Bridget

Front matter

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Chapter I. Four And Three Make Seven

It was a delicious evening in August. The dreamy purple skies were cloudless, hardly a breeze stirred the stately lilies of suburban gardens, and all the wide green landscape lying round Highgate Hill was bathed in mellow light. Far off the dome of St. Paul's rose grandly amid a thousand spires, the city stretching on either side, dim, vast, mysterious. All was still except for the twittering of birds in wayside-hedges, the cries of happy children out at play, and the boom of perpetual trains speeding across the scene. On such a night there are leisurely pedestrians, not only on the wooded heights of Highgate, but among the rural lanes of Hornsey, the fields and meadows of Wood Green, and the winding banks of the New River. Popular, too, is the walk over One Tree Hill, and pleasant the prospect it affords of smiling valleys and spacious parks, of many a clustering village and tapering spire on one side, and the great awful shadow of London on the other.

No fairer suburbs are to be found than there, which even the nightingale haunts still, and which, in spite of railways and of other innovations, have remained rustic, quiet, and old-fashioned. Wild flowers grow abundantly around newly-built streets, barn-door fowls cackle close to brand-new railway-taverns ; and the yearly spectacle of hay-making and corn-cutting delights the eyes of town-bred children. Alike in winter and in summer, there are natural beauties and charms to be found in these unfashionable northern suburbs of London. BRIDGET. Among the ramblers now returning to their homes in the starry, dewy twilight, were a city clerk and his young wife, who slowly descended the green slopes of Muswell Hill, leading to Hornsey Rise. " I can hardly believe it is true," began the wife, after a long pause before a meadow-stile.

" We have waited for it so long, and it has come at last !— the life you have coveted, and, I am sure, deserved." " I don't know what my deserts may be, but I know what I have dreamed of night and day, asleep and awake," replied the husband with a trembling eagerness in his voice. " It — it is not life, indeed, it is slavery to plod on day after day, year after year, in a counting-house, without leisure, without sympathy, without inspiration. All that is best in me, except my affection, has hitherto been crushed, imprisoned, dead !" "And now you are going to win a reputation and live among poets and artists as Helwyse does. I always said you had the most genius of the two." " Helwyse has a lovely nature, and she has made a lovely life for herself. I am not sure that I might not outrun her, had we started fair; but she was a mere child when I began life, and ten years' advantage has given her the race."

" Helwyse is twenty-three, and you were only thirty-four last birthday. That is still young for a man. But Helwyse will always be younger, Helwyse will always be perfect, Helwyse will always be a pattern," answered the wife, half in jest, half in earnest. The foolish speech was answered by a reproving smile, and then, arm-in-arm, they continued their walk, passing slowly down the dusky avenue of Crouch End. " Surely nothing can happen to spoil our plans now ! " she said, as they drew near home. " We have a little money lying in the bank. We have found just the house we want. You are promised some writing for a newspaper, and Helwyse will perhaps live with us, and help us with the rent at first. We really shall leave Hornsey Rise at Michaelmas, shall we not ? " " Oh, let us not talk of it any more !

Who can tell what may happen ? " answered the man ; but the force of habit was too strong. They had talked of the new bright life dawning upon them incessantly for months past, and after a momentary break, returned to it now. Like happy children prattling about toys to be bought next day, they went on, building castles in the air, till they reached FOUR AND THREE MAKE SEVEN. 9 home. It was a tiny, semi-detached villa, in a newly-built, unpoetic-looking street, yet cheery and pleasant all the same. There were flowers in the front garden, with a few trees and shrubs at the back, and tall sunflowers lending majesty to the small domain. In the general sitting-room were flowers and birds and children's toys ; and in the best parlour a few books, pictures, and a piano ; whilst upstairs, sleeping side by side in their snowy-white beds, were three rosy, fair-haired little girls, so many small copies of their mother.

She kissed them all, and then went down to prepare supper. The cloth was laid, and a grateful smell of baked potatoes issued from the kitchen; but what good housewife ever allowed a salad to be prepared by a maid-of-all-work ? — or the key of the cellar to the nursemaid? — for of these two was made up the clerk's modest establishment. Emilia was the soul of order, and if ever her husband had to find fault with her housekeeping, it was because she did it too well — that is to say, she took too much pains about it, being, like Martha, troubled about many things. To-night the two sat down to their simple meal with more than usual relish. Their dreams lent a touch of romance to an existence that was otherwise monotonous and common place. Playfellows when first at school, comrades when boy and girl, youth and maiden, Bryan and Emilia Fleming had married early, and settled down to domestic life without much love-making beforehand.

They had paired like young birds in spring, the responsibilities of father and mother coming soon after, and not a few of the cares that inevitably follow growing wants and narrow means. But at last the wife's ambition, and the husband's wishes, were on the eve of fulfilment. Each looked at the other with beaming eyes. Emilia was young and pretty still, with fair hair and piquant little nose and large blue Saxon eyes; whilst Bryan was handsome, as all Irishmen are bound to be, with the dark clustering curls, deep violet eyes, and rich complexion of his race. They seldom thought of each other's looks now; but Emilia's face would glow if anyone praised her husband's eyes ; whilst Bryan denied him self many an omnibus ride to the City, and other luxuries, in order that she should have a silk dress to wear at church.

They were eating their supper with childish appetite and enjoyment, when suddenly a loud ring at the front door made Emilia start, and Bryan drop his knife and fork. It was too BRIDGET. 10 late for the last postman, too late for visitors, and no one ever came at that hour. What could it be ? Surely no messages of ill stepping at the eleventh hour between them and their dream ! The little nursemaid had answered the summons, and hearing a confusion of voices, both master and mistress left the supper-table to see what had happened. The front door stood wide open, and holding a candle high over her head, stood the little maid confronting with astonishment four muffled figures ot various sizes, who were all speaking at once, and, as it seemed, a foreign jargon. Bryan advanced, Emilia also, and at their appearance the tallest of the intruders sprang forward with outstretched hands and a cry of joy.

It was a girl ; and in the act of springing forward, her travelling hood fell back, showing a childish face with wild dark locks hanging on her shoulders, and large, eager, brilliant black eyes. Behind her, clutching her gown timidly, followed a slender, pale-faced boy of six ; whilst bringing up the rear were two other boys, both younger than the girl, and all four having an odd, picturesque, foreign look about them. " It is our own uncle Bryan and our aunt Emilia, is it not ? " asked the girl, speaking with a strong French accent. " Our dear, dear uncle and aunt." Then all four children fell upon the two, kissing them with tears of joy. "We have come such a long, long way, and we knew you would be pleased to see us, and we had no one else to go to," she continued, " and no money either."

" It is poor Patrick's children," whispered Bryan into his wife's ear; then he added aloud — "Come in, dear children, do not remain standing any longer. And you are, of course, hungry." " Oh, so hungry ! " cried the youngest boy, rubbing his face affectionately against Emilia's hand, " so hungry, auntie dear." Emilia put the child away, not rudely or unkindly, but with a kind of instinctive terror. What did it all mean ? She knew that Bryan's eldest brother, the ne'er-do-weel of the family, had died abroad in difficulties a few months ago, that they had even sent money to his orphan children, but she supposed them well cared for by their mother's relations, who were in easy circumstances. And now they were here ! What did it all mean ? " Come, let us feed the poor things, and then hear their FOUR AND THREE MAKE SEVEN. 11 story," said Bryan, bringing out wine from the sideboard.

" Quick, Mary, and lay the table for four. There is the cold leg of mutton in the pantry and some salad still remaining. You can drink a glass of wine, boys, I'll be bound." " No, Brigitte won't let us touch wine, but I should like some bread," answered the eldest boy, a tall lad with a kindly, rather heavy face, looking eagerly towards the loaf. " We have had nothing but biscuits all day, and some apples the Captain gave us." " Nonsense ! after a journey a glass of wine will do you all the good in the world, and my poor little man here looks as pale as death," said Bryan, raising the decanter with one hand, whilst with the other he caressed the youngest child. " Not a drop, dear uncle," cried Brigitte, springing forward, and covering the glass with her hand. "For the love of God, uncle, not a drop."

Then she added passionately in his ear : " It was the ruin, the death of our father." Bryan put back the decanter, and began cutting bread and meat cheerfully. Emilia, still in a state of painful bewilder ment, made some tea. Both were too absorbed to notice the tremendous havoc soon made in the family larder by these youthful invaders. In fact, by the time the meal was over, there was literally nothing left for the morrow. Only little Hilary prattled in comic French-English as they ate. " I am Hilaire," he said, " and my birthday is on the twenty-third of October. Brigitte is the eldest, and she is fifteen. Next comes Patrice, who was fourteen last birthday. Ambroise comes between Patrice and me, and he is eleven. Aren't you pleased to be here, Ambroise ? " To which Ambroise responded with a comic gesticulation expressive of material enjoyment only.

" But where are we to sleep, and who will lend us night gowns ? " asked little Hilaire, after achieving his last cup of tea. " I was so hungry, and now I am so sleepy ! " " Good heavens ! Emmie, I never thought of that. What is to be done for beds ? " Emilia looked thunderstruck. The truth was dawning upon her by little and little. These orphan children had swooped down like so many birds of prey upon their poor little dream ! All was over with their castle in the air now. " What, indeed ! " she said, with petulant dismay. " I suppose we must turn out of our room, and sleep on the sofas. BRIDGET. 12 The two maids can sleep together for once, and that will make one room more." Only Brigitte noticed the speech, and the manner of it. " Indeed, dear aunt," she said, " if Hilary can have a com fortable bed, we three do not mind in the least where we sleep.

He is so delicate." " I have thought of a plan," put in Bryan, and beckoning his wife, they conferred together on the stairs. Emilia raised a dozen objections, saw a dozen difficulties, but the matter was settled at last, and in half an hour the four weary young travellers were sleeping profoundly, unconscious of the trouble they had brought with them. When the supper-table was cleared, the servants had retired, and the house was once more quiet, Bryan and Emilia sat down and looked at each other in silence. "We cannot keep them," Emilia began, half crying. "One must do one's duty to one's own children first. It would ruin us." " Emmie, it will devolve upon you, then, to take them to the workhouse. I will not do it as long as I have health and strength to earn them bread and shelter." " I do not want them to be sent to the workhouse," Emilia said.

" But there must be someone else, either on their father's or mother's side, to look to. They should at least have written. Bridget is not a mere child." " You heard what she said. They had evidently neither friends nor money, and it was natural that the children should have thought of their father's brother. You know poor Patrick married a French girl without a penny, and doubt less her friends have done what they could. We shall hear all to-morrow." " But we cannot do it," Emilia began, in the same childishly helpless, despondent way. " We have only been able to make ends meet as it is, and our children's education must not be neglected. You seem to forget that we have three of our own, and four and three make seven." "Well, if God. had sent us seven instead of three, I must have provided for them as best I could, my dear," said Bryan, looking on the carpet, with his hands thrust into his pockets sulkily, and his locks pulled over his brow.

" I can reckon as well as you. I know that four and three make seven. I did not want the children, but if I sent them to the workhouse FOUR AND THREE MAKE SEVEN. 13 now, I should deserve to be kicked there myself for a poltroon. That is all I can say." " It is a sin and a shame for people to spend all they have, and leave their children beggars. Who would take in our own if we died to-morrow without providing for them ? — and if we undertake this responsibility, we never shall be able to provide for them. You will never manage to pay up your assurance. We shall have to get into debt." "Well, there is the workhouse," Bryan said, bitterly; "but I repeat it, you shall take them there, not I." " I do not talk of the workhouse," Emilia continued, growing more impatient. " Surely, before you sacrifice us all for these children, you will try if there is nothing else to be done.

We can perhaps get the two younger boys into the Blue Coat School." " Little Hilary looks very fit for the Blue Coat School ! " " I am sure our Margie is delicate, and she went to school long ago. If we were rich, of course we could act very differently; as it is, we can only do for them " "As if they were our own," Bryan said, still defiant and bitter. Emilia burst out crying, and he went on in the same tone, for there were moments when his wife's tears mortified, not melted him : " Is it the fault of these poor things that they are home less ? If my brother was a bad father, was he not still my brother ? Of course it is a blow to me. We must give up our plans, we shall be straitened for years, we shall have to sacrifice our children's prospects — is it not our duty to befriend the orphans first, and think of these things afterwards ?

After all, perhaps I have been a presumptuous fool to think myself too good for a clerkship, and this has happened to prevent a worse disappointment." " You must go plodding on at the office while all the time you might be winning yourself a name, like Helwyse," Emmie said, still sobbing. " That is what I grieve most about, Bryan, though you never give me .credit for unselfish motives; I wanted you to be in your proper place, to do something great, to live the life you have so longed for." Of course, Bryan was melted now, and the two made up their little quarrel, as they had done when boy and girl, with penitent caresses and childish little endearments. They BRIDGET. 14 were very like children in many things, and in none more than their treatment of each other — at variance one moment, better friends than ever the next, never quite resigned to mutual shortcomings and infirmities, never quite resolute enough to avoid stormy subjects and vain reproaches.

How many lives are robbed of all their grace by just this want of courtesy in little things ! Every part of the flower is there except the fragrance, and we miss it, and crave for it, and cast longing eyes on other people's gardens, too blind to see that the fault is ours. It was long past midnight before the two fell asleep. Bryan dreamed of boyish days in the well-beloved home on the banks of the Shannon, when his elder brother, Patrick, had been his hero, his idol, and after childish fashion, his tyrant. Emilia tossed uneasily on her pillow, her slumbers disturbed by a nightmare dream that would not go. A slate and pencil were in her hands, and a spectral schoolmaster stood over her reiterating, with a malignant voice, a sum she could not add up — " Four and three make seven ! Four and three make seven ! Four and three make SEVEN I"

Chapter II. And What Will Helwyse

SAY? "And what will Helwyse say?" asked Emilia, with a blank face next morning. The four young travellers still slept profoundly. The three little girls were not yet dressed, and Bryan was reading his paper, as usual, over a hasty breakfast. "We shall soon hear. She was to arrive last night, you know, and will be sure to come here the first thing. To morrow is Sunday, too, thank God ! " he added, rising, with a 6igh. " We shall have time to talk over everything to-morrow." "And you will be home early?" AND WHAT WILL HELWYSE SAY? 15 " Oh, of course. Starffe is coming to tea, you know, and we promised to take the children for a country walk. We can go all the same, and, meantime, you had better turn the boys out for a run in the fields, and make the poor things feel at home." Emilia began to pout, but there was no time for saying more.

The horn heralding the omnibus was heard close by, and Bryan had only just time to say good-bye, and pluck the usual blossom for his button-hole before it came up. It was not dandyism, but a vein of poetry in his nature, that led the poor City clerk to do this day after day. The spray of jessamine, the budding rose, the frond of lady-fern, reminded him of country hedges, of woodland joys, and of the glorious summer hours gliding by outside his gloomy prison. For was not Leadenhall Street a prison at this time of the year ? The day was an uneasy one to both husband and wife. Bryan had no time to dwell upon the petty care distracting Emilia's brain, but a weight of undefined trouble lay upon his spirits, making him dull and dreary-faced in spite of himself. Yesterday it seemed to him as if the trammels of toil had dropped from his limbs, and in their place had sprung airy wings, lifting him into the golden realms of fancy.

To-day life had taken its usual shape, and he saw before him a long and painful ladder that he must climb as best he could, leading, alas ! to nothing. Poor Bryan and poor Emilia ! Whilst the bread-winner was thinking of the delicious dreams of a choicer, fairer existence, now vanished for ever, the matron was lost in house wifely troubles of the smaller kind. She fretted at Bryan's disappointment, but the injustice his generosity would inflict upon their children seemed the hardest thing to bear. She was not an adoring mother. She did not spoil the three little miniature Emilias who in their very faults resembled herself, but they were her children, her very own, and for that reason she would protect them, and fight for them, and suffer for them. So when the seven cousins had been introduced to each other, and the blonde, blue-eyed little maidens, always dressed as neat as wax, were being petted and admired by the big, broad-shouldered, rough-looking Patrice and the better-favoured Ambroise, she was on the alert to see that no slight was offered them.

Had Norah, or Kathleen, or Margie come to her with the least complaint of Patrice's rudeness or Ambroise's cross- BRIDGET. ness, the two boys would straightway have received a sharp reminder. But these huge, overgrown, half French, half Irish boys were singularly gentle and forbearing among the miniature womankind; and instead of Patrice and Ambroise, it was Norah who domineered, Kathleen who was cross, Margie who lorded it over the big boy cousins, in whose eyes the three were adorable little fairies suddenly fallen from fairyland. Not that Emilia saw any signs of the humility she thought only becoming in such a position. It never seemed to occur to the frank, high-spirited orphans that they were intruders in their uncle's home, that they were robbing their cousins' heritage. They were meek in their dealings with the little girls, but it was the meekness of the strong protecting the weak, of the rougher towards the gentler sex.

Emilia reproached them as she left her housewifely cares to glance at the young people now and then. And she was right regarding the three younger orphans, only Brigitte held aloof from the noisy group in the garden, looking sad and anxious. When little Hilary left the game to kiss her with almost ecstatic fondness, saying, " Hilaire so happy, so very happy, Brigitte dear," she pressed him to her heart without a word. " Can I help you, dear aunt ? " she had said, after having made the beds and swept the floors of their rooms on her own account. But Emilia said no, though indeed she needed a little aid in the kitchen. Emilia's heart did not warm towards this tall, overgrown, untidy girl, whose long locks and large black eyes inspired her with a sort of terror. Yet Brigitte moved about gently, and though she evidently felt none of her brothers' fascination for the three little girls, she treated them very kindly, almost submissively.

So when Bryan came home, there was nothing very dreadful to tell of the young invaders. Patrice had not hurled down the garden wall, Ambroise had not broken all the children's toys, Hilaire had not devastated the flower-beds, and Brigitte had not spilled the ink over the new carpet — disasters small indeed to those Emilia had expected. The tea-table was spread with cakes, radishes, and water-cresses, in honour of the expected visitor — Mr. Starffe, the curate; and no one looked very miserable. Precisely at half-past four the tall, lank figure of the curate might be seen at the garden gate, and little Kathleen came to meet him, telling him the great news all in a breath. Mr. AND WHAT WILL HELWYSE SAY? 17 Starffe was a favourite with the children, though too poor to bring anything in his pockets more costly than oranges, and too serious to laugh aloud even over blind man's buff.

But he told them stories and listened patiently to their prattle, and children, unless malignant, like everybody. The little girls clamoured for a place beside the curate, and Norah, a picture book child, with round blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and flaxen curls always in proper order, would even take his large bony hand and kiss it, saying : " Dear Mr. Starffe, I love you so ! " At five years old we have strange ideals, and Norah thought Mr. Starffe lovely. When tea was poured out, and the curate had said grace, the conversation turned from the new-comers to the now daily-expected visitor, Helwyse. As sometimes happens, breaking the dull routine of daily life with a blessed ray of unexpectedness, an exquisite rainbow, made up of smiles and tears, amid our common joys, just as they began to talk of Helwyse, whose beautiful Saxon name seemed to bring with it a fragrance and melody and joy all in one, Helwyse herself appeared.

There was a step on the garden path, a sweet voice calling their names, a gracious, girlish figure in white smiling upon all, and in another moment Helwyse was in their midst, clinging to Bryan's arm. "This is your aunt Helwyse," said Bryan, presenting her to the new-comers proudly, and the elder boys blushed proudly, too, as she put her arms round the neck of each and kissed them with tender love and pity. Bryan had whispered the orphans' story in her ear at the door, and Helwyse loved them already for their dead father's sake. Then she held out her hand to the curate, who now stood stammering and abashed, his eyes brimful of happiness at the sight of her face once more. It was a face that told its own tale. You could read at a glance that to Helwyse had fallen no common lot, and that her nature had matched the inner and the outer, the soul and the form, with unerring nicety.

There was something queenly in this fair young girl, the queenliness of character, as well as beauty, of intellectual gifts as well as of natural graces. When she took off her broad-brimmed straw hat, it was wonderful how her presence embellished the tea-table. That white cambric dress, that blue flower on her bosom, were nothing in themselves, yet how they beautified her ! And then Helwyse talked an unfamiliar language very B BRIDGET. sweet to listen to, and brought a new, fresh atmosphere into the place. All Italy seemed before them as she described her art life in Rome and Venice, and spoke enthusiastically of places and pictures she had seen. They listened admiringly, and none envied the happy fortunes of the young artist, rich in friends and fame at twenty-three — except, perhaps, poor Emilia now and then, who thought how much better it was to be free like Helwyse than burdened with wifely, motherly cares like herself.

When tea was over, they all set out for a walk, the children in advance, their elders following after. Bryan always gave the curate an opportunity of a little tete-a-tete with Helwyse upon these occasions. He knew that Mr. Starffe was as far removed from Helwyse as north from south ; but are there not some perennial romances, delicate yet tenacious plants no winter can destroy ? Thus it was with the curate's passion for the beautiful young artist. He never dreamed, or perhaps not more than once a year, of a future linked with hers, he was resigned to his humble position, his narrow means, his lodging over a bootmaker's shop ; but he blushed like a girl when she spoke kindly to him, and was eternally grateful to Bryan for his occasional innuendoes on the subject of his admiration. To-day, when they had left the road and were crossing the meadows that lead to old Hornsey Church, he found himself alone by Helwyse's side.