Cross-Roads

Preface

The following story is already known to my readers as ' Cross- Roads,' under which title it was published in its first three volume form by Messrs Hurst ifc Blackett. It is with sincere regret that I find myself obliged to give a new name to the book on its appearance in a second edition, thus risking the chance of unknown friends buying an old acquaintance with a new face. I heartily trust that any who may be thus disappointed will forgive me on learning the necessity of the change. Messrs Eden, Remington and Co. were about to bring out ' Cross- Roads ' as a single volume, when they were advised that Miss Yonge had lately given the same name to a tale published by the ' National Society's Depository.' As it appeared that my first publishers had not entered the title of ' Cross- Roads ' at Stationers' Hall, Messrs Eden, Rem ington and Co. found themselves reluctantly compelled to advise me that it was necessary to substitute a fresh title for that on which I had no longer a claim. Hence ' Love-Knots ' takes the place of ' Cross-Roads ' with the writer's apology to the public. May Crommelin. CROSS ROADS

Chapter I

Four persons turned their eyes on the doctor, awaiting his verdict. The time was in December. The scene was the comfortable drawing-room of a middling-sized English country house. A great fire blazed under a white marble mantelpiece that had never known a drapery. One large duplex lamp and two smaller ones lit the room brilliantly, with not a shade upon any one of them. A pleasant enough drawing-room, where everything bespoke ease and a homely domestic life ; but it had no aspirations to high or even homely art — absolutely none. On the hearthrug stood the master of the house, Mr Johnson, who was also squire of the parish (and secretly took pleasure in being so styled). He was a big man, in clining to corpulence, with a broad reddish face which might have seemed good-natured to foolishness, save for his under-lip.

This latter was always protruding itself with an air of pompous deliberation, as if obliged to keep perpetu ally on the look-out, or its owner might be betrayed into grave daily errors in farm, parish, or magisterial matters. His head was bald and shining, except for a fringe of fair hair, now sprinkled with pepper and salt, which fringe he wore falling low on his collar, to counterbalance deficiency elsewhere. Lastly, his whiskers met under his chin. With his coat-tails tucked up, the worthy squire was A CROSS-ROADS 2 pleasantly conscious of the soothing fire-glow. Yet his bluish eyes showed a properly anxious ring of white as he stared, from the lofty altitude attained by his corporeal (and no doubt mental) superiority over others, unblinkingly and long at the family medical man. On one side of the fireplace sat Mrs Johnson, with her stout little person sunk in a deep easy-chair.

Her plump hands were folded together anxiously, as if trying by contact to comfort each other ; and her motherly visage, that usually bore an expression of placid but constant solicitude for the wants of her spouse and her family of ten, was deeply troubled by the gravity of the present situation. To relieve her mind, the poor little woman was uttering a continual murmur of ' Oh dear, dear ! ' and ' Oh my, my ! ' besides sorrowful, small, clucking sounds, to which nobody seemed to pay the least attention. And in the corner of a sofa, on the opposite side of the fireplace, reclined the invalid. This was a young and very pretty girl with masses of fair, almost too fair, hair, and the complexion of a Dresden china shepherdess. She was lying back on a pile of cushions in a languid attitude, and every now and then coughed just a little, trying to suppress the sound in a dainty scented handkerchief, as if fearful of giving pain to those around her.

Her eyes, blue and angelic in expression, were, like those of all the others present, turned towards the doctor, as if pleading softly for some word of hope — any comforting assurance. Yet there was a sweetly resigned expression on the maiden's face, and she forced a touching little smile, plainly signifying, ' Don't be afraid to speak. I am ready to hear the worst! The gaunt old doctor hummed and fidgetted on his seat rubbed his forehead thoughtfully, thereby pushing his wig awry ; then feeling the importance of his fiat, for he alone had pilled and physicked the whole Johnson family durino* this generation and most of the last one, slowly permitted the cautious words to leave his lips. ' Miss Lily appears certainly to be not in a quite desirable state of health for a young lady. Her lungs are well !■ — they are not exactly attacked, we may hope ; but still a certain amount of care seems to be called for, and a CROSS-ROADS 3 cough of this nature is — ahem! — Well, no cough should ever be trifled with.' ' Hum ! — -Well, mammy, / should say Lily ought to give up all riding out with me to see the hounds ; and go to no more dances, or nonsense of that kind, this winter.' Thus the squire solemnly delivered himself, slowly mov ing his head from side to side like a Chinese joss, as he surveyed those present from over his double chin. ' Oh, my !

Oh, dear, dear ! such a pity, poor girl,' sighed the pitying little mother. ' But perhaps, doctor, if she wore high dresses always and a respirator sometimes — Your low dresses could be filled up quite nicely to the neck, Lily dear, and gathered there with a little frill ; and per haps if we lined them with thin flannel — ' Mrs Johnson generally spoke apologetically, or suggest ively, and seldom ended her sentences ; as if anxious to leave room for the wise criticisms and corrections of her lord and master in the first great instance, and after him of her entire family. She had so grown used to the habit that she always began her orders, ' Don't you think,' or ' You might,' even to the pantry-boy. The invalid's gaze drooped: a warmer hectic flush deepened in her cheek. Ten seconds of painful silence followed, during which the gaze of all the rest turned on their martyr.

Then the sufferer murmured, ' If it were only warm weather — I feel always such a different being in the sunshine, as if life were really worth living. But it doesn't much matter — ! ' She broke off with the sweetest of sad smiles as who should say, ' Pray dig my grave and bury me.' Father and mother gazed at each other troubled. The old doctor looked uncomfortable, dreading complications in his fair patient's ailment; those, namely, caused by difficulty in pleasing all concerned. A new voice suddenly broke in : a low quick voice, but speaking with a decision begotten of pure desperation, and with a vibration (unnoticed by the others) of alarm at its own boldness. ' Send her to Nice or Cannes ! Everybody goes there in winter who is delicate. Lily ought to go — I am quite sure of it.' CROSS-ROADS 4 All the listeners gave a little gasp.

Indeed, the sugges tion had fairly taken away their breath. They looked round at each other; but were silent with a deferential air till the father of the family should speak first. This Mr Johnson did, not unkindly, but shooting out his under lip to quite an alarming extent in indignant astonishment at the idea. 'Go abroad! And, pray, who is to take Lily? / can't be spared, as you might all know well enough. How can I be in two places at a time, and I don't suppose there are many men who have their hands as full of business at home here; and, if nothing else, there is hardly a magistrate be sides myself who ever thinks of attending regularly at the bench.' ' And as to me — dear, dear, how could I ever take baby a journey ; and indeed I should be rather afraid of leaving poor little Dora, who will hardly be rid of her whooping cough before next spring — will she, doctor?

And there are Georgie's and Jemmie's holidays — besides the twins who are going to school after Christmas. Oh, my ! so very unfortunate,' murmured poor Mrs Johnson, with fresh clucking sounds of dismay. 'i can take Lily!' said the speaker afore-mentioned, still with the same calm but immense decision of low tone. Indeed, having once begun, it is now quite an agreeable sensation to go on with the lead. ' You, Grannie ! ' came from both father and mother, with surprise dashed by doubt, yet an evident gleam of satisfaction that they themselves did not appear called on by nature's claims to tear themselves from their comfortable British fireside and travel to distant lands for their eldest daughter's sake. 'Ah! if you went,' muttered the old doctor; then dis creetly subsided. The patient had turned her eyes with a rather startled, yet a most sincere look of gratitude on her one friend in the hour of need. ' Thank you, dear Grannie, it is very, very kind of you !

But perhaps such an idea is quite impossible, and I must just try to get through the winter as best I can.' 'Why should it be impossible at all? ' returned Grannie, CROSS-ROADS 5 speaking fast and eagerly, feeling that perhaps on this critical moment depended poor Lily's future restoration to health, or gradual wasting into hopeless consumption. ' I have wished for a long time to treat myself to a winter on the Riviera ; none of you need hesitate on my account. So, will you both trust Lily to my care ? ' This last to the anxious parents, whose faces showed that the proposal was gradually stealing into their minds as a not unwelcome guest. ' Oh, indeed, Grannie, no one could nurse her, poor girl, better than you, if I am not there. Is not that true, papa ? ' cooed little Mrs Johnson, moving her head this way and that in unconscious resemblance to an anxious elderly pigeon.

She was looking now at her child in parental anxiety ; now at her lord, afraid of committing herself to any apparent opinion possibly adverse to his superior judg ment. ' And who is to be a chaperon for Lily ? You can't be that ! ' sternly demanded the squire, turning his broad face, with full-moon solemnity, round the circle of womankind below him, though specially levelling this tremendous necessary bombshell at audacious Grannie. Mr Johnson was one of the good old sort of fathers, and he thought of a ' young lady's ' chaperon much as he might of her shadow. To know his own daughter without what he considered ' a proper ' one, would have caused him to feel much the same horror as folk had of the shadowless man — who, by that want, they feared had forfeited his soul. ' Your sister, Mrs MacLachlan, can be chaperon.

She wrote that she was thinking of spending the winter in some warm place, but had not decided her plans. She could easily join us,' returned the fearless advocate, undaunted. It was quite true. Mrs MacLachlan could do so. ' Really, it is almost like an arrangement of Providence,' uttered Mrs Johnson, presently, with thankfulness. But this was only when her spouse had deigned to enter into a favourable discussion of the pros and cons of the matter. Poor soul, her face was warmly flushed with anxiety, yet even in those supreme moments she had kept CROSS-ROADS silence till the mind was revealed of him whom she most faithfully honoured and obeyed. The invalid, with glistening, speedwell blue eyes, and the inward feeling (outwardly visible) of a drowning creature clinging to a plank, kept interpolating little phrases of gentle joy at the ecstatic hope ; but she mingled these with deprecating fears of being tempted to long too much for what might prove, alas ! a dreadfully disappointing impos sibility.

So she warned them. This had its proper effect. 1 1 declare, in my opinion, Lily ought to go. That's what I think ; though, with due deference to you, doctor, of course,' announced the squire. 'Always on the under standing that Grannie kindly promises to take care of her.' ' Oh, yes, dear me, Grannie will take the greatest care, I am sure,' echoed his wife, brightening with relief at once. ' And I'm sure the doctor won't — at least, I suppose — I don't think—' ' Yes, Miss Aylmer, if you take care of her, we may all be certain Miss Lily will be in capital hands,' answered the old Galen, with a world of satisfaction in his tones also. (Now he might safely take his leave, and his old mare would get him home in time for a comfortable dinner of roast pork-ribs). All eyes were at present directed on the person who had come forward with such wonderful energy for her age, and a simple boldness of suggestion that Mrs Johnson wondered at, feeling that she herself never had been or would be capable of the like.

The Grannie in question was a pleasant-looking girl who sat on the outer edge of the fireside circle. She might have been any age between eighteen and twenty-five. In person she was tall and finely formed, having indeed a large and full development of figure that usually goes with several more years than she possessed. But her complexion was so downy, almost infantile in its bloom, and she had a guileless, open look so like that of a good child, that the one impression constantly corrected the other. In reality, Margaret Aylmer was just one-and-twenty. She had been brought up for the last twelve years or so mostly under the sheltering care of her uncle and aunt, Mr CROSS-ROADS 7 and Mrs Johnson, alternating with yearly visits to other relatives. Her mother, always spoken of with bated breath as ' poor Lady Aylmer,' had died a few years ago under the same hospitable roof.

And so Margaret's large affec tionate heart was full of gratitude towards these her late guardians. Furthermore, having a fostering love for children, and being a very useful and obliging girl, fond of seeing to the garden and to the poultry-rearing, and willing if not enthusiastic as to mothers' meetings, clothing-clubs, and the like, the motherless maiden had been her Aunt Eliza's right hand for years. She was the latter's other self and prime-minister towards the ten bigger and lesser Johnsons, who had bestowed upon their cousin from earliest days the nick-name of Grannie, which seemed likely to cling to her through life. ' Well ? Arid now when ought this little girl of mine to go, doctor ? The sooner the better, I think,' went on the squire, tucking his coat-tails still higher, and speaking over the heads of the audience, as if from a platform. ' Eh, mammy, can you pack her things and have her ready to start in a fortnight ? ' ' O, father, and not wait for Christmas ? ' pleaded the invalid, in hasty though gentle reproach. ' The only dance of the year will be coming off at Lady Townly's, you know,' softly added Grannie.

Thank good ness the ill-advised words were very softly said, for she caught a flash of indignant warning in Lily's blue eyes. The latter went calmly on : ' You know, father, you always have liked us all to be gathered round you at Christmas, and the circle would be broken for the first time. Mother dear, 1 would try not to think about it, still ' ' Ah, yes ; dear, dear ; poor girl ! It would be quite a trial, I am afraid, Robert ; what do you say ? . . . . yes, indeed, doctor,' responded Mrs Johnson, swayed now this, now that way by her feelings. * 'Well, doctor, of course if you say it doesn't matter,' pursued the family Sir Oracle, subduing his loud voice to a mild paternity of tone. ' Remember a great many patients CROSS-ROADS go out too late ; still, if you consider it is safe, I don't object to giving way myself.' Hereupon the poor old doctor became once more the point of attraction for all eyes, especially receiving an im ploring limpid glance from Miss Johnson.

A wild wish came over him to say the truth and have done with the matter ; but he wisely checked himself, and rubbed his forehead — hummed and hesitated as a profes sional duty — thought in desperation of those roast pork ribs for dinner. Then he solemnly delivered himself of a long-drawn out, ' We — ell ! In this especial case, with a good constitution on her side, and with care ... I am not inclined to think . . . that Miss Lily runs . . . any undue danger.' There ! It was settled. Five minutes later, and the doctor was thankfully driving homeward. But, before making his escape, the meek old man had been followed to the hall by his host with a lecture on the merits of cod liver oil and steel, and a suggestion (' with all deference to you, doctor,') that the remedy should be forthwith tried on unhappy Lily, who loathed, in her dainty way, everything of a fatty nature in food, and always declared she would like to live on hard-boiled eggs instead of meat.

The doctor had meekly approved, with one foot on his gig-step and a fib or two on his tongue. ' Ve — ry good indeed . . . you know nearly as much as most of us, squire. — Excuse my hurry — another call to make.' ' Then you'll send her out some immediately. Ha, ha, doctor, upon my honour I believe I could very near beat you on your own ground, eh ? If only I had studied the subject a little more ' 'Quite so ; ay ; no doubt. Still an amateur might make mistakes sometimes . . . ticklish work.' There was chagrin in the old doctor's mind, as at last he freed himself from final instructions and good-nights. He flicked at his easy-going mare, who knew no such annoy ances, quite sharply with his whip. Oh ! the perplexities of a poor country practitioner like himself, who cannot command awed respect like the great London men !

What was an ageing father of a family to do between fears of CROSS-ROADS 9 offending his chief patron, or of ceding to the squire reluctantly his own due fees for inspecting the Johnson children's tongues. Meanwhile, Mr Johnson, having returned to bestow a solemn kiss on the forehead of his afflicted daughter, with some big words of courage and hope (the good man was really of a very soft and affectionate disposition), retired to the important task of transacting business in his study. Mrs Johnson, in dutiful sequence, likewise embraced her child, but more effusively. Then, wiping away a furtive tear that trickled down her nose, she apologetically retired to the nursery, ' just to see the baby, dear little thing, a few minutes before dressing for dinner.' The two girls were left alone. Up rose Lily with a lightsome air and put her chin affectionately on her cousin's shoulder. 'You old darling of a grannie !

How had you the courage ? Although I did tell you once or twice I was dying to go, I never thought you would do it.' ' Once or twice ! Why, Lily, you have spoken about it a dozen times in the last fortnight. I was quite miserable about how badly you felt,' answered Grannie, with much sympathy but some surprise of voice. ' Won't it be fun, dear ? Just think of the gaieties out there and the carnival, instead of sticking here among these ploughed fields all winter long,' went on Lily, in still rising spirits, giving a little hop, not boisterously, but in a pro perly graceful way, as she did everything. The action — in a young lady of so languid a frame — meant much. ' But, Lily, you must be careful, you know.' ' Of course, I mean to be careful. There you are, Grannie, always spoiling my pleasure.

Please don't croak.' The door opened to admit the entry of a crowd of small Johnsons, all in white frocks with bare arms and legs; the only distinguishing feature of the sexes being apparently that the little girls wore blue sashes and the boys pink ones. They rushed at Grannie to ' play games ' with them during this half-hour consecrated to themselves. And Lily, as became an invalid, retired with a slight cough or two to the sofa-corner and her novel.

Chapter II

The train for Newhaven was just leaving Victoria Station one evening, the second week in January. Round the door of a carriage marked ' Ladies only,' a family group was collected, consisting of a stout, important father, a fussy little mother, three grinning schoolboys, two little girls, and a white fox-terrier led by a string. Time was nearly up for starting. ' Well, good-bye, Lily, and be careful of yourself ! Mar garet, I trust her to you,' said the father, in impressive accents. He was Mr Johnson of Crow Hall. Then he added, rather weakly, ' I don't yet know whether I ought not just to run down with you two girls as far as the boat, to see you safely on board.' ' Don't think of it, father,' eagerly whispered Lily through a respirator ; for natural speech might endanger her lungs. ' You have so much to do at home, and how would mother and the rest manage in a strange hotel to-night in London without you ?

Good-bye, darling mother — good-bye, boys and all, and my poor little Fan. Take great care of her, please, all of you.' The terrier instantly jumped wildly, trying to take a tender farewell of its mistress, and on being held back by the biggest schoolboy rushed about amongst the party winding its string round everybody's legs. The train snorted and began to move off. ' Darling child, good-bye, and Grannie too — Grannie too.'' CROSS-ROADS 11 called out little Mrs Johnson, tremulously ; adding, as the train rushed into the darkness outside the station, ' So unselfish as Lily is, Robert ! . . . dear girl .... dear, dear .... and little Fan, she wanted to see you to the last, she did.' Whereupon little Fan was lifted and caressed, and tried to lick everybody's face in her excitement. One might have fancied Lily was going away for years ; or in a hopeless condition of health.

Decidedly the John sons were an affectionate but primitive family. 'There! Thank goodness the good-byes are over. It was just like the departure of emigrants, wasn't it?' were Lily Johnson's first words, inside the railway carriage. ' Why should mother bring all the boys and children up to London ? Such nonsense ! Fan was the only one I did want ; I wish I had her with me.' ' You are very lucky to have them all to see you off,' came in gentle answer. And Grannie the caretaker, began pulling up the windows, tucking a fur rug closer over her patient's knees, and placing a travelling cushion behind her back. All properly arranged, Margaret Aylmer sat down in a thoughtful mood. That last good-bye — all to herself — from Aunt Eliza had gone to her heart. Only for that proof of affection, she would have felt curiously lonely in the world at that moment in contrast to Lily.

Of course she had her own dear Aylmer, such a perfect brother as few if any girls are blessed with. But he was staying with some friends in Norfolk for shooting, and was going on elsewhere for hunting ; besides, he had wisely re marked, the Johnson farewell party would be large enough without him. Aylmer was younger than Margaret herself ; had lately left Eton for Oxford ; was always being asked to stay by his fine friends here or there, because he was so quiet and excellent and nice a young fellow in every way. His sister adored him and was proud ' her boy's ' sweetness of disposition and goodness were universally recognised. ' My Aylmer is so good to me, always,' she used to say with brightening eyes, it did one good to see. It was a comfort, as people used to remark, behind Miss Aylmer's back, that her brother promised to turn out so CROSS-ROADS 12 well.

For it may here be remarked, Margaret was not quite an orphan. Her father — this whispered by the family relatives with bated breath — was dreadful. He had led ' poor Lady Aylmer' a terrible life; and had squandered two fortunes, it was said, between his doings on the turf and his yachting, and driving four horses always, and goodness only knew how many more extravagances. Finally, as a fitting climax to all his gay doings in London (as Mr Johnson used severely to observe), this too celebrated parent had run off with some good-for-nothing ■woman. After that, poor Lady Aylmer succeeded in divorcing her disgrace of a husband, and he had taken himself off to America with the ' other one,' whom he married, it was believed — not that anyone much cared. A good riddance of bad rubbish, was the family verdict.

Margaret Aylmer was presently roused from a little quiet musing (it was on the probable horrors of their passage to Dieppe, for she was one of those timid souls who suffer far more agonies from anticipation of sea-sickness than during the evil moment.) Lily had sat up straight, and her cushion at once fell down on one side. She was deliberately taking off her respirator. ' Oh, Lily, don't ! ' gasped her nurse. ' You know what the doctor said.' ' I know that he never said a word on the subject till father took upon himself to propose this horrid thing. My dear Grannie, I am not going to be stifled any longer. ' And certainly Miss Johnson seemed to have made up her mind, for all remonstrances were unavailing. Grannie could do nothing except pick up the cushion and replace it carefully. A minute later down went the cushion on the other side.

Lily was staring through the closed window, regardless of insidious draughts thereabouts. The cushion was picked up again by the caretaker, and indeed fell, and was replaced, about twenty times more during their journey down to Newhaven. ' I wonder if we shall enjoy ourselves. I ought to do so, I am sure, never having been abroad before. Really I have been ashamed to confess it to people,' went on Lily. CROSS-ROADS 13 She always spoke in a voice that corresponded perfectly with her daintily pretty appearance. It was a thin voice, but she strove to make it so properly and perfectly modu lated (and surely such striving is a laudable ambition) that some people, to her secret joy, had praised it as musical, and told her so ; some other people said it was affected, and did not tell her so. The general effect was one of faint tinkling. ' Of course we shall just enjoy ourselves with all our hearts,' said Margaret, speaking with a wholesome air of cheerful certainty it would have done anyone good to hear.

Her voice was a peculiar one. From childhood she never seemed able to raise it loudly ; therefore she appeared always to converse in a low tone of confidence with every one. The defect lay in her throat, but no one ever wished her voice otherwise, it gave her such a friendly sympathetic manner, all agreed. Poor Grannie herself felt it sometimes awkward ; for scolding — if she ever wished to do so — was a physical impossibility, and reading prayers once or twice aloud at Crow Hall, during the squire's absence, was an awful ordeal. It seemed just as if she was whispering the Gospel words to a congregation in the days of persecution, and was terribly afraid of being overheard. ' I am looking forward to all the new ways of life so much ; peasants in real sabots, and then the smart Paris dresses and shops and everything.' ' My dear Grannie, you can't feel it with the same fresh ness of mind that I shall.

Why, you have been abroad before for nearly a year.' 'But, really, I can hardly remember that time at all, Lily. I was quite a small child then.' ' No matter. That must take the first gloss off a little.' ' Well, all the same, I mean to enjoy it all far more this time,' persisted Margaret, good-humouredly, as she was evidently forbidden to compare herself with her cousin in susceptibility to the delightful foreign impressions awaiting them. ' Ah ! yes. The last time you were with Sir John.' Lily's sentence sounded as if that closed the discussion. So it did ; for Margaret hated speaking of this father, who CROSS-ROADS 14 was the bugbear of her existence since childhood. Tears and lifelong complaints on her mother's part ; headshakings of other people, or words of such condemnation as burnt themselves into the child's memory, shame indignation.