The Shadow on the Hearth ... Second edition

Front matter

THE SHADOW ON THE HEARTH. BY MRS. MACKENZIE DANIEL, AUTHOB. OB "THE OLD MAID OF THE FAMI1T," "MT SISTEE MINNIE," &C. " Now we sit by the same hearth stone, Each heart with a winter of its own ; And oh ! but the years are long and lone." IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. SECOND EDITION. LONDON: CHAKLES J. SKEET, 10, KING WILLIAM STREET, CHAEING CBOSS. 1867. [The right of translation is reserved.] CONTENTS lit THE FIRST VOLUME. CHAPTER PAOE I. A FAMILY GROUP . . .1 II. A DESERTED WIFE . . .17 III. THE HAELEY STREET PEOPLE . . 30 IV. RAILWAY COMPANIONS . . .57 V. ROOK'S NEST AND ITS PROBLEMS . 73 VI. MRS. STANDISH'S " BOY CECIL" . . 87 VII. ECCENTRIC LOVE-MAKING . . 102 VIII. MATERNAL POLICY . . .116 IX. THE VISITORS .... 129 X. AGATHA'S GOLDEN APPLE . . 154? XI. TJNDER THE CATALPA TREE . . 169 xn. agatha's just indignation . . 1S4 XIII.

FROM THE CASTLE TO THE COTTAGE . CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XIV. AGATHA TISITS HEE EELATIONS IN HAE LEY STEEET .... 216 XT. THE DLNNEE-PAETY . . . 233 XTI. THE PRODIGAL FEOM A FAE COUNTEY . 253 XTII. WHAT CAN IT MEAN ? . . . 271 XTIII. THE PEODIGAL IN DISGRACE . . THE SHADOW ON THE HEARTH.

Chapter I

A FAMILY GROUP. " Dear, your coffee and egg will be as cold as ice ; " said Milly Denison in a remonstrative tone to her mother, who sat engrossed in a closely written letter on one side of the daintily spread breakfast table at which the speaker was presid ing. "Won't that document keep till by and bye?" " Of course it won't, you poor innocent," came in silvery accents from another voice belonging to as fair and queenlike a daughter of Eve as ever stooped to reprove the dulness of an obtuse younger sister; "it is from mamma's friend of friends, the Honourable Mrs. Standish, otherwise 1 VOL. I. Nellie Cameron, who long years ago had the sense to discover the inestimable worth and saintly patience of the lady she treats now to a periodical volume of her aristocratic troubles and enjoyments."

Agatha Denison's satire was too free in this instance from the least tinge of ill nature to give offence to the gentle and indulgent woman who had looked up from her letter to listen to her eldest daughter's observations, and who said now — with a little deprecating smile that embraced both her children — " My dears, I am really interested, as you see, in what this long letter contains, and when I have got through it you shall judge for your selves if I have not ample reason for being so. Curl your lip as much as you please, Miss Aggy, in your contempt for feminine correspondence and woman's gossip ; you will be seriously enough interested by and bye in what Mrs. Standish has written, if I am not greatly mistaken — and oh, Milly love" (as the other girl quietly insinuated a spoon into her mother's hand, and pushed the steaming coffee closer to her), " never mind about breakfast just now ; I shall like it quite as well cold this hot morning."

So nothing more was said by either of the young ladies till they had finished their own meal, when Agatha began grouping together some flowers that had been recently plucked and thrown carelessly on the table, while Milicent fetched a crystal vase from the sideboard and watched her beautiful sister at her graceful occupation. "Now, I wonder," remarked Agatha, as again and again she buried that fair and serene face of hers amongst the bright carnations and roses which their own modest little garden had pro duced, " I wonder whether the Honourable Mrs. Standish's conservatories could furnish a sweeter bouquet than this. I don't believe it could, Milly, and I don't like aristocratic people who think themselves all the world and look down upon other people, indulging in the absurd belief 1 — that their notice and patronage is an honour that ought to weigh humbler mortals to the dust.

They are mistaken as far as 1 am concerned, and so I should like to tell them. I have never forgotten our meeting that Mrs. Standish at Ventnor five or six years ago, and her patting our heads with the air of an empress, and saying we were ' nice little girls,' and that I should probably grow up nearly as handsome as mamma had been. What business was it of hers if I grew up a gorgon ? And then she turned and whispered to mamma, thinking, I suppose, that for once little pitchers had not long ears : ' What a million shames it was, Constance, that you sacrificed yourself in a stupid love match.' " " I don't remember anything about the meeting," laughed Milicent, " except our dining in a grand room looking over the sea, with a stout fine lady, and a tall boy who gave me loads of strawberries, and told me I was nicer than you, because -I did not mind his kissing me.

I suppose you did, Aggy, and I have no doubt that you had an intuition even then that he was an embryo aristocrat, and therefore to be kept at arms' length by all young ladies not deficient in self-respect and proper pride, and so forth." " Whatever my intuitions were," answered Agatha, with a momentary flashing of her fine eyes, and an uplifting of the queenly little head, " I am very glad that I did refuse to be kissed by Cecil Standish. I was nearly fourteen, remember, and at that age girls have no business to be kissed by boys, especially by boys who would be likely to think their kissing one an honour." " Well, at any rate," resumed Milly, who being only moderately pretty herself, had a very genuine and intense admiration of her elder sister's beauty, — " at any rate, if he could see and know you now, Aggy, he would feel that the honour was all on the other side.

There, mamma has finished that terrible letter at last, and is going, I hope, to eat her breakfast." " And to tell us what the honourable lady has condescended to write about this time," put in Agatha, in a tone that showed, as indeed all her previous talk had done, how very little awe mingled in whatever affection she might entertain towards her mother. Mrs. Denison's still fair and pleasant face was slightly flushed as she hastily swallowed her cold coffee (in deference, probably, to Milly's per sistent entreaties on the subject), and then smoothing out again the long letter she had half folded in a fit of absence, thus addressed her daughters : — " My dear girls, I don't think you ought to make such a constant jest of my old friend's continued interest in me and mine. I speak particularly to you, Aggy, because I don't be lieve Milly has much genius for sarcasm.

Of course, I don't mind it a bit, only the thing in itself is foolish, and has its source in a totally erroneous idea that Mrs. Standish looks down upon all who are not exactly in her own sphere of life. She does not do this as regards ourselves, Agatha, I assure you, and I hope you will be convinced of what I say, once and for ever, when I shall have read you a passage or two of her present letter. Don't be afraid that I am going to inflict the whole of it on you, my dears," added this amiable mother, thus meekly deprecating the impatience of her grown up daughters, — " I shall only trouble you with what in point of fact concerns you — one of you at least — even more than it concerns myself." " Mamma, dear, we are all attention," said Agatha, with a sunny smile, as she bent near enough to her mother to kiss the slightly tremu lous hand that held the letter in question ; " and you know, darling, I mean nothing by the non sense I talk, except, indeed, that I do dislike, and cannot help disliking, with my whole heart, people who think themselves all the world, and look down upon other people."

" Be quiet, now, Aggy," pleaded Milly, whose likes and dislikes flowed in somewhat different channels. " I want to hear Mrs. Standish's letter." " Well, then," resumed Mrs. Denison, " after a good deal concerning her daily life at Rook's Nest — the name of their place in Westmore land — Nellie goes on to say : " ' My son is living at home with me now, having finished his college education, and done all the travelling he seems to care about. He is a fine young man, this Cecil of mine, and one that any mother might be proud of; but, somehow, we are not the companions to each other that I had once fondly hoped we should be, and consequently to both of us the daily life we lead together is becoming, if it has not already become, flat, stale, and unprofitable. " ' I try to make home endurable to Cecil by getting all the pleasantest people I know (young ladies, of course, included) around us, but he seems to have no taste for society, and is evidently bored to death at Rook's Nest, and Ions; ing ardently for an excuse for bidding, perhaps a final, adieu to it.

As for marriage, I grieve to say, he yawns or shudders at the very men tion of it, and yet shows me so little of his inner self, that I am quite ignorant as to whether this has its origin in a mean opinion of women, or in any fanatical religious notion, which may lead to his becoming a priest in the Romish Church, or even shutting himself up in a Monastery for ever. Altogether, my dear Constance, I am in a most unpleasant state of doubt and mystification concerning this well beloved son of mine, and I want you to prove your friendship by granting me something which I am sure will act as a balm upon my depressed and harassed spirits. " ' You have no son — be thankful for it — but you have two daughters, both of whom pro mised, I think, to grow up charming and amiable girls, as their dear mother has been before them.

Now, will you take pity on my loneliness, and trust one of these treasures of yours with me for a month or two ? She shall be taken as much care of as if she were a princess royal, and I will do everything in my humble power to make her visit at Rook's Nest agreeable to her. As to which of the two it shall be, I leave en tirely to you, only ' " Here the reader grew suddenly a little embarrassed, and murmured something about the next sentence being of no consequence, taking up the thread she had dropped as follows : " ' If you decide on granting my earnest wish, do, my dear Constance, write to me immediately and fix a day when I may bring the carriage to Kendal to meet my young friend, and bear her triumphantly to my weird old castle amongst the hills. You know I was never a very patient individual, and I have set my heart strongly on this matter.

Trust me fully, Constantia mia, as I used in the old days to call you. How can I help loving fondly a young, bright, happy creature who will bring your image, as it was when we first met, continually before me ! Cecil has just sauntered in, and wants to know what possible interest in life can be worth writing half-a-dozen pages about. I have told him he shall have an answer to his question within the next ten days ; so you see, my friend, how entirely I am reckoning on your will seconding your ability to please me. " ' With love to both your dear girls, " ' Believe me, " ' Always yours, " ' Nellie Standish.' "And now I hope you are satisfied," exclaimed Mrs. Denison, folding her letter at last, and looking half triumphantly and half questioningly at the two girls who were both gazing at her as if they had scarcely as yet realized the full meaning of what they had been hearing.

" Agatha, my dear, you must confess that you have hitherto done my old school fellow grievous injustice, and then tell me how you like the prospect held out to you." " Held out to me," replied Agatha, opening still wider the beautiful eyes that had been gradually distending during the last five minutes ; " why to me, mamma, when Mrs. Standish says emphatically she does not care which it is who shall be lent or sent to her ?" " Of course," the mother hastened to add, with a quick glance at her youngest daughter — " and I meant my question for Milly as well as for yourself; only as you are the eldest, and, I think, fonder of society than your sister, I supposed that you would be the readiest to accept this kind invitation ; in short, my dears, though you shall settle it between yourselves, I do think Aggy would enjoy the visit the most, and get on best with Mrs. Standish."

" I am not so sure of that," said Agatha, though the flush on her cheek and the light in her eye did not augur ill for her final acquiescence in the great lady's wishes — "you both know my detestation of aristocrats and people who think themselves all the world, and look down upon other people. The chances are that I should insult both Mrs. Standish and her precious son before I had been a week at Rook's Nest, and get sent home in disgrace. If the invitation must be accepted, mamma, I think Milly had better go ; besides, she is cleverer than I am, and more likely to prove an agreeable companion to Mrs. Standish."- " Milly will decidedly not go !" put in tha young lady in a quietly resolute tone. " Mrs. Standish wants the handsomer of the two, and mamma very naturally wishes to oblige her."

" How do you know this ?" broke abruptly from the mother, thrown off her guard by so unexpected an observation from Milly. " I really cannot see how anything I read to you could have conveyed such an impression." " No, dear," rejoined Milly with a perfectly contented smile ; " but the little bit you did not read to us enlightened me. I am only vexed that you should think me goose enough to be hurt by your recognition of so very obvious a fact as that of Aggy's superiority in all external attractions to myself. Fancy me being accepted at Rook's Nest as a bait to detain there in an idle flirtation a gay and fashionable young man like Cecil Standish !" " And am I a likely person to submit tamely to be made use of for such a purpose ?" burst forth Agatha haughtily and passionately. " Surely, mamma" (turning quite fiercely for so pretty a creature to her other companion), "surely Mrs. Standish does not mean anything of this kind ?

If I thought so, wouldn't I write her a letter that would astonish her aristocratic mind, and convince her that for once her looking down had fallen upon the wrong people. I only understood by her letter that she wanted a companion for herself, but I suppose my brains are full of cobwebs this morning. Mamma, you ought to know what your dear friend means. Pray enlighten my darkness od the subject." Poor Mrs. Denison looked sorely perplexed and half inclined to cry for a minute or two (she was a very sensitive and easily depressed lady, as will be seen later), but rallying before any thing more serious than a faint quiver of the lip had been perceptible, she said entreatingly to Agatha — " My dear girl, do not wound me by taking up unkind and unjust suspicions against the best friend I have in the world.

Milly is always thinking she can see things invisible to every body else. If Mrs. Standish means more by her invitation than you have yourself discerned in it, I am quite sure it has reference to a hope of your being charming enough to fix her son's affections for ever. And even you, Agatha, with all your pride, can scarcely feel insulted by a fond mother's desire to win you for her only son." Agatha's face would have been a pretty study for a painter as she listened to these soothing and diplomatic words. She only said, however : — " You and Milly have an equal talent, I think, for suggesting impossibilities, and making mountains out of mole hills. I will go to Rook's Nest if you like just to find out the truth of this matter, and to show these Standishes how little respect I have for aristocrats or for people who think themselves all the world, and look down upon other people." So the very same day Mrs. Denison wrote to her old friend, and accepted her gracious invitation on behalf of the democratic Agatha.

Chapter II

A DESERTED WIFE. This was the position of Mrs. Denison and her daughters, as far as it was known to the public generally. Fifteen years before the date at which I have taken up their history, Mr. Denison (who though an extraordinary man in some respects, was only by profession a second or third rate artist) abruptly left his wife and their almost infant children, and had made no sign of his existence since that time. Mrs. Denison stated candidly to all whom it concerned, that she and her husband had not lived happily together, 2 VOL. I. «i though they had married for love, and the lady, in choosing a man with neither money nor position, had grievously wounded the pride of her own family, every member of which had fore told evil of the match in question, and in fore telling it had wisely and advisedly washed their hands of her and hers thenceforth and for ever.

But the deserted wife, in making the above ad mission to her husband's enquiring friends, added her solemn assurance that no quarrel had immediately preceded Mr. Denison's sudden departure from his home, in confirmation of which statement, she submitted to their in spection a brief note addressed to herself, that had been found, a day or two after the artist's mysterious disappearance, stuck in the right hand corner of his forsaken easel. In this note the poor gentleman declared that being restless and unhappy himself, and failing to make the happiness of the wife he dearly loved, he had resolved on ridding her of his presence for ever ; but as he had no thought of suicide in any shape, he implored her and his friends in general to refrain from the needless trouble and expense of dragging the Serpentine, or setting the police to work on his behalf.

He further added, that he did not entertain a doubt of Uncle James's willingness to provide handsomely for the wife and daughters he was leaving, now that he would be out of the way ; and, in short, committed his female kind to that gentleman's special care and consideration, with a confidence that was undoubtedly flattering, even if it failed to inspire the amount of gratitude it unquestionably deserved. But be that as it may, Uncle James — the rich man of poor Jack Denison's family — did not choose to have it said by any one, that he had been appealed to and trusted for nought; so very speedily after his luckless nephew's unexplained disappearance from his home, he announced to the gently sorrowing wife, that until some tidings could be had of the runaway, it was his gracious intention to allow her, for herself and the education of 2—2 her daughters, the sum of two hundred pounds a year, which being paid quarterly, he trusted would be found sufficient (with the little she possessed of her own) to supply her and her children with all the comforts of life, and to keep up an appearance creditable to himself as her near relative by marriage, and, for the present, at least, her benefactor and guardian.

" For," said this worthy gentleman, crossing his legs and reclining easily in poor Mrs. Deni son's own particular arm chair — " you will necessarily choose, in your unfortunate position, to live as quietly and unobtrusively as you can manage to do. When the girls are old enough, we must look out for a cheap school for them, and in the meanwhile I should recommend your exchanging these gimcrack apartments," (glancing round somewhat disdainfully at the many little tasteful objects which the reckless artist had gathered together for the delectation of the young wife he had certainly at one time fondly loved) " for a neat, inexpensive cottage in the suburbs. My wife will, I am sure, have no objection to take you any day in the carriage to look about you, and will give you, in addition, the benefit of her advice and experience.

High gate, or Hampstead, or Finchley, would be a good locality, and you ought to get a house in either of those places for about thirty pounds a year." To all of which Mrs. Denison meekly acqui esced, thanking Uncle James for the trouble he was taking about her ; but looking so white and unhappy, and preoccupied, while he was talk ing, that the benevolent gentleman went home with the conviction that his nephew must be a greater scamp and ne'er-do-well than even he had always thought him, to desert a wife who was evidently so devotedly attached to him. "And really a perfect lady, you know," he remarked to his own wife that same evening, after he had favoured her with the details of his visit in Duke Street — " a perfect lady, my dear, if she did make a fool of herself in marrying a half crazy, penniless artist for the sake of his handsome face.

That was her misfortune, Maria, at least as much as it was her fault. I rather admire Mrs. John Denison myself, and when she has somewhat recovered her spirits, poor thing ! (for my part I wonder she is not deuced glad to get rid of such a fellow) I should wish you to have her here now and then, when we have no company, you know, my dear, and Jenkins can be spared to take her home after dark." And although it was not to be expected that Mrs. James Denison could admire very enthu siastically the same ladies whom her husband admired, she did not choose to thwart his wishes in this matter, especially as the lady in question wras under a heavy cloud, and Aunt Maria — walking in a full blaze of sunshine herself — always made it a matter of duty to be kind to such of her fellow-creatures as were thus unhappily overshadowed.

But the overshadowing in Mrs. John Denison's case did not last much beyond the first twelve months of her strange widowhood. Being a lady of quiet habits and inexpensive tastes, she managed admirably well upon Uncle James's allowance ; and as her little daughters increased in stature and intelligence, giving early promise of mental as well as of physical grace, this deserted wife, living in a modest cottage at Hampstead, contrived to surround her unobtru sive existence with a sunshine as warm and cheering, if not quite so brilliant, as that in which Aunt Maria had all the days of her life been basking. Instead of sending her girls to a cheap school, Mrs. John Denison undertook their education herself, receiving very valuable assistance in this pleasant task from an accom plished lady residing in her immediate neigh bourhood, and who having taken a strong fancy to the gentle, sweet tempered woman she had accidentally become acquainted with, volunteered her services in a manner there was no resisting, and declared herself amply repaid for all she did by being numbered amongst Mrs. Denison's friends.

There must, you perceive, have been some thing very unusually sweet and loveable about Jack Denison's forsaken wife, inasmuch as everybody who knew her discovered her rare attractiveness, and felt, with Uncle James, that the man who could run away from such a woman, must be a vagabond indeed. During all the years that the little girls were growing up, Mrs. Denison avoided general so ciety, even in her own class, where she would have been welcomed gladly ; but she always ac cepted the periodical invitations she received from Uncle James and Aunt Maria, not in the least caring for the fact — if, indeed, she ever quite took it in — that they only asked her when they were alone, or had to entertain a humdrum acquaintance or two who would not notice whether Mrs. John were dressed fashionably or otherwise, nor feel their dignity insulted by sitting at the same table with a poor relation of their host.

Mrs. John Denison never forgot that she owed the outward comforts of her life to her husband's wealthy uncle, and so she was grateful to him in her quiet, undemonstrative fashion, and deemed it right and fitting to go to his house under whatever circumstances he might choose to invite her. Even though the extreme sweetness of her temper, as well as the gentle courtesy of her manners, were nearly always put to very severe tests on the occasion of her visits in Hariey Street ; for Mrs. James Denison was a woman of a very insatiable curiosity, and having taken it into her wise head from the first that there was more in the disappearance and continued ab sence of her husband's nephew than had been made clear to her, or to anybody, she could never let an opportunity escape of probing and cross-examining the poor innocent wife on the subject.

In vain the latter assured her solemnly every time they met that she knew nothing beyond what she had originally revealed about the matter, that she had formed no conjectures on the subject since, that she had no expectation of further enlightenment, and finally that she made a point of endeavouring, as much as possible, to banish the vexed question from her thoughts. Aunt Maria treated all such assertions as weak evasions, and continued her inquisitorial re searches into the domestic history of the divided couple as if her curiosity gave her a perfect right to goad her unoffending relative to madness. And this was the way in which Mrs. John Denison's young daughters, sitting or playing in the room unnoticed by the aunt, while these ill advised and fruitless discussions were going on, came to know at a very early age that their father had abandoned them for some unknown cause, and to pick up — for these little pitchers were remarkably well supplied in the way of ears — various other items or suggestions of in formation which it would have been quite as well for them not to have acquired.

Agatha, for instance — the eldest and the prettiest of these small, intelligent creatures — became keenly alive to the fact that poverty was a very nasty thing, without anything in the slightest degree respectable about it, and that it was only persons living in a certain position, and keeping up a certain establishment, who had any claim upon the regard or consideration of their fellow-men. Also she gathered and folded close to her young and ambitious heart the sister truth, that marrying for love without money was — especially on a woman's part — be neath contempt, and indicative, to say the least of it, of a mild form of insanity — and gravely discussing the question with the scarcely inter ested Milly, Miss Agatha Denison, at twelve years old, declared that she would never be so foolish as poor mamma had been, but look out for a husband who could give her a carriage to drive about in, and a house ten times finer than even that respectable mansion in Hariey Street which Aunt Maria thought so much of, but whose gloom and solemn stateliness this high spirited young lady very cordially detested.

And then little Milly, lifting up her shy gray eyes, which had a look of wisdom in them beyond her years, would answer, almost in a whisper,— " I shouldn't care about the fine house or the carriage, Aggy, but I should want my husband to love me a great, great lot, and never to run away from me as papa did." And this difference in the early aspirations of the two girls was oddly enough carried out in their childish games at that period, for while Agatha's doll dressed in laces and velvets, and visited amongst the aristocracy, Milly's wore good serviceable cotton or lindsey, and either stayed at home making soup or flannel petti coats for the poor, or contented herself with a quiet tea-drinking at the Vicarage. But a trifling incident that occurred in the personal history of Miss Agatha about this time, some what upset her theories with regard to high life in general, and greatly interfered with her juve nile predilections in favour of the upper ten thousand.

The lady who was so kindly lending a helping hand with the education of these little girls, took them with her one day to a very grand house in Mayfair, where some aristocratic pupils of her own resided during the season : but it was not the season now, and Miss Capel wanted to show Agatha and Milly the rare paintings, and the old china, and the other objects of in terest which this fine mansion of her distin guished patrons contained. The respectable person in charge of the house received them all very graciously, showed them whatever they cared to see, made much of the " sweet little ladies" after the fashion of elderly women un blessed with children of their own, and was about to offer them refreshments in the big dining-room, when a gentleman emerged suddenly from the library, and recognizing Miss Capel, stopped to greet her politely, and to look for a moment admiringly at the two fair-haired little girls she had with her.