Miss Providence: a novel

Front matter

THE TIMES NOVELS "MISS PROVIDENCE" appeared in serial form in the Weekly Edition of The Times, lune — October, 1897. * * Uniform with "Miss Providence," Crown 8vo, Art Lirjen, Gilt Top, price 6/- each. THE POWER OF THE DOG. By Rowland Grey. (Second Edition.) BLA CK DIAMONDS. By Maurus Jokai, Author of '" Pretty Michal," etc. (Third Edition.) fUDY, A JILT. By Mrs. Conney, Author of" Goldfor Dross," etc. (Second Edition. ) LAD Y JEANS SON. By Sarah Tytler, Author of " Lady Jean's Vagaries," etc. (Second Edition., COLOUR SERGEANT No. I COMPANY. By Mrs. Leith Adams. (Second Edition.) THE INN BY THE SHORE. By Florence Warden. (Fourth Edition.) THE GREEN BOOK. 'Authorised Edition.) By Maurus J6kai. (Sixth Edition.) MY BONNIE LAD Y. By Leslie Keith, Author of ii' Lisbeth," etc. (Second Edition.) THE WINDS OF MARCH.

By George Knight. (Second Edition.) PRETTY MICHAL. By Maurus Jokai. (Authorised Edition.) (Third Edition.) A STRONG NECESSITY. By Isabel Don, Author of " Only Cliirchen," " Zohrat," etc. FORBIDDEN BY LAW. By Major Arthur Griffiths, Author of " The History of Millbank Prison" etc. VALENTINE : A STORY OF IDEALS. By Curtis Yorke, Author of " Hush ! " "Dudley," " That Little Girl," etc. THE LION OF JANINA ; OR, THE LAST DAYS OF THE JANIS- SARIES. By Maurus Jokai. London : Jarrold & Sons io and n Warwick Lane E.C. And of all Booksellers. Miss Providence a NOVEL BY Dorothea Gerard Author of "Lady I&by," "A Spotless Reputation," etc., and Joint Author of " Reata," " The Waters of Hercules," etc. SANS PEOR. ET SANS REPROCMC LONDON: JARROLD & SONS IO AND 1 1 WARWICK LANE E.C. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED IS97 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER TAGE I. A Child ok Luck ... ... ... ... 7 II. Retrospection ... ... ... ... 19 III. Corry ... ... ... ••• ••• 27 IV. "For a Beginning" ... ... ... 35 V. Stonefield ... ... ••■ ■•• 49 VI. The Green Ribbon ... ... •■• 67 VII. The Tryst... ... ... ••• ••• 8o VIII. In the Long Walk ... ... ... 90 IX. The School Feast ... ... ... ... 100 X. In the Long Walk again ... ... 116 XL Family History ... ... ... ••• 13° XII. Lady Hepburne ... ••• 14° XIII. The Tiger Lily ... ... ... ••• 154 XIV. "Ye Banks and Braes" ... ... 162 XV. The Hill Fool ... ... — — '73 XVI. A Ministering Angel ... ... ... 182 XVII. Home again ... ••• ••• -• 201 XVIII. The Tower Room ... ••• ••• 2I5 XIX. The Two Flos ... ••• ••• — CONTENTS. CHAPTER PACE XX. At the Toy Haven ... ... ... 237 XXI. The Carters ... ... ... ... 247 XXII. Mr. Wax 260 XXIII. Gentille Bergere ... ... ... 275 XXIV. An Unwelcome Letter ... ... ... 291 XXV. A Morning Call ... ... ... 303 XXVI. An Exit

Chapter I

A CHILD OF LUCK. " WELL, Miss Providence, and whose affairs have you been setting right to-day, if I may ask ? Found any willing subjects, eh ? Or do they still refuse to be made happy ? " There were only four people seated at the dinner table, and only one woman among the four. The woman was Florence Crossley, the elder man present was her father, the younger one her fiance" of exactly a week's standing, while the one that came in the middle was of no consequence what ever, being only Mr. Hughes, the vicar, whom Mr. Crossley had asked in order to have somebody to talk to, in case Sir Louis Hepburne should have anything to say to Flo which would be better said en tete-a-tite. This clerical gooseberry was more than half bald, stoutish, and so full to overflowing of Christian charity that he might be said to drip with it — the sort of man who says to every person he meets, " How are you ?

" with an intensity of expression and accent which seems to imply that the question has been weighing on his mind for months, and then heaves a deep-felt sigh of relief on being informed that you are in your usual health. The other three members of the partie carrte were each in their way striking figures, Mr. Crossley, the host, being perhaps the most striking of all, by virtue of his beautiful white head — a head of which the whole county was proud, as of some art treasure which was common property. And, truly, the delicate, close-cropped curls — which had indeed grown thinner with age, but not less curly — as well as the richly flowing beard, were of so fine a texture that they gave the impression of being some wonderful piece of filigree work, wrought in the purest and most costly silver.

A still upright and graceful figure, a sauve address, and the bearing of a courtier rather than of a country squire, were the only things that could have carried out the idea of that head, and all these things Mr. Crossley possessed. His future son-in-law was a different sort of man altogether, a grand-looking, rather than a good-looking, young fellow, with somewhat large features and magnificent limbs. The first impres sion he gave was one of squareness and straightness — square in the shoulders, square in the forehead, a little too square in the chin, remarkably straight in the back, as well as in the dense eyebrows. It was eminently a calm face, but with something in the deep cut of the nostril which suggested the possibility of passion, and with a pair of steady brown eyes which took no side-glances, but either looked full and rather too hard at the thing within their ken, or else did not look at all.

There is only Florence left to talk about, but there is more to say about her than about the others, seeing that the reader will expect to hear not only all about her complexion and her hair, but also about her dress— in the other three cases fortunately a superfluous detail. Even in this case the subject is circumscribed, seeing that it was a family dinner-party, and that therefore a black lace dress, with only a diamond ornament in her dark-brown hair, and the very first rose of the season at her breast, had been considered most appropriate, particularly as she happened to know that Louis liked her best in black. Some people called her beautiful ; others, again, said that her mouth was too large, and her nose not straight enough ; possibly they were right, but those critics were generally the mothers of plain daughters, and even they could not deny that her figure was perfect, and that the clear, warm colour in her cheek was not to be matched within the county.

Her father's address had made the colour a little warmer than usual, for it was not quite after her taste. Whenever he began by calling her "Miss Providence," she knew the sort of thing to expect. Tenderly as she loved him, there was no denying the fact that he did not take her quite seriously enough — not nearly so seriously as she took herself. " It is Tom Leake's affairs I have been setting right to-day," she replied, distinctly and a trifle defiantly. "Trying to, you mean," threw in Sir Louis, sotto voce. Florence raised her eyes from her plate, and gave him a look which said quite plainly, "Are you, too, going to join the mockers ? " It was met by a glance which was not in the least mocking, but which caused the colour in her cheek to rise by another shade. When Florence looked up suddenly, as she had an unconscious trick of doing, she always caused a certain sensation of surprise — not so much because her eyes were so beautiful and so earnest, but because, instead of being dark, as one somehow expected them to be, they were a rather light-grey, though thickly fringed with black.

Even people who had known her from childhood were subject to this feeling of surprise. Sir Louis could only recall two instances of dark-haired women with exactly this shade of grey eyes. One, indeed, had not been a woman, but a little girl, the sister of a schoolfellow at Harrow ; the other, a peasant woman whom, while travelling on the Continent, he had passed on the road, trudging wearily along with a burden on her back, and with downcast black lashes. She, also, had raised her eyes unexpectedly as he passed, and also had surprised him by the clearness of her grey eyes. He had never seen her before or since, just as he had never again met his schoolfellow's sister, but the feeling of pleasurable surprise had remained with him as an agreeable recollection. In some way which he could not explain, this unusual combination of tints happened to satisfy something within him ; and from the moment that he had found these same eyes in Florence Crossley, he had never doubted that here lay his fate.

"And what has Tom Leake been doing?" asked Mr. Crossley, looking at his daughter with almost as admiring a gaze as Sir Louis, but with the suspicion of a smile at the corners of his mouth. " It is what he is not doing that is wrong. For six weeks past I have been trying to persuade him to adopt those two nephews of his, whose stepmother is so unkind to them. It's clearly his duty." " But surely Leake has five or six children of his own ? " asked her father, still with that half teasing, half-tender smile of his. "Six. But that can't alter his duty. He is much better off than his brother was, and it can't be fair that the children of one brother should starve while those of the other live in plenty." " Considering, that one brother was a drunkard and the other a first-rate workman " began Mr. Crossley.

"That has nothing to do with the children. Why should they suffer for their parents' sins ? I know I shall get Tom to listen to me, just as I know that I shall get Lizzie Bond to accept Bill Tester, who has made her two offers of marriage. Nothing could be more perfect, for she is quite comfortably off, while he hasn't got a penny." " Rather an unusual reason for accepting a man, surely," remarked Sir Louis. " Perhaps Lizzie is looking out for somebody as comfortably off as herself." " I hope not ! This would be so much nicer ; such a much fairer division of things ; and I feel sure they are made for each other." "Then why not leave them to fight it out unassisted ? " " She wouldn't be Miss Providence if she did that," laughed Mr. Crossley, softly. Florence gave an impatient sigh. " I wish you weren't so matter-of-fact, Louis !

When people won't see what is best for them, there is nothing for it but to show them. I have asked Mr. Hughes to help me in persuading Lizzie, but he won't." The vicar smiled deprecatingly. " I should be charmed to see Lizzie happily settled, but I fear I don't possess the requisite qualities for a match maker. The fact is, I — I shrink from the responsi bility." " I am quite willing to take that upon myself," said Florence, with a slightly scornful uplifting of her red lip. "All I ask is that you should not work against me." The idea of the vicar working against anybody was so irresistible, that everybody at the table, including the vicar himself, began to laugh. It was about ten minutes after Florence had left the room that Mr. Crossley observed innocently to Sir Louis, " Louis, my boy, it strikes me that this is rather hard upon Flo.

You seem to have done with your wine, so I dare say you won't mind stepping over and keeping her company while Mr. Hughes and I get to the end of this decanter." " High time to put him out of pain," observed the host as Louis closed the door behind him. "No time to say good-bye to-morrow morning, you know ; off by the six a.m. This has been a farewell feast, you know." " It is the first separation, is it not ? " asked the vicar, with a sympathy so deep-felt that it positively brought a little moisture to his eyes. " The first ; and it's to last a whole week — an awful stretch of time, I can tell you, when one's engagement is exactly another week old." "And he brings his poor dear mother back with him ? " "Yes. He means to turn that old robber-nest into a home ; and with his money and his energy, it is just possible that he may succeed."

" It is a perfect match," murmured the vicar, heaving a sigh of tremulous satisfaction. Meanwhile Sir Louis had, without difficulty, found his way to the drawing-room. Here there was as yet no light, except that given on the one hand by the glow of a fire in the grate, and on the other by the stars looking in through the French window, which stood open to the terrace — winter and summer touching hands for a moment as they cross on their way. On the terrace, whither Sir Louis's instinct led him, Florence, with a light wrap about her shoulders, was sauntering about and doing her best to persuade herself that the night was not chilly. There was nothing said immediately on either side. Silently Sir Louis joined her, drawing her hand softly within his arm, and silently the walk was continued for several minutes more, during which the chill of this English May night ceased to exist for at least two people, dispelled by that subtle warmth in the blood which most of us have felt at least once in a lifetime.

At last, with a deep, tremulously happy sigh, Florence stood still and laid her arms upon the stone balustrade. "And it must really be to-morrow?" she asked a little dreamily. " It really must. I cannot keep my poor mother waiting any longer, and I cannot let her travel without me. I long to see her face, Flo. She has waited for this for so long ! This going away is awful, but, darling, you mustn't persuade me out of it ; it has to be done." " I know it has to be done," said Florence, looking straight in front of her towards where the thickly wooded park showed in dark blotches against the transparent sky ; " and I don't want to persuade you out of it. In fact, it is almost better if you go away for a little." " Had a little more of me lately than you can quite stand ? " suggested Sir Louis, with a good humoured laugh.

She turned her head and gave him one of her swift glances — a glance of almost too grave a reproof for the occasion. " You know I don't mean that," she said in a low tone, looking again towards the tree-masses. " Then, Flo, I wish you would tell me what you do mean," said Sir Louis, more gravely. " You have struck me lately as being disturbed. There isn't anything wrong, is there ? " " No, there is nothing wrong." " And you are quite certain that you are happy ? " She was silent for a second, then, turning quickly towards him, laid her hand upon his sleeve. " Oh, Louis, don't you understand ? That is just it ; it is exactly my happiness that frightens me — it is too great." " You mean that you think it's bound to come to an end ? Well, the Greeks had a recipe for disarming the envy of the gods, you know.

If you feel as uneasy as all that, why not follow old What's-his-name's example, and chuck a ring into the duck-pond ? " Florence shook her head. " No, no, that is not what I mean. Of course it will last, I know it will ; all the good things always last with me ; I have never had a wish crossed since I was born ; my paper boats always floated, and my dolls never lost their eyes. They say I am a child of luck. It isn't that I am afraid of." " Of what, then ? " asked Sir Louis, wonderingly. " I hardly know myself, but I am quite sure it can't be intended that human beings should be as happy as we are a la longue." Sir Louis was frivolous enough to laugh. " I don't know about that, but I'm at least equally sure that it can't be intended that human beings should worry because things happen to be going straight for a bit."

" If it was only for a bit, that would be nothing ; but with me they have been going right all my life. Have I not got everything, positively every thing, that anybody need have : health, money, position, my dear old dad, and now you to make all perfect? Really it seems too much for one person." "We are two people," interpolated Sir Louis, without being heeded. " I assure you, Louis, I have moments when it seems to me that it can't be right to be so out rageously fortunate as I am ; it does seem so horribly selfish when there is so much misery, so much unhappiness all around." " Isn't it a trifle early to begin talking of your outrageous good fortune ? You're eighteen, aren't you ? " " No, it isn't early, because I know it will stick to me to the end ; it seems to be my fate." " Poor girl !

" said Sir Louis, still in that light tone. " It comes to this, then : she is unhappy at being so happy." "Are you laughing at me, Louis?" she asked, with rising colour. "No, Florence, I am not." He had become serious in one moment. " My noble, foolish girl, I love you all the more for this child's talk ; you could not have these thoughts if your heart were not bursting with real goodness ; but child's talk it remains all the same. Grown-up men and women know better than to complain of their luck ; they take it thankfully where they can get it, and miss it sorely when it leaves them, but they do not play pitch and toss with it, as you seem almost inclined to do. You did not choose your fate for yourself, it was chosen for you, and my belief is that we're all of us bound to take the good and the evil together, exactly as it comes, and make the best of it."

He spoke earnestly, his hand laid upon hers ; and Florence, with her elbow upon the balustrade and her chin upon her hand, gazed up abstractedly into his face, listening more to the voice than to the words, and attempting to follow his expression in the half-light. And as she looked and listened, and felt his fingers upon hers, she knew within her heart that whether she wanted to or not she would have to love this man to the very death. " Kiss me quickly, Louis ! " was all the answer he got when he paused. " I believe papa is coming." Sir Louis barely saved his distance before Mr. Crossley appeared shivering in the doorway. " Nothing but that thin rag, Flo ? " he exclaimed in horror-stricken accents. "And such a night as this ! Upon my word, Louis, if that's the way you're going to look after your wife " "But what sort of a night is it?" asked Sir Louis in perfect good faith.

"It seemed to me quite pleasant. Were you cold, Flo ? " " Not in the least ! " said Flo, exhibiting, as she stepped within the circle of the lamplight, a pair of cheeks that completely bore out the truthfulness of her reply. "And yet Browne has just told me that he is covering up all the early vegetables," remarked Mr. Crossley, glancing from one young face to the other. "But," he added with a whimsically wistful smile, " I dare say there is something wrong with the thermometer." Perhaps he was thinking of certain evenings spent upon this very same terrace, and of the little regard he had paid to the thermometer then. But at that time, to be sure, his hair had not been white.

Chapter II. Retrospection

WHEN Florence complained of never having had a wish crossed, she spoke almost the literal truth. If she had ever been refused anything, it had been, at the most, certain sweetmeats in the nursery, and by the orders of the doctor, and even this had not been nearly so often as desirable. The only child of a wealthy and de voted father, who cherished her as all that remained to him of a blissful but frightfully brief married life, she had been able from infancy to impose her will on the household. Hers had been an un clouded though somewhat solitary childhood ; for Mr. Crossley, who never quite recovered from his premature bereavement, shrank from the society of all but a few intimates, with all the soreness of a sensitive nature that has been wounded to the core. Without being either embittered or soured, he had become like a man who cannot bear the full light.

For this reason the trees in the park were allowed to make so thick a screen against the outer world ; and for this reason, too, he spent most of his time in his library, pursuing B a desultory course of study upon every subject in general and none in particular, which, although leading to no tangible result, gently soothed his wounded mind, while earning for him the not fully deserved reputation of a philosopher. In time his books became to him nearly as dear as his daughter, whose youthful presence was not always convenient in the library, where from morning to night he sat nursing his grief with a persistency which might be called either selfish or sublime, according to the on-looker's point of view. Under these circumstances, it was but natural that the care of the child's education should be resigned to others.

Florence had passed through the hands of many nurses and governesses, but only one among them had left a mark on her life. This had been a gaunt giantess, with that peculiar shade of dirty white hair which betrays that it has once been yellow, with lines of care about her hard-set mouth, and an unquenchable fire in her sunken, fiercely blue eyes. Constant buffetings of fate had made of this woman a rebel against the order of the world. It is doubtful whether Mrs. Gillett had ever heard of socialism, and certain that she had never studied it ; yet out of her own inner consciousness had she evolved a queer, crooked theory of her own — a sort of caricature of the original article, inspired by her personal misfortunes, and more than half coloured with a fierce religious fanaticism. There was only a given quantity of luck in the world— not in the RETROSPECTION. 21 shape of hard cash only, but in every other shape as well, which, were it but equally divided, would be enough for everybody.

She was one of those who had come too short, and ever since she had reached this consciousness had she been filled with bitterness at the injustice of her lot, and envious hatred of the more fortunate. The child in her charge promised to be one of these for tunates, therefore she hated even her in the abstract ; while, viewing her as an individual, this strangely contradictious old woman was unable to keep her heart from yearning over the motherless bairn. These two elements were for ever fighting for the upper hand. One of her great delights was to see the child weep. When on winter even ings they sat before the roaring nursery fire, the small, curly headed figure crouched at the feet of the large, bony frame, it was not with fairy tales that the time was beguiled, but with merciless, cruelly sad stories of unhappy people pursued by a relentless fate, of wives bereaved of their husbands, of mothers weeping on their children's graves, of honest workers robbed of their hardly earned savings by villains who get off scot-free ; and over the edge of the linen she was mending, the blue, hawklike eyes would greedily watch the happy child's face first grow clouded and then convulsed, and when the inevitable burst of tears came she would feel that it was something to have darkened so bright a life for at least one moment, and, flinging the linen aside, she would pull the child upon her knee, press her passionately to her bony breast, and not leave off until she had caressed her back into a gayer mood.

A little of her standing grudge against Fate had been paid off in that moment, therefore she could afford to be tender again. Sometimes the small Flo would ask to whom it was that this or that dreadful thing had happened, and the answer she got was always the same : " It happened to me ! " In time she ceased to ask, having got used to the belief that every bad thing which could happen in the world had inevitably happened to her nurse. But she put other questions. " Whose fault is it that the poor people are unhappy ? " she once asked. " The rich people's fault." " But papa is rich," objected Flo ; " and I'm sure he has never made anybody unhappy." Mrs. Gillett gave her own bitter cackle. " He may not have meant to do so, but he can't help himself. Every rich man or woman is the misfortune of a poor one ; for it's to the rich of the world that the luck flies.

You, too, will have to be the misfortune of some one or other — be sure of that ! Your share of luck is too big for one person alone ; others will have to suffer for it." " How can I be the misfortune of some one else ? " asked Flo, perplexed. " I don't know how ; there are many different ways. Perhaps you will get a fortune which some other person expects, or perhaps the man you love will be loved by another woman, whose heart will RETROSPECTION. 23 break when he marries you. Anyway, it is sure to be." Between the bars of the high safety fender the child gazed with thoughtful eyes into the glowing coals, and turned it all over in her small mind. It was all extremely perplexing, and possibly not quite logical, but it had a strange fascination of its own. " But rich people can be unhappy also," she observed at last.

" They also get ill and die. Even my mamma died." "Those are the ones that have to pay for their luck in this world instead of in the next. Your papa has paid for his luck," added the old woman in a more relenting tone of voice. Her master's cruel loss made him appear to her less of a natural enemy than the generality of prosperous people. " But woe to those who go from here with their account unsettled ! " Flo's feelings were a mixture of fearful awe and of passionate pity for the lot of the woman whose outbursts of half savage affection were almost as terrifying as her bitter words. By degrees the wild ideas dropped from those withered lips began to take root in what happened to be a singularly congenial soil. In the long hours for thought afforded by the lonely nursery, these roots struck so deep that even after Mrs. Gillett had left the house their hold did not loosen.

She left her influence behind her, as do most people of strong personality. And thus Florence had grown up, with thoughts that do not come to the majority of girls, and which, with her romantic temperament and somewhat headstrong nature, might possibly lead to strange results. There was no getting rid of the idea that she had got more than her just share of the good things of this world, and apparently no remedy but to try and make other people as happy as she was. It was this thought that had made her into the village matchmaker, the settler of quarrels, the Dame Bountiful whose gifts were strewn broadcast with well-meaning, but not always judicious, liberality ; yet remaining con scious all the time that it was not a question of money alone, but also of more subtle elements of happiness, which were for ever escaping her control.

A certain vague hankering after personal sacrifices of some sort — a remnant of the idea inculcated before the nursery fire, that it is better to pay for one's luck in this world than in the next — ran through it all like a perpetual under current, not clearly recognized, but always present. To her father she avoided speaking directly of these thoughts. Dearly though she loved him, she instinctively knew that in answer to an unrolling of her private theories of life he would only smile benevolently, with that tinge of amiable cynicism which was peculiar to him. Even without explana tions, he had guessed enough to smile at what he clearly recognized as follies, yet which he felt no call to correct. He liked his Flo far too well as she was to want her altered ; the occasional con fessions of faith that escaped her, tickled his fancy RETROSPECTION. 25 far too much to be readily missed.