Mrs. Wylde: a novel

Front matter

a NOVEL BY LINDA GARDINER Author op "His Heritage," "The Sound of a Voi.e," etc., etc. SANS PEOR. ET SANS REPROCHE London.- Jarrold &• Sons io ex> n, WARWICK LANE, E.C. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED * * * * » l897 THE "GREENBACK SERIES" POPULAR 3/6 NOVELS Bv AUTHORS OF THE DAY. (Crown Svo, Cloth.) Uniform with "Mrs Wylde." 1. LOUIS DRAYCOTT. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 2nd Edition. 2. GEOFFREY STIRLING. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 5th Edition. 3. BONNIE KATE. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 2nd Ediiiurr. 4. A NEW OTHELLO. By Hon. Iza Duffus Hai.i.v. 2nd Ed. 5. THE MAID OF LONDON BRIDGE. By S. Gibnev. 3rd Ld. 6. EVELINE WELLWOOD. By Major Norris Paul. 2nd Ed. 7. OLD LATTIMER'S LEGACY. By J. S. Fletcher. 2nd Ed. 8. THAT LITTLE GIRL. By Curtis Yorke. 5th Edition. 9. DUDLEY. By Curtis Yorke. 4th Edition. 10. THE WILD RUTHVKNS. By Curtis Yorke. 5th Edition. 11.

THE BROWN PORTMANTEAU, and other Stories. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 12. HUSH! By Curtis Yorke. 4th Edition. 13. ONCE 1 By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. M. A ROMANCE OF MODERN LONDON. By Curtis Yorke. 3rd Edition. 15. HIS HEART TO WIN. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 16. DARRELL CHEVASNEY. By Curtis Yorke. 17. BETWEEN THE SILENCES. By Curtis Yorke. 18. THE PEYTON ROMANCE. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 3rd Ed. 19. THE GOLDEN MILESTONE. By Scott Graham. 3rd Ed. 20. A RECORD OF DISCORDS. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition 21. "CHERRY RIPE!" By Helen Mathers. 8th Edition. 22. STORY OF A SIN. By Helen Mathers. 5th Edit'on. 23. EYRE'S ACQUITTAL. (Sequel.) By Helen Mathers. 4th Ed 24. JOCK O' HAZELGREEN. By Helen Mathers. 4th Ed 2;. MY LADY GREEN SLEEVES. By Helen Mathers. 6th Ed r6. FOUND OUT. By Helen Mathers. 103rd Thousand. .7.

THE MEDLICOTTS. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 28. THE HEART OF A MYSTERY. By T. W. Speight. 29. MAN PROPOSES. Bv Mrs. A. Phillips. 2nd Edition. 30. THE LAST OF THE HADDONS. By Mrs. E. Newman 31. ALLANSON'S LITTLE WOMAN. By Eastwood Kidson. 32. LINDSAY'S GIRL. By Mrs. Herbert Martin. 2nd Edition 33. WRONGLY CONDEMNED. By Mrs. Bagot Harte. 34. THE THIRTEENTH BRYDAIN. By Margaret Moule 35. THROUGH ANOTHER MAN'S EYES. By Eleanor Holmes 36. MRS. WYLDE. By Linda Gardiner. 37. A PRINCE OF COMO. By E. M. Daw. 2nd Edition. 38. RUTH FARMER. By Agnes Marchbank. [Tlwuwnd 39. THE LOVELY MALINCOURT. By Helen Mathers. Sixth 40. A GARRISON ROMANCE. By Mrs. Leith Adams. -,rd Ed 41. HARUM SCARUM. By Esme Stuart. 42. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE. By Scott Graham. Shorth 43. IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. By T. W. Speight. Short I. ' 44.

Chapter I. Mrs

WYLDE INTRODUCES HERSELF. THERE'S a visitor for you, Lai. You had better get down from that table and wash your hands, my dear." I am sitting on the edge of the kitchen table peeling apples for Hannah, our one servant, who, until the door-bell rang just now, was making the pie-crust at the other end of the table. I take very little notice of Robin's remark. "A visitor for Evelyn, you mean," I say calmly, coring my apple scientifically. " Visitors never want me, I am thankful to say. Go and tell Eve ; she is in the garden, reading with Floey." " I just mean what I tell you," answers Robin, stuffing his mouth with toothsome fragments of the pippins. " It's a lady ; quite a howling swell ; and she said to Hannah — I heard her — ' Is Miss Lalage Nevill at home ? ' and I thought you would thank me for sliding down the banisters to tell the tale.

I know girls always want to fig." At this circumstantial story I look up in alarm at Hannah as she comes into the kitchen. Hannah is not in trim for visitors any more than I am ; her cap is askew, and her hands are floury. " You are wanted, Miss Lalage," she says. " It's a lady. I was to say it was Mrs. Wylde." And Hannah looks as though she required an explanation. " Mrs. Wylde ! " I am off the table in less than no time. " Mrs. Wylde ! " I cry in desperate agitation. " And my fingers are stained and my hair is done nohow, and I have my very oldest dress on ! Oh, Hannah, give me the pumice-stone ! where is it ? How long can I keep her waiting, do you think? Did she seem in a hurry? Is she in the drawing room ? " " Didn't I say girls always wanted to fig ? " observes Robin sarcastically. "Yes, she is in the drawing-room ; and you are very nice, I am sure, Miss Lalage ; that blue cotton just suits you.

Or would you like me to ask Miss Evelyn to go to her while you change it ? " "No," I reply, resignedly, trying to be tranquil. " No, Eve would not do. I will go as I am ; perhaps it does not matter." I believe in my heart that it matters a great deal, but I do not like to keep my visitor waiting, and of course, I reflect, she cannot expect us to be very smart people. As for Robin and Hannah they understand nothing of the reason for my agitation. The reason is this. Mrs. Wylde advertised for a INTRODUCES HERSELF. 9 companion, and I answered the advertisement, and from a letter since received have cause to hope that I may obtain the situation. But I have never been "out" before, or interviewed possible employers, and I am horribly frightened. I wish Evelyn could have conducted the interview for me ; she always looks a lady, whatever her dress, and never gets a red face when she is spoken to ; but it would scarcely be fair to let Mrs. Wylde suppose all the family are like Eve, and then to put her off with Lalage.

I go slowly to the drawing-room, comforting myself with the reflection that it really is no consequence whether I please Mrs. Wylde or not ; I am not obliged to take a situation, perhaps I should be wiser not to accept it even if she wants me. I straighten my back, give my head a little toss, and open the room door. Mrs. Wylde is sitting on a low chair, with her back to the window. I see at once that she is young, handsome, and fashionably dressed ; and I like her better for all these things. I should dearly love a glimpse of fashionable life, and it would be much pleasanter to be companion to a lively young woman than to an old frump. As soon as she sees me she gets up and comes forward, holding out her hand and smiling very pleasantly. I think this particularly nice of her, for I am not quite sure whether or not lady employers usually retain their seats and quizz girls through long-handled pince-nez.

Her greeting is still more unconventional. " And so," she tays, " you are Lalage ? " Too much surprised to do more, I vaguely ac quiesce ; anybody but Lalage would have made a reply of greater intelligence. "Of course I ought to say Miss Nevill," she adds, " but you know it is such a charming, such an uncom mon name, that it really was the idea of a Lalage which made me write to you instead of to about fifty Marys and Alices and Ethels who have had heaps of experience and can talk foreign languages by the score, and keep accounts, and understand Brad shaw, and play and sing like Albani. I could not fancy a Mary or an Alice after I had heard of a Lalage." To a certain extent this is disappointing ; I had been flattering myself and Eve that our elegantly composed and written letter — Eve and I composed it jointly — had pleased Mrs. Wylde.

" I am afraid I cannot do all those things," I say, " I have had no experience, and though I can sing and play, I do not do either very well." " Perhaps quite as well as the young ladies who sounded their own trumpets so confidently," Mrs. Wylde is amiable enough to rejoin. " I don't want somebody dreadfully clever, I just want a nice com panionable girl who can look and act like a lady and talk to me when I am dull. You did not expect me to come and look you up, did you ? " I answer truthfully that I certainly did not. " I thought you might possibly want an interview," I added, "and would ask me to come to London, but it seemed a long journey to take on the chance of an engagement, so we hoped that letters and references would do." MRS. WYIDE INTRODUCES HERSELF, n " Not for me," said she.

" I could not bear to engage anyone to come and live with me without seeing them. And I wanted to see you as you were, not just for an hour in your hat and jacket. I know you better already than I should have done at the end of that hour. Do you feel as if you were beginning to know me at all ? No, I suppose not ; you don't make up your mind so quickly as I do. Your face tells me at once what you are ; and then I see your dear home — how will you bear to leave this charming old house, my dear ? I couldn't. And perhaps I may see some of your people before I go. How does your father like the idea of losing you ? " " Papa has Evelyn, my elder sister," I reply. " She is much more useful to him than I am. Do you — do you think I shall suit you, Mrs. Wylde ? " As soon as I have put this bald query, I feel that it is exactly what I ought not to have asked.

It sounds childish and impatient and unbusinesslike. But Mrs. Wylde does not appear to object. "Yes," she says. "I think you will." And then she looks me straight in the face, and laughs, and I laugh too ; and somehow I feel that we are quite good friends, and see that she is ever so much prettier than I thought her at first. She is not dressed in widow's weeds, but in grey and black, elegant in style, and made in rich materials ; and the little black lace bonnet, with its dainty white flowers, shows off to perfection the brilliant fairness of her complexion and the coppery gleam of her bright golden hair ; her features are well marked and her eyes and eyebrows darker than her hair would suggest. She is tall, too, and of fine figure, and her voice is full and clear — louder than the voices we are accustomed to in Brooke, but I do not dream of setting up Brooke as the standard for the rest of the world, above all the fashionable world.

After that we talk for perhaps half-an-hour ; and in that time she hears all the details of the family of Nevill as represented by the rector of Brooke and his family ; all, that is, with the exception of one small detail regarding myself, which there is no necessity to divulge yet awhile. She learns that there are six of us, and that it is therefore as well one of the flock should go out into the world and do something for herself; that I have the best father and mother in Christendom, that Evelyn is practically the " curate " and the dearest girl in the world ; that Frank, who comes next to me in age, and who is at college, would be the dearest boy in the world if he were not so extravagant, but of course he has a lot of tempta tions and is no worse than other young men nor so bad as many ; that Florence has just left school and was to have been a governess, but has such a talent for housekeeping that we have all thought it best she should stay at home and I get a situation ; and that the half-dozen end with Charlie and Robin.

I believe she has even learned how long Hannah has been with us, and that I was sitting on the kitchen table, peeling apples, when she came. My own budget completed I go and fetch my father from his study, and introduce him to Mrs. Wylde. " You owe me a grudge, of course," Mrs. Wylde MRS. WYLDE INTRODUCES HERSELF. 13 tells him, with her ready smile, " for wishing to carry off your daughter, but I am only breaking you in to what fathers have to expect, you know." "Yes," my father answers gravely, "that is very true. We shall miss her very much, but we must get used to it." I feel my cheeks redden ; Mrs. Wylde could not think that her jest would go home ; but Mrs. Wylde glances rapidly at me, and I see in her quick eyes that she at any rate has her suspicions. With my father she comes to business, though her letter has told us the terms she offers — £50 a year, which sounds like riches to me — and other particulars.

" I am going to be quite frank with you," she says. " I like people to thoroughly understand one another. I am a rich woman, Mr. Nevill, but I am not what you would call a lady. I daresay you have found that out already. My father was a Yorkshire farmer who talked broad and dropped his h's, but would have died rather than not have paid his debts ; and I went out to America with my brother. I soon got married there, and my husband made a fortune in railway stock ; but when he died and I was left alone I couldn't bear to stay any longer away from my native land." " Very natural, I am sure," says my father, who has a horror of going outside his own county. " You will understand that I am not over well off for references," Mrs. Wylde goes on, candidly. " I have only been back six months, so nobody really knows me in England now.

You will have to decide whether you can trust me with your dear girl or no. I can refer you to my banker and my landlord, and to the clergyman of the church I attend in London ; and you may write to any number of people you like in America : but that is the most I can do. Of course there are plenty of girls ready to come without asking about anything except the salary, but it is very natural you should want to know a deal more, and as I have taken a fancy to your dear Lalage I should like to satisfy you as far as I can." My father makes some polite rejoinder. I see that he is pleased with Mrs. Wylde. " Her frankness certainly inspires confidence," he says after she has departed. " A shrewd eye would readily discern, as mine did, that she is not altogether what the world calls a lady, but she is a generous and open-hearted woman, which is of more real consequence, and I think she will be kind to my little girl."

I never credited the dear old pater with a shrewd eye, but the idea of Mrs. Wylde and her little house in Kensington is so fascinating to me that I do not care whether or not she obeys the rules of grammar. Besides, Horace Carlingford says good grammar is not fashionable ; and he is much more likely to know the ways of society than is my father. This thought brings another and more startling one in its train. Mrs. Wylde has promised, or invited herself, to have tea with us. I am glad she declines to stay to dinner, for I am quite certain that cold mutton and family apple pie are not fashionable ; and I am over powered by the riches that make nothing at all of a INTRODUCES HERSELF. 15 double drive from the nearest town, where Mrs. Wyide's dinner is ordered at the best hotel. She could then see my mother, she says, who is at the school this morning, and my sisters.

I only hope she will not beg to have Evelyn substituted for me. " Evelyn," I cry, " Horace said he was coming over for a game of tennis this afternoon ! " " Well ?" responds Evelyn calmly. " Well, he is sure to stay to tea ! " Well ? " says Evelyn again. " He will meet Mrs. Wylde ! I shall have to tell him ! " "You would have to tell him some time. It will give you a nice opportunity." " Yes," I answer doubtfully, " perhaps it will." And I fall to wondering what the result will be, and whether Horace will object very much to my new resolve. The Carlingfords of Brooke Hall are great people ; they may be bitterly opposed to the idea of the girl who is engaged to their son taking " a situation," and I have therefore not dared to consult Horace on the subject, nor even to mention it to him. Time enough for that, I had said, when I obtained the situation ; and now that time has arrived.

For my own part I consider that the experience I shall gain will help me to bear myself properly as Horace C.3.r\'mgiord' s piattc^e. I and my dresses, I say to myself, will acquire an air of fashion and distinc tion in London, and my manners will get a loftiness and a repose, which will enable me to meet the Carlingfords on their own ground. If only I could make the experiment without letting them know that I was doing more than visit aristocratic relations of my own in the metropolis ! But, alas, even were not my family so distressingly candid and truthful, Horace has a sister who is no friend to me and who would be but too delighted to follow me up in town and learn the whole secret. Perhaps when Horace sees Mrs. Wylde he will not be so very much opposed to my plan ; but what if he were to be really angry, and tell me I am dis gracing Nevills and Carlingfords ? What if we quarrel about it?

Chapter II. Should He Upbraid

? HORACE CARLINGFORD comes over to the ' 1 Rectory in the afternoon, as he had said he would. Happily, Ethel docs not come with him ; she has much grander friends than the Rectory folk, and makes no secret of the fact that she considers her brother is throwing himself away grievously by dreaming of an alliance with Lalage Nevill. I have always disliked Ethel Carlingford. She has all the advantages of riches and station for which I yearn hopelessly. She dresses in stylish gowns, made by a first-class dressmaker ; and my frocks are made of cheap material, "remnants" by choice, and rigged up at home, in feeble imitation of the frocks we see at Southborough, itself six months behind the fashion. She rides and diives and disports herself at all the Southborough balls, and has had a season in London.

I have never steered any animal more dignified than a small rough pony, and have danced only at Christ mas parties, between snapdragon and forfeits. Down in the depths of my heart I suspect that jealousy of Ethel, with the consciousness of Ethel's contempt for me, gave me a distinct feeling of triumph when u MRS. WYLDE. Horace proposed, and might even have induced me to accept him independently of the fact that he is the nicest and handsomest fellow I have ever seen or ever hope to see. We have been engaged four months. The Carling fords are civil, but no more. I know I am a wretched match for him, and I might be humble about it and say as much, as girls in stories always do, refusing to accept his vows, leaving him free to find a more fitting partner, etc., if they were pleasanter. As they hold their heads so high, and just tolerate me — which is a great deal harder to bear than active opposition, while leaving me nothing positive to complain of — I hold my head high too, and remember that the Nevills are an older and nobler family than the Carlingfords.

Horace looks particularly handsome this afternoon, and he is in the sweetest of tempers. He is rarely out of temper, but very occasionally he has a fit of sulks. To-day he laughs and jokes and makes fun of some of Ethel's particular friends, says pretty things to my mother and Evelyn, chums with Robin, and is altogether delightful. I steal many a glance at him while we are playing tennis, to admire his fair Saxon face and his broad shoulders, and feel very proud of my lover. It is quite true that I am a fortunate girl, much more so than I deserve to be. But that does not help me to tell him about Mrs. Wylde. I had hoped he would be in a very charming humour. Now, I feel that I cannot risk vexing him ; I enjoy his smiles too well. More and more I am convinced that he will be vexed. Suppose any of SHOULD HE UPBRAID , 19 Ethel's grand friends in London should come across me, the suture Mrs. Carlingford, as the paid com panion to a Mrs. Wylde, a person from America whom nobody knows anything of.

Would not that offend the dignity of all the past and gone Carling fords who lie in the stately and mouldy family vault in Brooke churchyard, and whose portraits adorn the dining-room of Brooke Hall ? I recall uneasily my father's comment. She is not altogether what the world calls a lady, he had said. I writhe at the bare thought of lapses from Lindley Murray or ignorance of the convenances which she may display before Horace. I am painfully ignorant myself, and her kindness had obliterated my powers of judgment. Even my father had seen that she was not quite "the thing." I begin to fancy that I did notice traces of vulgarity in her speech and manner. Horace will, of course, descry them instantly ; perhaps will suggest to me that if I am resolved upon demeaning myself I might at least go among gentlefolk.

That she is "generous" and "open-hearted" will not weigh with him as it does with my unsophisticated father. " You had better tell him about Mrs. Wylde," Evelyn remarks in an undertone, as she passes me on the lawn. I nod ; and then I look again at Horace, and my heart fails me. I meet his glance, and it is a very approving one. I have my best dress on, in Mrs. Wyide's honour, in order to atone for the shabby blue cotton of this morning ; it is of soft pinkish stuff, which suits a small pale person like me, and I have tied pink ribbon round the loose knot of my brown AIRS. WYLDE. 20 hair. I always feel that as a Lalage I ought to have been brilliantly fair, with bright golden locks, but my fairness is not brilliant, and my hair has not the rich warm tint of true gold or the pale pure yellow of the angelic beauty type.

It is just a bright glossy brown which even Horace can call golden only when the sun is shining through it. I play very badly, pondering over Mrs. Wylde all the time. Florence gives me a pitying look. She thinks the trammels of my Sunday frock are imped ing the free movements of my arms, as she herself had predicted. " I am going to pull some radishes for tea," she says, throwing down her racket at the first decent opportunity. " I think there are a few ready. You might get a fresh flower or two to mix with the rest, Lai." Then she, too, contrives to pass me and give her word of advice. " It will be a good chance for you to tell him about Mrs. Wylde," she says. Again I nod, and Horace and I stroll down the garden path. " The Dacres are going to give a garden party on the 30th," Horace begins at once.

" You must be there, Lalage. Everybody will be there, and I know you will get cards. My people were going up to town the week before, but they are staying on purpose for it." " You are not going up to town, are you ? " I ask. Mrs. Carlingford and Ethel will be staying, I have been told, with the former's sister, who is Lady SHOULD LIE UPBRAID / 21 Bracknell, and a great person. Horace always declares that he hates town. " I suppose I shall have to show up a bit, to take the girls round," says Horace. " I would rather be at Brooke with you, of course ; but it does not do to vegetate altogether, and one must be civil to the Bracknells. They can do a good deal for Frank, if they will. I shall often run down here for Sunday, to have a look at somebody." Now is surely my chance. " I — I," is as far as I get ; then there comes upon me the thought that I may some day encounter Horace and Ethel with the Bracknells, while I am doing the humble companion to the rich person who is " not altogether a lady."

The Bracknells are aristocratic to their finger-tips ; they care nothing whatever for living people, only for their ancestors. So Horace has informed me, in the contented con sciousness that the Nevills have as creditable a family tree as even the Bracknells could desire. It is not very likely that Mrs. Wylde has any ancestors ; but she is sure to be eager to know people who have. Under these conditions such a meeting might be awkward for both Horace and myself. After all I am not really engaged by Mrs. Wylde yet ; I may prefer to draw out of it. There is no use in saying anything to Horace till the matter is actually settled. " We are to have a lady visitor this afternoon," I say at length. " She is staying at Southborough, and she came over to Brooke this morning, and my father asked her to tea."

Horace does not appear particularly interested. " Who is she ? " he asks carelessly. " Know any thing about her? " " N-no," I answer. " I think she is an American, or at least she said her husband was." " Oh well," he observes, " there is no harm in being civil to Americans. It always pleases them, and if they turn out to be railway kings or bacon factors, or anything impossible of that sort, the herring pond will soon keep them comfortably out of your way." A little before five o'clock Mrs. Wylde drives up to the Rectory. I run down to the garden gate to meet her. I want to have another look at her before introducing her to Horace ; my ideas seem to have become vague since the morning, and I am anxious to discover whether she will strike him as " impossible." " You were watching for me," she says.

" My dear child, how nice of you. I have been thinking about you all day, and wondering how I had endured being all alone such a time. How soon will you be ready to come and live with me, Lalage ." Her friendly, almost affectionate manner, disarms me at once. I cannot examine her appearance critically, or consider whether her accent is that of an educated woman, while she is so willing to take me upon trust. Besides, she really is extremely good-looking, and her dress, a shimmering grey gown with a dainty black lace mantle, and a tiny bonnet, composed chiefly of a wreath of white con volvulus flowers, is as quiet as can be, yet made in a fashion which even my untrained eyes recognize as bearing the stamp of Bond Street and Piccadilly. I bring her into our small drawing-room, where five-o'clock tea is laid in as elegant a style as our combined efforts could devise.

It is a pretty old fashioned room, with a low ceiling and French windows, and Evelyn and I have done our best to disguise the "suite" of rosewood furniture with a variety of cretonne covers, and to modernise it with hand-painted stools and tambourines, which we think the acme of high art, and with yellow and blue pots of bulrushes and ferns. Mrs. Wylde is introduced to the family circle, and to Horace Carlingford. She extends her hand to him in her genial way, and I wonder whether it is the proper thing to shake hands under such circumstances. Horace, however, responds readily enough. Perhaps the perfect gloving of the hand, in pale grey many - buttoned kid, with a delicate silver bangle or two hanging loosely on the well turned wrist, satisfies him that she is not a person to be cold-shouldered.

" I think I have been introduced to one of your ancestors this afternoon," she says to him. "Am I right in supposing that warlike-looking individual in Southborough Cathedral is an ancestor of yours ? " She could not have made a happier remark; all the Carlingfords are intensely proud of that hideous effigy of a three-century-old progenitor in the great cathedral. She talks to him a gr>od deal during tea ; they chance to sit near together. I am on thorns the while. My soul is consumed with a longing to go to London with this elegant, rich, delightful Mrs. Wylde ; and the more I long the more frightened I am lest Horace should oppose me. He has no right to oppose me, I say to myself; I need not be prevented by him, if my father and mother are willing to let me go. But it would be a dreadful thing to quarrel with him ; we have never had an actual quarrel yet ; and he will judge Mrs. Wylde by a higher standard than we do, and ask all sorts of questions about her husband and her references and how she got her money.