The Love-dream of Gatty Fenning

Front matter

"GATTY WAS A LITTLE TOO FOND OF ADORNMENTS" (J>. 36). BY SARAH DOUDNEY, AUTHOR OF "MISS WILLOWBURn's OFFER," " WHEN WE TWO PARTED," "a woman's GLORY," etc., etc. LONDON : HUTCHINSON AND CO., 25, TATERNOSTER SQUARE. Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. WHERE SHE LIVED ..... I II. MRS. PIDDOCK .... -9 III. GATTY'S HERO . . . . . .21 IV. HER BIRTHDAY . . . . . -31 V. AT WHITE HOUSE ...... 44 VI. A TEA-TABLE TALK . . . . . 54 VII. A FOOL'S PARADISE ..... 64 VIII. THE GUEST AT WHITE HOUSE . . -74 IX. MORE DOUBTS AND FEARS . . . .86 X. " THOR THE THUNDERER " . . . -95 XL A DARK NIGHT . . . . . . 106 XII. SUSPENSE 117 XIII. VANISHED . . . . . . -125 XIV. CHANGE UPON CHANGE . . . . 137 XV. MEETING AGAIN ...... 145 XVI. ANOTHER FROM THE PAST . . . . 156 XVII. READING HEARTS. . . . . . 1 68 XVIII. UNDERSTOOD AT LAST . . . . 1 7

Chapter I. Where She Lived

GATTY FENNING was born in the Meon country, under the shadow of the steep chalk downs, where the " Men of the Meon " had lived their independent life, and worshipped their idols, twelve hundred years ago. They must have been a stubborn race, those Meonwaras of South Hants, for long after the kingdoms on each side of them had embraced Christianity, they continued stiff necked idolaters, and were not converted until the good Wilfrid found them out among their breezy hills, and preached to them the Gospel of peace. The old house, where the Fennings had dwelt from generation to generation, stood in a lonely part of the Meon Valley, and did not pretend to be anything but a farmhouse of the simplest descrip tion. It had darkened in the suns and rains of a century, and yet its walls were sound and solid still.

Every owner had added something ; Gibbon Fenning's father had built the rustic verandah on the west side of the house, and Gibbon himself had made another window in the east side, when his widowed sister came to live with him. But although brotherly love had brightened up the old home for her coming, Anne Fenning did not live many years within its hospitable walls. Her father had not been without his misgivings when he had consented to her marriage with her handsome cousin, William Fenning ; but she was the only daughter, and the household pet, and no one could ever resist her coaxing. So William carried her off to his Sussex farm, and nearly broke her heart before their brief wedded life came to an end. After three years of troubled wifehood, Anne returned, a desolate widow, to the old house among the hills.

She found the door open wide, and a lonely man on the threshold looking out for her. Old Fenning was dead ; his wife had died long before, and it was now an empty house, with Gibbon, a bachelor, for its master. To Gibbon, in his loneliness, it had often seemed as if the real home had passed out of his dwelling, WHERE SHE LIVED. 3 leaving the house like a vacant shell which has lost its kernel. There were the substantial walls, and the rooms filled with good old-fashioned furniture ; but where were the busy feet that once went patter ing over the floors ? And where were the active hands that once pushed about the chairs and tables, and broke up the stiff order that prevailed now ? People were never tired of wondering why the prosperous farmer did not marry. But he was a man of a firm will and a quiet life, not to be bustled into wedlock by the clatter of neighbours' tongues ; and although he had a hundred good reasons for keeping single, he never made one of them public.

When Gatty was born he became father and uncle in one, and proved himself fully equal to the mani fold duties involved in the double relationship. Poor Anne died when her little one wras five years old ; and the child grew up like a bright flower in the quiet household. There were no dark pictures in that early child hood upon which Gatty Fenning looks back now with thoughtful eyes. All her memories are warm and brightly tinted, and they are chiefly of the old garden behind the house, whose brick walls seemed to enclose a paradise of sunshine and gaudy bloom. Somebody or something was always ready to play with the motherless bairn ; hundreds of other bairns, provided with mothers, might have envied the sunny cheerfulness of this little orphan's life. Her world had very few people in it ; but then, what kind, loving people they were !

She was a tiny queen, and her uncle and the servants were all her loyal and devoted subjects. Surely no child ever laughed oftener or shed fewer tears ! She was not sent to school when she grew older. Uncle Gibbon consulted the vicar, and the result of the consultation was that Gatty went daily to two maiden ladies living near the vicarage. A chaise took her to their door every morning, and brought her home in the afternoon. The}' taught her all they knew ; and when she was seventeen she told Uncle Gibbon that her education was finished. She made this announcement quite composedly at the tea-table one afternoon. It was late in the summer ; in the peaceful valley of the Meon they were cutting the corn, and every one spoke of an abundant harvest. Gibbon Fenning was drinking his tea with a look of placid satisfaction ; his affairs were prospering, just as they had always prospered, and he was laying up money for the little girl who was sitting opposite to him, behind his grandmother's silver teapot.

The teapot and everything else would be hers one day; meanwhile he had quite forgotten that she was not a little girl at all. It was a dim old room in which they were sitting, overshadowed by the roofed projection of the veran- WHERE SHE LIVED. 5 dah. The windows, many-paned, were wide open ; and the creepers that twined round the rustic pillars were scarcely stirred by a breath of air. Chairs and table were of solid wood, darkened and smoothed by time and long use ; between the windows stood an ancient secretary, with well-rubbed brass to brighten it, and over the fireplace an equally antique mirror tilted forward from the wall. Rooms like this are always full of phantoms and memories ; and even Uncle Gibbon, by no means an imaginative man, sometimes saw visions of the faces that had vanished out of his life.

To-day, as he was looking at Gatty, he seemed to see the face of his Aunt Gatty hovering near hers. That aunt of his had been a beautiful, stately young woman when he had known her last ; but she had married a Mr. Willow burn, a man whose birth and position had set him above the Fennings, and so it came to pass that after her marriage they had seen her no more. Mrs. Willowburn had been dead many years, but surely her beauty lived again in the girl Gatty of to-day. The vicar had told Mr. Fenning, only yesterday, that his niece was growing very pretty. " To-morrow will be my birthday, uncle," said the clear young voice, breaking the silence. "I shall be seventeen." " Seventeen ? My dear, you must be mistaken." " I thought you would say so," replied the young lady calmly. " You never can believe that I have grown up, uncle ; but other people are not so blind."

" What do other people say ? " he asked. " Well, they say — silly things sometimes. But, uncle dear, I want you to realize seriously how old I am. Yesterday I said good-bye to the Miss Martins." " Good-bye to your old teachers, Gatty ? Are they going away ? " " No, no, no ! How slow you are, dear ! I meant that I had said good-bye to my studies. A girl is supposed to have finished her education at seventeen." Mr. Fenning set down his cup, and looked at her with a troubled expression in his face. " But you are very young for your years," he said; "quite a child, you see; and I don't know how you will fill up your time if you have no more lessons to do. Hadn't you better go to those good women a little longer ? " The tall young beauty glanced at him with large brown eyes that flashed under their black lashes ; but the angry light died in an instant, and she smiled.

" I can't go back to them now ; I have taken leave of them," she answered. " And I am not a child, I assure you. Mrs. Mainsborough left school when she was seventeen, and she knows what is right for girls." WHERE SHE LIVED. 7 " Well," said Mr. Fenning slowly, " I like you to make yourself happy in your own way. If you are tired of studies, just give them up, and take your ease and enjoy yourself." " That's what Warren Mainsborough says ; he tells me to enjoy myself." Gibbon Fenning looked at his niece again ; but he was not a man of many words, and he did not speak his thoughts aloud. Gatty was gazing out absently at the tinted hills, but although she loved all their soft shades well, she was not seeing them at all at that moment. She was dreaming a girl's dream. She pictured an old-fashioned white house facing a lawn-like meadow, and made shadowy with ancient trees ; and then she looked in through an open window, and saw a young wife sitting at the head of the dining-room table.

Guests were there, but they were only shadows ; the wife was real enough, and so was the young husband who glanced at her now and then with such fond pride. This youthful hostess was slight and tall, and wore a cream coloured silk gown, with scarlet flowers at her breast. She had dark hair and eyes, and was beautiful. Yes, Gatty knew that she was beautiful, and felt sure that Warren Mainsborough knew it too. When Mrs. Mainsborough, of White House, had begun to show an interest in Gatty, Mr. Fenning had been at first well pleased and grateful. Mrs. Mainsborough was a widow, with an only son at college, and her life must often have been mono tonous and lonely. The bright girl of fourteen, whom she had first met at the vicarage, soon grew to be a favourite companion. She took Gatty out driving and walking, petted her, told her stories of the world and its ways, and exerted a strong influ ence over her character.

Gatty provided her with an occupation. It was pleasant to see how quickly the girl copied her manner and mode of speech, and accepted her judgment as a law. The widow felt a sincere liking for her girl friend ; but the liking was not deep enough to be called love. If Gatty had gone away, Mrs. Mainsborough would soon have forgotten her. Warren was the sole object of his mother's affection ; and all her hopes, and plans, and thoughts concerned him alone. But Gatty Fenning, with her undisciplined heart and childish self-importance, believed herself to be quite necessary to the mistress of White House. And when Warren left college, and came home to live with his mother, he struck up a great friendship with Gatty ; but he would have been honestly surprised if he had known that he figured as a hero of romance in the girl's dreams.

Chapter II. Mrs

PIDDOCK. THE golden afternoon had not ended when Gatty and her uncle rose from the tea-table. He looked at her with one of his loving smiles as she followed him to the door. " You are going out, I daresay ? " he said. " Yes ; one mustn't stay indoors in such weather as this. I have been quite hard at work all day, and I want plenty of fresh air this evening." He paused in the entry, and she waited, thinking that he had something more to say ; but no words came. " I am going to see Mrs. Piddock," she remarked. " Mercy told me that there was a rumour of Wild Ben having been seen near her cottage. I wonder if she knows where he is ? " " Mercy ought not to repeat silly tales. It is not likely that Ben Piddock will ever venture into these parts again. He may be a little mad — I believe he is ; but he has sense enough to keep out of danger.

Don't talk to Mrs. Piddock about her son, Gatty dear." " But it doesn't hurt her to talk about him," said Gatty. F " I'm afraid it does. I have never thought that Mrs. Piddock herself was quite sane. She was always strange." " It is that strangeness which makes her interest ing, uncle. All the other old women are exactly alike ; but she has marked peculiarities. The rest are always talking about their rheumatism and the badness of the times. She has plenty of aches and pains, and the times are certainly no better for her than for her neighbours ; but she never complains. And I like her lonely cottage ; it is one of the prettiest places in the neighbourhood." " You have curious fancies, Gatty. But if you like the place, go there by all means, my dear. There is no harm in the old woman that I know of.

She is a little odd, that's all, and I think she is not very well liked; but that is a good reason why you should visit her. You have a kind heart, my pet, and it will guide you aright." " I am not sure that it is my heart which leads me to Mrs. Piddock," said Gatty, with the perfect frank ness which was natural to her. " I believe it is my curiosity. I don't care much about going to see Mrs. Rigg, who is just as poor and lonely." " Well, don't go to the old dame empty-handed." Mr. Fenning put on his straw hat, and went out of the house door as he spoke. " The poor soul may be a little bit queer ; but she doesn't beg, and never grumbles. Yet her wants must be many, I'm sure." Gatty packed some good things into a basket, and went her way. A pleasant way it was in this August weather, and she took in everything with observant eyes, — all the uplands and pastures and corn-fields, the gleam of water and the gloom of wood, and the picturesque dwellings scattered here and there.

It is a peaceful vale, this district of the Meon : hill folds softly over hill and shuts the valley in, and keeps out the clamour of the great world. She went up a steep and narrow lane, with high hedges on both sides. The banks were gay with wild flowers, and trailers of many-coloured foliage swayed gently in a warm wind. Sometimes she put out her hand and broke off a piece of honeysuckle ; sometimes she sang a bar or two of an old tune, in an untrained voice which was rich and sweet. It did not matter that the way was toilsome ; she was never tired, never ill, and, in these sunny days, never sad. At last the lane ended suddenly and abruptly, and the wide downs stretched away before her eyes, unbroken by any visible road. Here she paused, although she knew every feature of the landscape, and gazed for a moment at the view that could be seen from these lonely heights.

It was a fair and tranquil expanse of open country, with many-tinted fields that clothed the low hill-sides with soft tones of colour. There were no intense hues, no rugged outlines anywhere ; everywhere the eye rested on signs of plenty and peace. " Dear old scenes ! " said the girl to herself. "Other people may want to go far away and see the world ; but I don't. My world is here among these hills. I think I am descended from those Men of the Meon who lived here ages and ages ago, and kept them selves apart from other tribes and meddlesome strangers. In our valley we are all one family. We do not seek our friends or our pleasures outside these green walls." She walked onward, turning to the left and con tinuing the ascent, still with a bright smile on her face. " We are all Meonwaras," she went on, musing.

" The Mainsboroughs have dwelt here from generation to generation ; they are one of the oldest families in the valley. And we Fennings, too, have grown out of the soil, as Uncle Gibbon says. The vicar is a Meon man ; and there is Bennet Vardye — well, his mother and her people belong to us. I have not a single friend, thank Heaven, who is not of our tribe." Some people might have thought that this was a doubtful kind of blessing, hardly worth a thanks giving. Gatty had an exaggerated affection for her birthplace and its associations. Steeped in her bliss ful ignorance, she was unable to conceive the joys of a larger life. To live for a little while longer at Barrow Farm, and then go to the White House and reign there as Warren Mainsborough's wife, was the lot that she most desired. And she believed that all her wishes would be realized.

It never occurred to her to doubt. Always, from her childhood up, the things that she had wanted had been given to her. The ground still rose and rose, and the air grew fresher and sweeter as she ascended. By-and-bye she came to a piece of wild land, full of rabbits and stunted furze-bushes. Something like the remains of an ancient wall might be traced along the margin of this waste, and bits of rugged stone were scattered here and there. It was just where the place was wildest and the bushes were thickest that the widow's cottage was to be found. ft was rather a cabin than a cottage. The thatched roof was so low that there was scarcely space for the door and window, and yet the little dwelling had a certain wild charm of its own. Its walls were hidden under a mass of woodbine and hop; bees and butter flies hovered round it, and hardy weeds and grasses, sown by the wandering winds, were flourishing gaily on the old thatch.

The door was open, and an old woman sat sewing on the step of the threshold. When Gatty drew near she looked up, and then rose quietly, without surprise or haste. She wore no cap, as other women in the neighbourhood did, but covered her head with a faded red handkerchief, which was tied under her chin. " Good-day, missy," she said calmly, in a deep toned voice. " How do you do, Mrs. Piddock ? How delight fully fresh and cool it feels up here ! " exclaimed Gatty, drinking in the scented air. " And how pretty the cottage looks with all these creeping plants growing over it ! " "My plants thrive well, and cost nothing," the old woman answered. " That is true. Even in winter you are never without something green to gladden the eyes ; and you can't be lonely, because the rabbits are such good company."

Mrs. Piddock's lips were pressed tightly together for a moment. She had had beauty in her youth, — a brown gipsy beauty which had left a dusky after glow. Her dark eyes were still penetrating and bright, and her black brows knew the way to frown. But she did not frown often, and there was a peculiar fascination in her smile which made you think how winsome she must once have been. "I don't quarrel with the rabbits, missy, and they've got used to me," she said. " When I sit here with my work, they come and gambol near the doorstep. But sometimes the heart yearns for human voices." "If you really want society, you can come and live in one of the cottages near our farm," cried Gatty eagerly. " My uncle will find you a place." " No, no, missy. Thank you kindly, but I'd rather stay here. When I spoke of voices I didn't mean the clacking tongues of neighbours.

I never could abide neighbours, you see. I was thinking of those who left me long ago." There was a pause. Gatty was wondering whether Mrs. Piddock would ever speak more openly about her past life and its associations. The old woman had always been strangely reserved, and no one had ever ventured to ask her questions. Even the vicar, who came to see her sometimes, had never been taken into her confidence, although she treated him with marked respect. " See what I have brought for you," said Gatty at last, opening her basket. "Peoplesay that our farm is quite famous for pork pies, and this is one of Betsy's best." Mrs. Piddock was duly grateful, and the pie was carefully carried indoors and deposited on one of the shelves of a rude dresser. The cottage consisted of a single chamber, and a back-door opened into a little shed where fuel was stored.

Beyond the shed there was a morsel of ground which some former tenant had cultivated, and here the widow grew a few potatoes. The furniture in this small dwelling was of the meanest kind ; there were a few pots and pans, a stool, an old deal table, one chair, and a truckle-bed in the corner. Mr. Fenning's kindness had provided the poor woman with a piece of strong matting, which was spread in front of the fireplace ; elsewhere in winter and summer the boards were bare. Gatty looked round her with a pitying glance, and thought of the comfortable old-fashioned rooms at home. And then her eye suddenly lighted on a man's jacket, torn and weather-stained, which was flung down carelessly upon the bed. " Why, Mrs. Piddock, have you a guest ? " she asked, thoughtlessly and abruptly. The colour deepened on the widow's brown cheek, and her smile vanished.

" What guest would come to this poor place, missy ? " she said in her calm voice. " You're looking at the jacket ? Ah ! that once belonged to my man, and I've turned it out to see if there's any wear left in it. Winter days are coming, and some times a tramp or a gipsy passes this way with scarcely a rag to his back. One must give a thought to those who are worse off than oneself." "Yes." Gatty looked at her kindly. " Has your husband been dead a very long time ? He died before you came here, didn't he ? " "My man died before you were born, missy," the woman answered. " But this is a dull place for you on a bright summer's evening. Young misses should drink in the fresh air if they want to keep their bloom. Feel how sweet the wind is as it comes sweeping over the hills." As she spoke she made a slight movement towards the door, and Gatty instinctively stepped out again.

Mrs. Piddock brought the stool, and set it close to the threshold. " You'll sit here and rest, missy, before you go home," she said courteously. " I wish I had a better roof to shelter your pretty head. Yet, deary, there's no roof as beautiful as the blue sky, and houses are dreary places after all." " Our house is not dreary," replied Gatty, seating herself — " although I have seen a house I like better than Barrow Farm," she added, speaking in a low murmur. " It's the White House that you mean, isn't it, missy ? " The widow had quick ears. " Maybe it's the fine old pictures and the carved oak chairs that please you ? And maybe it's the young master with the fair hair ? Rachel Piddock knows all about love stories, and their beginnings and their endings." " Do you really know ? " asked Gatty, suddenly remembering that this woman was said to have gipsy blood in her veins.

" Sometimes love's a tangled skein," Mrs. Piddock said, looking at her with a keen glance. " You find knot after knot in the thread, and you have toil and trouble and heart-ache before it's all wound smooth upon the reel. Young misses should take care how they begin winding." " Can you tell fortunes ? " Gatty cried, with a bright flush coming into her cheeks. " Oh, I wish you would read the lines in my hand ! " " No, no." The woman turned away from the outstretched palm. " I will have nought to do with that. Wait and watch, missy, and guard your own heart ; then you'll never need the warnings of the fortune-teller." " You tantalise me," said Gatty, pouting. " I believe you have a mysterious knowledge of people's lives. And I am sure you know some strange tales and old sayings that others have quite forgotten.

Mercy has heard a wild story about Old Winchester Hill, but she can never tell it clearly." Mrs. Piddock's dark eyes were still studying her visitor. " I wonder if you know the story ? " Gatty continued. " In the old, old days, after the Romans had abandoned Britain, the people of this country became idolaters again. But at last, when good men came and preached among them, they were all won back to Christianity ; and everywhere in Hamp shire the true God was worshipped, save in the Valley of the Meon. The tribe that inhabited this vale were stubborn, and offered sacrifices to Thor and Woden ; like Gideon's fleece, they were dry while all the land around them was steeped in heavenly dew. And then came St. Wilfrid, the teacher whose voice none could resist, and he con verted even the Meonwara, so that they bowed down to the false gods no more.

Yet — so runs the tale — it was hard to banish Thor and Woden altogether ; and some of their former worshippers feared them still. Even to this day it is said that if the old gods are invoked on Old Winchester Hill they will answer. Mercy's grandmother told of a girl who had courage to go alone to the crown of the hill at midnight, and ask of the gods whether she should marry her true love." " Did she see or hear anything ? " Mrs. Piddock asked. "She saw a great dim figure rise up, but there was no voice ; and then she knew that she should get her heart's desire. Tell me, Mrs. Piddock, have you heard the tale ? " " Yes, missy; I heard it years ago." " Then you can say the words that must be said. The old gods will not show themselves unless they are invoked in certain rhymes. What those words were Mercy did not know."

" Why should Christians want to know ? " de manded the woman, with a scornful light in her dark eyes. " If they are contented with their own God, missy, they have no need to ask favours of Thor and Woden. But do you see who is coming over the downs ? — some one who can talk of these things better than we can." "Oh," said Gatty, getting up from her stool quickly, " it is Mr. Vardye ! Does he often pay you a visit, Mrs. Piddock ? " " Not very often," the widow answered shortly. " He knows that I like to be left to myself."

Chapter III. Gatty's Hero

BENNET VARDYE met Gatty very quietly— he was always quiet under any circumstances — and it must have been an acute observer who could have detected the pleasure that his calm manner concealed. But nothing escaped Mrs. Piddock's notice. She saw something which Gatty had never seen, and, perchance, never would see : something which Bennet believed he had effectually hidden from mortal eyes. For years Bennet Vardye had worked hard in an East End curacy, and then came a severe illness, which compelled him to cease from all labour for a time. He got better, but his strength was hardly equal to the old conflict. He needed fresh air above all things, and so he had come to the Meon Valley to help the vicar, and win back all his former vigour. He was by no means a delicate man ; nature had fitted him well for the kind of work that he had chosen to do, and he was longing to be in the thick of the fight again.

Yet he was not slothful here among the peaceful downs, and his quiet influence was felt in the straggling parish. There was nothing attractive in his face at first sight. It was not handsome. It was rough-featured, and owed its refinement to a cultivated mind and a pure life. He was tall and strongly made, and as he stood in the sunshine in his shabby coat, he did not look in the least hke a lady's ideal parson. Gatty had been favourably disposed towards him from the first, simply because his mother had be longed to her beloved valley. After six months' acquaintance she had learnt to like him for his own sake, and even vaguely to reverence him. But her head and heart were too full of the Mainsboroughs and their perfections for any other influence to be deeply felt. She was in love — absurdly, unreason ably in love — and her infatuation would have run its course, and died out in due time (as all such infatuations do), but for the proximity of its object.