Judy, a Jilt. A novel

Front matter

JUDY, A JILT Uniform with "Judy, a Jilt," Crown 8vo, Art Linen, Gilt Top, price 6/- each. JUDY, A JILT. By Mrs. Conney, Author of "A Lady Housebreaker," " Pegg's Perversity," " Gold for Dross," "A Line of her Own," etc. THE POWER OF THE DOG. By Rowland Grey, Author of " In Sunny Switzerland," "By Virtue of His Office," " Lindenblumen" "Chris." BLA CK DIAMONDS. (Authorised Edition. ) By Maurus Jokai, Author of "Eyes like the Sea," "Dr. Dumany's Wife," "Midst the Wild Carpathians," "In Love with the Czarina." Translated into English by Frances A. Gerard, Author of "Some Irish Beauties," etc., with finely engraved portrait of author. LAD Y JEAN'S SON. By Sarah Tytler, Author of ' ' Lady Jean's Vagaries." COLOUR SERGEANT No. I COMPANY. By Mrs. Leith Adams, Author of ' ' Bonnie Kate, " " Louis Draycott, " "The Peyton Romance," " Geoffrey Stirling" etc.

London : Jakrold & Sons io and ji Warwick Lane E.C. And os all Booksellers. IUDY . AJILT A NOVEL BY -^ Mrs. Conney Author of "Gold for Dross" "A Lady Housebreaker" etc SANS PECJR. ET SANS REPROCHE LONDON: JARROLD & SONS IO AND II WARWICK LANE E.C. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. HILLCHESTER SOCIETY ... 7 II. A LUCKY ACCIDENT ... 17 III. THE JOCELYN FAMILY 29 IV. THE RECTOR'S NIECE ... ... ... 40 V. MAKING FRIENDS 49 VI. THE COLONEL 63 VII. WITH THE HOUNDS 73 VIII. REFUGE IN FLIGHT 85 IX. "SIX MONTHS HENCE" 93 X. A GRAND RUN ... 102 XI. ON ANY TERMS ... ... 112 XII. LADY ST. LEGER ... ... 122 XIII. A TIMELY INVITATION 133 XIV. A NEW FRIEND ... ... 145 XV. THIN ICE 155 XVI. THROWN TOGETHER ... ... ... 1 66 XVII. REDWOOD COPSE ... ... ... ... 1 76 XVIII. "THINK OF ELEANOR" CONTENTS.

VI CHAP. PAGE XIX. BROKEN OFF ... ... ... ... I94 XX. REQUIRED — A COMPANION 205 XXI. THE OLD LOVE ... ... ... ... 214 XXII. THE ELMS ... ... ... ... 226 XXIII. CHRISTOPHER ... 239 XXIV. A SUNDAY DRIVE ... ... ... 250 XXV. A FALSE STEP ... ... ... ... 260 XXVI. THE CUP OF SHAME 274 XXVII. BREAKING FREE ... ... ... ... 288 XXVIII. "SUNK LOW, BUT MOUNTED HIGH" ...

Chapter I. Hillchester Society

Something, somebody must be to blame when a man, beginning life with good looks, good health, good position, and a good fortune, to say nothing of a more than average share of brains, finds him self on the shady side of fifty, bankrupt alike in pocket, health, and reputation. Quite so. Major Routledge himself always attributed his misfortunes to a vague something he referred to indifferently as fate, luck, or circumstances. He ought to have known if anybody did ; yet — so cruel, so heartless is a censorious world — there were many who didn't scruple to declare that he came to grief simply because he wouldn't and couldn't "run straight," as they phrased it. Well, there are two sides to every question. Major Routledge, for instance, was wont to refer to his hasty marriage with a pretty ballet-girl as the cause of his social ruin.

Others — competent judges too — would point out that, if he hadn't been past salvation at the time, he never would have married at all a woman who, when all was said and done, was a thousand times too good for him. She might be low-born, uneducated, and afflicted with an exacting temper, but she made him the best of wives, and she literally killed herself slaving to support him and her child. Again whose fault was it, the Major would ask, that he was put into an expensive cavalry regiment, where he was led to contract extravagant habits, especially a taste for cards, which, after a persistent run of ill-luck, necessitated at last the resignation of his commission ? Yet, what of the luck which enabled him to slip out of the service without the court of inquiry which, had he remained, would most certainly have been held on him ?

But why fling stones at a man who is down in the world ? The actress-wife had been in her grave these fifteen years ; the card-playing scandal, hushed up from the beginning, was forgotten. At Hillchester, where Major Routledge had lately set up house, he was welcomed as possessing the manners and appearance of a gentleman ; a man who knew a good horse when he saw one, could tell a good story, play a good game of billiards or ecarte\ and imbibe unlimited whisky-and-soda without visible results. A bit of a horse-coper perhaps, a bit over-skilful at games of chance, a bit over-fond of whisky-and-soda, not exactly the class of man to introduce to one's womenkind, if one happened to be fastidious about them, yet good enough company, and a decided acquisition to the limited masculine society of the place.

If it had been a question only of the Major, who, when all was said and done, was a man of the world, and apparently solvent, Hillchester, male and female, married and single, virgin and widowed, would have swallowed him with a good enough grace. But there was the daughter. Hillchester drew the line at the girl. It had plenty of girls of its own : it overflowed with them, girls of every sort and size and kind and age ; good practical girls given to district-visiting and Sunday school teaching ; girls who set their hopes on the curate, and were spoken of as amiable ; superior cultured girls who went to Girton, started reading, drawing, and debating societies, bombarded maga zine editors with contributions never accepted, despised men, snubbed their parents, and turned up their noses at their homes; athletic girls, bad copies of their brothers, who spent their lives walking, rowing, golfing, playing tennis and cricket ; flirting girls, whose interest in life began and ended with their clothes and the Hillchester barracks ; old fashioned, well-brought-up girls, who did fancy work, read Miss Yonge and Edna Lyall, and never stirred outside their homes without the protection of a maid.

Hillchester didn't want another girl, especially such a girl as Judy Routledge. Did ever any one hear such an outlandish name ? A girl who took a pride in outraging every canon of good taste and conduct, who was disgracefully ignorant, disgracefully brought up, a perfect pagan, with neither manners, accomplishments, nor habits of usefulness, who went about disgracefully dressed in an old blue serge made in the fashion of the year one, and who — crowning crime — was, with it all, so disgracefully pretty, in that fair-skinned, golden-haired, dark eyes and eyebrows style, which from time immemorial has been associated in every well-regulated feminine mind with the footlights and immorality. " The girl is impossible," declared the Hon. Mrs. Hunter one afternoon, to a small and select circle of friends.

That settled it. When Mrs. Hunter — the widow of the Dean, the sister-in-law of Lord Chasemore, the local magnate — spoke, bold indeed would have been that inhabitant of Hillchester, who presumed to disagree with her. " Absolutely," assented one with fervour. " A hardened flirt of the most objectionable type," murmured another. " Such atrocious style ! " commented a third. " And so disgracefully brought up," chimed in Mrs. Anderson, whose villa residence happened to adjoin what Major Routledge was pleased to call " his little box." " She stays in bed till all hours of the morning, and lolls about in the verandah most of the day, playing with her dog and strumming on that guitar. One is only too thankful not to be able to hear the words of the songs she sings." " And the absurd cart she drives all over the country," — the chorus was swelling merrily, — " with a rat of a pony she can't manage."

"And that odious terrier she takes about with her," Miss Hunter's voice now dominated the others. " Setting it on to chase cats and chickens. Imagine, the other day it attacked Mimi — my favourite cat — she rushed to me, poor darling. There I stood, with Mimi in my arms and this wretched brute snapping and snarling at my legs, while Miss Routledge, if you please, looked on in fits of laughter." Mrs. Wheeler, the doctor's wife, sniffed. " She finds the dog useful as master of the ceremonies," she explained. " It has a trick of running after the balls on the golf links, which serves as an introduction to the young men playing there. That was how she scraped acquaintance with Archie Grisewood. He is always hanging about after her now. His mother, I know, is most unhappy about it, for he is just the boy to let himself be entangled by a designing girl."

" Miss Routledge, I fancy, will fly higher than Archie." Mrs. Anderson had taken up the theme. " I noticed her to-day standing bare-headed in the road amongst the roughs and servant-girls, watching the soldiers march in." The soldiers ! Aha ! A welcome diversion ! Rose Hunter, Lord Chasemore's daughter, who had driven in to tea with her cousins, and was looking unutterably bored, woke up suddenly. " Have the 25th come ? " she asked briskly. " I'll tell father to go and leave a card. Does any one know anything about them ? " A babel of tongues arose. On the authority of the local land-agent, the company learned that the 25th were not a marrying regiment. The Major's wife was the only lady among them, and she lived in barracks. Then the Colonel ? . . . Oh no, the Colonel was not only a bachelor, but a woman-hater of the most aggravated type, going nowhere, and encouraging his officers to do like wise.

Alas, misguided man ! Deplorable intelligence ! A pause of consternation. Mrs. Anderson broke it by observing hopefully that one could never tell. For her part she had heard the 25th spoken of as a very nice set of men, most of them well off and fond of sport. In that case, opined Miss Rose Hunter crush ingly, they would probably turn up their noses at Hillchester society, which was as heavy as its plough, and betake themselves elsewhere for their amusement. Here Mrs. Morton struck in, rather irrelevantly, deploring the bad tone prevalent amongst soldiers. " These young men positively think they are doing a favour in accepting one's hospitality," she said severely, "and when they do condescend so far, they become unbearable with their airs and graces — what I believe is called 'side.' They never dream of cultivating an unaffected simplicity of manner, which, after all, is the essence of good breeding.

Oh no, they are encouraged in every species of ostentatious extravagance and swagger, and so they will be so long as every successful tradesman tries to make a gentleman of his son by putting him into an expensive regiment ! " Oh, Mrs. Morton, what were you thinking of? Poor soldiers ! Why single them out specially for blame because they object to eat your bad dinners and dance with your ugly daughters — ordeals from which men of all ranks and all professions have shrunk ? And was it possible, could you have forgotten that Lord Chasemore, by the orthodox path of ingenious adulteration of beer, had walked into the House of Lords, and that his eldest son was now lending lustre to one of the regiments of Household Cavalry ? Alas for that unruly member ! A second pause of con sternation. Mrs. Hunter rattled her tea-cups, Miss Rose turned very red, the company generally ex changed glances of horror, and little Mrs. Wilson, an ill-bred young person, a new-comer and a nobody, who didn't know her place, sniggered audibly.

Miss Hunter jumped up, discovered that it was getting late, and departed. While the advent of the gallant warriors was thus fluttering the dove-cots of Hillchester, Major Routledge was holding forth to his daughter on the same deeply-engrossing theme. Contrary to his habit, he appeared at tea-time in the untidy little sitting-room, where Miss Routledge, with the healthy appetite of nineteen, was drinking weak tea and eating bread-and-jam. " Good God ! what a pig-sty ! " was his ingrati ating greeting, as he looked disgustedly at the tumbled cushions and disordered furniture. " Isn't it ? Pig's food too," she retorted calmly, helping herself to another slice of bread. " What the devil have you been doing ? Playing leap-frog?" To do him justice, Major Routledge was usually careful to observe the forms and speech of a gentleman in his dealings with his daughter.

He knew too well the value of a gentlemanly address not too keep a guard upon his tongue. To-day, however, he was smarting under a sense of the fallacy of the adage of honour among thieves. An ingenious and extensive turf swindle had just failed, through the treachery of a confederate, a contretemps which amply accounted for his irri tation. Judy eyed her father nonchalantly. " Rough and Vie have been steeple-chasing, that's all," she answered, in the slightly-defiant tone she usually adopted towards her parent. " Vie ! You mean the cur that Grisewood boy takes about with him." " Yes." Major Routledge kicked aside a footstool and sat down in the nearest chair, frowning. He was a spare man with a pallid face, hard grey eyes, and thin lips, still goodish-looking in spite of the lines hard living had traced about his mouth and eyes.

" Look here, Judy," he said abruptly; " this tom fooling with young Grisewood must stop ; you're old enough now to think seriously of business." " Of getting married you mean ?" " Naturally. What business can a woman have except to get herself a husband ? Now you're a deuced good-looking girl, you're living in a place where there are plenty of the right sort of men about, you must pull it off with one or other of them, and pretty quickly, too. I'm infernally hard up, and so I tell you plainly. In fact, I've spent about as much on your board and clothes and lodging as I'm inclined or able to do." Judy's eyes sparkled. It was always easy to rouse her temper, and her father had acquired the knack of doing it with surprising rapidity. " You can't possibly be more anxious to be rid of me than I am to get away from you," she said hotly.

" Then — marry — at once," he retorted brutally. "It's easy to say marry" — Judy's voice shook with anger. " Remember, please, one can't say yes until one has been asked, and " He cut her short. " Nonsense ! " he said impatiently. " You're your mother's daughter ; you've got her looks, her tricks, her flirting ways, and her infernal tongue. You don't want me to tell you that any decent-looking woman, not a born fool, can do as she pleases with a man. If you don't know it, you'll soon find it out. I shan't interfere. I'll make it my business to get hold of the man. It will be yours to bring him to the scratch. And shunt Grisewood, if you don't want me to do it for you." " I don't care if you do," Judy laughed defiantly. " It amuses me to walk poor Archie up and down under his mamma's nose and see the faces she makes at him, that's all."

" Very likely. You women never are happy unless you're setting everybody by the ears. But don't squabble any longer over that unlicked cub. You've something better to do now. I can give you till Christmas to get settled, no longer, so make the most of your time. And have you no proper clothes ? That thing is only fit for a rag picker." " No wonder, considering the age I've worn it." He threw a bank-note on the table. " Get yourself a proper rig-out," he said, walking out of the room. There ! the thing was done — cruelly, brutally, coarsely. Still, done, which was the main point. And after all, what can one expect from a man forced to undertake work essentially belonging to a woman. No sooner had Major Routledge turned his back than his daughter most disrespectfully shook her fist and made a face at it.

Had not Mrs. Anderson truly described her as disgracefully brought up ? " Beast ! " she muttered passionately, " I'd marry anybody, a chimpanzee, to get away from you." And then she took up the note. Ten pounds ! Oh, to be able to afford oneself the luxury of tearing it up and throwing the pieces in his face. But that was out of the question. Her boots and gloves were in holes, her dress threadbare, her only jacket pain fully tight across the chest, unbecomingly short and loose about the waist. And she dearly loved fine raiment. With a sigh she pocketed her pride and the money, which went to keep a lucky six pence and a few coppers company in her purse.

Chapter II

A LUCKY ACCIDENT. " Go on, do ! Sandy, you little fiend, go on, will you ? " Judy was getting impatient. For some minutes she had been wrestling unsuccessfully with a small pony, who, objecting to a pocket-handkerchief hung out on the hedge, was backing and plunging perilously near a deep and thorny ditch. Judy, let us confess, was no whip. Indeed, she had never so much as handled the reins in her life until the day on which her father informed her he had won a pony and cart from a betting acquaintance, and that, until he found a purchaser for the turn-out, she was welcome to make use of it. For the last month, accordingly, Miss Routledge, with the rash courage of ignorance, had daily imperilled her neck by placing it at the mercy of an animal whose diminutive person was animated by a demon of obstinacy sufficient for a regiment of horse, and who daily plunged, reared, shied, backed, and cut corners in a way calculated to raise on end the hair of any timid driver.

To Judy, however, who was not timid, these vagaries formed rather an amusing interlude in the monotony of the drive. It was such fun to see what he would do next. Even now, although the pony was prancing on his hind legs, with the cart balanced on the extreme edge of the ditch, she merely felt impatient. The interlude had lasted long enough. It was time to pass on to the next act. Smartly she brought the whip down on Sandy's broad back. Promptly he reared straight on end, and with a jerk, which almost snapped the shafts, put his head down and started off at what suspiciously resembled a bolt. So much the better. The animal had yet to be foaled that could go too fast for Miss Routledge. Clinging to the reins with one hand, to her hat with the other, on she dashed, laughing aloud in sheer light-hearted enjoyment.

For all her premature knowledge of the seamy side of life, what a child she was still, able to give herself up entirely to the pleasure of the moment, in happy oblivion of the past, and recklessness of the future ! She had forgotten it all, the neglected, loveless childhood, the years spent at a succession of cheap sixth-rate schools, where life was one long rebellion against discipline, one long fight with her companions. And now the dreary, sordid poverty of her present life, the unsatisfied yearning for affection, the passionate resentment against the snubs, the slights which fell to her lot, the passion ate longing for revenge against a world that had scorned her. What did they matter ? The sun was shining, Sandy was whirling her along with intoxicating speed, her new dress was an unquali fied success ; she was pretty, far prettier than all her critics put together.

Bother propriety ! Bother the spiteful old tabbies ! Bother matrimony ! Bother long faces and lectures and worries ! A pretty girl could do anything she pleased. " Oh, you darling Sandy, how I love you ! " she cried, with an ecstatic flourish of her whip, as, turning a corner, she grazed the wheel of a farm cart drawn up by the wayside. And then — well, some thing must have snapped, for Sandy had broken into a tearing gallop, and was careering along with one of the traces dangling about his legs. And they were just on the brow of a steepish hill. " Good gracious !" reflected Sandy's driver, vainly hauling at the reins, " I hope he'll have the sense to stop." But sense was not one of Sandy's characteristics; he merely went on faster than before. He was over the brow, he was going down, down, with the cart bumping and swaying behind him. . . .

Judy was getting breathless. Hedges and road were whirling in one confused mass before her . . . when there came a crash ... a sensation of flying . . . a thud ... a sudden calm. Confused, dizzy, yet not actually stunned, she lay for a moment with her eyes shut. " Are you hurt ? " asked a strange voice. At once she opened her eyes, to find a man standing over her. At no time of her career could Miss Routledge behold a masculine figure without a stirring of interest. She tried to smile. " No, thank you," she answered, in a ridiculously shaky thread of a voice. No answering smile appeared on the stranger's countenance. He was a tall, gaunt man, with grim features, a pair of keen eyes, and a big nose. "Just like a hungry hawk," reflected Miss Judy. "And a perfect bear," she added, as — "Get up," he said, holding out his hand, and unceremoniously hauling her to her feet.

" Can you walk ? " " Of course I can." Resentful of this rough-and-ready treatment, she staggered a few paces. "That's right." The voice sounded relieved. " Now sit down on the bank, and let me take a look at the cart." The cart! and Sandy! Judy looked up to see a sight which completely banished all thought of her own injuries. There lay the cart, a perfect wreck, while Sandy, his coat stained and dripping( the blood flowing freely from a cut on one knee, was held by a groom in livery. " Oh, you poor dear ! " she cried. " Do look at him ! Is he very badly hurt, do you think ? " " He's blemished, of course ; still, considering the little brute has done his best to break your neck, he's got off pretty cheaply." " Oh, but he didn't mean any harm ! " she pro tested eagerly. " A strap or something broke, and frightened him.

And the cart — oh, how angry father will be!" " When he sees you safe and sound he won't be inclined to worry over the damage, will he ? " consolingly suggested her companion. Colonel Elliott didn't know much about girls, but this one struck him as a pretty, plucky child, of whom a parent would be both fond and proud. He was a good deal repelled when, in a most unbecoming way, she laughed shortly — " He won't look at it in that light," she answered. "Not that it matters how he looks at it. What does signify, though, is that I shall get no more driving." " A very good thing too ! " bluntly declared this overbearing, dictatorial bear of a man. " The pony wasn't in the least fit for your driving. I noticed it in Hillchester the other day, and I felt sure you'd come to grief soon." "Anyhow, it was all I had," she rejoined defiantly.

Colonel Elliott saw the tears in her eyes. To his mind there came the recollection of his own bitter grief, when at the age of nine he staked his first pony. Poor little girl ! He softened. " I dare say the cart could be repaired, and you might find another pony," he began thoughtfully. " Very likely. Pigs might fly, only they don't." Oh, Judy, how inelegant ! how unladylike ! No wonder that Colonel Elliott, a fastidious man, turned away disgusted. A pause. " Sandy was the only creature in the world I cared about," she burst out abruptly. And then, how could she have been so stupid, so babyish ? Her voice broke, while two big tears rolled down her cheek, and dropped with a splash on her glove. Tears ! Merciful heavens ! To Colonel Elliott at all times girls were a weird and terrifying variety of a sex he made it his business to avoid.

To be saddled at all with a girl was bad enough, but a hysterical girl ! " For God's sake don't cry," he entreated, in a state of miserable embarrassment equal to her own. " There's nothing to fret over. I give you my word the pony will be as well as ever he was in a few weeks, bar a slight mark. Look here ! " with a brilliant idea, " let me send Styles for some water, or brandy — smelling-salts — or something." His fright was ludicrous. Judy laughed " I'm perfectly well," she declared, "and I never touched brandy or smelling-salts in my life. I shouldn't know what to do with them. I'm not going to cry either. I'm not so silly as you think." " That's right." He sighed with heart-felt relief. " And now, how about getting home, eh ? Where do you live ? " "At Laurel Villa, just outside Hillchester, on the road to the barracks."

He nodded. " I come from the barracks too ; our ways are the same." A pause. He was deliberating. Styles could lead the pony home and see to the cart. But the girl ! Could he drive off and leave her to trudge home, or sit by the roadside till he sent a vehicle out from Hillchester? Impossible. Obviously he must escort her himself. " And so," he concluded reluctantly, for the role of protector to beauty in distress was not one that appealed to him, " I'll leave my man to look after your pony, and, if you will trust yourself to me, I'll take you home." Judy did not jump at the offer. "Frumpy old pig," she thought disdainfully. " I'd rather walk." She was about to say so, when the dog-cart caught her eye. What a smart turn out ! What nice high red wheels ! How lovely to sit perched up behind that spirited chestnut — far better than tramping along a dusty road.

" Thank you," she said, " I shall be very glad." "Why can't this sort of thing happen to some one who enjoys it, which I don't ? " wondered Colonel Elliott, as he took up the reins. "Now any one of the youngsters would jump at the chance of driving a pretty girl about the country." For she was pretty. Little as he was wont to notice women's looks, he did observe the clear white, the delicate pink of her brilliant complexion, the golden hair which grew in such dainty waves and clusters in the nape of her neck, the dark eyes and arched eyebrows, which formed so piquant a con trast to her blonde colouring. Certainly she was pretty, only — what the dickens am I to say to her ? he asked himself, in much perplexity. At that self-same moment the self-same question had suggested itself to Judy. She too had taken stock of her companion, had noticed his grizzled hair and lined face, and slightingly summed him up as " no use, and as old as the hills."

" Well, what ever I say, I shall probably get my nose snapped off for my pains," she decided. Shyness, however, was not one of Miss Rout ledge's characteristics, while to hold her tongue at this stage of her career was an absolute im possibility to her. She at once launched out into sincere and enthusiastic admiration of the chestnut. " You seem fond of horses," he observed. " I should be, I expect, if I had anything to do with them," she answered ; " but, to tell the truth, till the pony-cart came I'd never driven in any thing better than a cab or an omnibus in my life. You see I've been abroad mostly, at school or with father. We've never lived in England till now. Father's taken Laurel Villa for a year. He wanted to get to know a few people. He said I ought to have some society. Not that I'm likely to have any here."

" You don't care for Hillchester then ? " Her outspoken confidences rather amused her companion, who was thankful to be called upon to do nothing worse than listen. " Hillchester doesn't care about us, that's what it is," this indiscreet young person proceeded to explain. " It turns up its high and mighty nose at us. We're paupers, and paupers are no more welcome here than anywhere else." " I shouldn't think you miss much," he observed consolingly. " From all accounts it's a dull place ; very few of those balls and parties which I suppose, like most young ladies, you long for, eh ?" " Yes, I do," she confessed promptly. " I long to ride and drive, and go about and dance and skate and play games and have nice clothes, and a good house and plenty of servants. How I should enjoy it all ! But then I never shall have it, unless of course I manage to get married."