Elmore. A novel

Front matter

ME. NEWBY'S NEW NOVELS. In 3 Vols., 31s. 6d. CONQUERED. By the Author of " Known to None." In 2 Vols., 21s., AD MISBEICORDIAM. By the Author of " Dr. Armstrong." " The style is lively and amusing." — Athenæum. " The heroine is a graceful and poetical conception." — Examiner. " The reader of it will be reminded of Miss Broughton, both in style and tone." — Standard. " Written very much in the style of Miss Broughton." — Graphic. " A most lively and entertaining story." — John Bull. "It will prove highly attractive." — Liverpool Albion. " It is an undoubted literary success." — Birmingham Daily News. " Written with good taste and propriety." — Inquirer. In 1 Vol., 10s. 6d. NOT FOR THE WORLD. A Tale of Saxony during the War, 1870. " The tone is refined and ladylike throughout." — Athenæum. " It will prove a great success." — Record.

"A domestic story, sensibly told, and well worth reading." — Standard. " The author manages thoroughly to awaken and sustain our interest ; it is a pleasant and readable story." — Examiner. In 1 Vol., 10s. 6d. SOWING IN TEARS. In 2 Vols. (just ready.) A BROKEN HEART. By the Bev. E. G. CHABLESWORTH. SUDDEN MOURNING. Messes. Jay are always provided with experienced Dress makers and Milliners, ready to travel to any part of the kingdom, free of expense to purchasers, when the emergencies of sudden or unexpected mourning requires the immediate execution of Mourning orders. They take with them Dresses, Bonnets, and Millinery, besides materials at One Shilling per yard, and upwards, from the piece, all marked in plain figures, and at the same price as if purchased at the London General Mourning Warehouse in Regent Street.

Reasonable estimates are also given for Household Mourning, at a great saving to large or small families. — Jay's, The London General Mourning Warehouses, 245, 247, 249, and 251, Regent Street. ELMORE. A NOVEL. BT THE HONBLE. MRS. CLIFFORD BTJTLEE, AUTHOR OP " A TALE OP TWO OLD SONGS," &C. IN ONE VOLUME. London : T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 1873. [AIL RXQHTS RESERVED.] ELMORE

Chapter I

It was five o'clock in the evening, the chilliest and dreariest hour of a gloomy November day ; a drizzling rain was falling, and a dull leaden hue settling over the sky, against which the towers of Elmore Castle rose grim and indistinct in the twilight. But within the walls of the castle there was light and warmth enough ; and very luxurious looked the solitary occupant of the pretty morning room, which the mistress of Elmore usually preferred to the huge drawing-room with its dreary magnificence. She was young, probably not more than four or five and twenty; but tall, B ELMOKB. dark-haired women are apt to look more than their age, and Lady Elmore had no youthful bloom or spring of life about her. She sat leaning back in a low cushioned chair by the sire, her dark eyes gazing dreamily into its cavernous depths, and her heavy black hair framing her pale oval face.

More perfect beauty as far as form and features were concerned it would be difficult to conceive, but it was the beauty of a statue, not of a woman, since light, and warmth, and colour were wanting. It might have been the face of a dead person, had not the mouth lacked the settled peace that ever hovers around the lips of the dead. Cold and still, her hands folded on her lap, as if disdaining even the pretence of an occupation, she sat alone, looking as though she might continue to sit there for hours, had not a sudden interruption at length aroused her. It was the entrance of a nurse, leading by the hand a beautiful child of four years old, who the moment she was in the room sprang with a joyous cry of " Mammy, mammy I " to the motionless figure by the fire. Lady Elmore looked up, while her face awoke into a smile, which changed its whole character as she held out her arms to receive her child.

ELMORE, All that the mother's beauty lacked, the child's abundantly possessed. The statuesque profile was of course wanting, but the dark liquid eyes with their deep fringes were the same, and the tiDy delicate mouth, while the cheeks glowed with the rich colouring seldom seen except in a baby brunette. The hair of both was silky and abundant, the mother's of a raven black, and the child's falling in waves of rich golden brown, at least three shades lighter than the long eyelashes. Little could anyone who had observed her listless attitude a moment before, have expected to see Lady Elmore converted into the merry frolicksome playfellow of her child, whose exuberant spirits soon found the room too small for the romping game of play in which she wished to indulge. " Come into the hall, mammy, sweet mammy !

" and the pleading could not be resisted. Five minutes later they were gaily chasing each other round and round the oak-panelled hall, the mother entering into the game with quite as much spirit as the child, until both were fairly tired. Lady Elmore sank into a chair, and little May leaning against her, b ELMORE, whispered, "Mammy, sing May a song; sing ' Babes in the wood.' " Lady Elmore lifted her on her knee, pillowing the golden head on her shoulder, and smoothing back the rich profusion of tangled hair, and then she sang the old ballad for which the child had asked ; her rich voice swelling and echoing through the great room, and then dyiDg away in sweet solemn cadences, while little May lying back with half closed eyes listened in perfect repose and enjoyment. It was scarcely ended when there was a knock at the door, and the nurse again appeared.

" If you please, my lady, the dressing bell has rung some time, had not I better undress Miss Vesey to-night?" But this arrangement seemed by no means to coincide with the ideas of little May, who clung to her mother with such a vigorous cry of " No, no, mammy, mammy I " that Lady Elmore was obliged to soothe her before she replied to the nurse, who looked half affronted at the little princess's rejection of her services. " Well, Thompson, I think I shall have time. Lord Elmore has not yet come home, and no one will be here till half-past seven." ELMORE. " I think," interrupted the nurse, " that I hear his lordship and the other gentlemen riding up the drive now." " Then May must be very quick, and not keep mammy long," and catching up the little one in her arms, Lady Elmore sprang up the broad staircase with a far less stately step than the nurse, who slowly followed, marvelling for the twentieth time at the eccentricities of a lady who could not be content unless she performed the homely offices of washing and undressing for her spoiled darling.

Scarcely had the last fold of Lady Elmore's dress disappeared, before a confusion of voices was heard in the hall, and the nurse peeping through the banisters, discovered her master and about half a dozen gentlemen with him in splashed top-boots and hunting coats ; and pre sently heard Lord Elmore's loud tones exclaiming angrily as his foot entangled itself in one of little May's toys, forgotten by her mother in her hasty retreat. " Confound the rubbish ! Cannot my wife be content without turning the whole house into a nursery ?" And then ringing the bell violently, he desired the butler to bring hot water and spirits. ELMORE. " You'll be glad of it if you're all as cold as I am," he added, turning to his guests, and monopolizing the greater part of the fire as he stood in front of it, striking out showers of sparks with his boot from the huge half-burnt logs.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man, of about four-and-thirty, with a deep settled colour, a profusion of black whiskers and a moustache which concealed the sinister expression of his mouth. His manner, though rough, might have given a stranger the impression of good-humoured frankness, but for a habit of impatiently pushing back his hair and biting his moustache at any slight provocation. His companions were evidently mere sporting men, and not altogether of the highest order, and their manner towards their host was a judicious mix ture of familiarity and adulation. The wine and spirits were brought, and the day's run discussed, after which the gentlemen slowly dispersed to their own rooms. In the meantime Lady Elmore was spending her happiest portion of the day in unrestrained enjoyment of her child's company, and the per formance of all the little fond motherly offices ELMORE. 7 which she had never been content to resign to less loving hands.

Even when the nurse again reminded her that it was getting very late, she still lingered to lay the child in her crib, and kiss the smooth cool cheek and the dark fringed eye lids, already drooping with sleep, and while the lips formed a halfarticulate "good-night." " Good-night, my treasure — my angel — good night. Sleep well, darling, and ask nurse to call me if you are restless. You know I can always come." Happy little May, in the possession of such love ; long may it be ere thy infant dreams are broken by the rude clamour of the world's harsh passions ! Well for thee that those closed eyes cannot see the change in the face a moment ago bending over thee, so full of softness and of love ! The cold, stony look had come back to Lady Elmore's face, as she slowly turned into her own room adjoining the nursery ; while her maid, with nervous haste began to unfasten her dress, and to hint at the lateness of the hour.

Lady Elmore seemed indifferent to everything, scarcely even bestowing a glance at the black velvet dress displayed upon the bed. She sat down in front of the glass, and taking up a book ELMORE. appeared to be reading intently, while her maid, chafing at her composure, and evidently working herself up into a nervous fidget, proceeded with trembling hands to comb out the long braids of hair. Her nervousness was increased by the sound of a heavy footstep on the stairs, followed by the entrance of Lord Elmore, who began a loud and angry remonstrance against his wife's unpunc tuality. " Some nonsense about the child, I suppose, as usual. Confound it, Mary, I tell you I will not stand this. The brat shall be sent away, if you can attend to nothing else. I'll put a stop to it one way or another."

He was standing in the middle of the room, his dark face flushed, and his voice raised above its usual harsh tones ; she sitting calmly in front of her glass, cold and pale as ever, scarcely raised her eyes from her book, as she answered, " I know that I am late. You need not trouble yourself ; I will make my own excuses to our guests." Here the maid's nervousness increased to such an extent, that she dropped the camellia that she was in the act of placing in her lady's hair, andr ELMORE. in stooping to pick it up, she knocked over an open dressing case, which fell with such an appalling noise of clattering glass and trinkets, that Lord Elmore, with a muttered imprecation, hurried from the room, while his wife sat reading on, imperturbable as ever. Even the noise of carriage wheels upon the gravel, announcing the arrival of guest after guest, failed to shake her composure ; and when at length she swept down the stairs, her black velvet robes falling in sombre folds around her, diamonds glittering round her throat and arms, her cheek was still as colourless as the camellia which rested against it.

The principal guests of the evening in whose honour the dinner party had, in fact, been given, were a young baronet and his bride, who had lately succeeded to a very considerable property in the neighbourhood. Lady Selby was a pretty little woman, shy and unsophisticated, and very timid when her husband was not near to reassure her. Lord Elmore was devoting himself to her when his wife came in, and almost annihilated her young guest by her stately apology for tardiness. She spoke to one or two other ladies who were present, and whom her approach appeared to freeze into silence ; but b ELMORE, did not condescend to notice the gentlemen other wise than by an inclination of her beautiful head, which seemed to include all at once. Almost immediately upon his wife's entrance, Lord Elmore had loudly and impatiently rung the bell for dinner, and in a few moments it was announced, happily for the little bride, who had sat trembling under every glance of those dark fixed eyes, and afraid to trust her own voice to utter the most common place remark.

She was more at ease when led by Lord Elmore into dinner ; for rough though he might be, with a loud, unpleasant laugh, which jarred upon her ears, he was infinitely less formidable than his wife. " Poor John !" thought the young bride, as she took her place at the end of the table. " How dreadful for him to have to find subjects to talk about all dinner time." Apparently Sir John was of the same opinion, for he did not look as if he specially enjoyed the honour conferred upon himself, as Lady Elmore laid the tips of her fingers within his arm. It was, however, necessary to say something, so he made a desperate plunge into the subject that he knew to be at any rate most congenial to her lord. ELMORE. 11 " Bad weather this for the Liverpool steeple chase, Lady Elmore. I suppose you will hardly he induced to patronize it.

By-the-bye, does Lord Elmore intend to run that brown mare after all ? I heard that he talked of withdrawing her." His companion scarcely took the trouble to raise her eyes, as she replied to this question. " Really, I am sorry that I can give you no information on the subject. I am very ignorant on all stable matters." This haughty rebuff was almost enough to annihilate poor Sir John ; but an unlucky silence at the time, and Lady Elmore's remarkably clear and distinct enunciation, had made every word audible at the other side of the table ; and the next moment Lord Elmore's deep voice was heard. " Ha ! Selby, I am afraid you have hit upon an unlucky topic. Lady Elmore does not con descend to take an interest in such vulgar things as race horses. If you'll wait till after dinner I can tell you anything you want to know."

His loud voice and contracted brow had terrified his little neighbour, and she could hardly respond when he turned to her a moment after, with a softened manner, and attempted to renew their conversation. ELMORE. The dinner seemed to be of interminable length to two of the party besides herself, for Sir John, after a few more spasmodic efforts, subsided altogether into silence, and Lady Elmore, after effectually snubbing her other neighbour, a stout, vulgar man, commonly sup posed to be a racing tool of her husband's, sat apparently wrapt in contemplation of the magni ficent grapes before her. Lady Selby gave a sigh of relief when the signal to withdraw was at length given, though her heart sank at the thought of the dreary interlude in the drawing-room. Her husband had lately come into the county, but hoped ere long to represent it in Parliament, and he had been very anxious to conciliate Lord Elmore as one of the wealthiest of his neighbours.

It is probable, however, that he over-rated his host's influence, as Lord Elmore took little interest in any matters beyond those connected with the turf. Lady Selby hoped, therefore, that she had not materially damaged her husband's cause by her shyness at dinner, and walked into the drawing room full of virtuous resolutions, to atone by being doubly attentive to her hostess. The opportunity, however, was Dot given her. ELMORE. 13 Lady Elmore sat by her on the sofa silent and abstracted, only looking up now and then when her guest ventured some timid remark. The little bride longed to escape from the place of honor to the companionship of some of the other ladies, who, congregated in small groups around the fire, were conversing in low tones as if they too felt the awe of that cold, silent presence.

By and bye, Lady Elmore, rousing herself as if from a trance, suddenly proposed some music, and, as no one appeared willing to make the first move, she took her own place at the piano, paused in a moment's doubt while her fingers strayed dreamily over the keys, and then, to the astonishment of her hearers, suddenly burst into a wild bravura song, which, however exquisite might be the notes in their strength and variety, was less suited to her voice than the simple old ballad which she had sung to her child a few hours before. How was it that as Lady Selby listened to the wild melody and watched the im passive face of the singer, a new feeling of pity and deep compassion crept into her woman's heart and brought the tears so near her eyes that she could not join in the admiring thanks which the rest of the company were pouring forth unheeded ?

ELMORE. " I am sure she is unhappy," thought the little woman to herself, " or she would not look like that." And then came the remembrance of Lord Elmore's words and frown at dinner, and she shuddered at the bare possibility of her hus band ever speaking to her in such a manner. In the meantime Sir John was not finding the evening more satisfactory. Lord Elmore was civil to him — as civil as a man in a bad humour can be to any one, but he was almost pointedly neglectful of his other guests, and more than once dropped the conversation altogether, and fell into a gloomy reverie. It was growing late when he at length proposed an adjournment to the drawing-room, where sounds of music met their ears. Lady Selby was singing with a somewhat uncomfortable con sciousness of the thin, weak sound of her own voice after that of her hostess, and as soon as she rose there followed a trio sung by two of the young ladies and their brother, under cover of which Lady Selby escaped to a quiet corner of the room, where her husband soon joined her.

" Well, little woman !" he said, with a half suppressed yawn, " how have you been getting ELMORE. on ? Rather slow work for your first bit of gaiety in these parts !" " Oh ! dear," she whispered, " it has been so dreadful. Is it not getting late? I am frightened to death at our hostess, and he is even worse !" " Hush! Take care, you will be overheard. It is almost the time that I ordered the carriage to be here ; but what is the matter now ?" He well might ask, for a strange scene was taking place near the door of the drawing-room, of which, from their recess, the Selbys had a distinct view. Lady Elmore was standing up, one hand on the handle of the door, the other clenched as if in some violent emotion, her whole frame seeming to dilate with passion. In front of her, and barring her passage from the room, stood her husband with the same frown, only intensified, that had terrified Lady Selby at dinner time.

He was talking fast, but ap parently in under tones, she listening with tightly compressed lips and clenched hands. What had occasioned this scene ? It was the old story ; above the noise of the music and the hum of conversation around her, Lady Elmore's quick ear had caught the sound which never ELMORE. failed to awake an answering chord in her own heart ; her child's voice coming in a piteous wail from her nursery above. She knew well what it was ; little May, although healthy, was a nervous, excitable child, and, if disturbed in her sleep, subject to startled awakenings, often followed by hours of piteous crying, in which only her mother's devoted tenderness availed to soothe her. Anxious not to attract attention to her reason for leaving the room, Lady Elmore glided silently to the door, and was already almost in the corridor when her husband suddenly placed himself before her, barring her further passage.

He also heard the sounds from the nursery, and his temper had been further irritated by them. "Where are you going?" he asked, and his tones, though lower, were no less rough than usual. She looked at him straight and steadily as she answered — " I am going to the nursery. Let me pass, if you please." " No," he answered, angrily ; " I do not please. I have said a hundred times that I will not have everything give way to this confounded mania ELMORE 17 about the child, and now I insist upon your re maining in this room." She was trembling in every limb ; yet surely it was not fear that was expressed in that pale, stern face. There was bitterness in it — hatred, contempt, fierce rebellion, that she, the superior being, the stronger nature of tbe two, should be subjected to such dominion as this ; but not fear.

" I must go," she said, in the low voice of sup pressed passion. " Let me pass ; I will go to my child." There was something in the majesty of her face and manner that almost over-awed him, rough tyrant as he was ; something that made him regret the attempt to cross her will thus in his own house, and in the presence of others, as au inferior rider regrets too late the unnecessary attempt to curb a high-mettled horse, but having begun, it would not do thus publicly to own himself defeated ; he must persevere. " It is all nonsense," he said, his angry tones contrasting strangely with her icy calmness, " and I will put a stop to it. Go back, I insist upon it." She made a half step forward. He thought she meant to oppose him still further, and his ELMORE. blood was now fully roused. Grasping the white wrist tightly, he led her back into the room, reiterating his command that she should remain.

From the moment that his hand touched her's she had offered no resistance ; but her face, which had before been pale, assumed a sudden death like hue, while her great dark eyes blazed out upon him like coals of glowing fire, and there was a strange, unnatural ring in her voice, as she said, only loud enough for him to hear — " We shall both have cause to remember this day — the day on which your wife was first publicly insulted in her own house." One or two friends of Lord Elmore's, who had been to some extent spectators of this scene, here ventured to interpose, and gradually succeeded in engaging him in conversation ; but all attempts to attract his wife's attention were in vain. Through the rest of the evening she sat like one in a dream, and when the guests at length took their leave, thankful to escape from so uncomfortable a party, she took but little heed of their farewells, while more than one was struck with the icy touch of her hand.

" Oh, John !" said little Lady Selby, almost sobbing, when they were at length safely in their ELMORE. carriage, " how glad I am to get away at last ! I think I never spent such a dreadful evening, and did you ever see anyone look so terribly pale and unhappy as poor Lady Elmore ? She must have a miserable life, poor thing, with such a husband !" " She is wonderfully beautiful," said Sir John, musingly. " I don't think I ever saw more per fect features, barring the total absence of colour ; and yet," he added, looking with a smile at the bright face turned towards him in the moonlight, " I would not change my little wife's pink cheeks and blue eyes for a hundred such pale statue-like beauties ! Well, like you, I am thankful to be out of that house ; one breathes freer away from it, and Elmore is not a man I would willingly see much of. I shall take care not to get myself into his clutches with regard either to horses or politics." ELMORE.

Chapter II

It was past midnight, all the guests of the even ing had departed, and Lord Elmore and his friends staying in the house had repaired to the smoking-room_ where it was his lordship's usual custom to remain until the small hours of the morning. Lady Elmore sat alone in her bedroom, by the window, having drawn up the blind to let in the clear cold flood of winter moonlight. She had taken off her dress and ornaments, and wrapped herself in a long white dressing-gown, and she held in her hand an open letter deeply edged with black. She had read it through more than once already ; and now she sat a white, still figure in the moonlight, thinking deeply. All at once she rose, and drawing a small writing-table ELMORE. 21 nearer to the window began to write fast and eagerly. Sheet after sheet of paper was covered with her large straggling handwriting ; but perhaps it may be better that the reader should form his own judgment of the writer by the con tents of that letter.

It was addressed to the lately widowed daughter of a former governess, one of the few companions of Mary Elmore's loveless childhood. " Elmore Castle, Nov. 3rd. rt Mt dear Fanny, — " Your letter reached me yesterday, and deeply do I grieve at the tidings it contains. We little thought three short years ago that this was to be the end of all the bright prospects of your married life, when you wrote to me so happy in your husband's love, so joyous over the birth of your child. But, Fanny, do not grieve as though your sorrow was beyond all others — it is not so. It never can be while you have the past still to dwell upon with pleasure. Your husband loved you — he was good and noble — he died doing his duty bravely in a good cause. Never while you have these memories can your sorrow be utterly unbearable.

Shall I quote to ELMORE. you the old hackneyed words, ' 'Tis better to have loved and lost,&c. !" Ah ! Fanny, it carries one back to the old days — that one happy year of my life ! Grief makes one selfish ; — here am I instead of striving to comfort you, pouring forth the tale of my own misery. And yet there is an irresistible impulse urging me on — yet hardly an impulse, for it has been the thought of days and weeks, and to-night has strengthened my resolve. Fanny, will it help you to bear your trouble to know there is one more wretched ? " Did your mother ever tell you my early history ? If not, you shall hear it now. "No mother's love ever soothed my lonely babyhood ; her young life ended when mine began. Nor have I any distinct recollection of my father, — the stern old Peninsular General of whose memory I yet cherished a fond pride.

His \vill had appointed his eldest son by a former marriage as my guardian; and by this man (thirty years older than myself) and his wife, 1 was brought up. A drearier home for an orphan child it would be hard to imagine ; or a harsher, more unloving nature than that of my sister-in law. Only one person can I remember during the first twelve years of my life who ever shewed ELMORE. me any affection. She was a younger sister of my guardian's wife, who paid us occasional visits. I can recollect now the feeling of utter loneliness that came over me when she married and accompanied her husband to Australia. To do my brother justice he took some pains to give me a good education ; and I found a certain satisfac tion in working hard for my various masters and governesses, and earning their praises.

At last, when I was about thirteen, your mother came to me. " I do not think we suited each other particu larly ; but she meant to be kind, and it was not her fault that both our natures were reserved and cold. But children cannot thrive without love, any better than plants without sunshine, and the chilly atmosphere was telling on my health. For about ayearldrooped without any positive malady, until a low nervous fever laid me prostrate. When I was recovering the doctor ordered sea air ; I was sent with your mother to Hastings, and there you joined us. Ah, me ! as I write of those days I seem to hear the long, quiet roll and plash of the waves on the shore again ! But I shall tire your patience, dear Fanny — yet bear with me a little longer, and read to the end, for it is in ELMORE. your power to help me, and I need your help.