Robert Ord's Atonement. A novel. By the author of 'Nellie's Memories' [Rosa Nouchette Carey], etc

Front matter

ROBERT ORD'S ATONEMENT BOBEKT OKD'S ATONEMENT & i^otirl BY ROSA XOUCHETTE CAREY X author of 'Nellie's memories,' 'Barbara heathcote's trial,' ' NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS,' ETC. NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION LONDON RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET in ©r&marp to p?cr fftajcstg tije ©utcn TO MY BROTHERS CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. The King's Head . . . . . . 1 II. Robert Okd states his Opinion . . . .14 III. Eglistone Abbey ...... 24 IV. Meg ........ 37 V. " I SHALL NEVER BE HAPPY AGAIN, MEG " . . 46 VI. Kirkby Vicarage ... ... 56 VII. Miss Matitrin is sent to Coventry . . .66 VIII. Belle stays away again from Service . . 77 IX. Nettie Underwood . . . . ,88 X. Rotha ....... 97 XI. Bryn ....... 107 XII. Nettie's Conspiracy . . . . .119 XIII. Nettie's Tea-Party . . . . .132 XIV. The Vicar goes to Bryn . . . . .143 XV.

The Blackscar Herald ..... 157 XVI. Treats principally' of Tears . . . .173 XVII. Mrs. Ord hears Arty' his Prayers . . . 187 XVIII. Why Mes. Ord goes without her New Dress . .198 XIX. The Vicar's Atonement . ... 211 XX. Gar's Shadow . . . . . .224 XXI. Tyler and Tyler . . . . .237 XXII. The Little Sister . . . .248 XXIII. Down on the Sands ... .258 C0NTEN7S. CHAPTER PAGE XXIV. Burnley-upon-Sea . • 275 XXV. A Storm in a Tea. u . . . • ■ 291 XXVI. In the Dark . . . . . .300 XXVII. " Don't go, Garton ; I want you " . . . 311 XXVIII. A Love Idyll . . . . . .321 XXIX. Betwixt and Between .... 325 XXX. A Woman's Reason : — "I love Him because I love Him" . .... 335 XXXI. In hoc spero ...... 345 XXXII. "Good-Bye, Gar" . , . . .358 XXXI II. Robert Ord's Repentance .... 366 XXXIV. Under the Rod . . . . .377 XXXV.

An Errand of Mercy . . . . .388 XXXVI. A Message from the Sea . . . .398 XXXVII. On the Dark Mountains . . . .410 XXXVIII. The Children's Home . . . . .422 XXXIX. The Broken Clause . . . . .431 XL. Five Years Afterwards .... 442 XLI. Won at Last ...... 453 XLII. Conclusion ......

Chapter I. The King's Head

" The sultry summer day is done, The western hills have hid the sun, But mountain peak and village spire Retain reflection of his fire. Old Barnard's towers are purple still, To those that gaze from Toller's hill ; Distant and high, the tower of Bowes Like steel upon the anvil glows, And Stainemore's ridge, behind that lay Rich with the spoils of parting day, In crimson and in gold array'd. " Scott's Rukeby. " I used him for a friend. Before I ever knew him for a friend. 'Twas better, 'twas worse also, afterwards We came so close, we saw our differences Too intimately." Aurora Leigh. "Barnard Castle." "All right for Barnard Castle. Any luggage, sirs" was the civil inquiry addressed to the solitary occupant of a second-class compartment who was leisurely folding his paper and shaking off a liberal allowance of dust as he did so.

" Any luggage in the van, sir?" A shake of the head was the somewhat curt rejoinder as the gentleman gave The Leeds Mercury a final fold, and shouldering his shabby black bag stepped on the platform, looking about him with the air of a man who was treading new ground, and who seemed to deduce a certain amount of pleasure from that fact, judging from the curious glances he cast around him as he threaded the little knot of passengers and porters who blocked up the narrow doorway. Out into the broad sunny road beyond, where there was a cloud J. of gray dust and a cheeping and twittering of brown sparrows, and where one homely country equipage was lumbering along by the side of a farmer's red-wheeled gig and a donkey-cart. " King's Arms J" persuasively suggested the conductor, a dark saturnine man with a straw in his mouth.

" King's Arms % — take you up there in three minutes, sir; best beds and best accom modation in the whole of Barnard Castle." "Which are your other inns?" asked the stranger, as three unmistakable commercial gentlemen pushed past him to secure the best places, and two more clambered up to the top to the tune of jingling seals and chains. " This seems to be a quiet place, but I suppose there is competition even at Barnard Castle." " Law bless you, yes, sir ! " replied the man rubbing his head, " especially in the season. Why, let me see, there's the Com mercial, the Rose and Crown, the Hangel, the Turk's Head, and the Bay Horse, but there's nobody but will say the King's Head will beat 'em hollow. Come, we're filling up, jump in, sir," but the offer was declined. An old blind woman with a bundle, a basket of vegetables, and some sunflowers tied up in a blue-spotted handkerchief, had followed the commercial gentlemen, and after her came two servant-girls out for a holiday ; the interior looked hot and fusty, and the best outside places were taken.

" I have no fancy for old women and onions," muttered the stranger. Then louder, " Don't wait for me, my man, I shall walk on." And so saying he strode off at. a pace which woidd have suited few men on a hot June day, especially as the sun was almost vertical, and poured down its rays on the long shadowless road with a steady glare that made the heaped-up dust feel like heated blankets to the feet. He had soon left the road behind him and was halfway up the long straggling street that leads to the market-place, a drowsy grass-grown old place, where the old-fashioned inns blinked sleepily at each other across the wide empty street, where a few antique shops displayed fewer and still more antique wares, where the green weeds grew up between the stones, and the stones were rutty and uneven from age and not from traffic ; where for six days of the week there was an almost sabbath-like stillness, and only a sem blance of life on market-days ; where the grating of wheels was the exception and not the rule, and the children trundled hoops and upset their little go-carts fearless of horses' hoofs ; and where a few factory lads and lasses were wont to congregate on a summer's evening, — a place which, iu its sunny drowsiness, reminded Robert Ord of some quaint old Continental town he had once seen many years ago.

The host of the King's Arms was indulging in a siesta under the shade of his own portico, perhaps seduced thereto by the general sleepiness of things animate and inanimate. Some fantail pigeons were strutting about in the dust almost at his feet. He woke up rather startled at being suddenly addressed, and seemed bent on vindicating himself. " I beg your pardon, sir ; I believe — that is — I think I was asleep." " A very sensible proceeding on such a hot morning," assented the stranger politely. "I am sorry to have disturbed you. I only asked if you were the proprietor of the King's Arms?" " Yes, sir ; Samuel Morison, at your service. Here comes our bus with some of our commercial gentlemen ; perhaps you will walk in, sir, it is piping hot outside. Do you wish for a private room, sir?" " I should like a place where I coidd speak to you alone for a few minutes," was the somewhat impatient reply.

" Look here, Mr. Morison, my name is Ord. Now you know my business with you and the King's Arms, and that I have a question or two to put to you that I shall want answered without delay." " Mr. Ord ; certainly, sir, a dozen if you wish. I had no idea, none whatever, to whom I had the honour of speaking. Come in pray, sir." And so saying he led the way through a long dark old hall, with a far-off glimpse of a cool stone yard, where a gray-haired ostler was rubbing down a horse, up a narrow and still darker staircase into a small room looking over the market-place, with a sweet stuffy smell in it — the scent of fresh roses and dried lavender together. There was some needlework neatly folded on the table, which made Mr. Ord hesitate and look inquiringly at his conductor. " This room is engaged, is it not?"

" Yes, sir, but Miss Maturin won't mind — and I have no other room unoccupied at present ; she's lying down now with a sick headache, the chambermaid told us, and so it is quite at your service." "Who is Miss Maturin?" was on Mr. Ord's lips, but he checked himself on remembering that it was no business of his, and, declining refreshments somewhat shortly, took possession of the wide old-fashioned window-seat, and throwing down his black bag turned round to his host and begged him also to be seated. "Now, Mr. Morison, I want to know how it came about that my aunt — Mrs. Ord, that is — died at your house." "Mrs. Ord, sir?" " You see I know all about it, bad news travels fast ; I was quite aware of what happened before I started. I got Mr. Tracy's two letters together — by the bye, I never thought of asking if he be here."

" Yes, sir ; leastways he was here this morning, but he's gone on to Deepdale with a party, and we don't expect them back till latish ; but perhaps you will prefer to speak to Miss Maturin." " Who in the world is this Miss Maturin ?" broke out from Mr. Ord, this time impatiently enough. "I cannot understand what Miss Maturin has to do with my business." The landlord coughed. " Why, Miss Maturin is the young woman — the young lady, I should say — who served as companion to the deceased lady. She's lived with her nigh upon four years I've heard tell, and some of us do say that hers has not been a bed of roses ; leastways there must have been a power of thorns in it too, judging from the poor lady's ways and words with her. But still for all that she's taking on and pining that way after her that it makes one quite sorry to see her, poor young creature."

And the compas sionate landlord wiped his eyes with the feeling of a man who had daughters of his own. "I suppose she is friendless and has lost a comfortable home ; but I think we are wandering a little from the subject, Mr. Morison. I am rather anxious to know what brought my aunt to the King's Arms, Barnard Castle, of all places." " Yes, sir ; and I brought in Miss Maturin's name because I thought she might give you more information than I could ; not but what I will willingly tell you all I know about the poor lady." " Well, sir, the first time I ever set eyes on her was last July, when she and Miss Maturin arrived late one evening. They were on their way from the Cumberland Lakes, and there was some break-down or stoppage on the line. It is not the first time, sir, by a great many that folk come for one night and end by staying some days; and to make a long story short, your aunt, Mrs. Ord, sir, took a fancy to the place, as she told me in that free pleasant way of hers that she had sometimes, and she and Miss Maturin and her maid and their bag and baggage were with us I should say nigh upon five weeks."

"Hum, capricious as usual," muttered Mr. Ord, under his breath. "Well, Mr. Morison, I don't suppose you often have such a good customer as my aunt ? " " Well, sir, the King's Arms has had better and it has had worse in its days, though I say it that shouldn't ; not but what the poor lady dealt fairly enough with us, and it is not for the likes of us to judge them that have gone before. But not to detain you, sir, about three weeks ago comes a letter from Miss Maturin, post-mark Clifton, engaging rooms for Mrs. Ord and herself, with just a word at the end saying that she hoped the house was quiet, for her lady was a sad invalid. It seems that she had been off and on ailing all the winter, and when the fine weather came she was sort of restless and kept moving from place to place, which the doctors told Miss Maturin was a symptom of the disease.

Nothing would do but she must have her old rooms at the King's Arms, and see a little more of her favourite place, and not all they could say or do to dissuade her had the least effect. And as I said before, to make a long story short, she just came in one fine summer's evening, as I was sitting behind the bar with a com mercial gentleman of my acquaintance." " Did she look very ill 1 " asked his listener, with the first sign of interest he had shown yet. " Mr. Ord, sir, there was death in her face," said the landlord solemnly. " She had that look of breaking up that isn't to be misunderstood in any case, least of all in a lady of her age. Some of us who were following her minded how she clutched at Miss Maturin's arm to steady herself from falling ; but all the same she said in a cheery sort of a voice, 'Mr. Morison,' she said, 'I hope you have given me my old rooms, for I am going to disappoint my doctors, and get well here as fast as I can,' and those were the last words I ever heard her say."

A brief sigh from Mr. Ord was his sole comment. He had put his elbow on the window-sill now, and was looking down into the market-place. Perhaps the landlord's discourse wearied him, but he offered no interruption. Mr. Morison cleared his throat, for he was getting a little husky, and proceeded — evidently his story was after his own heart, and he thought he was telling it tvell : " Man disposes, sir, but the Almighty has the making up of it all in the end ; and the best of us makes a sad mess of the little we do. Well, when we had got the poor lady upstairs, Miss Maturin and the maid helped her to bed, which some of us knew she would never leave again ; not Miss Maturin though, for she told our chambermaid that she really thought Mrs. Ord had taken a turn for the better, she was so sprightly like ; but when the morning came she was too weak to rise, and the next day and the next, and so it went on.

"Well, it might have been a week or it might be more, I was down in the Castle garden which belongs to the King's Arms, and is so called because it is laid out partly in the ruins, which is one of the sights of Barnard Castle, that strangers come to see— I was down in the Castle garden, I say, getting in our peas, when who should I see but Miss Maturin coming down the centre walk, and looking as white as her gown. And when she gets up to me she says : " ' Mr. Morison, will you send one of your people with this to the station immediately? Mrs. Ord is much worse, and I am afraid she is dying. You must not lose a minute — not one minute, please, for,' says she, clasping her hands, ' there's wrong may be done that will be past undoing.' You may not believe me, sir, but what with the sunshine, her white dress, and the scared look on her face, I was sort of dazed ; you might have knocked me over with a feather.

For the life of me I could not think what man I had to send, through it not being the full season, and our single handed waiter being laid up with lumbago, and the boots having gone up to the station already 'with a commercial's luggage ; and all the time I was considering, she stood twirling the paper round in her long fingers in a way that made me giddy. " ' I think if it's a telegram I had better take it myself, Miss Maturin,' I said at last. "And then she began thanking me and telling me how it was to the lawyer, who lived in London, and how he woidd have to travel perhaps all night. " ' I pray God he may be in time,' she finished ; and I noticed how she sort of wrung her hands as she spoke." "And was he in time?" asked Robert Ord in a voice that startled the worthy landlord, it was so quick and intense in its eagerness.

" Why no, sir ; leastways she never roused to full consciousness again. They did all they could. Mr. Tracy waited on and on, but it was no manner of use. They used to give out that she was reviving sometimes, and Miss Maturin would come flying down the garden for Mr. Tracy, and take him up to the poor lady ; but as soon as ever they spoke to her she was back again in the stupor, and so it went on to the last." " Has BIr. Tracy been here ever since ? " " Oh no, sir ; he went up to London directly afterwards, and only returned in time for the funeral. I think he had some idea of finding you here." " True ; but I was away from home, and received his letters too late. Thank you very much, Mr. Morison, for all you have told me. I will not trouble you with any more questions. I can wait for any further particulars till Mr. Tracy returns."

The landlord rose at the hint. " And you do not wish to sec Miss Matiuin, sir?" "I have no objection if she wishes it; perhaps I may be of some use to her. She is placed in very unfortunate circumstances. Any lady woidd feel such a position keenly, especially as I am afraid from what you tell me that she is without friends." " Not a creature belonging to her in the world, sir." " And she is young, you say ? " " About one-and-twenty, sir." " Hum, hardly old enough to take care of herself. Well, Mr. Morison, I think I shall be glad of those refreshments you offered me before." "You shall have them at once, sir. I will just give the chambermaid a message for Miss Maturin; and maybe she will come and speak to you herself." Robert Ord nodded, and the door closed on his host. He gave a genuine sigh of relief when he was left alone, and walked once or twice across the room with the air of one who had shaken off a burden.

But his freedom was of short duration, for the door again opened, and a respectable-looking young woman entered. " Miss Maturin desires her compliments, sir, and thanks you for your kind message. But she is very sorry to say that she cannot possibly see you till the evening, as she is suffering from a bad sick headache." " I have no wish to disturb Miss Maturin, I assure you," replied Mr. Ord drily, as though he were slightly annoyed. " I only offered my services, hearing from the landlord that the lady was without friends in a strange place." " Yes, sir ; Miss Maturin understood that, and she is extremely obliged to you ; she desired me also to say that she hopes you will make use of your aunt's sitting-room, as the inn is very full, and it is quite at your disposal." " Thank you ; I may take advantage of her kindness for a few hours," he replied a little less stiffly, but half disposed to refuse the thoughtful offer ; it was curious how this continual mention of his aunt's companion ruffled him.

" I wish people would not drag in other people's affairs in the middle of one's private business," he said, fuming to himself as soon as he was left alone. " What in the world is Miss Maturin to me, or I to Miss Maturin ? That's the worst of talking to a garrulous landlord. I declare I am quite sick of the name." The coldness and hauteur of his manners had not been lost on the chambermaid, who was as quick to observe as the rest of her class ; for in retailing the short interview afterwards to Miss Maturin, she described Robert Ord as the proudest as well as the handsomest gentleman she had ever set eyes on — a double exaggeration, seeing that there were many men handsomer and prouder even than he. But he was a good-looking man enough, possessing those elements of manly beauty which are sufficiently attractive to the feminine eye.

He was tall, and well though rather slenderly built, and his face was decidedly prepossessing, though a physiognomist might have found fault with his mouth — the lips were too thin, and closed over each other so firmly as to give an expression almost of hardness to his otherwise pleasant features. One seemed to feel in looking at him that his firmness was a fault, that he could be a loving friend but a bitter enemy, and no one's enemy more than his own. And yet there was some thing about the man that must, in either character, win your respect. He was so honest and so terribly in earnest. Women always liked Robert Ord, though they feared him a little ; and good men valued his opinions. But perhaps the best criterion of all, little children loved and clung to him, and even dumb animals followed him about, and with unerring instinct seemed to know he was their friend.

He was sorely in need of refreshments by the time they arrived, and did ample justice to the excellent fare set before him, but as soon as his repast was over, he strolled to the window-seat again, more in the hope of enjoying a little fresh air than of seeing any special objects of interest. "I always thought Blackscar the dreariest place imaginable," he said half-aloud, as he leant his elbows on the sill and looked over the sunny market-place, "but one has the sea there, with its perpetual changes, but this Barnard Castle looks as though it has gone to sleep for a score of years aud has not begun to wake up yet. A nice little nest for an idle man perhaps — nay, even as the landlord of the King's Arms, existence might be endurable here — but not to a restless Ord, unless it be Austin." And here he broke off, as though too indolent this hot summer's afternoon to carry on any consecutive train of thought, and stared instead at an enormous placard opposite him, containing the astounding informa tion that on that very evening might be seen one of the most remarkable wonders of the world — the Blue and Hairless Horse, at the ridiculous sum of one penny, children half-price.

" I suppose he has fallen into some lime-pit by accident and then got painted, but, all the same, those louts of lads wDl go and believe in him, so much for the innocent credidity of the Barnard Castlers;" and then he leant out farther, as a little equipage rattled over the stones and stopped at a neighbouring tin-shop : it was rather an odd-looking turn-out — a low carriage drawn by a pair of fat sleepy mules, with a huge tawny St. Bernard dog keeping them company. There was a jingle of little bells about it too. A lady in a large straw hat was driving a taLl gentleman ; there was quite a small crowd round them, and the tin -man looked obsequious. Robert Ord found out afterwards that it was the owner of Rokeby. After that came a cream-coloured performing pony, led by a foreigner and escorted by small boys; they dis appeared down a dark entry however, and the small boys dispersed with a general whoop of disappointment to reassemble presently in hot pursuit of a Punch and Judy show ; the place was quiet enough after that ; the pigeons strutted again in the sunshine, and only a solitary factory girl, with the usual shawl over her head, passed listlessly along.

" I think I've had enough of this," said Robert Ord, suddenly rousing himself. " It is cooler now ; I will go and have a peep at the Castle gardens, and perhaps at the Castle itself ; it is better to ventilate one's thoughts when they are as heavy as mine." And being a man of energy, Robert Ord was as good or better than his word, for he not only saw the ruined Castle, with its hermit's chamber, and the cell where through the slit in the wall the unhappy prisoner could view the enchanting landscape with its noble river below, but he perambulated the town itself, and after having counted the inns and alehouses in the High Street, which reached the shady side of twenty, and explored the factory quarters, with its bridges and grimy river, he returned to the King's Arms, and having made friends with the apoplectic-looking waiter, was conducted by him across a stone yard and through a side gate into the far-famed Castle garden.

" Mr. Morison is very proud of his garden, sir," the waiter had assured him ; and as he strolled on after thanking him, he was fain to acknowledge that Mr. Morison had something of which he might justly be proud. Beautiful old-fashioned gardens they were, lying within the ruins, homely enough, but brimful of sunshine and sweet-smelling old-fashioned flowers, none the less lovely that they bloomed in the same plot of ground with apple-trees, cabbages, and gooseberry bushes. He had never seen such a profusion of flowers anywhere ; they might be counted by hundreds ; there was a perfect blaze of colour in the sunshine, and great brown bees were humming about them and filling their honey-bags as though rejoicing in the bounteous harvest. Flowers, flowers everywhere; great clumps of golden-hearted lilies, looking, as they are, the white queens of the garden, and behind them, like ranks of sentinels, tall dazzling hollyhocks ; roses, delicious creamy tea-roses, and rich crimson ones, some of them deeply, darkly purple ; pale pinky roses hanging in clusters like tinted cups, blush and white roses — there was no end to them anywhere ; they festooned the walls in company with the fruit trees and throve in every border, bushes of them bloomed on the ruined walls themselves, or made inroads on the gravel paths.

There were great orange beds of eschscholtzias, and lupins, blue, rose, and yellow, climbing convolvuli and marigolds of all sorts, double daisies and stocks, and trails of rich dark nasturtiums, with homely sweet-peas running to seed ; flowers that brought back the garden of one's childhood, when a bush of southern-wood was one's delight, and monkshood, sweet-william, and yellow -eyed pansies were the rarest flowers in the world. Robert Ord dearly loved old associations, and flowers were his especial delight, and as he strolled down the wide gravel-paths and under the sunny walls he felt brighter than he had done for many a day ; for Robert Ord was a disappointed man, he had missed his share of this world's good things somehow, and the world had in consequence turned rather a cold shoulder on him.

The star of the Ords was not just now in the ascendant ; people had begun to say of them that they were poor and proud, and might have managed better if they had only bent those obstinate wills of theirs a little and learned to be humble. But it was a lesson no Ord had ever yet learned, and so they had gone on their ways chew ing the bitter cud of experience with a sorry face or a cheerful one according to their several natures ; and a little hardness had crept into Robert's heart, the good things of this world had been pro mised him and then had been suddenly withdrawn, and he had grown sore with longing for them ; but none the less did he feel some stirrings of hope within him that brighter days might be in store for him and his. He had felt it as he alighted from his hurried journey and stepped into the dust and sunshine, and he felt it still more as he walked between the gay coloured bushes, and looked across at the blue-black ruins of Barnard Castle with a pile of amethyst and scarlet clouds behind them.

He had stopped for a moment to lean on the little gate that connects the upper and lower gardens, when the slow rustle of a dress attracted his attention ; and looking up he saw a lady coming round the angle of the wall, evidently towards him. She did not see him till he had opened the gate for her to pass ; then she bowed slightly with a quiet well-bred air, but without raising her eyes. He had just time to notice that she was tall, very youii" and dressed in rather deep mourning, before a sudden and most unaccountable impulse made him lift his hat and say : " I beg your pardon, but am I not addressing Miss Maturin ?" She was passing him as he spoke ; perhaps the abruptness of the question startled her, for she hesitated, seemed painfully con fused, and at last stammered out in the lowest voice he had ever heard : " Yes ; I am Miss Maturin.