Revenged!

Front matter

PEVEMEB! BY — '*JVIRS. EDITJH L. eH/rMBE^L/VIN.^— LONDON: SWAN SONNENSCHEIN, LOWREY & CO., PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1886. Now Beady, in clever Monochrome Wrapper, price One Shitting, A CHANGE OF CLOTHES: OR, THE SORROWS OF BALAAM NOSEWORTHY, By ALFRED FIT ZM AURIC E KING. "O.U.B. BOOKS — A new series of Stories, humorous, sensa tional, and bizarre, now in course of publication, opens very promis ingly with a droll narrative from the Pen oj MB. ALFBED FITZ MAUBICE KING, bearing the strange title, 'A CHANGE OF CLOTHES.' By a preposterous coincidence, which will be best under stood from a perusal of the book, it so happens that each us *•>«. men, mutually strangers, finds himself dad in the garments of tlie otner. What adds to the absurdity and inconvenience of this circumstance, in itself sufficiently embarrassing, is that the respective individualities of these two persons get inextricably 'mixed,' each speaking and acting, to his own amazement and disgust, hi the precise manner that not he him self, but rather the rightful owner of the clothes on his bad-, would have done.

When it is borne in mind that the men are as unlike in social position as in natural temperament, the one being an English clergyman of literary attainments, and a total abstainer to boot, the other an Irish peasant, wild, illiterate, and usually as drunk as Bacchus, it may readily be imagined in what ridiculous mistakes and dilemmas these adventures abound. The structural idea of the story is ingenious, and it is carried out with unfailing humour. In a word, the Uttle book is, to quote Lord Byron's choice simile, ' As full of fun As funeral conches when the funeral's done.' " /V. .5V —Morning Post, August 30th, 1889. j 2TFJ_.90 . " Surely there are parh^ftft as funny as anything in the language. Tlie trial scene is the mosl'^vcfwhelming thing of the kind I remember." BICHABD BOWLING, Author of "Tlie Mystery of Killard," "An Isle of Surrey," etc.

LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO. Limited. Cov. 2. REVENGED! BY EDITH L. CHAMBERLAIN, AUTHOR OF "Up Hill aiut Down Dale," etc. LONDON ; SWAN SONNENSCHEIN, LOWREY & CO., 27, PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 1887. Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing "Works, Frome, and London. CONTENTS.

Chapter I. The Rossiters

THE squire and his wife sat at the breakfast-table, while the children (who had despatched their morning meal in the rough and ready fashion that prevailed at Littleham Court) were tumbling about on the lawns, running and jumping, and teasing each other and the dogs. They had frightened all the squirrels which only just now were gambolling so prettily on the soft mossy turf; and as soon as the first boy's head and the first dog's nose had projected from the French window, away had scuttled all the rabbits into their holes on the other side of the sunk fence which divided the garden from the park. The Rossiter children rioted on the lawn for half an hour every morning when it did not, to use their own expression, " rain cats and dogs." This morning, to their great satisfaction, they were dismissed earlier than usual from the slight restraints of the table ; Mrs. Rossiter had something to communicate to her husband before he should set out for his day's shooting, and she betake herself to the kitchen and dairy.

" My dear," she said, " I have heard of a capital situation for Mary Gardener. Here is a letter from Anna ; you can read it if you like." " No, thank you," said the squire, who did not much care for the lengthy and precise epistles of his sister in-law, sent by the same post on the same day of every week. "You remember the Griffithses ? I mean those tenants of my B Revenged. 2 father's at the Warren ? Well, they want a nursery governess, and so " " Good heavens, Maria ! You don't think of sending poor little Mary to people like those ? " " Why not ? They are highly respectable, and will give her ,£15 a year. There are only six children, all quite young— she will manage them easily ; and she is to have three weeks' holiday in the twelvemonths, when she must come here, I suppose. She could not expect anything better at her age, and, as she has her living to earn, it's no use making any bones about it."

" But she is a lady," pleaded the squire. " How would you like to think of Gussie condemned to live with the Griffithses ? " " Liking has nothing to do with it," replied the lady contemp tuously. " Beggars mustn't be choosers, and the poor girl is little better than a beggar. She will have plenty of good wholesome food at the Griffithses, and earn enough to keep her in clothes and boots. That's all she can expect at present ; she can't get a grand situation and a high salary at sixteen ! " " I said nothing about grand situations and high salaries," observed the squire parenthetically. " And there's one great advantage, she will be at Hardington, and have Anna to befriend her, give her advice, lend her improv ing books, and so on. She has interested herself in getting Mary the situation, and Anna never drops any one whom she has once taken up, so long as they behave themselves creditably."

" Poor little Mary ! She could scarcely have been worse off with her rich cousins ! " " Really you are too absurd for anything ! I'm sure any woman but myself would long ago have given up trying to do good, when she was so sneered at, and discouraged as I am by you. You know perfectly well that poor dear Mr. Gardener always said he would rather that he and Mary put up with any hardship than be under obligations to his wife's relations. I am sure he would prefer that his daughter should earn her living with honest people like the Griffithses, than be patronized by those vulgar rich Sturdys. Rich cousins, indeed ! When are rich relations any good to poor ones? Look at our own family; have I ever been a penny the better for the fact that Lady Lascelles is my godmother? No, I know better than to trust to Mary's rich cousins to help her !

" " Poor little Mary ! " repeated the squire. " How absurd you are ! " returned his wife more sharply than before. " Mary is a sensible girl at bottom, in spite of her vanity, and she will know that this is a good chance, and be thankful for it You are wasting your pity, my dear, as usual. I do believe, if you could have your way, you'd take to Mary yourself, as if you hadn't enough children of your own ! I don't doubt that nothing would please you better than to bring her here to-night to stay for good." " You're mistaken there," said Mr. Rossiter quietly. " I don't think that would be for her good at all. As I said before, she is a lady, and her life would be a burden to her among those young ruffians." He pointed to his offspring, who were executing a species of war dance at the window, grimacing, howling, and shrieking like maniacs.

" What would Anna say if she saw that performance, I wonder ? " said their father. " Children will be children, and I declare you think every body's better than your own," replied Mrs. Rossiter, with some annoyance. She rose, and opened the window to tell the ohil dren angrily that as they had made so much noise they must go to the schoolroom at once. They made no attempt to obey, and she had to raise her voice and repeat the order very peremptorily before they moved slowly and sulkily away, some making faces, others muttering that " The governor had been saying something to rile mother, and it was too bad of her to pay it off upon them ! " When they were out of sight, Mrs. Rossiter looked round .at her husband, who had risen from his chair, and was waiting to see if she had anything more to say before he left the room.

She cast an angry glance at him, but did not speak. " Well," he said at last, " I suppose you are going down to the Rectory at once to tell Mary Gardener of her good fortune ? " " I am going there presently, and I do think she is fortunate, in spite of your sneers." " Very well, you have got your own way, as usual. I am going Revenged. 4 now. Mind that Jack and Bertie are at Deep Dingle with the luncheon basket at one o'clock ; Misselbrooke is coming, and I shall probably bring him home to dinner," said the squire. Then he walked off, sighing, as he often did, over the lack of sympathy in his wife's composition, and wishing that her position as the only lady of influence in a group of remote villages, had not fostered in her a masterful spirit, and a hard, narrow view of things in general, and of the objects of her charity in particular.

Yet there was a good deal to be said on her side of the question too, if he could but have seen it. She was very young when she married, and the cares of an increasing family and a decreasing income had lain heavily upon her. She was naturally hot-tem pered, outspoken as a child, and utterly wanting in dignity. She had toiled from morning till night, and tried to do her duty as honestly as any woman in England; yet her servants and de pendants obeyed her only from fear of her sharp tongue, and her children to escape her ever-ready smacks and blows — none from respect or love. And her husband was quick to perceive the many mistakes she made ; yet being of an indolent disposition, he allowed her to make them rather than exert himself to oppose her, and he left her the absolute control of everything that did not relate to his land or his sport.

Meanwhile he seldom troubled himself to uphold her authority, but openly exposed her errors ; and, when her plans miscarried, his biting sarcasms, uttered often in the presence of children and servants, by no means tended to sweeten her temper. As he rode along the lanes to the spot where the keeper and his friend were to meet him, the squire was thinking regretfully ot the death of his friend and neighbour of so many years, the late Rector of Littleham. " Poor old Gardener ! I wish I'd gone when he sent for me at the last, instead of letting Maria go. They say he was quite quiet, and not at all changed, so I needn't have been afraid of being upset by seeing him. It would have comforted him to see me — we always understood each other, he and I ; and if / had promised to see after his only child as one of my own, I would not have sent her off to drudgery in a farmhouse.

Fancy that bright, dainty little girl having to associate with a hog of a man like Griffiths, who stuffs till he chokes, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and never in the whole course of his life, I should think, came home sober from market ! And that vulgar, over-bearing wife of his— what a mistress for Mary ! Poor child ! I'll give her a pound or two to put in her pocket before she goes, and tell her not to stay at the Warren if she's unhappy. Oh, there you are, Misselbrooke ! Good-morning ! I'm afraid I'm a bit late. Down, Ranger ! down, Belle ! " said the squire, getting off his cob, and stretching over the backs of the dogs that clus tered round him, to shake hands with his guest. This young man, George Misselbrooke by name, had an honest, rather heavy-looking face, was fair and strongly built, but was not specially handsome, or tall, or clever, or in any way remarkable.

He was an architect by profession, and had last year super intended the repairs (rather than the restoration) of Littleham Church, and was now engaged to design schools for the next parish. The squire of Littleham could not afford to give shoot ing parties, and there were few whom he cared to ask to join him in a day of hard walking and slow working with a few dogs, in the old-fashioned style. He knew, however, that to George Misselbrooke such a day's shooting would be a real treat, and he now observed with pleasure the look on the young fellow's face — a steady determination to enjoy himself in a quiet way. " A sad thing, the poor Rector's death," observed the squire presently, when an opportunity for conversation arose. " Very. I was particularly sorry to hear of it," replied George emphatically.

" He was so kind to me last year ; I never met any one like him before." " He was a clever fellow, and a good one. We shall never get another like him. Littleham won't be the same place now he's gone. Mrs. Rossiter is hoping for a lady and a family at the Rectory, but of course women always like changes ! " " Miss Gardener does not remain in the neighbourhood, I suppose ? " " No, poor child. Now, Misselbrooke, there'll be some birds in this stubble. Will you go to the right ? Get behind that big oak in the hedge yonder." The two men had very fair sport, and were quite satisfied with Revenged. 6 the bag they had made by luncheon time, and arrived very hungry and in high good humour at Deep Dingle, eagerly discuss ing their chances for the afternoon. The two elder Rossiter boys had already appeared with the basket, which they had carried between them from the house.

" Oh, there you are, you two ! You may unpack the basket, and then be off home again." The boys' faces fell, they had counted on being allowed to share the feast. " It was so heavy, father ! " said Bertie, in a melancholy tone ; he put on a look of great fatigue, and began to rub his arm. " Heavy, was it ? Well, we'll soon make it lighter." "Hadn't we better wait to take the things back?" inquired Jack. " No ; Evans's boy can take it back." They worked in silence for a second or two ; then Bertie took out a tempting-looking meat pie. He set it down with a sigh, then moved it to another and as he thought better position. " I think — I really do think, father, that mother's sent a great deal more than you and Mr. Misselbrooke can eat," he said plaintively, kneeling with his hand still encircling the pie dish.

" Do you ?" said his father, watching him with some amusement. " You forget that there's Evans, and his boy. We shan't waste much of it, so don't be unhappy on that score, Bertie." Bertie sighed again. Everything was unpacked by this time, but still the boys lingered, putting finishing touches to their work. At last George saw the elder one make a sign to the younger, and they both rose from their knees. The squire now had his back to them: he had been looking at one of the dogs, and was leaning against a tree several paces from the spot on which the luncheon was spread. Jack stepped nearer the tree, put his hands in his jacket pockets, threw back his head, gazed up at the sky, and then, in a loud and distinct voice, as if he were addressing the clouds or the treetops, he said, — "I think they will have finished dinner by the time we get home."

The squire took his pipe from his mouth, and burst out laughing. " Now, you two, it's no use going on like this ; I've said you're to go home, and go you must. Perhaps the next time I go shoot ing you shall stay to lunch ; but to-day I know your mother wants Jack to drive her to Borechester in the pony-carriage. Now be off!" Jack stuck his head down between his shoulders, pushed his fists farther down into his pockets, and set off at a good pace ; he saw the case was hopeless, and retired with as good a grace as he could muster. " Now, Misselbrooke," said the squire, " where will you sit? " But George was watching the boys. Bertie had followed his eldest brother slowly and sulkily ; he shuffled along, casting many a longing glance backwards to the luncheon. All at once he broke into a roar, and blubbered out something of which no word could be understood by his father or George.

The squire jumped up in a rage. "What do you say, sir? What did he say, Jack?" " He — he — doesn't like what there is for dinner at home.' '■ It's that b — b — beastly b — b — boiled b — b — beef," roared Bertie ; " and mother knows I hate it." "You disgusting, greedy little beggar, be quiet this moment! It will do you good to go without your dinner, and I will never let you come out again. Charlie shall come next time — he knows better than to cry like a baby over every little thing he doesn't like. I'm ashamed of you, Bertie — and to think that you're eleven years old ! Now, Jack, you can go on ; and make haste, or you will keep your mother waiting." "Sorry to have kept you so long without your lunch," he con tinued to George, when the boys were gone, " but I can't bear to hear boys making such a fuss about their food — not that I'm fond of boiled beef myself."

The meat pie was very good, and George despatched a large slice of it before he felt inclined for much conversation. He was sorry for the disappointment of the boys, and on most occasions would have been glad of their company, but to-day he had his own reasons for preferring their absence. " I suppose there is no new rector appointed yet ? " he asked presently. Revenged. " No, but the appointment must be made soon, and then per haps there'll be some work for you. The Rectory is in a bad state. I really believe that it is the ivy and creepers that hold it together more than anything." " It's a pretty old place. I suppose Miss Gardener has not left it yet?" "No, she is still there, but it must be sadly lonely for her, poor girl." " You don't mean to say she is alone ? Has she no friends with her ?

" " She has no friends, no relations that is to say, to do anything for her. Mrs. Rossiter has done what she could. Mary will have to go out as governess, and my wife has heard this morning of a situation for her; indeed it was discussing that subject made me late in meeting you." " Has Miss Gardener absolutely no relations then ? " " Well, for that matter, there is a cousin of her mother's who is exceedingly rich, but hejcnows nothing of Mary, nor she of him. He is a vulgar, purse-proud fellow, one of your self-made men, you know, for Mrs. Gardener was not her husband's equal by birth. He made his fortune by furniture polish ; you know Sturdy's patent polish, of course ? " " I seem to recall the name. It's advertised a good deal, isn't it?" " Yes, rather. You must know the pictures on each side of the name : ' Before use.' ' After use ' ?

The first is a dirty, unkempt, bare-armed lass rubbing away at a rough table ; and the second, a dapper parlour-maid looking at her own reflection on the surface of the table. An ingenious idea that, the polish re-acting on the servant who applies it ! But, unfortunately, it's not borne out by the appearance or manners of the inventor. He is a very kind-hearted fellow though, I do believe, and I was strongly in favour of appealing to him on Mary Gardener's behalf; but Mrs. Rossiter would not hear of it. She was once disappointed of a legacy that she expected from a rich uncle, and she has borne a grudge against rich relations ever since, whether her own or other people's. She promised poor Gardener on his death-bed to look after Mary. He sent for me, but I wasn't very well, I think, and she went ; so I can't well interfere with her arrangements for the girl."

" Oh !" observed George, rather coolly; "and where, if I may ask, is the situation that Mrs. Rossiter has procured for Miss Gardener ? " " Well, to tell the truth, Misselbrooke, it isn't much of a place. It's as nursery governess to some people called Griffiths, tenants of my father-in-law at Hardington. They are respectable enough in their way, but just the sort of folks who if they had a lady as governess would take pleasure in making her feel their power over her. Between you and me, I can't bear to think of Mary in such a position. Her poor father was such a thorough gentleman, and he educated and brought her up so well, that it seems cruel to imagine her teaching a common farmer's brats, and being sat upon by his wife. Why, Evans, what's that noise ? What children can have got into the Dingle ?

Didn't I tell you to let them know in the village that they mustn't come blackberrying here ? " "Yes, sir. 'Deed, sir, I thinks that be some o' the young ladies," said the gamekeeper, with his mouth full of bread and cheese. A loud scream of laughter rose from a bramble thicket close by ; it was abruptly checked, and then, in the bushes just behind his host's back, George caught sight of a bit of pantomime which was nearly too much for his gravity. Two girls, with tangled hair, torn frocks, and purple-stained lips, lifted their heads from stooping in search of blackberries, and suddenly became aware of their father's close proximity. Simul taneously they rose, exchanged meaning glances, pulled their hats straight, and pushed their rough locks behind their ears. Then the younger one paused, horror-struck at the sight of her blackened fingers ; after a moment's hesitation, she began licking them very diligently, then stooped to rub them dry and polish them upon her black stockings.

After this they seemed satisfied that their appearance was all that could be wished, so they pushed their way out from among the bushes, and stood before their father, whose astonishment at the sight of them was unbounded. " Gussie, Fanny, what brings you here ? You have got into a pretty pickle to be sure ! Look at your frocks, and the mud on Revenged. 10 your boots ! What can you have Gussie, what are you laughing at in that idiotic way ? Be quiet this minute, and tell me why you are here." At the sight of Mr. Misselbrooke, Gussie had burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, and the wild appearance of these two big girls struck the young man as so ludicrous that he also began to laugh, whereupon Fanny joined in the chorus, and the squire had to repeat his question, " What brings you here ?

" several times before his daughters could answer him. Gussie was fifteen and Fanny twelve, and each was big for her age, but they were dressed like little children, in very short gar ments of no particular shape, and made without the slightest regard to fashion, while their manners were even more primitive than their attire. At last Gussie recovered herself sufficiently to gasp out, — " Mother sent us. She said you were to come home at once." " Home at once ! Why, what's the matter?" " Nothing's the matter. Only there's a horrid old man come!" " What old man ? Why can't you carry a message properly?" " It's Lord Potterington," said Gussie sulkily. " Confound it ! " said the squire. " Why didn't you say so at once, and why couldn't you come straight here, instead of idling your time away and getting yourselves in this plight ?

What time did he come ? " " I don't know." "Yes, you do. How soon was it after Jack and Bertie left home with the basket ? " " Don't know," repeated Gussie. "It was directly after," said Fanny; "he rode up to the door just as they went out at the back gate." " And your mother sent you off to me at once ? " No answer. " I know she did ; and you'd nothing to carry, you might have been here before the boys if you had chosen. I've no time to attend to you now, but you'll catch it for this by-and-by, let me tell you. Now you can go — both of you. And mind you go straight home ! " The two girls turned and went slowly away; and it may be mentioned here that no more was seen of them until they were discovered in the twilight by the cook, hiding behind a wood-pile in the yard, where they had intended to remain till it grew dark enough for them to steal into the house, and upstairs to bed before they were perceived.

" I'm dreadfully sorry, Misselbrooke, but- " But you must go home. Pray do not think about me," said George. " I shall think of you a good deal. It is most disgusting to get our day spoilt like this, but now that Maria has kept Lord Potter ington, and sent for me, I can't help myself. We've wanted to see each other for some time about a wall that's to be made over the Common, and I begged him to send a line and say when it would be convenient for me to go over to Pottering and see him ; but instead of that he's come to me without giving any notice — just like the old buffer, he thinks no one has anything to do but to trot about at his heels. Well, I must go ; but you'll not leave oft shooting. Evans will show you where to get the best sport." This offer was persistently declined, so Mr. Rossiter asked if Misselbrooke would accompany him to the house, be introduced to Lord Potterington, and when he was gone try for a few rabbits in the park till dinner time ?

George looked down at his shabby coat and muddy gaiters, and shook his head. "No, thank you, Mr. Rossiter; I've enjoyed my morning very much — and my luncheon too. But I could not dine with you in any case ; there's a meeting to-day about the Littlewick schools, and I am to see Mr. Jones this evening to know if any alteration is necessary in my plans. He asked me to have supper with him." " Then I am afraid we must part. But I hope you'll be able to come another day, and have a shot at the pheasants. If you'll walk down with me to the corner of the lane, I can show you a short cut to Littlewick, which will save you quite half a mile."

Chapter II. Mary- Quite Contrary

WHEN George had received his instructions as to the short cut, he strolled along the field-path in a very leisurely way, and at the first stile he sat down and fell into a brown study. At length he roused himself, returned to the lane, and having apparently made up his mind on some point or other, he walked rapidly towards the village, past the open space where four roads met, and the church stood in the centre, and turned down the road on which the Rectory stood. It was late in September, and the afternoons were getting short. As George came up to the drive gate, he saw a servant run out from the back of the Rectory premises with a jug in her hand — she was evidently going to fetch the milk for tea. He watched her out of sight, and then pushed open the gate which hung stiffly on its rusty hinges, and hurried along the damp, dark little drive bordered with straggling overgrown laurels, and slippery with green moss and brownish-grey lichens that almost hid the gravel from sight.

Before the house was a small lawn — unmown and unswept ; the common annuals in the narrow borders round it were all out of blossom, but their foliage was wild and luxuriant, tangled together and heavy with the dank dews of autumn. Only one sturdy Michaelmas daisy held up its head, and flowered away bravely. That and a few crimson and yellow leaves on an old pear-tree at one corner of the house were the only bits of colour to be seen, — all else was green, that dull autumnal green that in wet seasons precedes decay. The Rectory house was small and dark ; it faced north, and the lower rooms were shaded by a verandah, which ran close above the three windows that looked upon the lawn. The door was at the side of the house, but George did not go towards it. He saw X2 Mary — Quite Contrary. 13 a gleam of firelight from the window of the room he knew best — the late rector's study, and he stepped softly under the . verandah and looked in.