Walter Blake's Heroine

Front matter

VOL. I. ' Dat veiiiam corvis, vexat censura columbas." Juvenal. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, CHEAT MAHLBOROUGH S1KEET. 1S6G. The rlj'it [jf Trwulotiaa it reirrvej. LONDON 8AYILL AUD EDWAEDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, COTENT GARDEN. CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. CHAP. PJ.QB I. THE SMALL BLACK CLOUD 1 II. A MINGLED YARN 8 III. WE SHOW THE WHITE FEATHER ... 22 IV. BATTANT LA CAMPAGNE 31 V. BY THE WORLD FORGOT 40 VI. I AM DEAF TO THE WORDS OF WISDOM . 49 VII. IN STATU PUPILLARI 63 VIII. ON A SEA OF TROUBLES 73 IX. DRAINING THE CUP 81 X. NONE SO DEAF AS THOSE THAT WONT HEAR 89 XL EDITH THROWS HER STONE 102 XII. HUGH LAYS A WAGER 112 EDITH IS BROUGHT TO HER BEARINGS 122 XIII. xiv. "Maggie's secret" 136 XV. A FAREWELL GIFT 147 b VOL. I CONTENTS.

VI chip. p_.au XVI. HANDS OFF 156 XVII. A FIRST STEP 168 XVIII. COMING OUT 177 XIX. AUT CÆSAR AUT NIHIL 185 XX. I DISCOVER A SECRET 194 XXI. LESS STRANGE THAN TRUE 204 XXII. SIR DILLWYN TURNS ANOTHER STONE . .213 MR. TIBBETS PROVES HIMSELF A MAN OF XXIII. OF THE WORLD 219 XXIV. A FEW WORDS ABOUT WALTER BLAKE . 227 XXV. HANGING ON A THREAD 236 XXVI. SURGIT AMARA ALIQUID 242 XXVII. A heart's DARK CORNER 253 XXVIII. WE BIDE OUR TIME 262 XXIX. WALTER BLAKE AT LAST 269 XXX. THE DISCOA'ERY 277 XXXI. OUT OF THE RANKS TO RANK .... 286 XXXII. AVALTER OPENS MY EYES 293 XXXIII. UNCLE RALPH SPEAKS HIS MIND . . . 303 XXXIV. HOW HUGH BORE THE NEWS . . . .309 xxxv. Hugh's star peeps out

Chapter I. The Small Black Cloud

I WAS a very young child when the truth first dawned upon me that I was Walter Blake's Heroine. We lived in Carnfordshire then ; in a large square house, built of stone, which looked dismally ancient and weather-stained. The name of the house was Loope Grange, and it stood in the midst of a small property belong ing to my father, and the surrounding country was as level, ugly, and uninteresting, as a country could well be. At the early age of eight, and when the degrees of comparison were to me an unknown study, I decided the gardens and shrub beries of the Grange to be a perfect Eden of enjoyment. I discovered my mistake later, when age and experience had taught me the never-to be-unlearned lesson of discontent. Far and near in that " flat " but anything but "unprofitable" country there was no prospect more picturesque than that formed by rich low meadows divided by Avooden fences, or by hedges clipped and trained into a trim uniformity that was the very re- VOL. I. B verse of picturesque.

The rare trees that had es caped the eliminating hand of the thrifty farmer were mostly willows, either hopelessly pollarded, or with a few wandlike branches shooting up from the maimed and mutilated stumps. The birds of the air were few and songless, but en revanche, from the intersecting dykes and ditches the " fen nightingales," in countless numbers, were for ever croaking forth at eventide their monotonous and unceasing chorus. My father's name was Brackenbury — Colonel Hope Brackenbury he was generally called — al though being only a militia officer he could boast of no real military rank. The Brackenburys had for more than two hundred years been known as a county family, and their landed possessions in Carnfordshire had once been considerable ; but from one cause or another their acres had gradually diminished in number, so that at the time of which I write the income derived from the Loope Grange estate did not much exceed a thousand pounds per annum.

We — that is to say, my mother and her children, of whom I was the third — led a life of the most complete retirement and seclusion. From year's end to year's end, with the exception of occasional visits from Mr. Blake, the clergyman of the parish, we saw no faces (save the few familiar household ones) in our silent home ; for, although children's voices did sometimes echo through the stately entrance hall, and little feet pattered busily along THE SMALL BLACK CLOUD. the gloomy corridors, it was in truth a very silent home, and over it there ever seemed to hang a cloud of fears — the shadowing of a strange mys terious sadness. At the period of which I am writing, my mother (I thank God for her sake that she has now gone to her rest) was, though she seemed old to us, in reality quite a young Avoman.

Not yet eight-and-tweuty, and already my brother Hugh — her eldest child — was more than ten years old, and moreover a great rough schoolboy, and the terror, as such tyrants are apt to be, of the little ones at home. Next to him in age came Edith. She was a handsome child, bold, quick of speech, and, as we all knew full well, my father's favourite. 1 was very envious at that time of the admiration bestowed on my sister, and learned thereby to set an almost undue value on personal attractions. Envy, like all ill mental weeds, is, as all the world well knows, a plant of very rapid growth, flourishing best like an un wholesome fungus in dark and noisome places ; so thus it was that, in the undiscovered corners of my wicked little heart, the poisonous " winged seed " took deep root downwards. As for the " much fruit upwards," borne later by that deadly upas tree, the reader will judge of its development in the future life of Cora Brackenbury — a future, alas !

" piled " high with sin, and shame, and sorrow 1 Being at that early period of my career posb sessed with a morbid consciousness of my own uncomeliuess, the complete estrangement from the world in which our days were past was to me no source of discontent. But with Edith it was different. The sense of superiority had induced in her a craving after display which appeared (as matters at present stood with us) very little likely to be gratified. She was ever grumbling over our lack of playmates, and complaining of the wearyful monotony of the Grange. Once, and once only, she ventured to question my mother regarding the seclusion in which we lived, and the recollection of that conversation will never be obliterated from my mind. We were sitting one warm September afternoon in the bow window of what was called the west drawing-room.

The day was closing in, and Edith, who rarely disguised her impatience during lesson-time, had just finished mumbling over the chapter in Goldsmith's " History of England " iu which Jane Shore is described as doing penance (with a white sheet wrapped around her body) for the deadly sin of witchcraft. The reading, which to my present thinking had been anything but edifying, was over at last, and as play-tisne was come, books and work were put away, and I only waited for Edith, Avho (to my surprise) still lingered near my mother's chair, aud seemed, contrary to her wont, in no hurry to accompany me to any of our usual haunts of recreation. THE SMALL BLACK CLOUD. 5 At last she said, speaking in a hesitating manner, while her feet moved uneasily on the carpet — " Mamma — I want to know — please, tell me.

Other children have playfellows to come aud see them — so why don't they ever come to us ? Have we done what isn't right ? And, mamma, another thing I want to know. What did Jane mean when she said that you were my papa's mistress ? I heard her say it to Barlow ; and that she didn't like being our nursemaid because of that. I want to know what being that means. I thought that you were Jane's mistress, and Barlow's too, but not papa's. I don't understand how you could be papa's. Please, mamma, to tell me what they meant." Many a day — aye, -twenty years have passed since Edith said those words — and yet the scene rises as vividly before me as though the thought less question had been put but yesterday. I can still see before me that pale, beautiful face, lighted up by the last rays of the setting sun ; and the red glow scintillating on the corona of bright hair that bound her head, till it shone like burnished gold.

For a moment the fair cheek that was turned toward us flushed painfully, and then grew even more colourless than before. " Edie, dear," she gasped, while her slender hand was pressed tightly against her throat — " you are too young to ask such questions. I cannot answer them. You should not listen to Jane. But — leave me now, dears — I am not very well. Go to your tea, and come back Avhen I am better." It was like her not to let us see her sufferings, and we were too young and selfish to dispute her will. Still, as we left her there alone, I felt both wonderstruck and disquieted. Even Edith's spirit seemed also, for the moment, quelled by the unexpected results of her experiment. " I wonder what made her look so ?" she whispered, as we slowly proceeded along the corridor to the room which still went by the name of the " Nursery ;" and then, her audacious nature beginning to regain the ascendant, she continued, in a louder tone, " It doesn't signify what she says, and I will find out what I want to know.

It's too disgusting, having no children besides Walter Blake to come and play with us, and I believe — whatever mamma may say — that a ' mistress ' is something naughty. Jane Shore was a mistress, and was put in a white sheet out into the streets. That was what made me ask mamma just then about what our Jane had said. I wonder if she will ever be put into a sheet, and have people stare and throw stones at her, and — and shiver and cry all night, as we read that Jane Shore did." On looking back to these seemingly barbarous suppositions I cannot bring myself to believe that Edith spoke them in utter hardness of heart. She was stirred by a love of the marvellous, by a THE SMALL BLACK CLOUD. craving after excitement, and, lastly, by a little irritation against the mother whom she was often encouraged by my father to set at naught, and whose conduct she had vaguely learned to connect with her own deprivation of amusement and congenial society.

But though my sister, after that short conversation, often complained to me and to others of the solitude iu which our lives were passed, she never, to my knowledge, recurred to the subject in my mother's presence. I noticed, however, after that day, that we were more often taken out driving when Mrs. Brackenbury went to " do her shopping " in the neighbouring town ; and also that, whilst her dress was even more rarely renovated than before, our toys and books increased in number, while the countenance of her from whom, iu reality, all our youthful pleasure emanated, wore a brighter and a less abstracted look. Alas ! I knew not then how easily a woman learns to play the hypocrite for those she loves ! We children could not guess that every smile was forced, and that — God help her 1 — all that while our mother's heart was slowly breaking. s

Chapter II

A MINGLED YARN. COLONEL HOPE BRACKENBURY, who was at the time my story commences about five-and-forty years of age, might still be described as a handsome man. His could never have been, even in his early manhood, a refined kind of beauty ; but he had a healthy, well-bronzed com plexion, a symmetrical nose, and such a magnifi cent growth of dark whiskers and beard, that the weakness of the jaw, as well as the sensual ex pression of his full red lips, were kept in the back ground. He was much above the middle height — a great advantage in the eyes of most women — and as yet his figure had retained the juste-milieu between leanness and embonpoint. We were not much troubled with my father's company at home. In the spring and summer he — being what I have heard called a man about town — was generally away in London.

Septem ber brought him into Carnfordshire for partridge shooting, after which came in regular routine the pheasant battues, and the perilous delights of the huntingfield. Three times a week during " the season " his cover hack was led to the door, ex cepting during the frequent intervals which he spent at gentlemen's houses — chiefly bachelor ones — in the neighbourhood. To him, who had so many ways of amusing himself, the lonesomeness of the Grange could have been a matter of small moment. That he was both naturally and systematically egotistical must ever have been a family fact ; yet I do not recollect that he was often unkind, or even that any rudeness or imperious demeanour charac terised my father's conduct to those about him. He was simply, I imagine, indifferent regarding us ; careless from habit, rather than from ill-nature, of the feelings of others, and possessed of the hardy nerves and admirable digestion which con spire to render the heart well-nigh impervious to the blows of fate.

That we could require greater advantages than those placed within our reach — advantages, for instance, of education, society, and example — was an idea that never probably occurred to him. In his own person he would have been " awfully bored " had his social gatherings been limited to an occasional call from the dull parson of the parish ; but, in common with many of his sex, he was of opinion that women Avere differently con stituted, and that keeping the household accounts, " sewing " on buttons, and a little occasional light reading, was amply sufficient to occupy both their intellects and their time. With regard to children, his system apparently was to forget them as much as possible, till advancing years and their absolute requirements should press their existence upon his tardy notice.

The Reverend Lumley Blake, who had in the days of our childhood been for some years rector of Loopfield, was not — at least in his wife's opinion — a person of small importance. The living was not a valuable one, but there was money in his family, aud this pleasing certainty was one on which the rector's wife was very fond of dwelling. Her husband's intellect was decidedly below the average, but money often makes a wise man, and therefore the Dives in prospect almost passed, in his own country, for a Solon. In the meantime, and pending the golden shower which fate had ordained was to break over their heads, Mrs. Blake, who probably found the neighbourhood a dull one, made a purely imagi nary state of chronic invalidism au excuse for frequent and prolonged absences from Loopfield. These repeated instances of neglect of the rector's parochial duties was no source of regret to any of our family, for Mrs. Blake, who belonged to the ultra-rigid school of morality, scorned our mother with au undisguised aud superabundant severity of virtue.

I can see her now (she was a tall fleshless Avoman, wearing blue spectacles, and enjoying a character for classic attainments), and I can aver that, not only on her high and austere forehead, but in the entire bearing of the rector's wife, there was displayed an utter absence of that humility which is almost the first of virtues. If we did chance to meet her on the thres hold of the hovels of the poor, there was an air about our exclusive neighbour which said, as plainly as words could speak, " Touch me not, for I am holier than thou;" and young though I was, and I imagine not more quick of sight than others of my age, I could see that even in the house of God the rectoress was thankful that she was not as the woman who prayed so earnestly, with her angel face bent down, that God would be merciful to her a sinner.

Parson Blake (as we heard our only acquaint ances, the poor cottagers, call the portly rector of Loopfield) was a thoroughly inoffensive individual. Fond of his ease and tenacious of his comfort, the sight of strong emotions was avoided by him as though they might possibly be infectious disorders; and the beds of the sick and dying were only visited by him when the curate could not by any possibility be in tAvo places at once. About twice a year my mother received a visit of ceremony from the Reverend Lumley Blake. This biennial call was evidently performed as much as a necessary and irksome duty as is the " walking round the parish" to churchwardens. A time-honoured custom is it for a rector to enter occasionally the doors of even his least promising parishioners, and ours complied with this duty as religiously as he did that of putting on his surplice, whilst he abstained, by reason of his cloth, from ungodly oaths when his temper chanced — which I believe was a frequent occurrence — to be ruffled.

He was a charitable man, however, so, if his visits did my mother no good, he at least did not wound her by the harsh words which sometimes stab far sharper than a sword. As regarded us children we reaped nothing but benefit from the absence of the rector's family. The curate, Mr. Cartwright, who was a young and rather good-looking member of his profession, avoided the Grange altogether. But besides his office of curate he was " Walter's " tutor — Walter, who was the oldest olive branch of the Blakes, and our only and much-valued playmate. At the age of twelve Mr. Cartwright's pupil was decidedly uot a handsome boy. He was backward also in his growth, besides having the misfortune (and it was one which, as he often laughingly told us, his mother constantly resented as though it were a fault) of possessing a head dispropor tionately large, and hair which, though of a rich golden red, was so thick and rebellious that it defied all attempts to smooth it into shape or comeliness.

" She says, too, that I have a mouth like an oven," he would add, without the slightest appearance of resentment on his frank, cheery face, " and that I am never to laugh in company. As if anyone cares to be jolly by oneself!" A MINGLED TARN. In this sentiment Edith and I cordially agreed ; and, certainly, when Master Walter was enlivening us with his society, there was little fear of his mamma's injunctions being very strictly attended to, for he kept us on the grin and giggle from the moment of his arrival till we reluctantly bade him " good-bye." Towards the end of December of this year, two events occurred which, besides that they caused au immense amount of excitement and curiosity, led eventually to considerable changes in our family. For more than a month previously to that time we had been far less than usual with our mother, who, in consequence, as we were told, of ill-health, remained almost entirely secluded in her own apartments.

It was fine open weather, and we were left as usual very much — whether we were inside the house or not — to our own desires. Hugh's holidays had just commenced, and, as had often been the case before, a familiar com panionship of two days had proved more than sufficient to make the whole household cordially wish him back again under the influence of the rod which he so well deserved. A more mischief loving and thoroughly tyrannical boy than Hugh never existed. He was so remarkably able-bodied, too, for his years, that even Mis. Barlow the nurse, Avho was no contemptible adversary, found herself routed with great loss and disorder ou the first occasion of her attempting to measure forces with " that limb Master Hugh." As for me, I honestly confess that I lived in daily terror of his thick boots and ready kicks ; while Edith, although she stoutly refused to own the mortifying truth, felt her spirit sink within her when the Eton schoolboy's long lean face betrayed that he was " in a temper."

Whenever it was in our power to do so, we silently claimed the protection of Walter Blake's presence. Not that — to all appearance at least — he was able to cope with one who, though his junior in age by two years, was infinitely his superior in height and muscular development; but, strange as it may appear, the private pupil exercised a moral influence over the domineering Eton schoolboy, and Hugh seldom betrayed either his passion or his sullenness before Walter Blake. On the day to which I am alluding, Edith and I, secure in the belief that our amicable brother had taken himself off on a distant expedition in order to obtain a sight of the " run " (for the hounds met that morning in the neighbourhood of the Grange), sallied forth contrary to our custom, excepting when Hugh was known to be safe at school, on a somewhat distant walk from the house.

It was Christmas Eve, and, with the intention of decorating the nursery for the coming festival, we were in quest of some mistletoe which we recollected to have seen growing on an ancient crab apple tree, whose branches hung over a small piece of water, known to all the neighbourhood as the Weir Pond. A MINGLED TARN. In order to reach this spot we had nearly a mile to walk along circuitous paths Avhich had been cut through the coppice wood ; aud very wet we were, I recollect, and sorely draggled (to use a favourite expression of Nurse Barlow's) were our little persons when we at last emerged from the dripping trees, and found ourselves ap proaching the margin of the pond. It was a place that was very little frequented, especially in the winter-time, for it had an ill omened reputation, inasmuch as with that deep and sombre-looking water there was connected a tale of love, and crime, and suicide, unsuited, as we were told, to be revealed to childish ears.

We had set off in high spirits, rejoicing greatly over the successful female diplomacy which had kept our expedition a secret from Hugh, and laughing gaily as we tripped along. But gradually, as we pursued our way, the shades of even ing began to overtake us, and a thick white mist, gathering slowly upwards from the fens, threatened to enfold us as in a shroud. " How dark it is ! " whispered Edith, for our laughter had gradually ceased, and our voices died away in the increasing stillness ; " I don't like it — let's go home — it isn't nice out here." She plucked me by the sleeve as she spoke, and finding that, instead of answering, I still trudged perseveringly onward, she exclaimed with still greater persistence — " Cora ! I wont go on. Do come back again. I shall tell papa that you've been naughty, and ill-natured — I shall " "Be quiet," I said, testily, for I had begun to suspect that Edith was a " humbug " as regarded courage, and felt very strong in my superior hardihood.

" Why did you come so far if you wanted to go away directly ? We must have the misletoe whether you're in a fright or not. But I say, Edith," I continued, interrupting my self in sudden alarm. " I do believe there's Hugh standing by the pond. And — and — oh ! do look ! There's Stella whining by his side ! He never can be so wicked as to drown her puppy before her eyes ! He said he would, but he never, never could be so cruel !" I did not wait to hear her comments, or take a moment's time to reflect on the probable use lessness of my interference ; but, rushing to the spot where Hugh was standing, I verified my worst fears by discovering the hapless infant ter rier struggling helplessly in his grasp. " Oh, please don't, Hugh — dear — dear Hugh," I cried, for I was half frantic with anger and pity, and would have even embraced his knees to gain my point.

" Please don't drown it, Hugh. It isn't your dog. Papa said I might have Stella, so of course the puppy's mine, and you haven't any right to touch it ; and, what's more, Edith shall tell papa what you've been doing, and he'll flog you for it, you cruel, wicked boy !" I had tried soft words in vain, and hard argu ments proving equally inefficacious ; there seemed nothing left for it but to draw conclusions with my fists ; but the battle, should I rashly close with my opponent, would be a terribly unequal one, and my chances of victory small indeed. It Avas useless to expect any assistance from Edith, for that hoped-for contingent failed me utterly in the hour of need. She had clearly a wholesome dread of Hugh's strong legs and well-nailed highlows, a prudential feeling which being fully shared by Stella, was well nigh strong enough to conquer the force of her maternal love.

That she did not view the scene with apathy, was, however, evidenced by her whining cries, and by her hanging in an agony of solicitude about the outskirts of the enemy. At last a judiciously administered application of the enemy's foot sent her howling to a safer distance, and at the same moment, being wrought up to the highest degree of exasperation, I flew like a wild cat at her cowardly assailant, and dug my nails into his cheek. He threw me off as though I had been a noxious reptile, and then the melee (on my side, at least) assumed almost the form of a death struggle. How long it lasted I know not, and whether (under other circumstances than those which oocurred) I might have reaped anything more than wounds and honour for my pains, is a question which must for ever remain undecided. vol. i. c I conclude however, from the after sufferings I endured, that I was coming off second best, when Walter, like the Prussians of old, scented the battle (or rather, caught sight of it from the other side of the pond) and hastened to the rescue.

The " trick of fence," or whatever it might be called, which, without warning given, laid Hugh prostrate on the turf, seemed to me little short of miraculous. When he was fairly down, Edith recovered some of her much-vaunted intrepidity, and Avas prevailed upon without much difficulty to lend her garters (mine were elastic — honi soit qui mal y pense) to safely bind our fallen foe. " Teach you to bully girls another time," panted Walter, when his formidable adversary, after many convulsive throes and frantic plunges, lay at last motionless and sulleu at our feet. He would have said more, but I drew him hastily away. I wanted to be at home that I might (for I was proud of my honourable wounds) examine my smartiug little shins at leisure. Besides, the pain Avhich I had ignored in the excitement of the conflict, made me feel rather sick, now that I could calmly think of it.

All things considered, however, I felt not a little proud of the victory I had obtained. I held to my breast, as a trophy, the " child of misfortune," over which, it could not be denied, that I had " wept tear for tear ;" and above and more than all, I could date from that hour that I had earned the hardly gained dignity of being " Walter Blake's Heroine." He said many flattering things to me as we walked along, and I found it very pleasant to be praised, even by a bov. Tt was a satisfaction also to lord it over Edith, who certainly, on this occasion, had not increased her reputation for "pluck." Walter was very facetious on the subject of Hugh's downfall ; the only disagreeable set off to this glowing picture (to my mind, at least) being the certainty that his bonds, and the mortification he was enduring, were not likely to increase the future amiability of our brother's disposition.

I listened therefore with dismay to Walter's project of proceeding to the rectory and sending the gardener's boy to set the prisoner free. " And then I'll come and look you up at the Grange," he said ; " I know old Barlow won't mind. By-the-bye, Cora, do you know I saw just now the very strangest looking woman on the other side of the pond. I thought she had no business there, and Avas trying to catch her up when I heard the row with you and Hugh." " We did not see any one," I answered. " But do please be quick, Walter ; I want you to be here when Hugh comes back." He laughed at this, and ran off towards the Lodge, Avhilst we, painfully conscious that we were " in such a mess as never was," stole silently, and as though treading upon eggs, up the back stairs to the nursery, To our surprise, and after a considerable amount c AVALTER BLAKE'S HEROINE. 20 of delay, and to our loudly expressed indignation also — for we were savagely hungry — we saw nothing of either Jane or Barlow, Avhile the usual preparations for our evening meal appeared to have been entirely forgotten.