The Wooing of Fortune

Front matter

NEW NOVELS AT ALL THE LIBRARIES. A CORNISH MAID. By L. HIGGIN. 3 vols. REDIVIVA. By MARIAN COMTN. 2 vols. LATE IN LIFE. By ALICE PERRIN. 2 vols. A GIRL OP YESTERDAY. By Mrs. F. HAY NEWTON. 1 vol. 6s. HER POINT OF VIEW. By G. M. ROBINS; Author of 'A False Position,' ' The Ides of March,' &c. Ooe vol. 6s. LONDON: HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED. BY HENRY CRESSWELL AUTHOR OF "A MODERN GREEK HEROINE," "A WOMAN'S AMBITION," " CANCELLED BONDS," ETC. IN ONE VOLUME. LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, i3> GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1896. AU right, reserved. WORKS BY HENRY CRESSWELL NOVELS. A MODERN GREEK HEROINE. FAIR AND FREE. INCOGNITA. THE SINS OF THE FATHERS. THE SURVIVORS. A 'WILT "WIDOW. MT LORD OTHELLO. SLIDING SANDS. THE HERMITS OF CRIZEBECK. FAIREST OF THREE. A WOMAN'S AMBITION. DISINHERITED. BROKEN FORTUNES. A PRECIOUS SCAMP. CANCELLED BONDS. DRAMA. THE CONVERSION OF ENGLAND. IN DANGER. (By Hen-ry Cresswell and W. Lestocq.)

Chapter I

Society had received the second Mrs. Beaumont indulgently. Mr. Beaumont knew the right sort of people. He had money, and he was initiated into approved ways of spending it. The girl, young enough to be his granddaughter, whom he presented to his friends, was charmingly pretty. On acquaintance she also turned out to be clever in the right way. She made no mis takes. She was guilty of no gaucheries. She behaved as naturally and as gracefully in her new position as if she had been all her life accustomed to large houses, the elite of society, and the manners of the upper ten. And, if she was ever compelled to ask for a hint or a word of advice, she made her confidential appeals for guidance and counsel to the right people, for no one ever heard of them. So society made her B welcome, and put her origin behind its back, though there were some who hinted that her grandfather had been a country apothecary, or even ' something worse.' There was a spice of romance in the history of her marriage with Mr. Beaumont.

That, per haps, made her reception more easy. Several versions of the story existed. The general facts, however, rau somewhat thus : Mr. Beaumont met her at a country house. The hostess, a Mrs. Renfrew, a good-natured woman, had for some reason rather taken the girl up, possibly because she really was so remarkably pretty. Mr. Beau mont admired her from the first moment that he saw her. He was sixty ; and at that age a little silliness about a young girl with a pretty face may be accounted pardonable. But he paid the fair Adela no attentions. Perhaps there was ' some one else ' in the case. During his visit, both the girl's parents — she had no other relations — lost their lives in a fire. When the terrible news arrived, more than two hours elapsed before Mrs. Renfrew could find courage to break it to the unhappy child, (she was but eighteen,) and Adela was actually the last per son in the house to hear of her bereavement.

When told of it she was, as every one had an ticipated, almost beside herself. Also it transpired that she was altogether unprovided for. Then it was that Mr. Beaumont, to whose lot it had fallen to engage her in a game of billiards whilst the hostess discussed with her husband what was to be done, came forward and offered her his name and fortune, suggesting that they should be immediately married privately, so that, at least, she might not be without a home. People said that all the persuasion in the world was wanted to -get the girl to assent. However, she did assent, and so they were married. Afterwards it turned out that there had been ' some one else.' That was a certain Mr. Far quhar, who had a reputation as a bit of a ' lady killer.' One or two of the people who had allow ed the romantic circumstances of the second Mrs. Beaumont's marriage, and a shade of pity for her, to make them oblivious of all the rest, looked grave ; but without reason.

The fair Adela's behaviour still continued to be irreproachable. She had never since her marriage evinced the faintest interest in Mr. Farquhar. The man made all kinds of assertions about her, but she never even stooped to contradict them. Con tenting herself with a line of conduct that made all he said simply incredible, she left him to select his own time for ceasing to malign her. It ended iu his disappearance. After that, Mrs. b2 Beaumont spent the five years that ensued be fore her husband's death, in the tranquil enjoy ment of the position which her tact no less than her good fortune had secured her. Some people called Mr. Beaumont less liberal than he had been before his second marriage. Others praised his young wife for not being extravagant. Those who had sons reflected that the second Mrs. Beaumont's little economies would much im prove the future of her step-daughter, Mr. Beaumont's only child.

After Mr. Beaumont's death it was rumoured that ' something had died with him,' or that his former liberal expenditure had been rather in excess of his means. His widow asserted that she could not keep up quite so large an establishment, and took a smaller house. But she still continued to see the right sort of people, and to be in every respect faultlessly correct and fashionable. Then The Illustrated London News published some particulars of the late Mr. Beaumont's will. The young widow turned out to be better off than had been supposed, and Mr. Beaumont had been guilty of no narrow-minded clauses attaching penalties to a second marriage. Perhaps it was no wonder that the fair Adela, still only four-and-twenty, and a very pretty woman, was sought after, and managed to improve the social position in which her husband had left her.

But she was in no hurry to marry again. Her friends said that she would first find a husband for her step-daughter, a rather flighty young lady, just out. In a word, Mrs. Beaumont remained still, in the eyes of society, a marvel of all the perfections. The whole world did not agree with the social authorities. No human being exists whose con duct is faultless in every one's estimation. To people of her own age, or those who were rather younger, not excepting her step-daughter, Mrs. Beaumont appeared by no means an attractive person. Her way of living was considered by them rather inexplicable. That was the view of one or two exceedingly well-dressed young men, who had been discuss ing her whilst sauntering up Campden Hill to a garden-party. ' The woman has plenty of money, Kettridge, and leads a dull life by preference,' one remark ed. ' One does not quite understand that.' It was a peculiarity of Pelham Lorraine's that things which he did not quite understand immediately arrested his attention. ' She lives like other people,' replied his com panion. ' The ordinary course of existence is generally considered to be dull.

Mostly it bores people, and, to escape from its monotony, they look eagerly around them for change, novelty, excitement, interest of any kind to vary the in sipid tedium of life.' ' Of life as they are acquainted with it. Only, as there is nothing whereof most people are so ignorant as of their own lives, one cannot ex pect them to find much interest in things about which they know nothing.' He raised his dazzlingly glossy silk hat to a well-dressed woman, who bowed as her carriage passed them. Jack Ketteridge did the same, and remarked, ' Only that is one of your wonted sophistries, Lorraine, is it not V ' I don't think so. Some people, of course, are foolish enough to exchange freedom from care, and all kinds of comforts, for adventures and dramatic experiences ; and generally find that they have taken one of the shortest known cuts to repentance.

But I rather fancy, you know, that existence is quite dramatic enough as it is. Particularly when it looks uneventful. '; Still waters," you know. That is why I do not trust Mrs. Beaumont.' ' I cannot say that I see it all from your point of view. You appear to me to be blaming Mrs. Beaumont for not doing the very things which you just now characterised as the height of imprudence.' ' Oh, I do not want to argue. Very likely you are right.' That was another peculiarity of Pelham Lor raine's, an exceeding readiness always to yield the point in dispute to his adversary. They were approaching their destination. A carriage coming in the opposite direction drove into the gates of the house. ' There are Lord George Donisthorpe and his sister,' said Jack. ' 1 should not have expected to see Lord George here.' ' His coming pretty well settles the question whether Mrs. Beaumont and her daughter will be here,' remarked Pelham. ' You are making a mistake about all that business, Lorraine.

Lord George means to have Miss Beaumont. It is a capital match for her; and, of course, her mother is on his side. Why don't you drop it ? The other was the much better thing.' ' Meaning by " the other" thing Lady Honoria Donisthorpe.' ' Who would accept you to-morrow, if you proposed. Can't yon see that you are chucking away a solid certainty for a folly in which you haven't a chance?' ' Not quite so sure of that.' ' I am, then.' Pelham was silent. Perhaps because he never disputed. Perhaps because there was some truth in his companion's remarks. In the course of the season he and Lady Honoria had seen a good deal of each other. They were, in fact, so often together that some people began to talk. Even a certain staid aunt of Pelham's — to whom, by the way, he owed his introduction to Miss Beaumont — had dropped hints.

She was not averse from the idea of her nephew's thinking of the holy estate of matrimony. Was he not seven-and-twenty ? And was not his friend, Jack Kettridge, who was a little younger, to be married in the autumn? Still, Mrs. Warwick — that was the lady's name — hazarded no definite advice. And Pelham himself reflected much upon the num ber of rungs in the social ladder between him self and the daughter of a marquis. True, Lady Honoria was not the Marquis of Donisthorpe's favourite daughter, nor his handsomest daugh ter. And there was no doubt that she would be his poorest daughter. And Pelham was re garded as a man upon his promotion. Not that he himself laid any stress upon that. It was, in his opinion, too simple to deserve attention. ' The Pater,' so Pelham himself would have explained, ' was fairly well off, you know.' So Pelham had been at Winchester, and after wards with a good Civil-Service coach.

In the examination he came out well. He ' had worked up a bit, you see. The Pater wished it." And the examiners asked him things that he hap pened to know. The Pater himself was in the Foreign Office. ' Oh, rather high up, of course. Had been there a good many years, you see.' And he had influence. So Pelham enjoyed a good berth, and was in a rather nice set, and likely to go ahead — naturally. Nevertheless, the number of rungs between himself and Lady Honoria, in the social ladder aforesaid, appeared to him considerable. He would admit that the last three months had witnessed the development of a certain friendliness between Lady Honoria and himself. Nor had it escaped him that the Marchioness was always benignant, full of approval, and disposed to throw him and Lady Honoria together. ' It would be a good connection.

There is no doubt about that,' mused the child of bureaucracy. Only, suppose that the Marchioness smiled merely because she could trust him not to make a fool of himself ? Then his aunt introduced him to Virginie Beaumont. After which he ceased to reflect upon the number of social degrees between himself and Lady Honoria; because they did not matter. ' The little girl is much more like the right thing for me,' quoth Pelham to him self. ' Besides, she has taken my fancy.' It was not long, however, before circumstances afforded him new subjects for meditation. Lord George, Lady Honoria's younger brother, had also been introduced to Miss Beaumont, and seemed to be quite as much impressed by her charms as Pelham. Moreover, he was constantly meeting her, whilst all kinds of obstacles came in the way of Pelham's seeing as much of Vir ginie as he wished.

How was that ? It was not Virginie's doing. She asked, ' Where do you go, Mr. Lorraine. One never sees you.' ' Her mother means her to marry Lord George, and not to marry you,' observed the practical, if short-sighted Jack. 'Drop it, Lorraine, and go in for Lady Honoria.' ' Only you see I am taken with this other little girl : and I am not taken with Lady Honoria.' Six months earlier, Jack would have laughed at him. Only having himself recently sueceeded in securing the lady of his choice he admitted the weight of the plea. Men's views about life vary a good deal with their own circumstances. They had reached the house, and passed across the broad hall into the garden, shook hands with the hostess, (who took notice of the almost simultaneous arrival of Lady Honoria and Pelham Lorraine,) exchanged half-a-dozen polite nothings, and were free.

Well, it was all very commonplace. On the surface, life is wont to be commonplace. The interest lurks underneath. Together they proceeded across the lawn to wards the nearest groups. In the gay light the gardens were a picture of brightness and smartness. The leafage of June had not yet lost its fresh beauty, and the whole place was gemmed with flowers, brilliant against dark backgrounds. At places the air was laden with the fragrance of the roses. Scattered upon the faultlessly mown lawns, under the pleasant shade of the trees, and amidst the brilliant blossoms were a gay company, almost as brightly-hued as the flowers. A music of light careless voices floated on the air, as if there was nothing but leisure and sunshine in the world. Any successful summer garden-party, where the guests are of the elite and the spot is pretty is the same.

Because life is always common place on the surface. Only the strange things lurking underneath are never absent. Pelham and his friend met Lady Honoria, and Pelham enquired becomingly after the marchioness, who had caught a slight cold the previous week at the theatre. Lady Honoria would not have been displeased had he remained a little longer to talk to her. For Jack's views of the situation were pretty near the truth. Only Pel ham had given his allegiance to something different from his immediate professional in terest, and was all the time thinking, ' If Lord George is here, Miss Beaumont must be here. I wish I knew where to find her.' He knew that garden-parties were not in themselves much in Lord George's line, and was sure that the latter had not taken the un wonted step of exerting himself to accompany his sister without a reason.

And he was right. Virginie Beaumont was on the lawn, but at the present moment seat ed under an ilex where he could not see her. Personally, it could not be denied that she was a pretty enough reason for any man's presence anywhere — a young girl with a fresh face, half childish, half-womanly, with a clean-cut profile, sparkling eyes, and lips tenderly ripe ; a bright little witch, all smiles, graceful as a kitten, and restless as a bird. A man of fifty had just taken his seat at her side. He wore a heavy moustache a good deal grizzled, and had the look of a slow man. She was still occupied in arranging her dress, having reseated herself after rising to shake hands with him. ' Now you will have to take care of me, Sir William, until mamma comes back,' she was saying. 'Mamma and Mrs. Ormistone always have all sorts of confidences to exchange.

And you must not run away, because I know that mamma has twenty things to say to you. You have not been to see us lately.' Each sentence was accompanied by some movement of her head, or hands, or lissom figure ; and her eyes roved away from him across the lawn, and back again twice or thrice whilst she was speaking. Sir William Chantrell did not immediately answer, but said, presently, ' And I wanted to talk to Mrs. Beaumont. I have been meditating a little water-party.' Then he broke off. ' Yes ?' replied Virginie, interrogatively. She looked over her shoulder to see if her hat was in danger of becoming soiled against the bark of the tree. Then her bright eyes came back to Sir William's face. But he entered into no further explanation of his designs. ' I am sure mamma will be very pleased if she can be of any assistance to you,' she said.

She was amused, and a little smile flitted across her face as she moved her hand to look at a button of her glove. Some people said that Sir William meditated making a proposal to her step-mother. ' Mamma " also seemed at times favourably disposed towards the dilatory baronet. Virginie herself was on his side — in a way. She judged Sir William to be a rather well-disposed old fogey, and opined that the transference into his hands of the reins of government at home might be a blessing. ' How have you been amusing yourself since we last met, Miss Beaumont?' he now asked. ' Enjoying all the gaieties of the season.' ' All the gaieties ! Oh, dear no. I am not so lucky as all that, Sir William.' 'Your appetite for dissipation is still un satiated ?' ' Life is not all dissipation,' replied Virginie, gravely; leaving it doubtful whether she wished to imply that nothing short of a perpetuity of amusement could satisfy her tastes, or whether something else was wanting to make her altogether contented. ' You went, of course, to the first night of the new opera?' ' Oh, no. We did not go after all.' ' Indeed !' Sir William looked surprised.

On the oc casion of his last visit to Mrs. Beaumont, that lady had been quite eloquent about the pleasure which herself and her daughter were anticipat ing on the occasion of the production of the new piece. 'Mamma is not so fond of spending half guineas as of talking about doing so,' remarked Virginie, looking up into the dark foliage above her. She was thinking, ' That is a hint for Sir William ; if he chooses to take it. And he ought to be very much obliged to me for giving it him. Mamma is not exactly all he thinks her.' There were moments when Virginie felt sorry for Sir William, and disposed to rescue him, though that was contrary to her own interests. ' I was at Folkestone last week,' remarked the baronet. He had a trick of suddenly interrupting the conversation with an entirely disconnected remark concerning something which he himself had recently done.

Occasionally an ingenious person might discover the origin of the remark, as in the present case, when his mind had not really advanced beyond Virginie's observation, ' You have not been to see us lately.' But with ordinary people the result of this habit was a conviction that he paid no attention to what was said to him. ' At Folkestone ? I have never been there, Is it a pretty place ?' At the same time her roving eyes fell upon Pelham and Lord George talking together on a distant part of the lawn, and she said to herself, ' They have neither of them seen me. If Lord George misses me, I will tease him about it.' The two men were not always visible, only for a moment now and then as the movement of the various groups upon the lawn disclosed them. But presently Sir William also saw them. ' That is young Lorraine talking to Lord George Donisthorpe, is it not?' he asked. ' Peo ple say that he is rather smitten with Lady Honoria, or she with him.

I don't know which.' Virginie smiled. She knew which. 'It would be a splendid match for Lorraine. The marquis tells me that he is a very clever young fellow.' ' So I have heard.' She had fallen into a new speculation. 'If Lord George misses me, and Mr. Lorraine finds me instead, in spite of mamma ! Perhaps he will, if mamma does not return soon.'

Chapter II

Mrs. Beaumont did not return. Her friend Mrs. Ormistone was telling her a long history of how some woman had married her daughter. A good looking woman Mrs. Ormistone, beginning to grow grey, with a hooked nose and keen eyes. ' Scandalous, my dear, positively scandalous ! It was like selling her own flesh and blood,' quoth Mrs. Ormistone. She always gushed a little when talking to Mrs. Beaumont, for whom she exhibited a marked affection. Tall and fair, with a complexion of fine grain, and a face of a soft, languid beauty, singularly perfect, Mrs. Beaumont looked by the side of the elder woman like a young girl. 'And selfishness is so dreadful, is it not?' continued Mrs. Ormistone, still gushing. ' Tell me, my dear, — I really must get some stronger glasses. These are beginning to be of no use to me, — is that Lord George Donisthorpe over there, talking to — whom is he talking to ?' Lord George was still talking to Pelham, neither of them having yet managed to see Virginie, though her quicker eyes had already detected them.

Just then Pelham was saying, ' How successfully everything goes off here. Mrs. Chesham must be a wonderful woman, to be always able to secure these complete suc cesses. One always finds the same thing, sunshine and a sort of universal pleasantness. That is really very clever, to be able to give the place an air of being different from all the rest of the world.' ' If it were something more than a mere ap pearance, it would be grand,' replied Lord George. ' It is something more in a way. It is Avhat a good many people cannot manage to effect.' Lord George shook his head. ' Only illusion, Lorraine. That is the worst of it. The world is so full of illusions, unluckily ! And the other things, which are not illusions, are not pleasant to speak about. Only it does not do to let oneself be taken in.

Three-quarters of the people who are here this afternoon, are C bored. Three-quarters of any assemblage al ways are bored. And most of the rest are here only for ends of their own.' ' Which may be good ends.' 'Let us hope so.' The tone of the remark was not hopeful. Lord George was not a man to whom hopeful ness was natural. Whilst they were speaking, a movement amongst the various groups had given Pelham a momentary glimpse of Virginie, and then again hidden her. After that he was not con cerned to continue the discussion, but only to get away from Lord George. The latter came to his assistance, almost at the same time per ceiving Mrs. Ormistone with Mrs. Beaumont. ' There is Mrs. Beaumont. I must go and speak to her.' Pelham made no offer to accompany him, but took immediate advantage of his departure to proceed in the direction of Virginie.

On his way a voice stopped him. ' Well, Pelham V He turned. It was his aunt, Mrs. Warwick ' I beg your pardon, Aunt Maria ; I had no idea you were here.' 'And you had seen Miss Beaumont? Allez vous en. I don't want to detain you. Remember that you are to dine with me on Thursday unless your belle amie wants you.' ' I will not forget.' His aunt looked after him with a smile. ' That is a healthy-minded boy. Puts his feelings before his interests: And I like her better for him than that titled woman.' Meanwhile, Lord George had reached Mrs. Beaumont, who received him with a smile. Mrs. Ormistone had quitted her. ' So you have found me at last, Lord George ?' 'I have been looking for you ever since I arrived. Of course Miss Beaumont is here.' ' You have not seen her ? You are neglecting all your friends.

Let us go and find her.' They proceeded together. 'What has Mrs. Ormistone been telling you?' asked Lord George. 'Confiding to me the latest shock she has received. Some woman has been selling her daughter.' ' Figuratively only, of course.' ' You might think she had done so actually, from the way Mrs. Ormistone speaks of it.' ' How that would simplify matters, if it were possible, would it not ?' remarked Lord George. ' Don't be ridiculous.' A certain familiarity on both sides showed the speakers to be on terms of a somewhat close intimacy. ' But I am quite serious,' replied Lord George. ' Think under those circumstances what a com fort a lot of daughters would be to impecunious parents, instead of being a source of anxiety as they are now. Besides — if you could sell me Miss Beaumont, you know, I would make you a handsome offer for her ; and I should not like her an atom the less.' Mrs. Beaumont laughed. ' I am afraid I cannot comply with your sug gestion,' she said. ' You see, there are certain usages.' ' That is just it — usages.

We must go through the formalities : courtship, which is so like per mission given the suitor to deceive the unwit ting damsel if he can ; the young lady's owe consent, which presupposes that she is a more competent judge than her parents : and matri mony. What a blessed world it would be if the courtship were a real opportunity afforded the girl of knowing whom she was choosing : if her feelings were really an inspiration on which she might rely : and if the marriage were something more than an invention of priests and lawyers, so many words, and so much ink and stamps.' 'Now, Lord George,' — Mrs. Beaumont held up her finger reprovingly, — ' you are not to begin saying all kinds of dreadful things.' 'Do not be unjust to me. I say them because they do seem to me to be such " dreadful things," so horribly unreal — when one wishes so much that they were what they pretend to be — the coui'tship without guile, the choice in fallibly wise, and the rest all that it is called.

Only, as they are not ' ' Do not you think that you have said nearly enough about that V ' Quite enough. Saying does not alter things, does it? And I want to talk to you about something else. That little Turner of yours : do you still wish to sell it ?' The ' little Turner ' was a copy, and not a good one at that. Also Mrs. Beaumont was well aware of the fact. But she at once stopped, and said, ' If I could get a good price for it.' ' Would you mind getting a man to value it ? I want to send a friend a present, and I should pay a lot for a thing of that kind at a dealer's. I wish you would think about it.' ' I should be glad to sell it,' said Mrs. Beau mont, as they walked on again. ' One has to insure pictures of that sort. And something very much less valuable would be more in place in a house like mine.' ' Then let me be the purchaser. — But all this time I do not see Miss Beaumont.

Oh, there she is, talking to Sir William— and Lorraine.' He looked rather hard at Mrs. Beaumont, and a shade of annoyance crossed her face. ' I left Virginie with Sir William. I had no idea that Mr. Lorraine was here,' she explained. They joined the trio under the ilex. It appeared that Virginie had accepted an invitation from Pelham to come to the refreshment mar quee and have an ice, but was waiting for her mother's return. An evident excuse for detain ing Pelham, with whom she was flirting openly, Sir William having dropped into silence. For an instant Lord George had turned pale with jealousy, but mastered himself. Then they all proceeded to the refreshment marquee together. Virginie, having received her ice, sat down with the younger meu right and left of her. Pelham evidently did not mean to be shaken off just yet, and Virginie ingeniously neutralised her mother's efforts to be rid of him.

Besides, Mrs. Beaumont was compelled to bestow some atten tion upon Sir William. Complacently eating her ice, Virginie said to herself, ' Now this is a duel, and we shall see which of the rivals will succeed in driving the other away. I shall have an awful scolding when I get home, and so I may as well get all the amusement I can out of this whilst it lasts.' Lord George managed to secure the lead of the conversation, and began at once to speak of things that had occurred on the occasion of his last meeting with Virginie. That left Pelham with nothing to say. ' Still, that is all fair play,' reflected Virginie, at once understanding the move. 'Mr. Lor raine must manage to change the subject. I am not going to help him.' The position of the man who has to sit silent whilst two other people talk, is seldom enviable, and becomes very much the contrary when one of the two is a girl whom he admires, and the other a rival whose remarks bear witness to his greater familiarity with the young lady.