Miss Blanchard of Chicago

Chapter 1. Violet And The Rector

The next three days formed a period of unbroken misery and suffering for Violet. It seemed as though no one would leave her alone in her grief. First of all came the coroner and his jury, and before these she was on the rack for over an hour, answering questions, and having her wounded heart stung in a cruel manner. At one time they seemed to be trying to show that her mother had committed suicide ; at another, that the deceased had been suffer ing from melancholia and insanity ; and at another, that the unfortunate lady had been masquerading under an assumed name, and VOL. II. A that Violet must know the cause of such an action and the actual identity of herself and parent. " You recollect nothing of your father, I believe ? " the coroner asked towards the close of Violet's very trying examination.

" Nothing," was the brief reply. " You don't know what part of the country your mother lived in before she came here, or where she was married ? " " No ; I was a baby when she came here." "What was your father's name?" " My mother's name was Mrs Carlisle ; I am Miss Carlisle ; my father, therefore, must have been Mr Carlisle." " Of course. I beg your pardon, but I meant his Christian name — his full name." " I don't know. We never talked about him." " You have some family papers, perhaps, somewhere ? " " There is a box of them somewhere ; but I really don't know where. In London, I think." " At your family solicitors ? " " I don't know. I know that mother kept them in London." " It would have been well if your solicitor could have attended here. Has he been informed of your mother's death ?

" " I don't know who he is. I have never heard her speak of him." " But don't you know who attended to her affairs or received and paid her monies ? " " No ; all her money came from the bank, and she generally kept a large sum in the house." " You don't know the source of her in come ? " " No. I know that she had investments at the bank ; but what, I don't know. I believe I have some, too." " And you don't know any one who knew your father? " "No one." " Has no one ever spoken to you of him ?" "We never saw any one here. We lived entirely by ourselves. The only friend I had, besides my mother and Martha, is in America." " AVho is that ? " " Arthur Vallance." " Did he live near you ? Did you meet him here ? " "Yes, he lived at Redwood House. He was a nephew of Mr Allen Redwood." " Oh ; do you know any other members of the family ?

" "No." " I don't wish to annoy you, but may I ask how you became acquainted with him without knowing any of his relatives ? " "He was upset in the river in front of the house, and I helped him out." " Was that long ago ? " " Nearly two years, I should think." " And he has been a visitor at your house ever since ? " " Until he went to America.' " When was that ? " "About a fortnip-ht ao-o." "And you can throw no light whatever on the whereabouts of your mother's rela tions ? " " None. I don't know that she had any." " You have no idea as to her reasons for coming and living here in complete isolation — for cutting herself off from the world ? " " No ; but, if she had lived, we were going into the world a little next week. We were going to London for a few days." " On business ? " " No ; to let me see London.

But she had promised to tell me something when we got there — some important secret, I think." " You have no idea what that was ? " "No; it was, I am sure, something con cerning us, something, perhaps, painful to my mother ; but I shall never know now." Then the coroner, thanking her for her testimony, and saying that it gave him great pain to have been obliged to detain her so long and ask such inquisitive questions, allowed her to go. At the end of the inquiry, which elicited nothing to gratify the curiosity of the village gossips, the jury simply found a verdict of " Accidentally drowned," and the coroner gave his certificate. But Violet's troubles and mortifications were not ended here, for she soon found herself again under a form of examination quite as painful as that at the inquest.

No sooner had this business been concluded than the rector of the parish in which River Lawn was situated, called, and insisted upon havinoan interview with Miss Carlisle. After uttering a few words of sympathy, this gentleman turned abruptly to the business which had brought him. "I have received notice," he said, "that your poor mother is to be buried in our churchyard, and that you wish the funeral service to take place there." " Of course," replied Violet, looking at her latest tormentor with a puzzled expression. " I suppose it is customary to bury people in the churchyard nearest where they die." " Quite right," responded the parson, glanc ing uneasily at the dust on his boots ; " but it is my duty to inquire to what religion your mother belonged. You see she never attended church all the time she lived here, and she persistently refused to see either me, my wife, or my curate.

Now, if she was a dissenter, I cannot read the service, thouo-h the law gives her a right to be buried in the churchyard. That I am obliged to allow." There was a slight aggressiveness and a tendency to reproach in the clergyman's manner that jarred upon Violet, and in stantly created a feeling of resentment within her. It was evident that, in his eyes, to be a dissenter was an unpardonable offence. " I don't know that it makes much differ ence, where a [person is buried," she replied, " or what is said at the ceremony. I, myself, would be quite willing to bury mother in the garden, where I could see her grave at all times. Mother was far too good for it to make any difference to her where her body is laid, or what is said at her funeral." " But, my child, she ought to have at tended church.

But that need make no difference, if you will tell me that she was a member of the Church of England." " I cannot tell you so, for I don't know, and I don t see what her belief can have to do with the burial of her body. Does the churchyard belong to you ? " " No, certainly not ; but I am its custodian, as it were, and it is not my duty to read the service over unbelievers." " My mother was not an unbeliever," the girl cried indignantly, rising from her seat and facing the reverend gentleman. " She was a true Christian, and very much better than many of those whose religion consists of a certain number of attendances at church each week, and of nothing more." " Don't be angry with me, please, my child. I am obliged to consider these things. Do you know in what religion she was brought up r " No, I don't ; and I don't see that it matters."

The clergyman could not refrain from smiling at the girl's extreme candour. There was a freshness and a naivete about it, that compared almost pleasantly with the mono tonous civility of many of his parishioners and the servile adulation of others. He was so great a power in this well-priested village that he did not often meet with such genuine frankness as he found in this young lady. " I had no intention of meddling or prying, but it was my duty to ascertain your mother's religious belief before I performed the burial service over her," he said, apologetically. "I can't understand that myself; it seems so bigoted and small. But it is a matter of no importance, for I am sure it can make no difference whether you read anything over mother on not. And, as for me, as I said just now, I should like to bury her in the garden, where she would be always near me."

" My poor child, you are almost a hea then." " You are very rude to say such a thing. I am just as much a Christian as you are, only I don't parade it. I don't wish to talk about it any more." " Do you wish me to officiate ? " " You must please yourself. The spirit of my mother is free ; it has left her body for ever. What good can it do to her living spirit to have a stranger read a prescribed formula of prayers over her dead body ? " " You are far too young to entertain such doctrines as these, or even to understand the question you would raise." " I am old enough to have my own opinions." The clergyman pondered in silence for a few moments. He could see plainly that it would be useless to attempt to convert the girl at present ; therefore he said, — " I will not discuss this with you now.

Perhaps, some day we may have an opportunity to revert to it again. But, about the burial service, I will think it over." Then he extended his hand to Violet to bid her good-bye. Just at that moment, however, his eyes fell upon a book on a small table, and his outstretched hand changed its course and picked up the volume. It was only a Church of England Prayer Book, handsomely bound, and having two heavy brass clasps." " This does not look as though you had been a family of unbelievers," he said, evidently pleased as he opened the book and scanned the title-page. "Why; this book has been with you over twenty years. Who was Violet — you ? " " My mother's name was Violet. I be lieve that book was given to her by her aunt ! " "Yes; quite likely. The inscription reads — ' Violet, from her loving Aunt, — and the date is about twenty years ago."

" I don't see anything wonderful about it. Perhaps you would like to examine all the other books we have ? " " Don't you see, Miss Carlisle, that the presence of this little prayer book on your table settles all the difficulty in regard to the funeral service, and that my conscience now leaves me at liberty to officiate at the last rites of your poor mother." " How so ? " she asked, not quite compre hending the sudden change in her visitor's tones and manner. " Because it proves to me that your mother, after all, was one of us. Her aunt would not have given her, and she would not have accepted, a prayer book if she had been an unbeliever or a dissenter. She has, it is true, been culpably careless about attending church, and greatly to blame in her conduct in ex cluding us clergy from her house, but she is fully entitled to our services."

" You mean, " asked Violet, dryly ; " that the presence of a ' Book of Common Prayer' in our home entitles my mother to be buried like a Christian instead of like a heathen." " We won't put it that way. I was anxious to ascertain that she was really a member of our church, and I have been fortunate enough to discover that she was. None of my parishioners can raise any objec tion now." " Did they ever object ? " " Well, there was some little gossip to the effect that you were not church-going people, and perhaps had never been baptised. I see, though, a little memorandum in this book which appears to record your mother's con firmation, shortly after the date on which her aunt presented her with it." " Are people about here really so small minded that they will fight over the disposal of the dead, and quarrel about who shall have the privilege of being laid in the same soil as their own sacred bodies ?

" "Well, you see this is a very orthodox parish." " What's that ? " " A parish composed of people who almost all conform strictly to the doctrines of the Established Church." "And who believe in the evil of every woman who is not within their circle, and who does not shape her belief according to their tenets ? " " Oh, no, certainly not ; but there are certain beliefs — " " Yes, I daresay there are, but I don't care for them. My mother was better than all your goody-goodies, although they seem to think she was not fit to be buried in the same laud where their own bodies will eventually go-" " Oh, no ; it was not a question of the ground ; that is settled by law in favour of allowing all sects the same privileges. It was a question of the service." " A question as to whether it was fit that the same parson who ministers to their holy selves should officiate over her.

I think that is quite as bigoted. But really, you need not do it. I don't care, and I'm sure she wouldn't." " But," said the clergyman, holding up the prayer book, which he still held in his hand ; " this book has effectually settled the con troversy. I am going to officiate myself." He spoke with a self-satisfied complacency that fully indicated how great an honour he believed his condescension bestowed upon the living daughter and the dead mother. Violet regarded him with wonder depicted in her face. To her he was a curiosity. He did not appear to be void of a certain kind of good-nature, nor did he appear to be quite lacking in sympathy ; but his better qualities seemed to be submerged beneath a rigid austerity, a supreme self-esteem and self righteousness, and an autocratic, dictatorial manner that would have done credit to a preacher of the Cromwellian era.

"I am much obliged to you," she said, simply, and then added, " are all clergyman like you ? I have read of High, Low, and Broad Churches, of Ritualists and Evangelists — which are you ? " " Why do you ask that question ? " " Because you talk as if you held, not only the key of your parish church, but also the key of heaven. Just now, when you said ' I am going to officiate myself,' you spoke as if you were opening the gates of heaven to my dear mother. You spoke as if you were St Peter in disguise." " You are a funny child," he said, smiling kindly in spite of the trifling wound his vanity received from her words. " But I daresay we shall be better friends some day. If I can do anything more for you, pray send down to the Rectory." And then he took his departure, his face glowing with self-satisfaction as he thought of the appropriate little lecture on jumping too quickly at evil conclusions which he would inflict on a certain elderly spinster who meddled much in parish affairs, and who had been the first to discern that Mrs Carlisle was not a Christian.

Chapter II

violet's new friends. There was no more difficulty about the funeral service over Mrs Carlisle. The rector announced to those of his parishioners who had interviewed him on the subject that their insinuations and conclusions had been un founded and uncharitable, and that, having fully satisfied his conscience in the matter, he intended to do that which he knew to be right. And this the reverend gentleman did, for although he generally listened to all that his numerous parish councillors had to say on parochial affairs, and allowed his ears to receive all the various bits of gossip and scandal which his wife and her little staff of church whippers-in collected from time to time around the neighbourhood, he never permitted any actual interference with his authority, or any criticism of a course to which he had already made up his mind.

So Violet's mother was laid to rest in the pretty village churchyard, and the young orphan herself returned with Martha to the lonely desolation which now prevailed at River Lawn. Two or three ladies, including Mrs Harlow, had volunteered to come and stay with her for a day or two, but Miss Carlisle had begged them to allow her to be alone. Up to the present moment no one had broached the subject of her future plans, and she herself had not, as yet, thought of the necessity of making any. This necessity, however, was forcibly brought to her mind by Martha, who, on the evening after the funeral, informed her mistress that it was time now to be thinking of what they were going to do. " You see, miss," she said plaintively, wiping the tears away from her eyes ; " we can't stay here by ourselves."

"Why not?" asked Violet. " Because, miss, a young lady like you can't be left to grow up wild in this 'ere place, alone with an ignorant woman like me. That would never do. It would set all them prying gossips shaking their heads and wag ging their tongues at us. Besides, there is something else, miss." "What?" " Well, miss, I haven't got over that terrible night, and I couldn't remain in this house now. I'm afraid for my life to go to the windows on that side to shut the shutters, and now as the blinds must be up again, I daren't do it. You see, miss, the place will be haunted for ever now." " Martha, I had no idea you were such a coward. I always thought you so faithful. Supposing there were such things as ghosts, could you be afraid of the ghost of one who had been so good to you as mother had ?

" " It isn't that, miss. All spirits and ghosts are alike. They ain't fit company for us earthly folks. I ain't afraid of any man or woman as was ever born ; but when it comes to ghosts, miss, my courage is all gone. That's the solemn truth, miss. I shall go mad if I stay here a few more nights." "Then you propose to desert me in my trouble ? " " No, miss, I won't desert you, but I propose we get out of this house as soon as possible." vol. 11 b "But where are we to go ? We have no other house." "There's only one thing to do, miss, that I can see, and that is for you to take a little house somewhere else, and take me and a companion to live with you." "A companion ? "Yes, miss, you can't live alone, at your age, with no one but an old servant. And you oughtn't to stay here, miss, for the people are full of spite and mischief making."

" What have they said, now ? " " I'm not going to tell you what they say, but there's some of 'em as do nothing but preach and blacken the characters of people who are better than themselves." " Do they blacken my character ? " " Yours ? Oh, no ; they don't do that. Even they can see as you are too young and innocent to be a target for their tongues yet." " Then you mean they attack my mother ? " "Well, they do say things which no one ought to say, and which are not true." Very well, Martha, we will leave the dear old home, and we will go awa3^. It's better to go ; it will never be a home again now mother is gone. I don't care much where we go. It's very funny there is no friend of mother's to come and help us and advise us. We were very happy, but very friendless. I wish we could go to America to Arthur."

" That wouldn't do, miss. " No ; besides I don't know his address yet. I ought to hear from him soon." "Some day, miss," said Martha, who thoroughly enjoyed a little bit of romance, "you'll be going out to him to be married, or he'll be coming over here to fetch you. Then, miss, you'll be happy once again, and you'll live in one of those marble palaces the papers write about, and you'll have your own little children playing around you." Violet made no response, but looked gloomily out of the window at the gap in the bushes from which Arthur Vallance had been accustomed to emerge, and then from that her eyes wandered to the spot where she and Martha had stood on that fateful night on which her mother had fallen over the cliff. In the morning things took a very un expected turn, and Violet was surprised to see a fly drive up to the front door of River Lawn, and still more surprised when she observed a gentleman and lady alight from it and enter the house.

" They've come on business, miss, they says," exclaimed Martha, as she entered Violet's room, " and I've put them in the dining-room to wait till you come down. Shall I ask them what their business is, and where they've come from ? " "Yes." Martha disappeared, but returned in two or three minutes with the information that they had come on business in regard to herself and her dead mother, and that they had come down from London. Then Violet descended the stairs, and, enter ing the dining-room, found herself face to face with a bald-headed, smooth-faced, little man, carefully dressed in the latest London fashion, and a portly, middle-aged matron, whose gar ments indicated a state of widowhood. The former laid his shiny silk hat carefully upon the dining-table, and extended a gloved hand to the young lady.

" You do not know us, Miss Carlisle," he said, in a polite, deferential manner, "so we must introduce ourselves. I am Joseph Knox, and this is my sister, Mrs Yorke. Having been friends of, and done business for, your poor mother, we have come down to look after you, and help you to arrange your affairs. I cannot say how much I sympathise with you in your great trouble." " Nor I," said the portly matron, advancing to Violet, clasping the girl's face between her hands, and kissing her affectionately. " It is far too sad to speak about." Violet, however, resented being hugged and kissed by a stranger, and drawing herself up to her full height, she said, — " I would rather you didn't do that, please." Then she stood by the table waiting for them to say something more. Herself, she felt embarrassed and ill at ease, and had not the remotest idea what to do or what to speak about.

Meanwhile, Mrs Yorke stealthily surveyed her, looked her up and down from head to feet, and noting with admiration the girl's great brown eyes, that seemed now to speak volumes of sorrow, the masses of curly black hair, the clear, pale complexion, and the prettily curved mouth, which, although it occasionally twitched with pain and grief, showed unmistakable tokens of resolution and temper. " Poor, dear child," remarked the widow, after she had completed her scrutiny, and come to the conclusion that the slim figure before her, clad in such sombre mourning, the pale face presenting a marked contrast to the jet black hair and black dress, was destined to develop into a very beautiful woman ; " excuse me if I was a little forward. I feel so sorry for you. You know I knew your mother, and I once promised her that I would look after you if anything ever happened to her."

Violet turned her eyes full in the speaker's face, and regarded her with an inquiring look that betokened just a shade of mistrust. But the woman's countenance was open and frank, and she only smiled when she saw that the young lady was taking mental notes of her. That smile dispelled any doubts that existed in the girl's mind, for she said, — " It was very kind of you to come down from London on purpose to help me. I am very lonely and miserable." " Of course you are," replied Mrs Yorke, " after having lost your poor, dear mother. But we must try to do something for you. I think it will be best for you to come to town with me at once, and remain at my house for the present. Then we can arrange all your plans, and my brother will look after your affairs. He is a solicitor." Violet's thoughts reverted to the time, only a few days ago, when she and her mother had decided to go to London, and the recollection brought tears to her eyes.

She soon choked them back, however, and, turning to Mrs Yorke, asked, — " But how can I go to London and leave my dear old home here to take care of itself? How can I go and live with strangers ? " "You mustn't look upon us as strangers; you must remember that your mother and my self were old friends." Again Violet's eyes looked searchingly and almost suspiciously into the woman's face ; again some indefinable instinct appeared to create doubts in her mind as to the truth fulness of this statement about the friend ship. " I never heard my mother mention you," she said. " No, I daresay not," was the prompt reply. " You see it is a great many years since we met. I knew your mother when she was a girl. I was older than she was." " I should think you were," was the re joinder, sounding somewhat rude to the lady's ears, though not intended to do so ; " why, my mother was only about thirty-three."

" Was she really so young as that ? I had forgotten her age. She must have been a mere child when she married." " I don't think she was much older than I am now." " No ; I am sure she wasn't. And she used to look very like you." " Did you know my father ? Mrs Yorke appeared for a moment not to have heard the question, and seemed to be lost in a dreamy contemplation of the little bit of landscape visible through the window from the corner in which she was seated. Presently she said, — " No, I never saw him. I never saw her after her marriage, until after his death. I never knew anything about him, except that he married your mother and died." " I have no recollection of him myself. I believe I was a tiny baby when he died. I have been fatherless all my life, and now I am motherless too." " Poor girl !

I feel so sorry for you, and what little compensation my friendship can give, it will." " You are very kind, but no friendship can ever compensate for the loss of a mother like mine." " I think we had better come to business Violet 's New Friends. 25 matters," broke in Mr Knox. "I am obliged to return to town this afternoon, and I must really effect some arrangement here before I 1; go- Then, directly addressing Violet, he said, — " I daresay, Miss Carlisle, that you would like Mrs Yorke to remain here with you until you are ready to come to town. I am sure she will be very pleased to do so. How long will it take you to get ready — till to morrow ? " " To-morrow ? " cried Violet in dismay, " go out of here to-morrow ? leave here altogether to-morrow ? " " Not altogether, unless you like," replied Mr Knox, persuasively.

"You will be able to come back any time you wish, but your presence in London will be necessary for some little while. It is far better, too, that for the present you should be separated from a place which must always have such painful associations." " Yes," chimed in Mrs Yorke, "that is quite true. Tear yourself away from here for the present, my dear, and it will be better for you. It is high time that you saw something of the world, and seeing the world is always the best antidote for sorrow. Besides, there is another very serious consideration, and that is that it would never do — it would be quite impossible — for a young girl like you to remain here all by yourself with only a servant. Such a thing is out of the question." " But what is to become of the dear old home ? " asked Violet.

" I will make all arrangements about it," answered Mr Knox. " I will put in a care taker to look after it until we can let it. It will soon let ; it is such a beautiful little place. If there was any shooting to go with it, I could get rid of it at once. Besides, I think your lease has almost expired." " I don't know anything about that," she replied ; " mother always attended to the busi ness affairs." " And now, I think, we had better collect your mother's papers and have a little look over them, to get an idea as to the condi tion of her affairs. I suppose you have them ? " " No ; I have looked through her desk, but there is nothing there except house ac counts, and a bundle of bank notes." " No papers or letters at all ? " "Not any." " But she must have had some private papers somewhere.