Christopher Dudley. A novel

Front matter

% pid. By MARY BRIDGMAN, AUTHOR OF "BOBEBT LTNNE." IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : TIXSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 1872. \_AU rights of Translation and Ee production are reserved.] LONDON: SAVILL, EL"WABDS AND CO., FBINTFBf, CBANXOS ETIIIT, COTENT CABDEN. CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. CHAP. PiGE I. BROTHER AND SISTER 1 II. THE LESTOCKS 20 III. EVIL GENIUS V. GUARDIAN ANGEL ... 32 IV. SUNDAY IN CATHERINE STREET .... 57 V. POETRY AND PROSE 75 VI. A MOST RESPECTABLE FAMILY 91 VII. A FIRST PARTING 110 VIII. BEGINNING THE NEW LIFE 127 ix. Christie's fate 1*47 x. uncle and nephew 180 XI. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE WITH AN ODD NAME 19G XII. new year's eve 213 XIII. IRRATIONAL AMUSEMENT 230 XIV. LOVE OR PRUDENCE ? 25G XV. A VISIT TO THE LUTTWYCHES

Chapter I. Brother And Sister

p ATHERINE STREET, Oxford Street, is one of those dull, gloomy looking thoroughfares that seem as if sunlight and life were words unknown to them. Lying close to Oxford Street and Regent Street, with their bustle and noise and glitter, it appears, with its quiet impassive air, its silent pave ments — seldom echoing beneath the foot step of a passenger — even more deserted than it otherwise would. It is not pleasant to the eye, for the houses are all of a dull red brick, built without the slightest attempt at architectural beauty, with gloomy porticos here and there, and great wide- VOL. I. open eyes of windows, without any eye brows as it were, erected in the time of her lamented Majesty Queen Anne, perhaps by a complimentary builder, whose ideas of grace were probably gained from contem plation of his lovely sovereign's form on the coin of the realm.

Still, notwithstanding its ugliness, there were good houses in Catherine Street — large roomy ones with handsome oaken wainscots and broad stair cases, with deep windows where two or three (only two is a pleasanter number) might find ample room. Most of them are private houses, but there are several shops — an old-fashioned jeweller and silversmith's, a chemist's, and a bird stuffer's ; and in the middle of the street stands St. Catherine's Church, a very curious edifice of staring red and white bricks, also extremely high in its notions, the bell of the said church being in requisition pretty nearly all day long, summoning the members of the Rev. Mr. Abbott's flock to prayers or flirtations as the case may be — a stranger at the service generally thought it was the last. On the opposite side of the church stood a large house, and on the door was a plate on which was " Mr. Lestock, Surgeon," and facing that and on the same side of the way as St. Catherine's, stood half a dozen lodging houses, then came the jeweller's, and then a straggling row of smaller buildings before Catherine Street ended and Rupert Street commenced.

At the window of one of the above-mentioned lodging-houses, one pour ing wet afternoon in the autumn, stood a girl anxiously looking up the street towards Regent Street. It had been a miserable day, commencing with a dense fog, which had turned into a steady rain that seemed destined to last for several hours to come, a day calculated to make even cheerful person depressed, with nothing particular to annoy her — and Theodosia Dudley was an uniformly cheerful person — but still more likely to depress one who had a great care upon her mind. A minute or two more watching and she was rewarded : a light, graceful figure, although disguised in a great waterproof cloak, came rapidly towards the house, ran quickly up the steps, and was in the room almost before Theodosia could open the door. " Well, w-hat news ?" asked he of the waterproof. 1—2 " Just the same — no change."

" Has Lestock been again ? " " No ; but I expect him shortly ; he said he would come in after he had seen all his patients, and " " Martin always keeps his word, like the brick he is — eh, Dosia?" Then there was silence. Theodosia Dudley and her brother Chris topher both stood looking into the fire with an expression of care upon their faces that was far too grave for two such young persons ; but it was a serious time for both: their grandfather, their only near relative, was at that moment lying so ill that Mr. Lestock had said in his morning's visit, that without a change taking place he would have but few hours to live. Theodosia, or Dosia, as she was always called, was about oneor two-and-twenty, and, as her lady friends said, " looked her age " — nay, she looked older : she was fair, with very light golden hair, too pale to be altogether pleasing, but very soft and smooth; a delicate complexion, and regular features ; grey eyes, rather large, with a melancholy look that belied her character ; and with a mouth that could take a very firm set about it at times.

Not a strictly pretty face ; not charming to some persons ; but a face you could trust, and whose pleasantness seemed to grow on you with acquaintance ; a face people did not often turn to stare at as she passed them in the street, but one they sought after if they had met her once at any friend's. Christopher, as he stood beside her, cast her pale beauty completely into the shade ; here, in him, was found the colouring in which Dosia was so deficient ; his was a striking face, beautiful in the perfection of its form and expression ; his hair, bright golden, tinged with a coppery hue in parts, fell in heavy, short curls, above the broad, open forehead ; bright dancing eyes, as un like Dosia's as the full red lips were unlike her thin straight ones, whilst the mouth, that in Dosia betokened firmness and deci sion of character, in Christie was undeniably weak ; there was an outward likeness between brother and sister, and that was all- Christie stood leaning negligently against the mantelpiece, staring into the red coals as if he would gather from them what the future had in store for him, while Dosia, thinking of the past, viewed the beginning of a new life with a slight feeling of regret, one that Christie could not have echoed ; but then Christie never cared for the past, it was gone, and there was no good thinking any more about it.

Not, however, a very cheer ful past to reflect upon. At seven years old Dosia, a frightened little mite in mourning, could recollect a dreary journey from what had been her home ; that was the first past she remembered ; then driving into London and wondering if the streets would ever leave off; finally, falling asleep and waking up with a start to find herself in the same parlour — so strange then, so familiar grown ! — it looked darker and grimmer than it did now — and seeing an old man with a white moustache sitting in an arm-chair, whom the nurse told her to go and kiss as grand papa, while Christie, a bold little boy of four, immediately demanded in a loud querulous voice, bread-and-butter. So many years ago, and it seemed like yesterday ! As for grand papa, old Colonel Dudley, if he had owped the truth to himself, he was quite as ill at ease as little Dosia herself, for he had not the faintest notion what to do or say under the very unpleasant circumstances of having to provide for Marmaduke's children.

If, thought the old gentleman somewhat wrath sully, Manny had been fool enough to marry, it was hard upon him to have the ease of his old age intruded upon because Manny took it into his head to die ; and he need not, in all conscience, have bothered him with a granddaughter — a grandson was bad enough ; but what the devil was he to know about girls? So he regarded Dosia doubtfully, patted her on the head, then looked helplessly at the nurse, who wisely marched off her charges to bed. So it had happened that for the first few years of their life Dosia and her brother were left pretty well to the servant's charge. The Colonel, beyond seeing them occasion ally, took no notice of their existence, until his doctor and neighbour, Mr. Lestock, suggested that it was necessary for them to be brought up with some faint knowledge at least of the three R's. Indeed, the Colonel was beginning at last to find out Christie's presence in his household.

Dosia he rather liked now : she was emphatically a " good little girl ; " always quiet, never disturbing his nap, never treading on his gouty feet • but Christie was unconscionable, he possessed a certain amount of animal spirits that must be worked off in some way or other, and therefore he was always getting himself into trouble. On one memorable occasion he surrep titiously obtained entrance into the Colonel's dressing-room, attired himself in his grandfather's military accoutrements, and march ing downstairs in as dignified a manner as the enormous boots permitted him, suddenly tripped, and clang! clang! fell the large cavalry sword into the hall, startling Dosia, who was deep in the " Mysteries of Otranto." Rushing out, she viewed the weapon with awe and bewilderment. Looking up, how ever, awe gave way to horror, for there, lying head downwards, very red in the face, being held suspended by the heel of the boot having caught in the banisters, was the wretched Christie.

On another occasion, confined for some misconduct to his room, sent in the middle of the day ignominiously to bed and his clothes taken away, Christie, reckless and enterprising, contrived to frighten the neighbourhood by the appear ance of a white-robed little figure calmly walking along the roof of the house. " My grandfather is an intelligent fellow on the whole," he said coolly to his sister after the fright, "but his memory is de fective. He forgot the trap-door in the room, that was all." The old gentleman vowed punishment, but Dosia petitioned him off; and very glad the Colonel was to grant her request, for in his heart he was proud of his grandson. Christie was great as a mimic, and many a time he would send the old man into fits of laughter at his excellent buffooneries ; not a person he met but he could hit off im mediately.

Perhaps, however, the Colonel would not have been equally amused had he seen Christie as " Colonel Dudley with a fit of the gout," in the young Lestocks' school room, and had heard the peals of laughter that followed the performance. Had it not been for these same Lestocks, the young Dudleys' lives would have been dull enough, but there were many Lestocks, and plenty of young friends to be met at their house, so that Christie had a very ap preciative audience. Dosia and Christie were now waiting for the Doctor to make his appearance. During the past week the old Colonel had been very ill — indeed the last few years had seen him growing weaker and weaker — and both the young people knew that probably a very few hours would see them orphaned a second time in their short lives. The afternoon was drawing in, the shadows were getting darker, making the room gloomier than ever; and there was no need for that, it was dark and grim enough, ill-furnished, hung round with fierce, stern-looking portraits, portraits of some old Dudleys, frowning down on their fair descendants, portraits the Colonel vastly admired and gloried in, and that Dosia and Christie' voted " horrors."

At length a quick, brisk knock came at the street door, which both recognised, and Mr. Lestock came in. " Well, shall I go up at once ? " Then following Dosia he disappeared up stairs, leaving Christie to his own medita tions. After a while they came down again, and as there was no change nothing further could be done, so the three gathered round the fire to talk. Christie, with the feeling growing on him that a host, even under the most unfavourable circumstances, should always be hospitable, pressed the Doctor to spend the evening and sup with them, to which Mr. Lestock without much hesitation acceded, although he waited for Dosia to second the invitation. Young Mr. Lestock was about nine-and twenty, and had succeeded on his father's death, a few years before, to his practice, his pecuniary difficulties, and his position as head of the family.

He was about the middle height, well built, and with a face that was redeemed from plainness — for the features were but indifferently good, or rather bad — by the thoughtfulness and kindness of its expression; the forehead rather narrow, the dark hair worn away a little at the temples, the eyes also dark, but too small, the lips thin and straight ; there was nothing at all striking about him, no one could call him handsome ; but there is character in the hand that is now lying on the arm of the chair — it is long, white, skilful, nervous, the hand of a clever operator. It is prophesied of Martin Lestock, that, opportunity being given, he will be known some day in his profession ; at present he has quietly stepped into his father's small general practice and is quite unknown. The conversation did not flag much, for although Martin and Dosia were neither in a very talkative mood, Christie was a legion in himself and would have talked to the tables and chairs for want of a better audience.

Dosia was too much engrossed with the thought of her grandfather's condition to be very cheerful, while Martin was in that placid state of happiness that comes after a hard day's work, when a man is seated in the most comfortable of easy chairs by a glowing fire, and opposite to him her he loves best. The red curtains were drawn, shutting out the dismal night, the lamp was lighted, the urn hissing and spluttering on the table, while Dosia pre sided over the brewing of Martin's favourite solace ; it did not require very much imagination on the Doctor's part, as he sat lazily regarding Dosia busy amongst the old-fashioned china and silver, for him to fancy the dream of his life was true, that this peaceful picture of a fair girl by fire light was what the future held in store for him, and — nothing better do I ask, thought Martin, if only A sigh finished the sentence.

Not now at all events could he ask her to share his home ; a little while longer perhaps, and then The evening slipped almost imperceptibly away, Dosia busy with her work, Martin and Christie, or rather Christie talking ; Dosia indeed was so silent that Christie at length rallied her on her quietness. " One would think you must be in love," said he. Dosia coloured, and laughed the remark away. Martin flew to the rescue. "Well, Christie, have you at length de cided that all-important question, what you are going to be?" a remark utterly irrelevant to Christie's own. Christie shrugged his shoulders care lessly. " I want him to apply to our Cousin Henry," put in Dosia. " And why will he not ? " " Because " " Because he will see Cousin Henry pretty well tarred and feathered before he will put himself under an obligation to the said cousin," cried Christie.

" False pride, Christie." " Maybe, Martin, but we Dudleys are a proud lot, and I confess I would sooner sweep a crossing than owe anything to Henry Dudley." " I cannot see the necessity for such a stern resolve, but perhaps that pretty face of yours would make your fortune with a broom ; old ladies especially would patronize you. But, joking apart, Christie, what is the objection to asking the Squire to assist you? You are his cousin, and, after his own sons, his heir; really " " I have quite determined," replied Christie, " to owe nothing to Dudley ; I would sooner starve than owe my living to some persons." " False pride again, Christie ; and then why maintain a family feud ? If your grandfather and his father chose to quarrel, it does not follow necessarily that you and he are always to be at enmity ; why, that is as bad as the Corsican vendetta."

" I am glad to hear you speak thus," said Dosia, "but I am sadly afraid your eloquence will be wasted, Martin ; Christie is sometimes so obstinate." "Christie objects to being styled obstinate, but if there is one member of the Dudley family that can be so called, it is Theodosia. But never mind, Dosia ; Henry Dudley be hanged — I wager we shall do very well with out his assistance. I have not yet finally decided to what profession I intend to be an ornament, but when my mind is made up, I go in and win ; as Micavvber says, ' something will certainly turn up.' I can assure you I take a very sanguine view of the future." " As if you need tell us that," replied Lestock, smiling ; " when did you ever do otherwise ? " " And a very good thing too," said Christie; " what is the use of taking a gloomy view of our prospects?

At present they're not flourishing, but we are both young, strong, and remarkably good-looking. If I do not eventually become a Field Mar shal, a Lord Chancellor, or a Bishop, there's still the chance of marrying an heiress." " Christie !" "Well, Dosia, why look surprised? Heiresses exist, and why should not Dame Fortune have one in her pocket ready for me ? Money is but dross, but I've no objection to getting mv share of it. The only drawback is, that as a rule, heiresses are confoundedly ugly, and that the very blue-eyed darling one is likely to get ' spoons ' on, seldom has a brass farthing. I have very often considered the fact, and I confess " " But," observed Dosia, " it is now time to consider supper ; and let me tell you, Christie, you have wandered away, in your usual incorrigible manner, from the subject we were discussing."

Christie took the head of the supper-table aud set himself to act the hospitable host with goodwill, although he looked rather out of place in the old Colonel's great arm chair. The supper was simple enough, but youthful appetites are not too critical, and Christie carved cold beef and concocted salad dressing with the gusto attending a first effort, but with the ease and assurance that would have been given by twenty years' ex perience. " Martin, another slice ? Was the last according to your liking ? Try the salad ; the dressing is after the receipt of one of our great ancestresses, time of — of Harry the Eighth. Dosia, my child, this is not Lent, nor are we such good Catholics that we must be lean before we are religious. You wont take any more? Well, what young ladies exist upon is a mystery to me.

Per haps you, Martin, as a medical man, will be kind enough to enlighten me ; you and I, barbarians that we are, must gobble down a couple of pounds of good solid meat before nature cries 'enough,' while Dosia is ap parently existing on the rations of a canary bird. Explain, Medico." " Perhaps," said Martin, meaning to pay a compliment, and flushing up under the difficult}7, " perhaps their angelic nature requires little or no material sustenance." " I don't think I'm much of an angel," said Dosia. " Perhaps," suggested Christie, " it's due to tight-lacing " " Tight-lacing, Christie ! I never " " Scorn the action ! Then I drink to your health, my dear, but don't look so fierce. By the way, Martin, you have not told us whether David was successful in the City to-day?" " No, as usual, unsuccessful," answered Martin, with a little sigh ; " I think we Lestocks always are unlucky, somehow."

" I don't think so," said Dosia, " but rather that you are inclined to take a melancholy view of things." Martin shrugged his shoulders and looked as if the burdens of life lay too heavy on them, so to make a diversion, Christie pro posed whisky-and-water. VOL. I. " I must warn you," he continued, " that our cellars are so large, that I shall probably keep you waiting some time. Dosia has given our butler notice to quit on account of his drunken habits, and both our foot men are really so young and inexperienced that I would not for the world trust either of them amongst the bins ; for which excellent reasons, Dr. Martin, you will excuse our want of ceremony — perhaps to so old a friend I need not have said so much." After which eloquent speech, Christie unlocked a small cellarette, produced the decanters, and prepared the mixture to his own satisfaction.

" Do you allow such bad habits ?" asked Martin of Dosia. "It is my birthday," said Christie; "on which day I am permitted to do just as I like." " Many happy returns of the day. How old are you ?" inquired his friend. " The enormous age of nineteen, and if one can judge from the present state of my wisdom what it is likely to be at forty, I bid fair to be a second Solomon — at least so Dosia said this mornings." " A direct perversion of the truth, Christie. I wonder when, if ever, you will learn to talk sense ?" " Never, I hope ; sensible people are the dreariest beings in creation. Take Martin for instance, the very incarnation of sense, and see what dull company he is to-day. I have exerted myself to make him lively, and lo ! I have been wasting my sweetness on the desert air. One would imagine he had been attending the funeral of a wealthy maiden aunt who had left all her property to the Asylum for Decayed Tabby Cats.

Have another glass, Martin, and try what that will do." " Thanks ; no," said Martin, rising, " I must be going, for it is late. I am only sorry I have not been equal to the occasion." " Pray don't apologize," cried Christie, and then Martin put on his hat and coat ; perhaps it was owing to Dosia helping him that he was a great deal longer than was necessary. " Give my love to Connie and Mab," exclaimed Dosia, as he went down the steps. "And tell David," shouted Christie, " from me, that he's a mean humbug — he has not been near us for an age !" 2—2

Chapter II. The Lestocks

MARTIN LESTOCK made his way across the street to the tall house opposite, with the flaring red lamp over the doorway, and the large plate with " Mr. Lestock, Surgeon," on it that had belonged to his father. He let himself in with his latch-key and entered the front room. " Oh, Martin, how late you are !" cried a girl, rising from a table where she had been working. The only other occupant of the room was a tall, loose-limbed youth, with a tumbled mass of hair, lying on a sofa read ing a railway-novel. " I'm sorry," said Martin, " but I've been to the Dudleys and supped with them." " And how is the old man ?" asked David Lestock, flinging his novel away and sitting upright. " The same," answered Martin, " and unless there is a change soon, there is only one thing to expect." "Well, he's had a precious long time," said David, yawning ; " every one can't expect to be Methuselah.

I wonder what on earth though Dosia and Christie will do 3 for his pension dies with him, of course." Martin shrugged his shoulders, an usual habit of his, and then taking a candle, said, " You two had better be off to bed ; I have some writing to do." David gaped, stretched himself, and saying " Good night " in the sleepiest tone in the world, marched off. Mab lingered a little while to talk to Martin, but as his conversational powers appeared limited that evening, she also went away, and young Lestock betook himself to his surgery, a little room at the end of the passage, smelling most villainously of a compound of rhubarb and tobacco. He drew forward an old arm-chair, leant his elbows on his knees, his face upon his hands, and stared disconsolately at the fire. Mr. Lestock, senior, had married a beauty, carrying her off from a host of admirers, who called him an awfully lucky dog ; at the end of three months Mr. Lestock only wished that his envious rivals could have changed places with him.

Adelaide Lestock was the prettiest little empty-headed, obstinate fool that ever breathed. But as Mr. Lestock's rivals could not, unfortunately for him, relieve him of his bargain, he had to make the best of it, and best was bad. At first the Doctor and his wife had started with a fine house and a brougham and pair — the latter Mrs. Lestock insisted upon, " My dear Martin, you must have a carriage — no medical man with a practice can do without one." " But I have not got a practice," pleaded Martin. " Then it's the best way to get one ; no lady would think of having a doctor without a carriage." And Mrs. Lestock had her way, for her husband was weak. Still the practice did not increase, not withstanding the carriage and pair, and at the end of a few years Mr. Lestock had to put down his brougham, leave his house, and take up his residence in Catherine Street.

It was a great blow to his wife, and from that hour she had a grievance. There are a good many ways of making one's self important in a household, but there is nothing on earth equal to having a grievance, and Mrs. Lestock made the most of hers. To be obliged to live in Catherine Street, also to put down her carriage, was almost insupportable ; she moaned over her downfall, and nearly drove her husband frantic. As for the children, it was a wonder to Mr. Lestock that they grew up like human beings ; when they were quite little things they were dressed up like dolls one day and neglected the next. The two pretty girls, Adelaide and Constance, were their mother's pets, while the boys, to use Martin's term, " tumbled up " somehow or another till they were old enough to be sent to school. During their school-life their holidays were rather an infliction than otherwise to them.

Of this family Martin was the eldest, and he, to his mother's great sorrow, decided for himself on following his father's profession. " Why could he not have the feelings of a gentleman," asked Mrs. Lestock indignantly, "and follow his grandfather's example ? Was not her papa (a drunken old gentleman, by the way) a Bombay Crasher ?" " Whilst Martin prefers being a Middle sex slasher," said her second son Gerard, who settled the question of his own future by running away from home, and who was drowned at sea three months afterwards. Of him Mrs. Lestock always spoke as, " my dear son Gerard, a promising young naval officer, who, but for his early death, would have risen to a high position in her Majesty's Service ;" the true facts of the case being, that the said Gerard was simply one of the " hands " on board the schooner TBrigadoon, coaling to Calcutta ; but un doubtedly Mrs. Lestock's was the more euphonic manner of stating the circumstances.

Taking the fortunes of Adelaide next on the list, the beauty of the family (though Constance, the second daughter, disputed her claim to the title), will any one be surprised to learn that at seventeen she married the Rev. Gabriel Luttwych, curate of St. Catherine's, who was then the adored minister of at least threefourths of the congregation ; the remaining fourth was composed of the choir, beadles, acolytes, &c. &c. Poor Mr. Luttwych ! — the wonder is that he ever survived the care and attention that was lavished on his health by the ladies. If he appeared a little hoarse dui'ing the service, duly next morning did he receive a cargo of raspberry-vinegar and black-currant jelly ; as to the number of muffetees and comforters he received anony mously, he might easily have started a Berlin-wool shop on his own account, while if he lived to a hundred years he never could have worn out the slippers of all sizes and designs that were so obligingly worked for him.

It was about the time when he was at the zenith of his popularity that a whisper was circulated that the Reverend Gabriel's eyes were always glancing in the direction of Mrs. Lestock's pew, and great was the sensation. Then came a report that he was engaged to be married — greater sensation than ever. Chorus of congregation, " Poor Mr. Lutt wych ! that odious little flirt, Miss Lestock ! " Down went the Reverend Luttwych in the estimation of his former admirers : no more slippers, no more black currant jelly ; whilst a fresh attraction at a neighbouring church, a tall Irishman, put the finishing stroke to his waning popularity. A friend presenting him with a living in the country of small value — so very small indeed that it is not necessary to men tion the amount — he immediately married, and quitted London for ever, causing by his marriage a temporary vacancy in the hearts of twenty maiden ladies and three widows of St. Catherine's congregation.