Joyce

Front matter

JOYCE BY PAULINA BIDDULPH LONDON : GRIFFITH AND FAREAN. CHESTER: PHILLIPSON AND GOLDER. CHESTER: 1'HILLIPSON AND GOLDEE, EASTGATE EOW. (All High ta reserved.} IBetucatefc TO MY COUSIN AND NAMESAKE PAULINA CUETEIS, AT WHOSE HOME, AMONGST THE DOWNS OF SUSSEX, THE OPENING CHAPTERS OF THIS BOOK WERE WRITTEN NEARLY FIVE YEARS AGO, AND AVITHOUT WHOSE KINDLY AND INCITING INTEREST IN " JOYCE," THIS TALE WOULD NEVER, I THINK, HAVE BEEN COMPLETED. Chester, 6th August, 1877. *t* A few touches have recently been added to the volume, the loss of one copy of the manuscript having necessitated the re-writing, but Joyce herself remains as she was in the original. J OYCE

Chapter I

" Joyce." "Joyce" again, with a slight tinge of im patience this time. "Well, grandmama, well?" and the young girl addressed swung herself round, as if angry at being disturbed, though one would not have thought her occupation either very absorbing or interesting, as it consisted seem ingly in watching the flight of the rooks as they circled round and round overhead. " I dont think that is the way to answer B Joyce, me," said the old lady in a plaintive voice, " in my time young people " — "Did you want me to do anything?" in terrupted Joyce, more civilly, and yet Avith ill-concealed impatience ; she had heard all about the young people of her grandmother's time, often to weariness. " I want you to tell Saltoun to change the azaleas in the drawing room ; the white one is falling to pieces.

He is really very inatten tive, she continued mournfully; " I must speak to Lord Baskerville about it ; for he " — " Very well ; I'll tell him," again inter rupted Joyce, as she slowly turned away from the hall-door where old Lady Baskerville Avas standing in her sun bonnet and gardening gloves. " Joyce, Joyce," again called the old lady. The girl stopped, and turning said sharply and shortly, "Well?" Joyce, 3 " I forgot about those grapes ; some must be sent to old Mrs. Brown, Lord Baskerville said ; I forgot her when I made out the list ; and," she continued Avith a little more energy, " my dear ! you haven't any covering for your head ; you will get sadly browned." " Oh !" answered Joyce with an impatient little sigh, " its of no consequence grandmama ; I shan't hurt ; it wont matter," and she hurried in the direction of the kitchen garden ; while her grandmother returned indoors, sighing over the wilfulness of the young people of the present day in general, and of her grand daughter in particular.

Meanwhile Joyce having delivered the messages to the first gardener she met, with out troubling herself to search for Saltoun himself, hastened to her favourite resort, a long narrow grass terrace, shaded on one side by an ancient yew hedge, tall and thick, while Joyce on the other a low stone balustrade, and a deep moat-like ditch, now dry, though probably once filled with water, separated the walk from the park. " The Lovers' Walk " it was called, and Joyce would often people it with the figures of by-gone generations of Basker villes, imaging to herself how the originals of the portraits hanging up in the house had walked and talked and made love and quarrelled and made it up again, in those long past times. But it was not the romance attached to the name Avhich Avas the chief attraction to Joyce, nor even only the solitude of the place, it was, that from this terrace-walk could be seen the distant range of the Black Mountains.

It was the only view in the place, this one, of park and trees, and more distant fields lying in a hollow, with a background of bank and foliage, and above and beyond, that Joyce. 5 splendid range of dark blue mountains, with their bold irregular outline clearly defined against the clear sky. They were mountains to romance of, to dream of, Joyce thought, this girl of sixteen, shut up with her old grand parents in the solemn seclusion of their grand old manor-house, surrounded by their estates, which stretched miles away on every side ; and surely it was excusable that a young and romantic girl should have taught herself to believe that beyond those mountains, some where, there lay a brighter, happier world than this of which Lord Baskerville, with his pride, his state, and his prejudices, was the centre round which everything revolved.

As a child, when she had watched those mountains of a summer's evening, as the sun sinking behind them lighted the whole range into a blaze of pink and golden amber and pearly grey, she had imagined on the further Joyce side, a beautiful fairy-land, where bright but terflies sported from one richly gemmed flower to another, and the birds joined in a chorus of sweet melody, Avhere the beautiful trees bent under their weight of golden fruit, and the winged inhabitants fluttered through the air, or reclining in crystal boats floated on glittering lakes. But now, Joyce peopled that unknown re gion Avith young people, mortals, who led happy, gay, untrammelled lives, and she always longed and longed to be there. And if those mountains were beautiful beyond description in the glory of sun-set ; this April day, with the afternoon sun on them, they were still beautiful ; blue and clear, with their holloAvs defined by soft grey shadows one moment, the next the whole hill-side throAvn into shade by the ever-shifting clouds bloAvn across the sky by the fresh spring breeze.

It was a day Joyce 7 to make any young creature long for freedom ; Joyce paced up and down the terrace-walk, restless and angry, like a young lioness chafing at the iron bars which close her in. " Oh that I were a man ! " she exclaimed with flashing eyes and clenched hands, " they would have to let me go out into the world, and I should be free then !" She was a tall slight girl, this Joyce Basker ville, a girl one would probably have passed by at first glance as plain, though someone interested in physiognomy might possibly look again and yet again at her, and noting the candour of the brow and the firmness of the mouth would be led on to admiration by the large clear grey eyes, which, beautiful in form, in colour, and expression, were shaded by thick dark eyelashes, and set off to advantage by straight expressive eye brows.

Joyce, She stopped presently, and leaning her arms on the low balustrade, stood lost in thought with knitted eyebrows, until aroused by the loud clanging of the house-bell, the signal for dressing for late dinner, which Lord Baskerville insisted on still having at half-past five, summer and winter alike. It was with an impatient little sigh that Joyce turned aAvay from the mountains, " my moun tains" as she called them, and slowly walked towards the house. How the girl hated the life she led, this life of grandeur and seclusion, from whence they looked down upon their neighbours from their unapproachable height of noble birth, and high descent and ample fortune ; too grand to be able to associate Avith any but the real old county families, with whom they interchanged ceremonious and stately visits once a year.

Perhaps it might have Joyce, 9 been different in by-gone days, when the Baskervilles went to London, and even now and then for a trip on the Continent, but now, old Lord and Lady Baskerville rarely left home, not even to dine and sleep at the county houses, though they still gave their annual state dinner-parties, stiff and solemn affairs, to which people came because tbe Baskervilles were the oldest and grandest family in the county, and because old Lord Baskerville Avas the Lord-Lieutenant, and be cause their cook was unexceptionable, and their wine excellent, nevertheless feeling all the time that they were doing a very meritorious action. Joyce had come to Herons Court a little shy spoiled child of nine years old, after the death of her father, Lord Baskerville's young soldier son. He had married without his father's consent the daughter of a brother Joyce officer, as brave a soldier and as honourable a man as ever lived, but risen from the ranks, and Lord Baskerville never forgave him ; not even when the young wife died, leaving him alone with the little daughter, just eighteen months old ; not even when, by the eldest son's death, Andrew became heir to the title.

And then, one day a few lines came to Lady Baskerville, written in a scratchy child's hand, but signed feebly " Andre av Baskerville," entreating her, for his little girl's sake, to come and see him before he died. Lord Baskerville was from home, and for the first and last time in her life Lady Baskerville acted without his previous sanction, and alone Avith her maid she started for Waterford, where her son's regiment was quartered, sending off a groom on horseback to tell Lord Baskerville. Her son just knew her, " Mother!" he said anxiously, and with all a mother's Joyce, 11 loving instinct aroused, she understood him. "She shall live with us ; she shall be pro vided for," she responded between her tears, and with one hand clasping his mother's, one arm thrown around his little girl, he died with a happy smile on his lips.

Lord Baskerville arrived to find his son a corpse ; " I have promised that the child shall live with us," said the grandmother firmly. The proud old man stammered out in blank surprise, '' you promised — and with out consulting me?" " Yes, I promised," she answered, " our only grandchild ; I promised poor Andrew, and she must come," and must from his wife's lips was so novel a sound that Lord Baskerville gave in, in sheer be wilderment, and said nothing more ; so the little girl, the spoiled pet and plaything of her widowed father, and of his brother-officers, was taken to live with her grandparents, Joyce. and a maid was provided for her, and a strict old governess; and she was in due course of time confirmed, after answering a few questions put by the old bachelor rector, a distant cousin, and Lady Baskerville thought she had done her duty handsomely by the little orphan.

And so Joyce — "my little joy," as her father had ahvays called her — was growing up to Avomanhood, and her grandparents still thought of her as a little child, while Joyce herself, had only the vaguest notion of Avhat life was like, her idea, indeed, being that of most young people, that happiness is the prerogative of our humanity, and that, as a rule, love is the surest road to happiness, without, as yet, taking into consideration the fact that Hfe has also its burdens and responsi bilities. Even the religious principles she Avas taught, though forming a thoroughly sound Joyce 13 foundation for future training, were not placed before her mind in a manner to satisfy either heart or intellect. A spirit born to eternity, while still fresh and untainted, and possessing all the energy of youth, craves something more powerful than a mere religion of principles; and (though un consciously perhaps) would suffer and dare much to claim the birthright of its redemp tion, and the magnificent power of "calling down fire from heaven."

Joyce did look very child-like when she came down to dinner in her plain white muslin, and short red sash, her only ornament being a diminutive gold locket, suspended at her throat by a narrow black velvet. She slipped quietly into the drawing-room just as the gong on the stairs dinned the half-hour, and the old white-haired butler opening the door announced dinner. Joyce Lord Baskerville rising slowly from the perusal of his newspaper, carefully wiped his spectacles and stowed them aAvay in his pocket ; then ceremoniously offering his arm to his wife, led her through a hall and ante room to the large and lofty dining-room. Joyce followed them moodily ; chafing inwardly. Oh ! how she hated it all ! the dull, solemn dinner, a dinner of massive silver, and powdered automaton -like footmen, aud seldom-broken silence, no one speaking, it used to put Joyce into an inward fever, she used to long to dash her tumbler to the ground, or to do something or other to disturb that grim silence.

She used some times to scratch her silver plate with her knife, (though she disliked the noise herself) it made a trifling variety, and irritated her grandfather she knew, though he said nothing, only glaring at her in silent displeasure. Joyce 15 One day she did break a wine-glass ; twisting it about in her fingers, in her angry impatience at the length of the dinner, she snapped the slender stem in two : but even then, Lord Baskerville said nothing, and continued eating his venison as if he had not noticed it, though it did elicit the complaint from her grandmother that she did wish Joyce would learn to sit still, and the grim manner in which the old butler swept the pieces off the table was a reproof in itself. Twice a week there was a slight variety, when the old rector, Mr. Lynton, dined with them, and some conversation ensued between the courses, chiefly confined to politics, while after dinner Joyce was always called upon to make the fourth at whist, which she de tested.

But dinner came to an end at last, and leaving Lord Baskerville alone with his port Joyce wine, Lady Baskerville leaning on her grand daughter's arm returned to the drawing-room, and seating herself in her arm chair, com posed herself for her after-dinner slumber. Joyce used to snatch this time for an evening ramble ; how glad was she when summer came again, and she could escape part of those long dreary evenings in the drawing-room. Wrapping a large rough shawl round her, she went out of doors into the fresh eA7ening air, wandering about the shrubberies and gar dens, and flitting quietly along like some solitary spirit. Poor child, she even rejoiced that to-morroAv the Easter holidays came to an end, and that the return of Miss Forbes and re-commencement of lessons would make a change in their still life.

As she re-entered the drawing-room, Lady Baskerville roused herself to say complain ingly, "I wish you Avould not go out after Joyce, 17 dinner Joyce ; I cannot understand how you can care to do so, all alone !" " I only wish I had a companion to go with me," answered Joyce, brusquely ; and saying no more she seated herself in a low chair, and took up a book to read. Presently she said, speaking abruptly and quickly, and startling her grandmother, who was just dropping off to sleep again, "I wish you'd send me to school." "My dear!" exclaimed the old lady, you might have to mix with all sprts of girls, no one kuows who!" "That's just what I should like," said the girl earnestly, " I want to know some girls, I want to see something of life, other girls do, and why shouldn't I?" " Grandmama," she continued more quietly, " I'm sixteen and a half, I'm nearly grown up, and I have never been from home, except c Joyce, those two times ages ago, to Bath Avith you and grandpapa!"

Lady Baskerville never argued with Joyce, she knew by experience that her granddaughter was too sharp for her, so she only said plaintively, " I don't think Lord Bas kerville would approve of the way you talk, you must remember that in your position — •" "Oh yes I know!" interrupted Joyce quickly and sarcastically, " I'm Lord Basker ville's daughter, and we've lived on our property for nine generations, and they all had their portraits taken, and they hang in the dining-room and hall, and we're very rich and of great importance, and so I must be shut up here and have no friends — " She stopped suddenly as the door opened and a footman came in with the tea-tray, with its thin rolled up slices of bread and butter, and tiny ham sandwiches, followed Joyce, 19 by the venerable-looking butler carrying a snowy table-cloth which he proceeded to ar range on a tea-table at the other end of the room.

Joyce might abuse the Baskervilles to one of themselves, but she had quite a sufficient portion of the family pride to abstain from doing so before anyone else. And then she had to make and pour out the tea, and then her grandfather came in, brisk and affable after his port wine and usual dining-room nap, and so nothing more was said until after Joyce had left the room, Avhen Lady Baskerville observed uneasily, "Joyce is getting too much for me, she is so excitable, and has such strange ideas." But she did not venture to relate what Joyce had said, and so Lord Baskerville thinking no answer needed, subsided into his arm chair and newspaper, while Joyce went to bed discontented and repining.

Chapter II

"Dorothy is coming here on Monday, she says," observed Lady Baskerville, in a more animated tone than usual. She was sitting at breakfast, Avith a large white Indian shawl wrapped round her, as she fancied the weather was chilly. A tall slight languid old lady, with long white aristocratic-looking hands, pale blue eyes, and an impress of past beauty, not obliterated in its elegance and general air of refinement even yet ; and hardly detracted from by a front of little white curls which Avere partially covered by a cap of handsome black and white lace with long lappets. Joyce, 21 She read out from the open letter in her hand, " Will you have me from Monday for a weekj? I should enjoy a glimpse of you and my father, and the country must be charming just now !" "Aunt Dolly coming; I'm so glad," said Joyce eagerly.

"I wish you wouldn't use nicknames," observed Lord Baskerville, pompously ; " you know perfectly that I have a particular objec tion to them, especially when applied to my daughter ;" and, putting on his spectacles, he proceeded to read his own letters. Such a pompous old gentleman was this grandfather of Joyce's, a handsome old man, rather above middle height, courteous, dignified, and cold as polished steel. Dorothy was Mrs. Gordon, his only daughter, a gay childless widow, with a handsome jointure ; she had married young, a man much older Joyce 22 than herself, chiefly to escape from a dull home, I think, and after his death seldom came to her paternal home, except for an annual duty visit. Joyce ahvays Avelcomed her joyfully, she was so bright and cheerful, she seemed to bring in with her a whirl of fresh air and life, which rather bewildered old Lady Baskerville, but charmed Joyce.

When Monday arrived, she announced her intention of going to meet her Aunt, quite contrary to all precedent, for usually the carriage, with its four black horses and its liveried servants drove to the station empty. " My dear Joyce," expostulated Lady Bas kerville, "I don't think Lord Baskerville Avould approve of your going !" " Oh, Grandmama, really I can't see wby anyone should object ! And," continued Joyce brusquely, " think hoAV dull for Auntie, that long solitary drive! When she goes to other Joyce, 23 places, people go to meet her, and here, to her own home, nobody goes; so I thought I would this time." " When people marry, it isn't their own home," objected tbe old lady; continuing plain tively, " I'm sure I never wanted Dorothy to marry. Poor Mr. Gordon was very rich, and goodnatured ; he was always very civil to me, poor man, I am sure ; but still it wasn't ex actly the marriage for our daughter — " She was rambling on without thinking of Joyce, when the girl said in a soft low voice, " Was Auntie in love with Mr. Gordon ?"

Lady Baskerville was recalled to the present time by this query. " What peculiar questions you ask, child. Of course she loved her husband ; why should she have married him otherwise ?" " Because," said Joyce,, and there was a curious shy light in her eyes as she spoke, as Joyce, if conscious that she was treading on sacred ground, " I wondered if when people once loved each other, they could be happy when one died : and Aunt Dolly seems so bright and gay— The girl paused, leaving the rest of her thoughts unspoken. Lady Baskerville sat thinking, the notion beginning to break on her mind for the first time that Joyce was growing up, leaving her childhood behind her: groAving up to woman hood ; and the thought gave her a slight chill. What should she, old woman as she was, do with a grown-up young lady in the house ?

Joyce went to the window, and stood ab sently swinging the tassel of the blind back wards and forwards. "Well?" inquired she presently, "then, 1 may go, Grandmama ?" Joyce, 25 " Go — where, my dear ?" said Lady Basker ville, roused from her reverie. "To the station, to meet Auntie," replied the girl ; " I know she will be glad." " Well, I don't knoAv what Lord Baskerville will say." " But I may go ? then I will go and get ready;" and Joyce left the room Avithout giving her grandmother time to say " no." And so Joyce drove off in solitary grandeur. "You here, Joy!" exclaimed Mrs. Gordon, springing from the railway carriage before either footman or station-master could advance to assist her; and then, putting up her veil, she kissed her niece affectionately. "I'm so glad you came ; quite an unexpected pleasure.

Are all well at the Court ? Yes, that is mine, thank you, Thomas, those shawls and that book. Are you quite well ?" and without Joyce, waiting for a reply, " Brown is behind some where ; oh, there she is !" Mrs. Gordon spoke in a quick animated voice, with a gracious pleasant manner. She was of middle height, slight, and elegant looking, and beautifully dressed in a quiet but fashionable style. "Well, Joyce," said she, when they were seated in the carriage, and rolling rapidly homewards, " how are you, dear child ? You are grown a good bit; you will be 'coming out' soon ;" and surveying her niece critically, summed up rapidly in mental calculation — " Eyes beautiful — nose and mouth nothing remarkable, but honest — teeth small, white, and even — no complexion to speak of — very prettily -tinted hair — figure nicish — hands large, but well-shaped."

Aloud, she said, " You must let Brown try some of the new styles of hairdressing ; you Joyce 27 have pretty hair, and a chignon would set it off to advantage." " Oh, Grandmama would never let me; she does dislike them so." "Nonsense ! You don't think I mean an ugly exuberance on the top of the head, as probably the girls about here, knowing no better, poor things, do theirs ! Wait till Brown does it for you, I'm sure mother will like it. You will come out next year, I suppose ?" "Come out," repeated Joyce; "I suppose I shall leave off lessons. I shall be rather sorry, I think, for poor old Miss Forbes is better than no companion at all ; but I don't suppose I shall come out like other girls do. Do you think I shall, Auntie ?" she questioned eagerly ; " I have never learnt to dance, you know, so I suppose I couldn't go to balls ; but I might go about and see something of the world and other girls."

Joyce, ' You shall come and stay with me, and I will teach you to dance, and you shall drive in the Park, and go to the opera, and see all that there is to be seen." Oh, Aunt Dorothy, it would be too good to come true," and Joyce heaved an impatient angry little sigh ; " I don't expect they will let me go." " Well, wait till the time comes, and then we shall see. You have a year still left to grow older and wiser in ! so make the most of it, child." Joyce Avent to bed that night with visions of herself grown up, breaking free from the bonds of this dismally formal life, staying Avith her Aunt in London — gay, happy, free. "Mother," said Mrs. Gordon one morning, when Joyce was safely shut up Avith Miss Forbes in the schoolroom, " the estates are entailed, are they not ?" Joyce, 29 She was seated in a low easy-chair near the window, playing with some delicate lace-work while talking to Lady Baskerville, who sat, with her white shawl round her, near the fire, crocheting a brown and scarlet shawl.

"Entailed," answered tbe old lady, "oh, no, they are not entailed ; but it is just the same as if they were, you know." "Hoav do you mean?" inquired Mrs. Gordon, laying down her work with a puzzled look. "I mean that Lord Baskerville will leave them to the heir-male." " With the title ?" said Mrs. Gordon, " you mean to our cousin, young Michael Basker ville ?" " Yes," answered Lady Baskerville ; " but, of course, he will provide for Joyce." Mrs. Gordon sat musing for a few minutes, her hands idle, and gazing vacantly out into the garden. Joyce, " How old is he ?" asked she presently, turning round. "Michael Baskerville? I think he must be about five-and-twenty." " What does he do ? I mean, has be any profession ?" "I think he is in the army, but I have not seen him since he was a small boy."

" Don't you ever ask him down here ? does he know he will have the estates ? is he nice and gentlemanly, and all that ? " My dear ! he is a Baskerville !" " Yes of course," replied Mrs. Gordon with a slight smile, " but still one likes to know for certain." " The last time he was here," said Lady Baskerville, musingly, '' he was just leaving Harrow — for Sandhurst I think, — yes, it must have been Sandhurst, for 1 remember Lord Baskerville gave him £50 towards his outfit : Joyce, 31 he was a very nice quiet boy. That was just before poor Andrew died, he wasn't the heir then." " And you have never had him here since ? does he know he is heir to the estates ?" " I don't know," said Lady Baskerville doubtfully, " I never thought much about it," she continued indolently, "your father does not care to talk about those sort of things you know."

Mrs. Gordon took up her work again, and stitched away for some minutes, a smile circling about her mouth, as if amusing thoughts Avere passing through her brain. " Mother," she observed presently in a brisk decided manner, rousing old Lady Baskerville, who was quietly dropping off to sleep in her easy chair, " I've been thinking — such a bright idea, — " and crossing the room she seated herself on the sofa close to her mother. Joyce, " Yes ? my dear," answered the old lady complacently, in rather a drowsy tone." "Why shouldn't Michael Baskerville marry Joyce; it would be just the thing, if he's nice. Only," she continued in an animated tone, "you ought to let him have a chance before Joyce comes out, for though she is not pretty, I think she will prove " taking." Ask him down here and let him have a chance."

Mrs. Gordon dearly loved a little match making ; and this she thought would be charming, quite romantic, and yet so clearly the correct thing for Michael Baskerville to marry Joyce, while as they were only third cousins, there was no objection on the score of relationship. Lady Baskerville was rather bewildered and rather pleased Avith the idea ; no doubt, down in some remote corner of her heart she too possessed a little feminine affection for the same pastime. Only, Joyce Joyce, 33 seemed "such a child still," as she urged, it was " too soon to think of such things." "Nonsense," exclaimed Mrs. Gordon, Avho had herself married at nineteen, and been left a widow at twenty-six, " I think Joyce is rather old for her age ; sixteen and a half, isn't she ? if you will let me get her some new clothes and have her hair done properly, you will see how nice she will look.

Of course," she said demurely, with a little smile, " if she were to be married before she came out you would have no trouble about taking her out to balls !" "To balls," said Lady Baskerville plaintively, " what are you thinking of Dorothy ; you know I am not strong enough to go out in the evening." " Well then, Lord Baskerville will have to take her, that is all. Of course you cannot keep a girl shut up all her life; Joyce must D Joyce, have her chances like other girls. How ever, if you take my advice, you'll ask young Michael Baskerville down here. If you Avill ask him at once I'll stay on and help to entertain him, and then Brown can always do Joyce's hair." " But suppose they don't like each other," objected Lady Baskerville. " Then it's all as it was before, no harm done to either !" rejoined Mrs. Gordon briskly.