's many prejudices— her lord and master said abruptly to his man : "Sampson, what do you think of an adopted child?"

" I often wish someone would adopt one or two of mine, sir," replied Sampson. "There, my dear, an opportunity at once!" said Mr. Prettyman, nodding to his wife, who looked as many daggers as her smooth, serene face could improvise. " What should you think of our adopting a child, Sampson?" " They make a deal of dirt, sir," was the cautious reply. "Ask what they think about it downstairs, Sampson," said his master, glancing mischievously at his wife. " I pray you will do no such thing, Sampson," cried she, offended, and there the conversation ended for the present, to be resumed on occasion. That occasion, qui fait le larron, soon came; for Mrs. Prettyman was in earnest, and, when she had " made up her mind, she had made up her mind," she was wont to say, though a more amiable and yielding woman, when let alone, could nowhere be found.

And Mr. Prettyman was wise enough to let her alone in a general way, making only this proviso, that she should let him alone also. This unusual wisdom caused the current of their lives to flow smoothly; for half our miseries are caused by small interferences on indifferent matters. Two-thirds of the woes of childhood sjiring from injudicious meddling in things non-essential, and the major part of domestic brawls, as Mr. Prettyman maintained, from " not letting one another alone." Accordingly when, after dinner, his wife returned to the subject of adopting a child, he told her she might do it if she liked, but he would not promise to adopt " the little he or she " also, unless he took a fancy to it. " That would be awkward, for I should like to bring him up as our own child," said she, thoughtfully.

" A false position, Lou. You can't make an Ishmael into an Isaac. But suppose we make a tour of some of the orphanages. I have often wanted to look into them, and you may see a child to suit you. I suspect you don't mean it to be 'first come first served."' "By no means, Joe. I must select. He must be hand some, and rosy, and have curly hair and round limbs, and I should like him to be full of fun, and with a laugh that I could hear from the nursery — dear me, how funny it sounds!" "It certainly does!" interjected Joe. " But he must have no spiteful tricks, such as pinching and kicking, and must be absolutely without a friend in the world," she continued. " The Foundling Hospital is evidently your place, Lou. Suppose we go there to church to-morrow. You can then look well at the children, and may chance to fix your affections on the one who never had a father or mother."

" How shocking ! What do you mean, Mr. Pretty man?" " Why, you and I are discontented because we have no children, and others get rid of theirs without compunction. Even people who ought to know better sometimes send their unfortunate offspring adrift, excusing themselves by pre payment, or some false balance." Mrs. Prettyman's countenance fell, if so plump a cheek and dimpled a chin could be said to fall. The expression needs revision. However, her kindly blue eyes suddenly clouded, and the lids drooped over them. She was engaged in knitting — she was, indeed, always knitting when not occupied in household affairs, paying or receiving visits, or helping to superintend a large ragged-school at the back of the aristocratic square. Socks, comforters, caps, cuffs, petti coats of every colour and dimension were framed by her deft fingers, and speedily transported to members of the ragged-school aforesaid, in which not only she, but Mr. Prettyman taught.

The latter had often wondered why she had not already adopted half the urchins who frequented the "yard"; but they were certainly not gifted with the graces and virtues enumerated. The Prettymans, as they were familiarly called, lived in a large, handsome, well-furnished corner house, and at this moment were located in a snug room known as the library. Bookshelves had, however, gradually given place to pictures; for Mr. Prettyman was not much of a reader, but was an amateur artist and picture-fancier. The house was, indeed, full of valuable paintings, ancient and modern. Of course there were books, good and bad, but not a superfluity. Mr. Prettyman was a merchant, much esteemed for his probity, who had risen from clerkdom to his present position by his own honest labour. His wife had neither family, fortune, nor overmuch education to boast of, but he had married her because she was very pretty, and he fell in love with her.

Although they had lately celebrated their silver wedding, she was very pretty still, and had not walked far into the shady side of forty. Her husband was turned fifty. Her fair hair had no gray streaks in it, and she wore it in curls by his wish, who had first seen her so adorned. She had once essayed to arrange it differently, but in this he would not " let her alone," which was foolish on his part, since half a woman's happiness consists in varying and distorting her locks according to current fashion. He also set himself against caps, although he had a weakness for the mob as seen in the paintings of Reynolds and Gainsborough. They both liked bright colours and handsome ornaments, and Mr. Prettyman made his Lou presents of dresses innumerable of silk, satin, or other fashionable material, the hues of which were ever of the rainbow or the forget-me-not.

An æsthete would not have admired Mrs. Prettyman as she sat in blue silk and lace ruffles and collar, but her husband did, which was more to the purpose. Indeed, her plump, if somewhat short figure, her fine complexion, and beaming blue eyes were admirable enough for anyone who did not -prefer art to nature. Mr. Prettyman was reckoned a very good-looking man, but descriptions of ordinary men are usually insipid, and he was indifferent to the judgment on his person of all save his wife. " We must be up in good time to-morrow, Lou, if we are to walk to the ' Foundling,' " said Mr. Prettyman. He had an old-fashioned prejudice concerning his horses, and would not use them on Sunday. He was, in short, a Sabbatarian, as it is the fashion to call those who respect the Lord's-day, and was even antiquated enough to declare that good example was worth all the lectures in the world.

Accordingly, since he would not step into his own carriage of a Sunday, neither would he put foot in cab, omnibus, or train, announcing that, if he did not employ his own ser vants and horses, he saw no reason for using other people's. As everything was managed like clock-work in the square, they had no difficulty in reaching Guildford Street in time for the service in the chapel connected with the Foundling Hospital. Mrs. Prettyman had never before attended it, and she knew not which to admire the most, the five hun dred children, the fine organ, or the choir, composed prin cipally of the foundlings themselves. But when she be thought herself of selecting one for adoption, she was over whelmed by numbers. When the service was over, her husband took her to the great dining-room to see the children at dinner, and left her a while to wonder and admire while he went after his hobby, the pictures presented to this great institution by Reynolds, Gainsborough, and Wilson.

He soon rejoined her, and asked her if she had made her choice. "How can I, amongst so many?" she said, perplexed. " They are all such dears, that I could never select. We must talk it over, and come again." They talked it over on their way home, and the upshot of the conversation was that Mrs. Prettyman decided that she must adopt a boy who was quite an orphan and of respectable parentage. She was so much in earnest that Mr. Prettyman grew interested, and began to think it might be as well to humour her. All that evening they were occupied in studying the " Handbook of the Charities of Lon don," and Mrs. Prettyman, who only knew about them second-hand, was so much oppressed by their multitude that she actually began to cry. " Why, there are at least a hundred homes and orphanages for children," she exclaimed, despondently.

"What a num ber they must hold ! " " Tens of thousands, Lou," returned her spouse, compas sionately. "If charity continues to be the fashion, I say we must turn London into one huge orphanage. What a field you would then have for your choice!" "I should indeed!" she sighed. "I will visit some of them next week; and, when I have found exactly the child I want, I will take you to see him, and we will have him here directly." They had arrived at this point, when a visitor was an nounced. It was the Miss Heath of whose "antecedents" Mr. Prettyman had spoken so slightingly. She was a tall, thin, pale woman, with marked features, and iron-gray eyes and hair. She was well enveloped in furs, and entered with a shiver and an apology. "Excuse my interrupting you at this hour, Mr. Pretty man, but I just ran across to speak to Louisa.

I have not been out all day ; and, as Mrs. Le Roy has fallen asleep, I ventured to leave her for a breath of fresh air." " Oh ! my dear Milly, you are the very person," cried Mrs. Prettyman, jumping up, kissing Miss Heath, and seating her in her own easy-chair. " We are going to adopt a child, and I want your advice. You have seen so much of life, and know the ways of the world so well, and know everybody's secrets — " " But never divulges them. An excellent but exceptional thing in woman," interrupted Mr. Prettyman. In truth, Miss Heath looked as if she might be a machine made on purpose to keep secrets. (Will someone take out a patent for such?) Her mouth was firm, her eyes un fathomable, her brow lined with thought. She was about Mrs. Prettyman's age, but might have been fifteen years her senior.

They had been school-fellows and friends all their lives; and Mr. Prettyman never ceased to wonder how such opposites could have come and kept together. " Adopt a child, Louisa? I daresay it might be nice," said Miss Heath, who took in everything and gave out nothing. "But in what way could I advise you?" " Well — as to the sort of child, you know. You have had so much to do with children." "True; but what does Mr. Prettyman say?" "He does not object. He is sure to like it." "I will think it over, Louisa; but you and Mr. Pretty man know your own affairs best." While Miss Heath uttered this common-place, her mind was evidently concentrated on the question; for her brow was knit, and her eyes were looking, so to say, inward. Mr. Prettyman smiled, and inquired for Mrs. Le Roy, whose companion Miss Heath was.

She had previously been her daughter's governess, and was too valuable and reticent a person to be parted with when Miss Le Roy married. " She is much as usual," replied Miss Heath to Mr. Pretty man's question. " As you know, she is always an invalid." " Her son must be as rich as Crœsus to keep up so many separate establishments. His own in Kensington, his place in the country, and his mother's in our square," said Mr. Prettyman. " I do not know what his means are," said Miss Heath. " I mustn't stay any longer, Louisa, lest Mrs. Le Roy should awake and miss me," she added, rising. "We are anxious about Colonel Marmont, who was in the last battle; and Emily writes from the Cape that she is not well." Colonel Marmont was Mrs, Le Roy's son-in-law. / (755) B "How is the little girl with the strange name?" asked Mrs. Prettyman.

"Mimica seems well. Her mother calls her Mimi," was the reply, and Miss Heath withdrew. Sampson met her in the hall, and, while opening the door, inquired for Mrs. Le Roy and the family. He had once been in Mrs. Le Roy's service. Miss Heath replied curtly and cautiously, and Sampson muttered to himself that "if all women were as cautious as Miss Heath, there would not be half the mischief there is in the world."

Chapter II

A WAIF IN THE SQUARE. MORE than a fortnight elapsed before the question of adopting a child was again seriously discussed by Mr. and Mrs. Prettyman. The latter had, from time to time, consulted Miss Heath during her flying visits, but without eliciting any decided opinion from that lady. " A great responsibility. An amusement, perhaps. By all means ascertain his antecedents," and similar sentences, dropped from her oracular mouth, but Mrs. Prettyman felt that she could not act upon them. At last she said to her husband, one evening when she believed Sampson to be out of ear shot : "I have several children in my mind's eye, Joe; in fact, I have scores. I wish you would choose." " What a big eye your mind must have, Lou ! If I could look through it, perhaps I might choose; but I can't. There's safety in numbers.

Where do they all come from?" " I will tell you as soon as I have consulted my diary. I dotted down some of those that took my fancy. But between ourselves, I am getting quite tired of the search, and have spent a fortune in donations." "Just give me a few of your impressions, Lou. Where have you been?" " Half over London and the suburbs, and even out of town. It is awful to think of the myriads of children thrown upon charity. Why don't the parents provide for them?" "There's the rub, Lou. 'Tis the way of the world for young people to marry without sufficient means, and leave their infants for other people to support. You, being one of the philanthropists, are anxious to help on this improvi dence. Contrary to Scripture, you know, which says, ' The parents should lay up for the children.' " " Why, Joe, you have no idea how kindly I was received at places where you subscribe, particularly at the clergy and the doctors, and the soldiers' and sailors' homes."

" They are public property, Lou, because they take care of our souls, bodies, and native land. But where did you fix your affections?" " I liked the cheerful places best, where they were dressed in bright costumes. I ran away from the sisterhoods because I can't bear all those black gowns, and veils, and strips of white across the forehead, and big crosses. I hope I wasn't wrong, Joe, but they frightened me ; and so did the rooms, like convents, with arched windows and small panes, and gloomy passages. I can't understand why good people should dress themselves up and live like that. Not but that the children looked happy enough. However, I am tired to death, and so I should think were the saints and royal family, for many of the orphanages are named after them. I often wonder how the dear queen and the princesses can bear to see their names stuck about like placards, as if to advertise the con tents of London."

" But what of the adopted child, Lou, and the evangelist, and our heir, &c. &c. V " I have about twenty children under consideration, from as many different homes. You see, I insisted on their having no friends to interfere with me, and on their yet being respectable. Dear me! who can that be ringing the hall-bell with such a peal at this time of night? Nobody ever comes round so late except Milly, and she rings like a mouse." It was, truly, a vigorous peal that aroused the slumbrous honsehold of the Prettymans. It awakened so much curi osity in the mistress of the mansion that she scarcely gave Sampson time to answer it before she rang a corresponding peal on the library-bell. There was a scuffle in the hall, as if all the servants had come to see what was the matter, and a simultaneous cry from Sampson of "Master! master! please to come here!" as that worthy burst open the sitting room door.

Mr. Prettyman hastened into the hall, followed by his wife. Sampson was looking out of the door, and two or three of the maids were there, wondering what it was all about. "What's the matter, Sampson?" asked Mr. Prettyman. "There! There, sir! A woman thrust it in and ran away before I could say Jack Robinson. I'll go after her and the police," replied the butler, pointing first to a corner of the hall, and then taking to his heels and running up the square. Mr. and Mrs. Prettyman and the maids all turned their heads in the direction of that pointed finger, expecting to see, if not a burglar, at least his tools, or possibly a box of dynamite ready to blow them all up. The women shrank back, while Mr. Prettyman proceeded to investigate. " Oh, my dear, for goodness' sake take care ! There may be some explosive substance !

" cried the wife, laying hold of his coat-tails. It was some little time before he discovered the cause of the commotion. In the furthest corner of the hall he saw, behind a chair, what appeared to be a bundle. Moving the chair, he perceived the sole of a small foot protruded from its folds. He was not a nervous man; but what if the "it" Sampson had mentioned were a dead child ? He shrank back a little, but, summoning his courage, he laid hold of the bundle. The foot — two feet, in fact — began to kick vigorously. " An explosive to all intents and purposes, Lou," he cried to Mrs. Prettyman, now surrounded by the maids. With some difficulty he dragged the bundle from its corner, but the contents struggled so violently that it slipped from his grasp, and in a minute he was confronted by a bare-footed urchin, clad in a suit of clothes which were too big for him, and into which he must have rolled himself, bundle-wise, when he attained the corner of the hall.

Two little fists were doubled at him in pugilistic fashion, two bright eyes looked boldly into his, but neither word nor cry escaped from this juvenile prize-fighter. Mr. Prettyman laughed, Mrs. Prettyman exclaimed, the maids shrieked, and the child used his fists defiantly at them all. At this juncture Sampson returned with a policeman. The attention of the young pugilist was diverted to them, and he put himself in an attitude of self-defence. "We can't find the woman, sir," said Sampson. " But without doubt we shall. Come here, you young scamp," echoed the policeman, seizing the child, who kicked and cuffed, but to no purpose. " Don't hurt him. I am sure Providence has sent him," said Mrs. Prettyman. " We won't hurt the little chap, ma'am. He can come to the police-station to-night, and to-morrow he can go to the union, while we make inquiries.

We'll institute a search for the woman instanter. Here's a label round his neck." Mr. Prettyman examined the label, while the policeman held the boy. He laughed heartily as he read, " To Joseph Prettyman, Esq., Portman Square, London," and from the reverse side, " George Hope. Irish. Aged four years." " This is an answer to your various inquiries, Lou," he said. "I am afraid they have got wind where you least expected, and somebody has acted with more promptitude than we have." The policeman began to question the child, but not a word would he speak. He could no longer use his fists, for his adver sary had hold of one arm, neither would he use his tongue. "Perhaps he is deaf and dumb," whispered Mrs. Pretty man; "let me try. Now, Georgie, if you will be a good little boy, you shall have some praties, and — " she continued, going towards him and affecting an Irish accent.

"Herrins!" he shouted, as he liberated himself from the policeman, and confronted his new ally. She took his hand, pushed off his Tam-o'-shanter cap, and looked him over. Then she said, meditatively: " Curly hair — rosy cheeks — beaming eyes — rounded limbs — plenty of spirits — sure to be an orphan. What do you think, Joe?" "Questionable antecedents," replied Mr. Prettyman, em phasizing the last word. " But, since he is directed to me, we can't turn him adrift to-night. Make all inquiries, Jones, and let me know the result," he added to the policeman. " All right, sir. We'll be after the woman, and you must identify her," returned the policeman, looking at Sampson. "I never saw her, but the child is sure to know her. Better send him off, sir," said Sampson. "To-morrow, perhaps, but not to-night.

We must put the bundle away into some cupboard or other, since it is addressed to me. Good-night, Jones." The policeman departed, and the little bare feet began to dance energetically. Sampson looked on with becoming gravity, the cook with displeasure, and the other women put their aprons before their mouths to stop an explosion of laughter. " Send him something to eat in the library, cook," said Mrs. Prettyman. "Herrins!" shouted Master George Hope. It was impossible to help laughing, and the aprons fell when Mr. Prettyman led off the cacchination. The child stood amongst them with inimitable coolness, looking from one to the other as if he commanded the whole situation, and had been trained for the occasion. Suddenly he caught the general infection, and began to laugh so merrily that even the imperturbable Sampson was moved to join.