Seven Stories ... Fourth edition

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SEVEN STORIES. SEVEN STORIES BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON fourth (Coition LONDON: BURNS AND OATES, Limited CONTENTS. 'IM1- PAGE VOOSEMAKY ; A TALE OF THE FlRE OF LONDON : Chap. i. WishingSomething to happen — Something happens 1 II. Visitors .... .10 m. Going beyond Seas . , .15 iv. A Night Watch . . . .21 v. It never rains but it pours . . 25 vi. An eventful Day . . . . 33 vn. Joan's Resolution . . . .49 vm. Returned 54 ix. A Slip between the Cup and the Lip 65 x. The Boarding-school at Richmond . 76 xi. Lady Davenant . .■ . .91 xn. Davenant House . . . .99 xm. Joan Porter's Room . . ,108 xi v. The Mother's Appeal . . .118 xv. Rosemary . . . . . Contents. VI PAGP. Reparation : a Story of the Reign of Louis XIV 135 The Blacksmith of Antwerp . . -151 The Beggar of the Steps of St. Roch. A True Story 179 Trouvaille ; or the Soldier's Adopted Child. A True Story .... 193 Earth without Heaven. A Reminiscence . 211 Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam - - ROSEMARY, ROSEMARY. \ TALE OF THE FIRE OF LONDON.

Chapter I. Wishing Something To Happen Something Happens

In a small house in Lonrton, close to the old West minster-bridge, tnere lived, ratner more than two hun dred years ago, a good old lady, commonly called the Widow Coggle. She and her maid, Joan Porter, had inhabited this little house for a quarter of a century ; that is, since the death of Mr. Coggle ; and though they had disputed daily during all that time on every possible subject within their narrow reach, they had never quarrelled, and neither of them would probably have been able to exist comfortably without the other. On the day on which this story begins, Mrs. Cog gle was sitting at her work-table with a disconsolately wisttui expression of countenance, which betokened an unsatisfied state of mind and a desire to complain of something or of somebody. Which oi these two B Rosemary. 2 alternatives gives the greatest relief to persons labour ing under that sort of craving, it would be difficult to decide ; there is much to be said on both sides.

In complaining of things, troublesome scruples do not often arise. People say, ' This odious weather !' or ' This horrid pen !' or 'This dreadful table !' or 'Those abominable tongs !' without any remorse ; whereas if they exclaim, ' That odious Mrs. John !' or ' That horrid Mr. James !' or ' That dreadful Miss Thomas !' or ' That abominable Sarah !' they are apt, if ever so lit tle accustomed to examine their consciences, to feel a little uncomfortable shortly afterwards. They are obliged to modify those adiectives, and to describe their acquaintances as only tiresome and disagree able, and enough to provoke a saint. Such restraint no doubt interferes with the relief afforded by the thoroughgoing expressions fearlessly applied to the table or to the tongs. But then, on the other hand, the passiveness of those latter objects — the unimpres sionable way in which they remain unconscious of the abuse they receive — reacts unpleasantly on the excited state of feelings which originates it, and necessarily prevents the continuance ofthe outbursts which, when addressed to a human being, can be indefinitely pro longed with more or less present satisfaction, though at the risk of subsequent uneasiness.

Mrs. Coggle, the lady who lived in London two centuries ago, had probably never deeply considered Rosemary. 3 that question, and acted impulsively on the subject. As she pulled off her spectacles and exclaimed, 'They grows dimmer and dimmer every day !' or when her needle dropped out of her fingers on the floor, declared needles in general to be ' the most plaguing, sticking-in-all-directions, and getting-out-of-the-way things in the world,' there was probably in her mind a sort of idea that if Joan Porter would but come home her internal condition would improve. She should scold Joan, or Joan would take her to task ; things would not remain just as they were. The fact was that the state of the weather was at the bottom of Mrs. Coggle's state of mind. She had set her heart on going to sup that day with Mrs. Biddle, Mrs. Yates's housekeeper.

Her husband had been a draper, and supplied wealthy houses in his day, and she had in consequence a sort of acquaintanceship with many families amongst the London gentry, especially amongst those that had not at all, or only recently, conformed to the times. She was herself a Catholic, but not a confessor or a candidate for martyrdom ; and it had been for the many years they had lived together one of the principal subjects of dispute between her and Joan Porter what degree of conformity to the times was allowable under the circumstances. Mr. George Yates's deceased parents had been some of the best customers of the late Mr. Cog gle, and the young couple, who had now succeeded Rosemary. 4 to their fortune, continued to show kindness to his widow. As to Joan Porter, she was a well-known character in those days ; had helped many a Catholic family out of a difficulty ; saved many a priest from arrest; and, under an eccentric simplicity of mind and manner, concealed much shrewdness.

Three weeks before the day on which Mrs. Coggle wanted it to be fine, and it would rain, Mrs. Yates had been confined of a little girl, and this was one of the reasons why the draper's widow was anxious to keep her engagement with Mrs. Biddle. She had seen Mrs. Yates herself in her cradle when she was only a few days old, and she should not like it to be said she had not seen little Missy before other folk had had a sight of her. But if it rained — at that moment the door opened, and Joan Porter entered the room in a nondescript costume, the most remarkable feature of which was a red-and-yellow handkerchief tied round something that looked very like a white nightcap, and holding in her hands an umbrella such as Sisters of St. Vincent of Paul use nowadays — gray, heavy, and solid-looking. ' Well, ma'am, people say it never rains but it pours, which I could never see myself to be true; but if it never poured before, I do warrant you it does so at this here blessed minute.' ' It always does rain, Joan, when I've set my heart on something.' Rosemary. 5 ' Then, ma'am,' Joan replied, as she spread the umbrella to dry, which it began to do by making a circle of little ponds on the floor, — ' then, ma'am, if that be the reason that it rains, why does you go on setting your heart on things, if so be you want it to be fine ?' ' I really think, Joan, if you was to lend me your umbrella — ' ' Laws, ma'am, and who's to carry it over your head ?

You have no more strength to do it yourself than a new-born babe.' ' It's just a new-born babe I want for to go and see — Mrs. Yates's, as was born three weeks ago.' Joan shrugged her shoulders with unutterable contempt. ' Well, ma'am, I thought you was older and wiser than that ; to go for to get wet, and catch the rheu matics and the Lord knows what besides, just for to look at a baby I Babies be as plentiful as black berries. I'm sure / would not go out of my way to see twenty of them, if you should pay me for it.' ' O, I daresay not,' Mrs. Coggle answered sarcas tically. 'You'd think more of Mrs. Biddle's cakes and her cowslip wine than of the little stranger. Mrs. Yates always sends me something nice from her own table when I sups at her house, and if I meet her on the stairs she speaks as civil as possible.' ' O, as to that, ma'am, I don't go for to say any- Rosemary. thing against Mrs. Yates, or cakes, or civility, or little strangers.

It's going out for to see them when it's a wet dripping night, enough to soak the rheu matism into your bones, that I calls fudge.' Mrs. Coggle sighed deeply, and resumed her work ; and in a few minutes said, in a sententious manner, ' What makes me so partial to new-born babes, Joan, is that they be so innocent.' ' They be not so innocent always as they looks,' Joan retorted. ' They go into dreadful passions if you contradicts them.' ' To hear you talk folks would think you had never been a baby yourself.' ' Well, I may have been, or I mayn't ; anyways, I don't recollect anything about it. Do you, ma'am, remember being a baby ?' ' Of course I do,' Mrs. Coggle answered ; then, correcting herself, added, ' that is, when I look at that picture of myself, with a rose in my hand, a sitting on my mother's knees.' 'O, ay, that pink-cheeked wench over the chimney.

I sometimes sits and wonders to think that was you, ma'am. She's got such a pretty face, that little minx.' Mrs. Coggle felt rather nettled at the inference contained in this last speech of Joan's. ' Grown people, I suppose, may be handsome, though not pink-cheeked like babies ?' Rosemary. 7 ' I didn't say they couldn't. " Handsome is as handsome does," and you does very handsome things, ma'am. I'm sure that patchwork quilt on the bed up-stairs is as handsome a one as can be seen Mrs. Dimple says so.' The conversation was now arriving at that point where Mrs. Coggle always found a difficulty in argu ing with Joan, and when it touched upon a personal matter was apt to become irritable. ' Well now, Joan,' she exclaimed, ' I should like to know, once for all, be you a fool or be you not?' ' That's just as you like to take me, ma'am ; you ought to know best, I have lived with you so long.' ' I cannot go for to make up my mind,' Mrs. Coggle said, in the same tone of cutting sarcasm. ' Nor I, ma'am,' Joan rejoined, ' for so long as I have knowed myself.

You see, wise people do be sometimes so like fools, and fools so like wise people, 'tis hard to tell.' ' What do you know about wise people ?' Joan's eyes twinkled with a funny expression, as she replied, ' Laws, ma'am ! does not I know you ?' ' Then do you mean to say I am like a fool ?' ' O dear, dear, I never thought of that, I'm sure ; but 'ceptions makes the rule, you know.' ' Now, Joan, what do you mean by that?' ' That you're the 'ception, ma'am, and I'm the rule.' Rosemary. ' Well, you had better hold your tongue, Joan, if you can't talk more to the purpose.' Mrs. Coggle often ended in that manner her con versations with Joan, who was more willing in the long-run to remain silent than her mistress. The day was waning, and the dull heavy twilight gradually disappearing. Here and there, amongst the thick murky clouds which were rapidly driven over the face of the sky, a star began to glimmer, and lights to be seen on the banks of the river and the barges with which they were lined.

It was still rain ing, but the wind was beginning to rise, and there seemed a prospect of the night clearing. No sound was heard in the little parlour, which was getting very dark, save the ticking of the clock, and now and then a yawn. At last Mrs. Coggle, wearied of the inactivity of her hands and of her tongue, said, ' I am that bored that I should like something to happen.' ' To you or to me, ma'am?' Joan inquired. 'Not to any one in particular, you foolish creature.' ' What, to every one at once, ma'am ? That would be worse, I take it, for then there would be nobody to help nobody.' ' Didn't I tell you to hold your tongue, Joan ?' the widow said, in an aggrieved tone of voice. ' Yes, ma'am,' Joan answered, ' but that was be- Rosemary. 9 fore you wanted something to happen. I suppose,' she added, ' that it's time now to shut the shutters and light the candle.

It can't be noways darker than it is now.' As she said this, Joan went to the window. ' O my good God !' she exclaimed. ' What, Joan, what ?' cried Mrs. Coggle, stumbling over the footstool on her way to the window. ' O good Lord ! if there's not something indeed happening now on t'other side of the river. Jesu, Mary, what a red light ! O laws, what a blaze ! O, what a frightful fire ! Mercy on us !' Joan crossed herself, and then stood silently gazing at the awful spectacle, her lips moving as if in prayer. Not so Mrs. Coggle, who, when she caught sight of the fire, remained one instant as if petrified, and then began to scream as if she was herself surrounded by the flames. ' O Joan, Joan, what shall we do ?' ' Do ! Why, do nothing, ma'am ; there's the river between us and the fire anyways.' ' O, it be so dreadful !

Get me some brandy, I shall faint.' And suiting the action to the word, Mrs. Coggle let herself gently fall on the floor; but only for a moment. Starting up again, and clinging to Joan, she cried, ' Let us run and pack up our clothes. Where are the keys ? We shall be burnt in our beds.' ' No, ma'am, we won't get into our beds, and then we can't be burnt in them. But, bless your soul— Rosemary. 10 what's the use of pulling your cap off ? Your wig is coming off too.' This suggestion turned the current of the widow's thoughts for a moment, while she was restoring the endangered wig to its place. Joan, with her eyes fixed on the river, which the conflagration was now illumi nating with a terrible glare, clasped her hands to gether, and from her quivering lips words such as these broke from time to time : ' They are getting into boats them as have jumped out of the windows. O, how they scream ! I'll tell you what, ma'am, it will be next door to a miracle if all London ain't burnt to-morrow !'

Chapter II. Visitors

Joan's previsions proved in a measure correct. Neither a miracle nor anything next door to it took place. The fire which was to devour a great portion of old London, and reduce to ashes many of its great edifices as well as thousands of its closebuilt wooden houses, continued to rage with unabating violence. Great was the ruin wrought and the desolation caused by that fearful conflagration. Many a precious life vvas lost, many a happy home suddenly annihilated. Rosemary. 11 Who can reckon the number of vanished joys, of blighted hopes, and broken hearts which such a cata strophe leaves behind it ? Public events of such magni tude, whilst they strike the world with awe, influence many an obscure destiny on which it does not bestow a thought. The fire of London had a great deal to do with the fate of the little Missy whom Mrs. Coggle had so much wished to look at in her cradle.

But as she watched the progress of the flames it did not even occur to her what an escape she had had that evening, and how fortunate it had been that the rain had kept her at home on the safe side of the river. Both she and Joan stood riveted to the same spot, shivering and trembling, especially at the rushing sound of feet and the screams in the narrow street at the back side of the house. Mrs. Coggle repeated once or twice her at tempt at fainting ; but it did not succeed. Excitement and curiosity impeded the collapse. Joan went on saying her prayers, and when a crash louder than usual indicated that some building was falling, she thought ofthe souls that might be at that moment passing into eternity, and devoutly crossing herself she murmured, ' God ha' mercy on them.' All at once a loud knocking was heard at the door. ' Bless my soul,' Mrs. Coggle exclaimed, ' who, in the name of wonder, can that be at this time of the night?

I'm that frightened I cannot move. For Hea- Rosemary. 12 ven's sake, Jean, look who they be before you open the door.' As there was no way of peeping except through the keyhole, and it was too dark to see anything, Joan could not well comply with this command, but she said, with an expressive shrug, ' I know them by their voices. It's those women, Mrs. Peterkin and Mrs. Crump. They always run in couples, and whatever happens they turns up.' So saying, she opened the door, and the two indi viduals she had named rushed in. ' O neighbour ! neighbour !' Mrs. Peterkin ex claimed. ' O Mistress Coggle, Mistress Coggle,' Mrs. Crump cried. And then Mrs. Peterkin broke forth in a pathetic tone, ' What are you made of, ma'am, that you can be looking quietly out of window, and London burning all the time ?' 'That's just what I've been saying to Joan,' Mrs. Coggle answered, in an aggrieved voice ; ' I wanted to go out, didn't I, Joan, and you prevented me ?

Who ever heard of such a thing as staying at home when London was on fire ! Give me my cloak, Joan.' ' No, ma'am, you sha'n't stir out ; leastways, not till the Thames catches fire, and those good ladies, I'm thinking, won't be those to set it burning. Now, do you sit down, mistress, like a sensible Christian Rosemary. 13 woman, and let other folks make fools of themselves, if so be it pleases them. Much good it will do to the poor creatures yonder if you gets yourself trodden to death by the crowd !' Mrs. Peterkin thought this remark a very heartless one, and said some people had no feelings ; upon which Joan observed that she had a feeling as how she would like to see Mrs. Peterkin mind her own busi ness and leave her mistress alone. A sharp altercation might have followed, not the first between those two combatants, if at that moment the burning rasters of a large house on the opposite bank had not given way with a fearful glare, and made the whole scene clearly visible.

"Tis like the Day of Judgment !' Mrs. Crump ex claimed, and began to scream. ' In that ere case you'd better say your prayers, and not wilder other folks with shrieking,' Joan observed. This remark checked for a moment the outburst of Mrs. Crump's feelings, and during the pause that ensued Mrs. Peterkin uttered the following words in an oracular tone of voice, ' I'll warrant you, ladies, that it's the Papists have done it. I always said they would burn us in our beds.' This mention of beds touched Mrs. Coggie to the quick. ' O dear ! O dear !' she cried, wringing her hands. Rosemary, 14 ' Joan says we mustn't go to bed no more. To think we should come to that !' ' Never you mind, mistress. You'll go to bed till you are tired of it, if you will only sit still a bit.' Having administered these words of consolation to her mistress, Joan turned with a severe aspect towards Mrs. Peterkin. ' If you please, ma'am, will you keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak of Papists, as you calls them, and not go for to go and put about such big lies about them ?' ' O my goodness, Mrs. Coggle !

I say, Mrs. Crump, did you ever hear the like of that ?' Mrs. Crump never had, nor Mrs. Coggle either. The former had, however, no inclination at that moment to take up the cudgels on either side, and she ex claimed, ' But I say, neighbour, I'm not agoing to stop here doing nothing. This is a sight folks mayn't live to see twice in their lives. Come, let us run — run.' Joan closed the door on the departing visitors, and when, on returning to the window, she caught sight of them a moment afterwards flying across the bridge, she relieved herself by ejaculating : ' The two silly creatures ! There they go, tearing away amongst the crowd like demented persons. I should like to clap them both into Bedlam.' Rosemary. 15 Then turning to her mistress, she said, 'Well, ma'am, I hopes you'll never again wish something to happen !

For my part, I think it's next door to a sin.' Quite crestfallen, Mrs. Coggle did not attempt to justify her unlucky desire ; but sinking down in her easy chair, declared she should never get over it. As to going to bed, she should never think of doing so ; and as it happened, it was better she should not have made the attempt that night, for another intrusion, a very different one from the last, would have obliged her to get up again.

Chapter III. Going Beyond Seas

In the middle of the night some one knocked very gently at the door, and when Joan had cautiously opened it, a low but eager voice said : ' Is this Mrs. Coggle's house ?' ' Yes ; but who may you be ?' Joan inquired. ' I am Mrs. Yates, Joan ; let me in.' ' Mrs. Yates, of all the fishes in the sea ! And the baby, too, I do declare. Come in, ma'am, come in ;' and taking the infant from its mother's arms, Joan led the way to the parlour. Rosemary. ' Well, mistress, if the Missy as you wanted to see is not come her own self to see you. Here's Mrs. Yates.' ' Good gracious, ma'am, you are very welcome. I'm sure it's a mercy that you and your babe are not burnt alive. But where is Mr. Yates ?' ' Take the child a moment, mistress,' Joan said, ' whilst I looks after this poor lady ; she is like to faint, I think.

Sit down, ma'am. Take that heavy cloak off, and rest your head against the back of the chair, whilst I fetches you a drop of cowslip w£S- The young woman thus addressed was not more than twenty one or two years of age very thin and delicate, but singularly lovely. Her large blue eyes were fringed with dark eye-lashes, and her hair and eyebrows were black also. The dark shade under those eyes enhanced their beauty, but made the pale face look paler still. She sipped some ofthe wine Joan held to her lips ; then stretched out her arms for her baby, and burst into tears. When it was laid on her knees they fell in torrents on its little form. For some minutes she seemed utterly unable to utter a word. Mrs. Coggle whispered to Joan, ' Do you think her husband is dead ?' Mrs. Yates heard the question, and it roused her from her grief. ' No, no, thank God, he is not dead, and I ought not to weep so bitterly as God has spared him to me.

Rosemary. 17 But I must make haste to tell you why I have come here, and what I want to ask you to do for me. My husband and myself are going to sail for France this very night. It is already noised about that this fire is the work ofthe Papists, and to-morrow noted Catholics will be in danger of their lives. Mr. Grant was ar rested an hour ago, and we have had secret informa tion that a warrant has been issued for Mr. Yates's ap prehension. His cousin William has been watching for an opportunity to denounce him as a lapsed recusant that he may succeed to his property, and this panic has doubtless served his turn. If my husband were to be thrown into prison he would never survive it. In his delicate state of health the bad air and close confinement would kill him. We must, therefore, fly at once.

A friend of ours, the captain of a vessel now at the mouth of the river, will convey us straight away to France. Mr. Yates is waiting for me with a boat at the landing-place near the bridge. I could not let him go alone, but what can we do with baby? I have no friend in London with whom I can leave her. She is, as you know, scarcely three weeks old, and this is the first time she has been out of the house. We cannot venture to take her with us. The shock I sustained on suddenly opening a letter which informed me oi William's design against us drove the milk from mv breast. I cannot nurse my child, and there, is no time to procure proper food for her; and then the c Rosemary. stormy weather and the rough sea.— O my God, my God ' It is dreadful whichever way I look at it.' Mrs. Yates pressed her hand on her heart, and then her lips moved in prayer.

At the end of a few instants she regained her composure, and said to Mrs. Coggle: ' I thought you would perhaps help me ; that you would keep baby till I can come and fetch her.' There was an irresistibly earnest, pleading look in the poor young mother's face as she said this that would have touched a harder heart than the Widow Coggle's. ' Well, ma'am,' she answered, ' the poor dear lamb is for sure too wee a thing to go a-tossing about the world, not to speak ofthe sea; and I would on no account say nay to you in your distress, seeing how your worshipful family dealt with my good husband tor so many years before you was ever born.' ' I know you are fond of children, Mrs. Coggle. I am sure you will take great care of my poor little Mary.' ' O yes, madam ; you need not fear about that, Mrs. Coggle replied, wiping her eyes. ' And though Joan calls babies fudge, she has a good heart at bottom, and will be kind, I am sure, to little Missy Won't you, Joan?' This appeal to Joan's feelings was answered with a grufiness that did not alarm Mrs. Yates.

In con- Rosemary. 19 fiding her child to Mrs. Coggle's care, her chief com fort was in the thought of Joan's sterling worth; and the way in which the hard rugged hand of the old servant returned the pressure of her own, which she had held out to her in silence, conveyed more than words would have done. ' Now, as to money,' she said, turning to Mrs. Coggle, who was not sorry to hear the subject men tioned, though, to do her justice, she would not at that moment have alluded to it herself; ' I will leave with you these twenty pounds, and write to you when I arrive in France to arrange about baby's coming to us as soon as it is safe for her to travel. O my God, will the day ever come ? Shall I ever see her again ?' ' O yes, ma'am, if it pleases God you will ; and /ou does not want anything but what pleases Him,' Joan whispered to the poor mother, who was pressing her child to her heart as if she would never let it go. ' There is a knock at the door,' she exclaimed. 'It must be Mr. Yates's servant come for me.

He was to fetch me when all was ready. I must — I must go.' ' You must take something first,' Mrs. Coggle said. ' Let me get you something hot to drink.' Mrs. Yates shook her head, and made a sign that she wanted nothing. Then once more pressing her lips on her baby's little face, she murmured, ' My own precious one ; may God's blessed Mother watch over Rosemary. 20 you !' Then, turning to Mrs. Coggle, she said some what timidly, ' I should have liked to have hung this chain and cross round her neck, but I am afraid of getting you into trouble. But will you put it by for baby, and show it her sometimes when she begins to take notice?' Mrs. Coggle hesitated, and said that the times were likely to be troublesome, and she did not like to keep ever so small a crucifix in her house. Mrs. Yates sighed, and was hiding the cross in her dress, when Joan whispered to her mistress : ' Look here, ma'am, do you go into the back parlour and fetch out of the cupboard a piece of the seed cake for Mrs. Yates.

Here's the keys. If she won't eat it now, she can put it into her pocket against the sea air makes her hungry.' Then, seizing her op portunity, she said, ' Give me that cross, Mrs. Yates ; I'll take care of it. It won't do no harm to nobody.' ' O, but if it were to bring you into trouble.' ' Never you be afraid ; but look here, I want to know has this here child been baptised ?' ' O yes, the very day she was born.' ' And by a real downright Catholic priest f ' Yes, by one of our own good fathers. Joan, if I was to die, and my husband also, you would be sure to see that baby was brought up in our holy faith ?' Joan considered an instant, and then answered : ' Well, as to the bringing up of her, that's more than I Rosemary. 21 can promise. You see, ma'am, them as should have their way in this world does not always get it, I'm thinking.