Bees and Butterflies. A novel, etc

Chapter I

Three events had centred the interest of the county upon Drysdale Place. A long illness — death — and a largely-attended funeral. The dead man had been for a long time shut away by his own desire from the society of his neighbours. He was rich, and held very strong opinions upon many subjects. He was unconventional, and carried out his views about his property and his people without any traditional considerations, and, as all actions differing a little from accepted theories are called eccentric, he was called eccentric ; but with that inflection of the voice with which a very rich man is spoken of. Nothing at VOL. I. B all contemptuous was implied, as might have been the case had he been the humble pos sessor of a few hundreds a-year. There is such a wide difference when eccentricity has means.

The place in which he had lived all the latter years of his life was a beautiful old place. It stood high above the sea-level, but was sheltered by the higher hills sweeping northwards in grand simplicity of outline ; and one of the most beautiful of the dales was on his property. There was everything to make the place charming. A deer-park, magnificent timber, a grand sheet of water, and a bustling river, which always gives life and vivacity to a landscape. The house looked large. There were three courtyards ; the front one was surrounded by buildings of imposing appearance, and the large rooms were there situated ; the second court consisted chiefly of bedrooms and offices ; and the third held the stable, coachhouses, &c. The front of the house was approached by a long, straight avenue. Then you arrived at a high arch, on either side of which were five big windows; then there were three stories, and a very high-pitched roof, with dormer windows; altogether a very imposing farade.

From one of the first-floor windows over the arch a girl was looking down upon the guests returning from the funeral of the person who had loved and cherished her all the days of her life, and to whom she had been ab solutely devoted. The bustle was all over, and the world seemed to her to be but empty and cold. She was not fifteen, but from the hour of her uncle's death she had well noticed that a change had come over every one near her. The servants compassionated her ; there was less respect, and, if kind, there was a certain familiarity. She had been accustomed for so long there to give all the necessary orders, that it was strange to see that now they were received with surprise — in a subtle and -in definable way she was made to understand b2 that now her day had gone by and that she was nobody.

She was too really a mourner to dwell upon this, save with a passing wonder, and, as she reflected that the object of her life was now gone out of her reach, big tears rolled over her face. In the meantime, down stairs, her cousin (old enough to have been her father) was acting with imperfectly veiled satisfaction the part of host. He received every one, put every one right, and was completely the new proprietor. He was a tall, slight, graceful man, with fair hair and a fair drooping moustache, no chin to speak of, uncertain blue eyes, and the whitest possible hands. " We are all here, gentlemen," he said, with a gesture towards Mr. Plumptre, the family solicitor, the hereditary family lawyer and riend. Mr. Plumptre rose and came up to the table. He took off and wiped his spectacles, laid a long blue paper down, and looked keenly round.

" Miss Drysdale ? " he said in a voice of inquiry. " She is not here. We must wait for her." "lam glad the poor child is interested in the will," said a kind-looking man ; " but my dear old friend is sure to have done the right thing." Mr. Plumptre bowed, and the slightest perceptible change of colour showed some repressed emotion. There was a little bustle at the end of the room, and Eleanor Drysdale came in. She was pale, and looked small and slight in the black dress she wore. It seemed to her a long walk up the large room, but friendly Mr. Brunton rose and went to her side. She clung gratefully to his offered hand, and walked up to the table. Mr. Plumptre smiled at her, and his smile was another ray of comfort to her. At such a moment the slightest sign of kindness is felt so keenly. Mr. Plumptre cleared his throat and began to read.

The first legacy was a sum of three hundred pounds, to be paid in quarterly payments every year, " to Bertha, the w*ife of my nephew, George Drysdale, in token of my sympathy for her position and my admiration for her character," this sum to go back to the property at her death. George Drysdale smiled. He was glad his wife was recognised in this way, and it did not hurt him. There were legacies to various friends ; the favourite hunters were remembered, the old servants provided for, a sum of 1,000/. was left to a man he had not seen for years, and then — then came the real business. Everything, personalty included, was left " to my beloved niece Eleanor Drysdale, for her sole and separate use " ; she was also made residuary legatee. Mr. Plumptre was appointed her only guardian. At first no one comprehended it, least of all George Drysdale.

" Go on," he said fiercely. " Go on to the end ! " " That is the end," said Mr. Plumptre, drily. Eleanor sat mute. George Drysdale sprang up. " This most disgraceful, this most shameful business, shall be exposed. I will telegraph to the best legal authorities. I will have this conspiracy broken down." " On what grounds ? " " On every ground. Undue influence; and oh ! 3*011 need not be afraid, the world shall hear of this. It shall learn how I have been treated." "Cannot something be done? It is not as 3*011 think," said poor Eleanor, timidly. " You talk like a fool," said Mr. Drysdale, roughly. Mr. Plumptre rose. " I have something to say to you, my dear. We must have a little talk together ; " and, in spite of congratulory hands held out, Eleanor made her escape. When they reached her little sitting-room, he turned to her, and taking her hands he said, " I want to be faithful to 1113* trust, and just to 3-ou, and it is very difficult to be both."

" I know there is something else." " There is a great deal else. I have a packet you are not to open till Rupert Drys dale is twenty-one ; and he is now — what ? " " We are the same age, very nearly so at least. I shall be fifteen next month, and he was fifteen a few days ago." " And has never been to school ? " "No; everything was postponed till things were known." " Waiting for dead men's shoes ? Well," continued Mr. Plumptre, " I am quite certain you will trust me. I would not say*- a word were I not afraid of the consequences of being in a false position. As it is '' "As it is," said Eleanor, raising her clear dark eyes to his, " you may trust me in return." *- 1 will, as far as I think right. In 3*our place, I would use my powers as though all was in 3-our charge to take care of for some one, not quite as though it all belonged to you."

"I see," said Eleanor, "I understand." ** And if I give you this hint, my dear, will you give me your word of honour not to say so much to an3r one else ? To no one, remember." " I will promise this," said Eleanor, after a moment. " I give 3rou my word." " Remember, when 3- our cousin's wife (of whom I know 3*ou are very fond) murmurs a little, you must hold your tongue. Neither Mr. George Drysdale nor his wife have anything to do with this now, or at any future time." " It is hard," said Eleanor, sadly. "It inay make such a difference, and I do love her." '* Well, poor thing, the small allowance left her will be a help. You see, she is to get it into her own hands. You are amply provided for at present." He began telling her various details, to which she had small inclination to listen. She was turning over in her mind how soon she could go and see her cousin, whom she always called aunt, and if she could pos sibly escape seeing Mr. Drysdale again.

It was arranged that, for the present, at all events, she was to remain at the Place ; and that the governess with whom her uncle had been in treaty should come to her, as had nearly been arranged. The establishment was to be reduced, and the old servants, who were provided for, would leave, and would not be replaced. Mr. Plumptre made her give him some dinner, and saw that she had some herself ; and when he left the house she was more cheerful and more like herself. He left her plenty of occupation, and, except a passing moment of disgust at the tremendous accession of respect in the manner of the housemaid (a new comer), who had obeyed an order that morning so grudgingty, the painful part of her inheritance was barely remembered, and with actual work before her the sense of loneliness had gone.

Chapter II

In a small-sized house, with a pretty garden and some old trees behind it, lived Mr. and Mrs. George Drysdale. Their house was as near Drysdale Place as possible — divided from the park only by a haha — and this division was rendered nuga tory because of a small bridge with an open stile. It went by the name of The Lodge. There were seven children — healthy, happy, rosy children, but their father had a standing grievance about them. There were six girls, and the only son was the second, the Rupert above mentioned. What other man, possessed of no income at all, was burdened in this way — six girls— how were they to be provided for ? What man in his senses would marry into a family of six girls, ' all paupers ' ? The children heard and lamented. -- What a pity we are girls, Rupert, it annoys papa so !

" Madge (who was often called Wildfire) would say. " I do not mind it," he would say, magnani mously ; " and it is a good thing you are none of you plain as I am. It is such a curious thing my being the 011I3* plain child mother has." "It is odd," said Madge, who was the wit of the family, but whose wit did not flow at the expense of the brother they all adored ; " but it would be hardly fair for 3Tou to have all the brains of the famity and the beaut3* as well. "And brains are so necessary for a bo3T. Even when you have Drysdale 3*ou will require brains." Of course this conversation had passed before the will had given disappointment ; since then, the temper of the head of the house had been so unbearable that the children had kept out of sight as much as possible. Only Rupert, who knew no fear, had ventured to argue with his father, knitting his great square forehead, as was his habit when thinking earnestly.

" I do not believe Elly had anything to do with it, father ; she is as true as steel." " She is a snake in the grass," answered his father in a fury ; " what do 3*ou know about her ? " " We have known each other all our lives, and I am sure she is vevy kind ; she w*ill give you anything 3*ou want." -- You impertinent little beggar ! Do you suppose I will submit to be patronised by my own cousin ? I order you never to speak to her again. I expect you to obey me." " I must speak to her once to say that you have forbidden it," said Rupert, strug gling hard to keep a respectful tone towards his father. His mother's glance helped him. Now that Rupert, clever, clearsighted, and upright, was getting too old not to judge things on their own merits, she was always anxious lest the son should learn to despise the shiftless, reckless father, whose spendthrift habits had brought them down so low ; and to whom she still clung with the tenacity almost of despair — her heart and her love pleaded for him still, and if her affection went, and she had it no longer to act as a shield between her and the perpetual annoyance he caused her, it seemed to her as though the very blackness of darkness stood before her.

She was a thoroughly noble-hearted woman, but a woman whose heart governed her actions, and whose head and intellect were subordinate to her affections. She loved passionately and devotedly, and when her husband, gay, courteous, aud handsome, had confessed his faults and his being "no econo mist " to her during their engagement, she threw prudence to the winds — listened to no advice — she was of age, married him without any settlements, and placed her fortune — twenty-five thousand pounds — unreservedly in his hands. Not till motherhood gave her counter balancing claims did she begin to see that she had acted unwisely ; not till she found herself unable to provide the attendance, or what she deemed the necessary things for them, did she regret it. Then she took counsel with Mr. Plumptre, feeling as though she were disloyal to her husband, and yet compelled to do something to stem the torrent of waste.

Of her fortune but 5,000/. remained, but she settled it on her children, and arranged to receive the small interest herself. It is needless to say what George Drysdale said on the occasion. He spoke of "broken faith," of "distrust"; he used much fine lan guage ; it was all in vain — many years of con stant anxiet3*, and the perpetual worry con sequent on a perpetual want of ready money, had not passed over her head in vain. She loved him still, but she knew that, if she was to save herself from total ruin, she must be firm. Old Mr. Drysdale had surprised her more than once by the close questions he plied her with. He was kind and liberal to her, but he soon grew weary of his nephew's applications. " Why on earth you lament over your past sins and do nothing to retrieve them I cannot make out," he said testily, one day.

" You pretend and talk nonsense to me about in vestments having turned out badly ; this is more than nonsense, it is dishonesty. I will not give you a farthing! You have a charming wife and delightful children, and all I have to say is, that Providence heaped benefits upon you, and that you have been most ungrateful. The truth is, sir, you are a gambler — and a gambler is my detestation. You ought to be ashamed of yourself." " For the sake of my boy " " I give you no more money ; you have run through twenty thousand pounds of your wife's, you took advantage of her foolishness, you have wasted your own substance, and I give you no more." )> " My boy must then suffer." ** Children, unfortunately, do suffer for the sins of their parents. Your boy is a fine boy, he'll make his way in the world with or without any help."

This conversation and others of a similar nature made Mr. George Drysdale imagine that the property might in some way be tied up ; as to not getting it. that was a stretch of imagination beyond him. In talking about it he always said " when," he never said " if " ; and one day, when his wife asked him if he had good grounds for believing himself the VOL. i. c heir, he was furious with her for thinking it necessary to ask such a question. " It came through the female line; there is no reason Eleanor should not have it," she said, calmly. ** She is the eldest brother's child." -' I never heard such an argument in my life," he said, vehemently. "Women argue from one side only ; you do talk nonsense with a vengeance, let me tell you." But he said nothing to lead her to believe he knew more than any one else, and she had constant proofs that the old man admired the quiet stedfastness and strength of character which Eleanor possessed, and she knew that the very silence on the subject of her husband — a silence which latterly was quite remark able — boded no good to him.

She was filled with apprehension for his disappointment ; for herself, she had grown so used to trial. When an idol is erected in a woman's heart, and is first found by herself to be full of flaws and imperfections, then when the whole is dis covered to be hollow, and the specious ap pearance a sham, a chance blow one day will shatter it to pieces. The first object of Mrs. Drysdale's life was to give her boy the advantages he was en titled to ; and, knowing that there might be delay if she appealed to his father, she per suaded Mr. Plumptre to make inquiries for her, and when her plans were ready she would tell her husband. Day* after day at one time she had urged this question upon him. He was going to the national school, and the master who had grounded him thoroughly was never tired of impressing upon her the great abilities the boy possessed, his untiring energy and his thoroughness.

"It is not only ability," he said over and over again ; "he is not what is called a ' brilliant fellow,' he is something more." In the meantime Mr. George Drysdale was more trying and more unreasonable than can c be conceived. He wanted the few servants they had, discharged, and a maid-of-all-work brought in. *' Because we have three hundred a year more than we have hitherto had ?" his wife asked, in astonishment. " Because, as we have nothing to expect, we must not spend as much as we have spent." " One expense I mean to incur," his wife rejoined, " Rupert shall go to school." " That is so like you — so like a woman," said Mr. Drysdale, irritably ; " why, 3*011 never seem to think of your poor children's future." This reproach to her ! * ' I think my son's best provision is a good education."

" Of course ! anything in the world for the boy. I may wear myself out and lose my health for want of a riding-horse, and yet you will not see it, and you will spend everything upon him. Well, well, life is not very long, and I shall not trouble you long." Mrs. Drysdale made no answer ; she had grown accustomed to this sort of speech. She rose and put her hand upon his shoulder. " Do not let us quarrel," she said, gently. " You are still annoyed by this will, and are not your usual self. One day you will be glad I was firm about this." ** But you do not understand," he continued, still more irritably, " that when I knew 3Tou had this money I spoke to Jones about his horse, and, in short, — (and even Mr. George Diysdale looked confused) I looked at it and I bought it ; it is coming here to-day."

" It can go back," said his wife, stung by his selfishness, and keeping her composure with difficulty. " Go back ! Why that is just like a woman ; a bargain is a bargain — it cannot go back." Mrs. Drysdale would not argue the point: but she made up her mind what she would do. Every day brought more home to her her husband's intense selfishness. Here was her boy, who had his own way to make in the world, deprived of the education which was his due. Here were her children, meanly clad and having no teaching but her own ; and here was herself worn out by the drudgery of her life, and the incessant worry of a spendthrift man she still loved ; and his one idea was his own amusement ; not a thought for her or them ; and yet their position was entirely his fault and his doing. " If I only did not care for him, nothing would hurt me so much ;" she said this to herself, as she had often done before, and then, as usual, excuse after excuse came before her, and she blamed herself for beginning to think too hardly of him. Poor soul !

Chapter III

Drysdale Place in the meantime was the home of a girl full of sorrow for her recent loss, and somewhat bewildered by the position in which she found herself. She had every reason to understand per fectly the friendly hint Mr. Plumptre had given her. Nominally, she was an heiress, and ever3*thing was given into her hand, whilst in realitywhat had she ? What was her real position ? This doubt could not be set at rest till the packet was ojiened and Rupert was of age. In the meantime she could work, and she could trust. All her life she had been thought of, and had met with love and affe& tion ; it would be ungrateful to doubt her uncle now. Distrust is born of neglect and unkind ness, but in all her life she had met with neither, and as she looked out over the rich foliage of the trees, and watched the pale-blue evening sky change to grey and darken into night, she noted the rise of the evening star.

It came, a light out of darkness, and she seemed to see her own future so — a ray of light would so come into her life, which now looked so lonely and so desolate. Her governess would come in a week, and in the meantime she would try and draw up a scheme of expenses to submit to her guardian, and she would carefully put away the things her uncle had so cherished. Tears were falling fast next morning when she went into the room he had always used. His chair, his writing materials, everything looked like the life that had passed away, and, overcome by all the recollections crowding upon her, she leaned her head against the table and cried bitterly. She was roused by voices in the passage, and recognised a certain Mrs. Brunton, about whom no two people ever could agree. She piqued herself upon being afraid of nobody, and of always speaking the truth.

The consequence was that she w*as feared and admired in turn. Timid people, who suffered from their lamentable want of moral courage, wished they were a little more like her, and were able to " call a spade a spade " as frankly as she did. Other people, who knew what immense kindness she could show on occa sion, respected and liked her and were not afraid of her. Eleanor had not seen Mrs. Brunton very often — her uncle's habits for a long time had been those of a recluse, and she knew very little of her neighbours — but occasionally Mr. Plumptre had enlivened her uncle by some story about her, which always seemed to amuse him, though he always said she was a kind-hearted woman, and excused himself for laughing at her, as he liked her husband. In some disma3r Eleanor hastily dried her tears, and opening a book prepared to act as it were upon the defensive.

Mrs. Brunton had what people called " a fine presence," and she made her presence very apparent from a sort of rustle and stir in her clothes. She always threw a door as wide open as it would go, and though, upon this occasion, the door was opened for her, her ample person, and her imposing manner of moving, caused the servant to make the space as large as he could. She was genuinely sorry for Eleanor, and noticed her pale cheeks and dejected air with concern ; but, like all people who themselves have no very near ties, she thought the loss of an uncle a loss which might be more bravely borne did the girl possess a little more spirit. " Well, my dear," she began in a kind tone, "I daresay you are surprised to see me, but when I heard how things were, and that Mr. George Dr3*sdale was making an ass of him self and leaving you quito alone just now, I thought I might come and see you." ** You are very kind." ** Now, my dear, 3*ou are 3roung, and do not know the world ; I do.

It will never do for you to sit down and look as if the world had come to an end. You must pluck up your spirit and look about you ; and who is coming ..0 be with you ? " " Fraulein Dhur. My dear uncle intended engaging her. Mr. Plumptre has done so." "A German governess! I am disappointed. I know of an excellent motherly* woman ; she would just have done for you ; and a German governess ! What are her principles ? " -* I don't know ; my uncle liked what he heard of her." " It is sad. German governesses in this country are like the German cooks— no good ones who can get places in their own country ever come here. She will probably be an infidel, an atheist, or a democrat." " I think I can trust my uncle." " Is she a musician ? " " I believe she plays splendidly." " Then, my dear, it does not so much matter.

There is no very good performer in the parish, and she may be useful. But be on your guard." " I am not afraid." " Poor child ! You do not know ; why, I heard of a governess who taught republican principles in the alphabet, and set copies to her pupils where the most atrocious principles were wrapped up in the extraordinary crabbed character, which has put out the eyes of all the German boys." Eleanor smiled " Well, well, we shall see," said Mrs. Brunton, in the tone of one who expects the worst. She made Eleanor take her round the grounds and give her luncheon. She scolded one of the gardeners for not digging properly, and told him to go to her for soup for his wife, in one and the same breath. Eleanor, who had been so lonety, was swept awaj* by her impetuosity. There was something resistless in Mrs. Brunton's fluency, her violent ex pressions, and, through all, the hearty kindness, which made up for much.

When she left, Eleanor recognised that she could not go back to the mood she had been in. Mrs. Brunton had eaten an excellent luncheon, and made Eleanor do the same. She told her she would not rest till she had seen the Fraulein, and that if she (Eleanor) did not go to see her soon she would come back again and look her up. "Do," said Eleanor, heartily; "you have done me good " ; and they parted excellent friends. When she was again alone, there was only one thing to be done. The fresh air, after many days of confinement, had made her feel how much she had missed it, and she walked down towards that part of the park where the cousins were generally visible. Rupert was standing against the big bole of a beech-tree, evident^ watching for her, and sprang across the road and joined her. " I have much to say, Elly," he began, almost breathless with excitement.

" I am going to school directly — as soon as pos sible." " I am glad and I am sorry all at once." " So am I, but if I was not going to school I should never see you." "Never see me ! " " Father has forbidden it. You see, darlinsr, it is not your fault, but he is disappointed," and he nodded towards the house. "It is hard for him. What can I do ? I do think it is so unlike Uncle Drysdale ; he always was so kind." "Do you know, dear, I, for my part, would so much rather make a fortune, than have one ready-made left me." "I can see that," said Eleanor, with sympathy ; "so would I. But a fortune is not everything, is it ? " " The want of a fortune makes a great deal of wretchedness," said the boy gravely, as he thought of scenes at home. " I should like my mother to have everything; she looks so tired sometimes, Elly dear, and I can do so little for her." ' ' You are her greatest comfort ; she always says so," Elly rejoined warmly.