Bella Donna; or, the Cross before the Name. A romance. By G. D

Book II

— Continued. PAGE Chapter XIII. — A Defiance .... 1 Chapter XIV. — A Surprise .... 6 Chapter XV. — Jenny returns ... 13 Chapter XVI. — The Party at Grey Forest . 21 Chapter XVII. — Jenny's Reception ... 32 Chapter XVIII. — The Little Exile's 'Game' . 53 Chapter XIX. — Jenny's Morning ... 78 Chapter XX. — The Smoking-room . . . 100 Chapter XXI. — Jenny's Evening Work . . 117 Chapter XXII. — Jenny wins . . . 135

Book III

Chapter I. — Jenny's Welcome 'Home' . . 149 Chapter II. — The Invalid's Greeting . . 160 Chapter III. — Jenny's Expedition . . .171 Chapter IV. — An Interview. . . . CONTENTS. PAGE Chapter V. — Advice and Opinion . . • 196 Chapter VI. — The Franklyns' Probation . . 205 Chapter VII. — An Apparition . . . 214 Chapter VIII. — An Appointment . . . 227 Chapter IX — ' The Smoking-room ' . . . 238 Chapter X. — Jenny works .... 250 Chapter XI. — An Embassy .... 261 Chapter XII. — The Emissary and his Mission . 269 Chapter XIII. — A Mission .... 274 Chapter XIV. — A Sudden Purpose . . . 283 Chapter XV. — A Journey .... 291 Chapter XVI. — A Struggle and Victory . . 297 Chapter XVII. — The Cross before the Name . 310 Chapter XVIII. — Jenny's Last Battle . ' . 318 Chapter XIX.— Defeat! ....

BOOK II.

— Continued.

CHAPTER XIII.

A DEFIANCE. Mr. Franklyn has sweet sleep that night. The sigh of joy and relief he drew, as the welcome news was told to him, was deep and refreshing. He had often dreamt of this event, but never thought it possible. He forebore delving among those wretched papers. Some thing like hope was in store for him yet; clouds were clearing away a little — might wholly clear away, after all. Charlotte, the VOL. II. B calm, steady, sensible girl, might save the family. His dear Charlotte— his good, faithful, comforting child. As a match, nothing could be better or more delightful. Sir Welbore, the father, was favour able. There was title, fortune, station. Every thing was favourable. There was ecstatic joy through the house — the boisterous girls could have tumbled and thrown somersaults on the floor, to show their delight.

And that dear, honest, broad-chested, good, open fellow, who was now recklessly distributing golden presents up and down the house — was there one whom we would have preferred before him ? A darling ! It got about presently — was announced, as it were, officially. The county papers in serted their paragraphs with the usual intelli gible hieroglyphics. Mr. Crowle, who had been away, came back one morning, had his cold hand taken affectionately in Mr. Frank ly n's, and was told the glad tidings. He winced, but broke out presently into affluent smiles and paroxysms of delight, and congratu lated heartily. Going away— for he would not A DEFIANCE. 3 stay to dinner— he met the curate, Mr. Wells, posting up to the house, radiant. 'Such good news,' said the curate. 'Did y.ou hear, Mr. Crowle ? [Oh, I am so glad !

Are you not ?' 'Oh, yes; charmed — delighted,' said the other. 'Such a pleasant piece of news— so agreeable for all parties.' ' But how glad Miss Bell will be ! She will hardly contain herself. You know she was so fond of Miss Charlotte.' 'Ah, indeed!' said Mr. Crowle. 'I never knew that. By-the-way, we have not heard of Miss Jenny Bell lately. Nice person she was. Who has heard of her ?' 'I have. I hear from her constantly,' said the curate, with a flush of pride. ' I write to her regularly — she wishes to hear everything that goes on in this dear family, as she calls them.' ' Oh ! I see,' said Mr. Crowle. ' Quite so.' 'And especially,' the curate went on, eagerly, 'about Miss Charlotte, her bosom friend. I think,' sa"id Mr. Wells, 'I know nothing, or have read nothing comparable to her affection for Miss Charlotte, who is now to be so happily married.' ' Ah ! indeed,' said Mr. Crowle, showing all his teeth in one delighted smile. 'How curious !

And so you keep up a correspondence with Miss Bell ?' ' Oh, yes !' said the other ; ' I must write by this very night's post to tell her the news. I am going to get all the particulars I can.5 ' I see,' said Mr. Crowle. ' Very good ; quite right. Ah ! I see. I suspected it when Miss Jenny was here. Don't be angry ; but I did see she was very much grieved to go.' The curate's cheeks began to flush, but he was not displeased. ' Nonsense,' he said, ' Mr. Crowle. A poor curate must not think of such things. Oh, Mr. Crowle,' he added, growing suddenly confidential, ' what a pity it was ; and such a charming, engaging creature. Her conduct was noble — noble ! I never heard of anything like it.' ' Noble, certainly,' said Mr. Crowle ; ' noble is exactly the word.' A DEFIANCE. ' Who in her position would have done the like?' ' Who, indeed ?' said Mr. Crowle. ' By-the way, what is her address ?

Somewhere in London ?' The clergyman grew suspicious. ' Her ad dress ?' he said. ' She is out somewhere as a i governess. ' So I heard,' said Mr. Crowle, still smiling. ' I suppose they will tell me at the house ?' ' Oh, of course,' said the curate, hastily ; ' Chesterfield Street, May fair.' 'Thanks — thanks — thanks,' said Mr. Crowle, very sweetly. ' What trouble I must have given you. Not that I want to write to her. I should like to leave my card when in Lon don. Good-bye, good-bye.' And the young man of business went his way ; and the road being lonely, began to smile and talk to himself, as was his indiscreet habit. CHAPTER XIT. A SURPRISE. 'Such joyful news,' wrote the curate, that very evening, over his huckster's shop, striving hard to gain the post. ' Such joyful news, my dearest Miss Bell, as I have to communicate !

I dare say you will guess already. Think of some one whom you love above all things ; and every change in whose fortunes must be so clear to you. Not our common friend, dear Mr. Franklyn, but some one else. Think again. Ah, I see you know. Yes, my dear Miss Bell, it is all settled — was settled two days ago. Our dear Miss Charlotte is to be Mrs. Welbore Craven for the present ; eventually Lady Craven. Splendid house, place, pictures, state, grandeur, and what not. Her A SURPRISE. husband is all that is good. Every one loves him ; I don't know how you would like him ; he must have many virtues to please you. But he is to be her husband, and that is a character which, with you, will cover all im perfections. They are all out of themselves with joy. Between ourselves, my dear Miss Jenny, it is believed that this happy step will put an end to the little pressure which has so long hampered the movements of this dear family.

It is considered the most brilliant match known in this county for long ; and everybody says our bride is the happiest and most deserving of women. She bears her good fortune, I assure you, very well,' &c The Rev. Charlton Wells received no an swer to his letter; but four days afterwards, Mr. Franklyn, sitting in his study, received a letter in Jenny's little writing, and marked ' private,' in letters as large as her little round fingers could form them. Mr. Franklyn read to this effect : — ' Private. ' Chesterfield Street. 'Dearest Mr. Franklyn, ' I have just heard of the joyful news of dearest Miss Franklyn's marriage. How happy it must make you all ! How happy it will make him ; for though I have not seen him as yet, he must be good and brave and generous to have won her. You, too, dear sir, who have lived in the world and know men and women so well, will have read off all his virtues and good qualities ! ' How happy you must all be !

I, dear sir, am getting accustomed to my new place. I even like it ; for they are very good to me ; but never do I expect to be so happy again as in dear Grey Forest. How my heart yearns to it ! I have not been well of late, for the duty is severe ; but am better now, thank Heaven. Once, indeed, I thought I could only live in the fresh breezes and green glades of darling old Grey Forest ; but I had strength enough given me to get over that foolish notion. A SURPRISE. Persons with the life I have before me, must learn to be independent of place, and even of affections. I remember, dear sir, your hinting this to me so kindly and delicately, just before I left ; and I cannot tell you how often that precious advice has comforted me, as I look to it in my diary. I repeat, dearest sir, I am now much better, and shall soon learn to smile at the notion of change of air, and such luxu ries.

I assure you, Chesterfield Street is con sidered a very good situation. ' Let me again congratulate you, and dearest Miss Franklyn. Let me thank you again and again for all your goodness, dearest Mr. Frank lyn, to the little exile, 'Jenny Bell.' At the desolate tone pervading this simple letter, Mr. Franklyn was greatly moved. He had well-nigh forgotten the little exile by this time ; for little exiles, from the fact of their exileship, easily drop out of the memory ; but it brought back to him her brave, noble— yes, it was noble— behaviour in the affair of the BELLA DONXA. marriage. We are apt to accept such things as of course ; but really for one in her lonely, unfriended position, when we come to think of it, it was a very unusual bit of self-denial. He was touched as he thought of it — there was even a pang of self-reproach.

Failing health — the drudgery of a governess. He started — the very thing ! He would write himself to Mr. Maxwell. Her poor, pale cheek should be freshened by the breezes of ' clear old Grey Forest.' How attached she was to the place ! Longing, yearning for it — -beating against the bars of her cage. Yes, he would write to Mr. Max well himself. Jenny's letter was marked pri vate ; so he would say not a word to the rest of the family. Besides, what a pleasant sur prise for Charlotte — Jenny coming on a visit ! Before the week was out, Mr. Franklyn called in his daughter, with a smile on his face. ' Charlotte dear, a moment ! I have such a surprise for you. Guess.' It took a great deal to surprise the sensible girl. But she was very amiable, and feigned A SURPRISE. 11 a little excitement for the occasion. ' Do tell me, dear papa.' 'Do you know who is coming?

Guess, I say.' Charlotte thought, and shook her head. ' Some aunt ? — some cousin ?' 'There, Charlotte,' he said, putting Mr. Maxwell's letter into her hand ; ' there — are you not glad ? I knew you would.' He passed again into his study; but over the placid features of the sensible girl some thing like a spasm of consternation flitted, and she mechanically put her hand to her side; but it was only for a moment — something like a smile of quiet defiance took its place. Almost at the same instant our Jenny was at work in Chesterfield Street, up in her little room, exultingly turning over her little goods and properties. She was singing and she was dancing, and a more than usually brilliant flush was in her plump cheeks. Was not the pro spect of getting down again to 'darling old Grey Forest ' enough to set her wild ?

Her little Letts' Diary lay upon the table, and as she looked at it her expression changed too — something like an electric challenge seemed to have passed between the two women. She is going down to meet her dear Charlotte once more ! What issue shall there be for this second struggle ?

CHAPTER XV. JENNY RETURNS.

It is hard to conceive how the afflicted family in Chesterfield Street could have got on with out our trusty Jenny. The mother, a wretched invalid, tottering over the edge of the Valley of the Shadow; the father, in the world and yet out of it, and in the matter of pounds and shillings, about as helpless as an infant; the lower members yet more disorganized; no head, no government ; how was that domestic craft to be piloted ? Mr. Maxwell found great profit in her kind services ; slowly and by degrees his sight mended. Jenny was so quick — so ready — so open to the merest shred of a hint; so capable of absorbing new matter and ideas, that she really seemed to Mr. Maxwell to do the work more deftly than his own clerk. The precious auxiliaries of his sight having gone into hospital, as it were, were gradually getting back to health, from sheer repose ; Jenny, in her own delicate way, repressing firmly that idle longing of his to work them before they were yet strong enough to bear work.

He was very grateful, and actually from habit began to like the joint labouring together by night. Suddenly arrived that letter from Mr. Franklyn, which struck him, as it were, all of a heap. At first he did not remember who Franklyn was. Then he called down Jenny. Jenny was working some little petticoat edging or fringing, but she gave it up cheerfully, though it was not her legitimate hour for labour. She would work the whole clay long gladly ; any thing to be useful. 'Miss Bell,' said he, 'here is a most extra ordinary letter. I don't understand it. Who are these people that want you ?' Jenny's eyes opened with a gentle wonder JENNY RETURNS. 15 and speculation. She took the letter me chanically, and gave a low tempered ejacu lation of delight, a suppressed start, for hers was a very well-regulated mind. ' Dear Mr. Franklyn,' she said, ' that darling family !' ' Then you know them ?' said Mr. Maxwell, uneasily. ' Know them, sir !' said Jenny, again doing the eye movement ; ' know them ?

Ah, sir ! how kind of them ; how good ; how generous, to think in all their happiness of the little exile. So they used to call me.' 'But you will not go?' he said, still more uneasily ; ' you willnot leave me. You know you have got quite into the way of the thing — in fact, you are quite indispensable to me. What am I to do ?' Jenny was touched. ' Oh, sir,' she said ; ' oh, sir !' She was a little indistinct as to what she meant by this ejaculation, yet still it seemed to convey a good deal. ' You are very well,' said he ; ' at least I hope so. Your health has not suffered; at least, you will say so if it has ; and I'm sure if salary ■' ' Oh, sir !' said Jenny, with the gentlest in flection of reproach, ' do I complain— would I complain? I am sure I would work in my small way for you, sir, and the dear family,' she added, ' if I was sick, if I was weary, if I was breaking down, and was at the last gasp — 'But you are not ill,' said he, looking on her round ruddy cheeks.

Jenny was speechless a moment ; gave a deep sigh — then paused — and finally said softly — 'Ah, sir, I was reared, and brought up among the green fields, and the trees, and the brooks, the sweet smell of the hay, the fresh open country air. Is it unnatural that I should look back wistfully to those happy days ? Is it unnatural that I should pine to meet again the friends of my childhood ? Is it unnatural ' Here Jenny paused ; partly because she was not skilful enough to frame the same idea in a third different shape. Poor child, she was a JENNY RETURNS. little confused, too, having never, so far as her friends knew, been reared among that sweet smelling hay, or green fields. She had con founded her short residence at the Franklyns with the whole span of her youth, which, it is believed, was consumed in the unwholesome atmosphere of a crowded city.

Mr. Maxwell accepted the position mourn fully. He saw how cruelly selfish it would be to detain her. The long confinement, too, must have been prejudicial to one reared on the sweet breath of the country. Ill, too, she might have been all this while ; for those round blooming cheeks were often anything but certain evidence of robust health. ' Of course,' he said, at last with a sigh, ' you must go. It is quite right you should, and I was very thoughtless to dream for a moment of detaining you.' ' Go !' said Jenny, opening her wonderful eyes once more ; ' go ! go where ?' she was amazed, confounded. 'Do you think,' she added, 'I would leave you in these straits, with dear Mrs. Maxwell so ill, and the dear VOL. II. C children with no one to look after them, and you, dear sir ' — she stopped — ' No, sir ; you don't know me yet.' It went on for some time that little dispute.

Mr. Maxwell was firm. Jenny was also firm. She would not go ; she would stay. If she was put upon her honour, of course she could not strictly say that she felt as strong as she had felt, but still she was very strong, very strong, and could do a deal of work. There was Stoodly and Masham, — that injunction, wasn't it ? not half done ; and Jenny smiled. No, she must stay and do her work. But he was equally firm. Go she must. It flashed upon him that he had been all this time a little selfish and inconsiderate. If, indeed, she could come back early — that is, without inconvenience to herself — she knew what invaluable assistance she could afford him, &c. But here was another difficulty. With re luctance and infinite delicacy, with grief of mind, too, feeling inexpressibly for him, it was at last wrung from her — coy, reluctant, JENNY RETURNS. 19 hesitating — that indeed, perhaps, it would be for the best that there should be a little tem porary absence from the scene.

Still, that was not it. She would gladly put up with all that and more, for the sake of the family, oh yes ! Mr. Maxwell, now thoroughly outside the committee room — miles away, in fact — could not comprehend. Jenny again hinted ever so delicately. She would not for the world bring discord into that family. But still she saw — she knew, she was unacceptable to . Perhaps it was her fault — no doubt it was. Mr. Maxwell, with counsel's instinct, leaped at once to what she was alluding. He shook his head sadly. 'We must make allowance for the sick,' he said ; ' they are often un reasonable. A little patience.' Jenny was all protest in an instant. She would bear, oh yes ; she could not say how much, all for the sake of that dear family. She had only mentioned it because of their sakes. Did she mind herself?

Oh no, no, no, &c. In short, it was debated with a spirit of much self-sacrifice on both sides. Jenny was to go for her health's sake ; that health which was so much shattered, and needed restoration so sadly. She had, indeed, worked very hard, poor child. In two days' time the little trunk was brought down, and once more packed to go back again to ' dear old Grey Forest.' Dear old Grey Forest, how the heart of the little exile yearned to it ! The place where she had been brought up, where as a child she had gam bolled ! So fond was she of the place, it was natural that she should actually give way to this pleasant delusion. No one could well be angry with her for so affectionate a mistake. It was curious, that going back again once more ; especially to one looking back and thinking of the time the little black trunk was packed. And she took care to put up, among her other little properties, that Letts' diary which she always took about with her.

CHAPTER XVI. THE PARTY AT GREY FOREST.

At Grey Forest was a full house. The house keeper had made an effort ; the cook had made an effort ; Mr. Franklyn himself had struggled to the surface of his papers, and taking breath for a few hours, had himself made a tremendous effort. But, in truth, the whole work fell upon the sensible girl — so calm, so business-like, so practical, so useful upon occasions of emergency like the present. She was Field-Marshal Domestic. Where there was strain and pressure — and there was strain and pressure in all manner of directions — she contrived to meet it. The legionaries had to be fresh drilled, new ones recruited, and abundant victualling had to be got in. The whole being what a metropolitan legionary, brought clown especially to organize the waiting ' service,' called ' a state visit,' required all elements to be on a ' state ' footing — men, women, fittings, provisions, and adjuncts of all descriptions ; the whole of which task fell specially on the shoulders of the sensible girl, who did not allow all that was already on her own shoulders — so interesting and so important — to stand in the way a moment.

All the house was in spirits. And here was Sir Welbore Craven, Baronet, and Lady Catherine Craven, wife of the above, with Sir Welbore's own intimate man and Lady Catherine's own woman a secretis, and a whole wain-load of luggage already established in the house. Already the professional lady, chartered specially to supervise the victualling, began to exhibit cheeks inflamed and angry from too prolonged contiguity to a raging furnace. The ordinary familiarity of pro fessional intercourse was in her case found dangerous, and anything like reproof utterly fatal. She was not in fact to be addressed under the load of awful responsibility; and ordinary men and women shrunk away from her as from a cook more than mortal. For the festival, too, had come (this gather ing was not for the ceremonial between the Houses which was to take place up in London, but to pay honour to the illustrious family of Craven) other distinguished guests.

There was staying in the house the new Bishop, who had been lately appointed to the See of Leigh ton-Buzzard, a person who has been before met at Mr. Franklyn's, an old friend of that family — Mr. Archdeacon Dilly, in short, who has just been measured for a mitre. That great Missionary Society, whose 'perfect organiza tion, whether we look at it in its ready capacity for expansion, or for its equal susceptibility of a judicious contraction according to the exi gencies of the moment, must be looked on as one of the most wonderful organizations of this wonderful nineteenth century,' Charge of the Rev. James Wagthorne Bridles, D.D., Lord Bishop of Leighton- Buzzard, at his first Annual Visitation, pp. 1 66-7 — had borne fruit. In fact, it was no secret that it was the Foreign Missionary interest, with the silent yet powerful support of that well-known missionary nobleman, Lord Buryshaft, who might be said to have never stirred out of the chair of a religious public meeting all his life, that gently propelled the Archdeacon into the bishop's stall.

Being, too, of the rough dragoons ecclesiastical, and, as it were, always in the saddle, scouring the country for Dissenters, he soon came under notice as an active trooper that deserved promotion. Being now in command, he was doubly active ; and presently had driven the wretched Dissenters of Leighton-Buzzard to their holes and caves in the mountains. His corps, stirred on by such a leader, became about as notorious and favourably known to fame as Probyn's or Fane's Horse in India ; and Leighton-Buzzard and the diocese sur rounding became presently blazing far and near with the flames of religious conflagration. The old friend and newly-frocked bishop had been invited to do honour to Sir Welbore and Lady Mary Craven. So had another friend ■young Wells, the curate, as elderly people of the parish called him, and who had literally ' put in ' piteously, and almost in forma) pauperis for the honour.

He had nearly died of elation when the joyful news came to him, and he had to exchange his huckster's first floor for the solemn state of Grey Forest. Mr. Crowle also, though highly unsuitable as a guest in many senses, was bidden mainly at the instigation of the sensible girl, who had noted with misgiving the late change in his manner, and the strange defiant looks that at times shot from his eyes. He accepted with a joyful eagerness that she could not comprehend; and with new clothes and gayer and more satin manners, became more like a glistening snake than ever. There was also in the house a generic guest or two — the generic young guest, lawyer or soldier (' Privatman,' say the German Kiir lists) ; the generic middle-aged stout guest, who is good-humour and good-nature (with a firm belief in his own jocularity), walking about.

Smith or Wilson will do as well as other names for these prevailing types. Sir Welbore was a type in his way : so was Lady Mary Craven. He was tall, puffed, and fluffed, stiff, and of a gentlemanly stoutness ; more the fulness of port wine, than stoutness proper. He had a mild glow in his countenance of a tender pink — not the coarse exhibition of vulgar fat, but the more delicate pate tendre from the Sevres manufactory of nobility. He was always correctly and neatly dressed, and wore a pale blue neckerchief. He spoke in a solemn and sonorous voice, and always seemed to be striking his sentence on a domestic peal of bells hung somewhere within. His utterances were majestic and concerned his country's good — his country's corn — his country's politics; and, above all, his country's Times. He con sulted that keeper of the nation's conscience far more frequently than any work in the world — not even excepting his banker's book and his family Bible.

Lady Mary Craven was stately, too, and of full majestic proportions. She was of good ripe quality. But for rich and copious details of his mag nificence we turn over the scarlet book of glory, compiled by Ulster, and find the scroll of his titles there inscribed : ' CRAVEN. ' Sir Welbore Charles Hitchinbroke Craven, 4th Baronet, of Craven- Weldington, Suffolk, b. 1796; m. Mary, 5th dau. of John, 6th Earl of Topplingstones ; and by her had issue : ' 1. Charles Welbore, b. 1837. '2. Gwedolina-Matilda, b. 1838. '3. Pilaster-Gregory, b. 1839. ' Crest — A Cat ramp. ' Motto — Je tiens mes ongles press.' They were now firmly established in the mansion of the Franklyns, and cast an air of terrible formality over the modest establish ment. For the view that was obtained of them was always a state view ; and the speech that was obtained of them was always a state speech, delivered, as it were, from the throne ; and common mortals had to be more or less guarded in their choice of language, not attempting any freedoms or pleasantries of diction, which would have been a gross out rage, and pronounced lese-majeste.

The whole mass, the stately and unstately, the lay and episcopal, were now all fused together, and the various particles working in detrition against each other for some days past. With the young people it was pleasant enough, the social wheels moved on very smoothly. But with Mr. Franklyn it was sad up-hill work. Latterly he had got more or less out of the world. He knew not how to cast his thoughts and language in the mould fitted to great and stately people. The Cravens hung a good deal upon his hands. He stood much in awe of Sir Welbore. At breakfast, when that embodiment of state came down, his first act was to secure the Leading Journal (newly arrived by post), with some thing that almost amounted to greediness. His prior claim being thus established, he addressed himself in a calm and leisurely fashion to his morning meal ; and when that was finished took out his gold glass, fitted with a thick black ribbon, fixed them on leisurely, spread out the hugh amplitude of the Leading Journal, inhaled its fresh dampish flavour with a sort of relish, and began to read.