Puppets. A romance

Prologue

. CHAPTEE I. MR. BENBOW'S THOUGHTS IN DIPCHESTER CHURCH. As a ray of the morning's sunlight fell aslant on the family pew one brilliant Sunday morning in Dipchester church, it lit up the face — a rather notable one — of Mr. Spencer Pelham Benbow, the chief personage in the parish. That sunlight seemed of a complimentary sort, and imparted a genial air of festival to the service going on in the old church. For beside him sat, as was well known to every member of the congregation, an unassuming-looking gentleman, of Bank-director-like aspect ; and next him an VOL. I. B PUPPETS. elegantly-dressed, cold-looking lady, his daughter. Behind, in the roomy pew, which was like the cabin of a brig, and had a stove, were " super numeraries" — those undistinguished rank and file of visitors to a country house.

The service seemed to be conducted with extra reverence and devotion, and every face in the congregation was periodically turned to the pew with an uausual awe. It was well known that these unobtrusive strangers were no other than the Duke of Banff shire and his daughter, the Lady Rosa, now on a visit at Benbow Towers. " A real live Duke," said the simple rustics to each other : such a visitation was not remembered within the memory of man. It might be speculated, in what place would the ancestral trophies and associations of a family, their friends, neighbours, and general position, be best and most conveniently brought together? Not at the Heralds' College, nor in the Muniment Room, or even in the family pic ture-gallery : but perhaps in the village church, of a Sunday — so old, and whitened, with its THOUGHTS IN DIPCHESTER CHURCH. bottle-green diamond panes all bent and wavy.

There, with a whispering sexton or pewopener at his ear, the careless stranger, dropping in for a few moments, would have the living figures ' o o themselves before him, as well as the records of the dead upon the walls ; the neighbours grouped round, and the whole parish in force. It is thus that one would best know Mr. Ben bow of Benbow Towers. There he is, sitting in his pew, thinking of his illustrious companion the Duke, and of his daughter the Lady Rosa, rather than of the words of the monotonous preacher. Dipchester church, in which his busy mind muses and travels away swiftly to London — to ministers' cabinets, to the future, to the past — is too familiar to disturb him now. Yet it is often that an accident will settle the thoughts on an object that has been before the eyes, and never seriously noticed before.

Over his head was a " fine mural tablet," with a sad, bewailing inscription, to the memory of one Edmund Spencer Benbow, Esq., who must have died a saint, from the glowing terms of his inscription B PUPPETS. — the present Mr. Benbow's father. Near him a sculptured urn, and unanimated bust, with a broken sword and helmet. Underneath an inscription, also of the most extravagantly-com plimentary sort, to " Colonel Edward Benbow," son of the above, and the other's eldest son, to whom had succeeded the present Mr. Benbow, the present incumbent of the pew. But there was a yet more magnificent tomb, with mosaics and carvings : Jsarrjsl tu the OF EDWD. HENGIST BENBOW, ONLY SON AND HEIR OF COLONEL EDWAED BENBOW. HE MET HIS DEATH BY DROWNING IN BENBOW LOCH, AT THE EARLY AGE OF TEN YEARS. Eheu erephis etflehilis.

In the congregation there were plenty who knew the history of the Benbows well, and which a glance at the little boy's tomb often recalled. There was the good-natured-looking THOUGHTS IN DIPCHESTER CHURCH. 5 Major Hallam, and his " soncy " plump wife — he was adjutant of the district militia; and the excellent Mrs. Winter — wife of Dr. Winter, a worthy clergyman — -and mother of that before-named Mrs. Hallam. She often told the story some what garrulously. The incidents occurred ex actly at the time of Captain Hallam's marriage with her daughter, this leading naturally enough to it. She always added at the close : " So you see what a wonderful man Spencer Benbow is, to have lived down so much!' It would now be easy to see what led Mr. Benbow's thoughts, as he sat in his family pew, to the monument of the little boy.

That dead boy, but for the drowning, would no doubt have been sitting where he, Mr. Benbow, sat. He would have found himself that day in some dismal suburban church in London, with his wife and children, thinking of the expenses for the coming week. But while the wheezing organ thrums the psalm, and the preacher preaches his best, and the long service trails on, we shall also look o ? PUPPETS. back a few years, and call up those old images. It will not take long, and it will then be seen how he came to be seated — and unexpectedly — in the Benbow pew, and entertaining a Duke and his daughter on that memorable Sunday.

CHAPTER II. THE BENBOW BROTHERS.

The Benbows were not an old family, though they had, of course, pedigree, arms, &c, exactly as though they had been old. The truth was, Mr. Benbow's grandfather had been in trade, had made a vast fortune, and had purchased Benbow Towers, " taking over " all its entire stock, tradi tions, pictures, and housekeeper's stories, and thus kept up the continuity of " the thing." In a couple of generations everything settled down, and, as the Americans would put it, you can " run the old family business " as effectively as though you had been there for centuries. Nearly thirty years before, Mr. Benbow's father was living in great state and power — for he was regularly member of Parliament, almost PUPPETS. as of right, — and exercised a haughty dominion in the district. The eldest son was the Colonel Edward of the monument ; while the second brother was the present Spencer Pelham.

He was a youth wise beyond his years, thoughtful, full of generous im pulses — checked, however, by a certain good sense and prudence which made him look a little coldly on the worldly schemes of his parents. For this, or some other strange reason, the latter disliked their son. He was treated from his infancy with a cold harshness and severity. The eldest was plain in face and person, awkward and retiring in his ways and habits. He did not get on with strangers, while his brother had a ready art of making his way in the world, and forming acquaintances and making friends. This was the old, natural Spencer Benbow, altogether different from the Spencer Benbow we see on this Sunday morning seated in the church. And he would doubtless have remained as he was in those early times, — amiable, thoughtful concerning others, eager to advance his family rather than himself — but for a strange, fatal iucident, which, like a Fate, over took him without any fault of his own, and which he could not vanquish.

In this fashion both grew up. When it came to be determined what course in life each was to take, the eldest was put into the Guards, equipped with abundance of cash, and every advantage that could set him off, wThile his father resolved to use every means to arrange some grand and influential " match " for him — odd word, by the way, which may have been adopted from the phraseology of an horse-dealer, who looks out for a fellow to the handsome animal that is to draw his client's carriage. Nor was it creditable to the paternal feelings that this eagerness to settle his eldest in life, was in part prompted by a wish to hinder all possible chances of his second son succeeding to the estates. For this youth, for his thoughtfulness and calm deliberative characteristics, he had, strange to say, conceived a sort of dislike.

One reason may have been that he felt, that with PUPPETS. this stock of good sense, the son was likely to prove altogether independent of him, and had already indeed shown, on most occasions, that he was right when his father had been wrong. This led to a distrust and suspicion, and above all, to a curious forecast and instinct, that one day the " Town attorney," as he sometimes called him, might after all succeed to his estates. This 3 O was being perpetually whispered to him, so the next stage was a suspicion that his second son had the same idea in his head, and was calmly waiting tdl his time. In the aged this un reasonable suspicion takes little to grow into a something positive and certain : it is akin to the idea that your heir is impatient to succeed, and is interfering before he is entitled to do so.

Old Mr. Benbow's "right-hand man," as it is called, had been for many years one James Gordon — a smooth, clever man, devoted to the family and its interest, having been brought up on the estate. He was agent, administrator, and general director ; and lived with his wife and young family in a house near the castle, specially built for him by his patron. He too shared his employer's dislike or distrust of the second son, and not without reason, owing to a rash and foolish excess of zeal on the part of the latter. One winter, when Mr. Benbow was complaining of the falling off in some sales, or profits, his son, who was in the room, said abruptly : " I think, father, you should know something that I have discovered by a mere accident." " Now for something clever," said his father sarcastically ; " what it is to have a wise son !

Well, out with it ! " " It's my duty, father, to tell you I have found that Gordon speculates, and has lost a good deal lately." "Wed?" said his father coldly; "what is that to you ? " " Oh, nothing ; save for what it is to you." " And what is it to me, pray ? " " That is according as you look at it. I make no charge, but cannot shut my eyes to it." " Make no charge ! " said Mr. Benbow. " That's a sneaking way in which to take away an old PUPPETS. servant's character. I shall tell him of this calumny." Mr. Gordon was accordingly told, and instantly begged that his accounts might be investigated. They were found correct to a shilling. Young Benbow, however, refused to apologize, and this injured Mr. Gordon. But he said generously that he knew Mr. Benbow's strange conduct had been dictated by the best of motives.

Nor was this young fellow, not long after, how ever, without his chapter of romance. Hard by the Benbows there lived Dr. Winter and his family. Their house was in the green lanes of a warm and sheltered green country just outside Dipchester; it stood alone, as if it were in a vast demesne of its own, and yet it was only surrounded by a small meadow or two. The road that led to it was a by-road. The house was old and yet new — -burly and portly, full and contented, like an old-fashioned, well-to-do gen tleman, who yet went with the times, and wore as much of the modern dress as would fit him. The red of the bricks was ripe and genial. As gig or coach drove by on the high road, the driver or passengers got a peep of crimson that warmed and comforted them. The windows were bright, and set off with fresh clean paint, and over the old roof rose a little cupola, fresh and trim, though about as antique as an old cocked-hat.

Between the road and the house was a tiny lawn, with cheerful beds of scarlet geraniums flowering in huge hillocks, and a bit of balustrade that gave a hint of terrace. Such was Arbour-hill — as seen from the top of the passing coach, pronounced " an uncommon snug place" by the outsides, and where Dr. Winter, who farmed in a "jolly" way. and Mrs. Winter, and Miss Lucy Winter, the jewel of the jewel case, lived all the year round. Inside, it was a miracle of comfort and bright ness, airy to a degree, with the old-fashioned rooms, and the quaint twist of the stairs, but with none of that old-fashionedness which brings dampness and strange unseen burrows and decay, and drifts up to a sensitive visitor sudden and unpleasant gales. And there were also alterations PUPPETS. and additions, and the rather straitened dining room had been expanded into a handsome modern room.

It was the most comfortable and com pact of places. They said to Winter, " How did you light on this place ? AVhere did you hear of it ? What would you take for the plant and good-will now, lock, stock, and barrel?" At which proposal Lucy Winter cried out in piteous protest, " Oh, papa ! " With the exception of a little girl only five or six years old, this Lucy Winter was the only child, a gay, handsome, impetuous girl of seven teen, all flash and impulse. Some one calls her from the hall as she is heard carolling above, and down she " swings " the little twisted stair, with a sort of spring, " hand-over-hand," as though she were a sador coming down to the deck. It is a picture to see her as she stands with a little tinge of colour in her cheeks, pushing back her tossed hair, of which she had abundance of a fine honest auburn, perhaps a little rough too ; and with a delightful smile of happy interroga tion, says, " What is it, papa ?

" This young girl had soon attracted the second son, and it was well known in the parish that the grave, thoughtful second son was deeply in love with Lucy Winter. He was not very demonstrative, but he appeared to have made it one of the settled purposes of his life that when he had made a fortune, and opened that great oyster, the world, he would return and claim her. Lucy herself seemed to accept this arrangement, as she really liked and " esteemed " — dangerous uncertain word in love's vocabulary — her admirer. All her famdy thought it an " excellent thing " for her to be allied to so good and sensible and amiable a youth. But who would have given that " Blue Book of a man," as some one styled him, credit for having quite a tender corner in his heart ! But this, it must be recollected, was the young Spencer Benbow of the old early days, not the Benbow of the church of the Sunday morning, who was without heart or love, or romance of any kind.

Mr. Benbow looked scornfully on this attachment, and said it was exactly what he would PUPPETS. have expected. His second son would never raise the family. A beggar he would be, and another beggar he had found, and there would OO ' be more beggars to follow. He " washed his OO hands of the whole business " — a favourite hypo critical form by which the selfish convey that they had hitherto been soiling their fingers in the cause of the person thus renounced. It was noted that this sincere, honourable, manly attach ment had a remarkable influence on our second son, who became more thoughtful and gracious. It should be mentioned, however, that he had " never told his love," though there had been no " preying on himself" in the shape of conceal ment, nothing that could suggest the " worm i'the bud."

Suddenly there appeared in the neighbourhood a certain Captain Hallam. A pleasant, off-hand, agreeable soldier, without cleverness or brilliancy but with a full stock of good-nature and goodo o humour, best and most " workable " of all the virtues. When we say that this officer, grown stouter and more good-humoured-looking, was seated in the church that morning, beside Lucy Winter, the train of intervening incidents may be guessed. This was the first dislocation in the character of Spencer Benbow. He had will and power sufficient to force his life to be as before, as one will force a key to turn in the obstinate wards of a lock, but at the cost of violent bendings and wrenchings. O O No one knew or guessed how much that effort cost him. But he appeared to accept it all cheerfully. As for Lucy, she had given her affections for the first time, and in such a case neither logic nor pity nor feeling is thought of.

The younger son by this time saw that he could expect little or nothing from his family, whose prejudices seem to grow with years, and determined, as it is called, to go and shift for himself. There was a certain dignity in this resolution, and he hailed with pleasure the day when he would be enabled to set forth on his course independently, and earn his own living. He felt he had a taste for " business," vol. i. c PUPPETS. and " affairs," and resolved to go into the city and make money for himself. "Aye, exactly," growled his father; "just the proper thing for you to do. Go — stick a quill behind your ear." Young Benbow parted with his family in perfect good humour, and went up to Town to seek his fortune. In a couple of years his steady character and sagacity stood in good stead. In a surprising way he made friends — rather he made himself useful to the friends he made, was helped by them because he was likely to help them, and very soon was known to be on the road to making a fortune.

Old Mr. Benbow only growled more and more as this good news travelled to him. " Low quill-driver ! " he would exclaim ; "I knew he'd disgrace the family." Meanwhile Colonel Edward had been serv ing with his regiment, and was now ordered to Dublin. His father was now growing a little impatient, and eager that he should settle in life. Every " great house " his son was asked to, suggested the fair and noble daughter of the house ; and in every letter from Mr. Benbow it was insisted that he should make haste in his selection. His son, however, took it easily enough, assuming there was no hurry He was supposed to be enjoying himself in Dublin — dancing at the Viceregal balls, and o o ' other entertainments of that gay capital. " Ah, Ned will do well, and raise the family," his father would say, reading out one of his letters, " even though they would persuade me that all the sense has gone to the quill driver.

" There was a young dame of high degree whom his son had carelessly mentioned in one of his letters, and on this he began to build a new structure, pressing his son in every letter, and asking him " how the business was getting forward?" "Recollect," he would say, "that our family has found you money ; you must find blood and rank." Accordingly the Colonel went on his visits to the great houses, and was received favourably c PUPPETS. by the various Lady Marys and Lady Hildas and their families. Suddenly, one memorable Monday morning, when the Benbow post-bag had been opened, and its contents were distributed round the breakfast-table to the guests, Mr. Benbow said good-humouredly : " Ah, the scoundrel Edward — he has written at last." "Why, what's this— ?" No one knew untd a day later, for the paper dropped out of his grasp, and he himself fell to the floor in a fit.

There was consternation and hurry, flying for doctors on horseback and in carriages. However, soon the dreadful news be came known that Colonel Edwrard was married, and had made a " low, foolish, improvident marriage," and had nearly kdled his father. There w7as talk of disinheriting, cutting off the entail ; for his father, who gradually recovered, full of rage and fury, was determined to slake his thirst for vengeance, and his first step was to send for " the quill-driver " from Town. There are abundance of painful situations ; but none perhaps so acute as that when an act being done in defiance of all consequences, with a sort of proud heroism, the moment arrives when the " bill must be paid." There has been a faint hope that the menaces are not wholly in earnest : that finally some mode of propitiation or release will be found.

But when the awful truth is disclosed that your " ships are really burnt," and that all through the rest of life the penalty must be suffered, it is to be suspected that in nearly every case the first is, a fatal unsealing of the eyes, and the despairing reflec tion, that what was purchased at so costly a price — was not worth the money. At least there are but few natures so heroical as to stand the shock. The one that felt this improvident step the most was Spencer Benbow, who, strange to say, wrote a letter of sympathy to his father, saying, he felt deeply for the disappointment of what he knew had been his life's hope, and that he did not think his brother could have played so selfish PUPPETS. a part; at the same time he begged of his father, now that the mischief was done and incurable, to make the best of it and not visit it too heavily on Edward Before, however, the proper steps could bo taken, or indeed before the second brother could arrive, either to dissuade or mollify his father, Mr. Benbow was seized with a second fit and expired.

And thus Colonel Edward Benbow, after this very narrow escape, succeeded and became Lord of the Benbows. His brother, not in the least disappointed, was eager to congratu late him. But to his astonishment the Colonel refused to see him. He was of curiously morbid and sensitive nature, inclined to see intended offence in the most harmless incidents. He had found his brother's letter among his father's papers, and naturally assumed that much more had passed, and that he had been his enemy throughout. Not long after news arrived that the new Mrs. Benbow had died — for she had been of a frail constitution. At last undisputed Lord and owner, he did not set himself out to look for any enjoyment in his new possessions. The place was for him accursed, and associated with two painful memo ries. So it was shut up, and he lived abroad, solitary and gloomy : though there was many a fair and gentle girl and dame who found him and his distress particularly interesting, and would have tried their little all to comfort him sometimes. Once or twice in the year he returned to look after his property, but he never would stay at "the Big House."

CHAPTER III. LUCY WINTER.

At this stage a little incident of a minor sort began to flutter the parish — and this was the marriage of Captain Hallam with the fair Lucy, whom we have seen in the church on the Ducal Sunday morning. For all this going on, as it were, wdiile Mr. Spencer is listening abstractly to the wheezy organ, or glancing wearily to the mural tablets. The marriage had been talked of for some years in the district, but had come about in a quiet imperceptible way. The Captain Hallam, who was to be married, had been quartered in Dipchester, the house where the marriage was to be. He had gone on foreign service, was quartered again there, and came pretty fre- LUCY WINTER. 25 quently, first, to get rid of ennui — afterwards, from a very natural interest, as those who saw the young girl, the precious stone of that house, could testify.

The officer was a manly, honest officer, fairly well-looking, with lively tastes and accomplishments, had good connections, and was tolerably well off in the world. All the good people of the place were sincerely glad " that the Winters had got him ; " whde those who were not such good Christians talked with a little depreciation of picking up a man " in a marching regiment," with only " his pay to keep himself upon." A marriage in a country district is a great, even a tremendous, event, and the two figures become as interesting as actors upon the stage of a theatre. The gossip tongues run riot. It is like promotion to a ministerial office. Those who are looking forward to a similar advance ment for their children feel something akin to envy. When the passengers on the up-coach, going by about eight o'clock, saw the little " box " PUPPETS. blazing cheerfully away like a bright lantern, to them it looked more than ever " snug," the very essence of snugness and warmth.

If they could have drawn up the yellow blinds and peeped in, they would have seen two pictures of warmth, colour, happiness, and comfort. One was in the dining-room, with its sea-green walls, and where Mr. Trail, the grey-haired curate, and Doctor Legge, the village doctor — who, it was said, knew more of the moon and stars than of physic — -and Captain Hallam, and a chosen friend and brother-officer, Hillier, who was to be his " best man," and the host, were sitting round the fire taking claret. The ladies had just gone, had crossed the hall, and were drawing in to their fire, which makes up the other picture of warmth and comfort. Mrs. Trail and her daughter, a darling friend of Lucy's, were staying in the house. They were all drawing in closer to the fire, to continue a subject more confidentially, which had been just touched on as they left the dining-room.

The subject was Colonel Benbow. LUCY WINTER. " Oh, mamma," said Lucy, " he is certain to come, he arrived at the Towers yesterday. He promised." " I am sure he will, dear," said her mamma, " aud for a reason that I know." "But what an interesting character," said Mrs. Trail. " The world is not so bad as my dear Trail preaches, when there are men with such deep feeling as that." " The strangest thing," said Mrs. Winter, " was their estrangement. And there can be no doubt that Spencer had spoken bitterly of his brother's behaviour to his father. And Colonel Edward always believed that but for him they would have been reconciled. When his wife died, this became a morbid, bitter dislike, which really preyed on him. But all this is an old story now, and took place some eight years ago. My dear, I could not describe it.

I assure you it haunted me like a nightmare for months after. It was really terrible, his rage and grief mixed together. At times I thought his reason O O would go, or had gone. Men can love their wives, PUPPETS. you see. When he lost her his grief was terrible. Since then he has wandered about the world with his son. The old grief and fury have given way, and gradually, I think, a love the most overpowering for this child — a love that is increasing every day and every hour — is soften ing him ; and the most wonderful proof of his being softened is his coming here." " And the boy ? " asked the vicar's wife. " A darling !" said Lucy, running to the table. " Look here ! " And she brought over her photograph album. In a moment they were all admiring a little fellow in a Scotch dress, leaning, his hand in his pocket, with a smde of composure — the smile of a " boy of the world " — against a very low table.

He had a charming air of gracious composure. The ladies agreed he was indeed a darling. o o " Now, mamma, tell Mrs. Trad what we have settled." " Oh yes," said Mrs. Winter. " Spencer, who really never did anything in the matter, and yet was sorry, and has tried again and again to see LUCY WINTER. his brother, is to be here to-morrow. He isof a cold temper though. Do you see now ? " "Ah, yes," said the vicar's wife. " But still, if he is in the same mood " " But Lucy has a plan." " Leave it to me," said Lucy, pacing round and round the room in delight. " I have my plan, and it shall succeed. Hush ! " She held up her finger. Was it the gentlemen coming in ? Yes, their voices were in the hall. But Lucy heard another sound. In country houses, ears are as trained as the ears of Indian hunters, and can hear a sound of wheels on gravel even at the lodge gate. Mrs. Winter started up. "It is Colonel Benbow ! " The gentlemen came in, in delight ful spirits. But Mr. Winter and his wife went out into the hall.

CHAPTER IV. THE SON.

Through the open door, in the dark night outside, a chaise was waiting. In a moment those round the bright fire in the drawing-room heard the sound of shuffling and pattering feet. In a few minutes more the door was opened gently, and Mrs. Winter's voice was heard. " Will you come in here, Colonel Benbow ? " A tall gentleman, with a sunburnt face and large brown moustache, and the softest of blue eyes, advanced through the doorway, and then drew back irresolutely. He held his son by the hand, who was in a dark little Scotch dress, and who looked round on all the company with a pleasant smile of greeting. " I am afraid," began Colonel Benbow, " that after our journey " THE SON. 31 But he was interrupted, for, with cheeks glowing and eyes flashing, Lucy came from the other end of the room straight to him, and said : " How are you, Colonel Edward ?