An Innocent Maiden. A story

Front matter

Select Hovels by Popular Authors. Crown Svo, cloth, 3_.*. 6< . each. By Florenoe Marryat. MY SISTER THE AC1EESS. A BROKEN BLOSSOM. PH^LLIDA. THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL. FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS By Annie Thomas ALLERTON TOWERS. FRIENDS AND LOVERS. EYRE OF BLENDON. By Mrs. Eiloart THE DEAN'S WIFE. SOME OF OUR GIRLS. By IAkConstanoe Howard sw^tot.&'t and wife. JMjOLLIE D^.UING. the Author or "Recommended .- barbara's warning BY TO By Mrs. Alexander Fraser. a professional beauty. By Harriett Jay. TWO MEN AND A MAID. 1\ Sforg. BY THEO. GIFT, . , 1 AUTHOR OF " PRETTY MISS BEL LEW, '' TRUE tO HER TKUfrT, "VISITED ON THE CHILDREN," " A GARDEN OF !GIRLS," ETC. ETC. IN ONE VOLUME. LONDON : F, V. WHITE & CO., 31, SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND, W.C. 1883. PRINTED BY KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS | AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.

CONTENTS. CHAP. TAOK I ._« Why Don't You Speak for Yourself, John ?" 1 II. — The Captain's Little Daughter ... 16 III. — At Odds — Check! .... .27 IV. — A Double Misunderstanding ... 40 V.— "Then Trust Me All in All, or Not at All" 57 VI. — The Man Unmasked '1 VII.— In His Room at Night 84 VIII. — Murdered! . , . . . B5 IX.— The Vicar's Theory . ... 100 X. — " A Lie which is Half a Truth is a Harder Matter to Fight" I-5 XI.— Committed for Trial 143 XII.— The Salvation Captain, Jane ... 156 XIII.— Why She Left Them 17i! XIV.— A Hopeless Search 18/ XV.— On Trial for His Life 20° XVI.— The Verdict AN INNOCENT MAIDEN.

Chapter I

" WHY DON'T YOU SPEAK FOR YOURSELF, JOHN ? " ?*tfT3§_IEY were two women in an old-fa sliioned room i^Kg of an old-fashioned house at Kew — a room softly carpeted in sweet-smelling Indian matting and Persian rugs, with quaint spindle-legged furniture, and a quainter Chinese paper covered with scrolly red monsters and monstrous gold flowers tangled up to gether; a room with a high wooden wainscot and mantelpiece, the latter carved with cherubs carrying wreaths of flowers ; and hosts of tiny tables heaped with treasures of Sevres and Nankin china, Hindu idols, and Burmese knick-knacks in bewildering confusion. " I call it most undignified, unladylike, and unseemly,'' said the elder woman. " Airs. Pentreath ! " " Yes, my dear, and if you were to say ' Mrs. Pen treath' twice as loudly, and look twice as red and indignant, I should only repeat the same words.

In deed I do not know any others better suited to such foolish and imprudent conduct." " But I don't even know what you mean," cried the i; *) An Innocent Maiden. girl, redder than ever at the snub she had received. " What is there in my conduct that you can call by such names as 'unseemly and unladylike'? What have I done ? You have no right to speak to me so, because — because " " Because you are a motherless girl for whose welfare and reputation I am answerable while you live under my roof; and because your father committed you to my care," said Mrs. Pentreath, slowly. " Excuse my interrupting you, Hetty, but I am of opinion that these reasons do give me a right, not only to express my opinion on your conduct generally, but to exert my authority if I find you persisting in a course which is sure to be detrimental to you in every way.

Ernest may be silly in some things — I am sorry to say he is — but you are more silly still if you let yourself think that he means to marry you." " I don't ; I never thought anything of the sort. I wouldn't marry him. Mrs. Pentreath, why don't you send me away if you think such things ? Indeed, I would far, far rather go than listen to them." " Go, so that you may induce him to follow you ? Yes, Hetty, that would be just of a piece with the running after him at present, the familiarity and for wardness of which I am complaining. Let me tell you I am not the only person who has noticed it. Lady Carisfort spoke to me some time ago about what she rightly considered my foolish and culpable indulgence, and Mr. Hamilton " "Mr. Hamilton!" The poppy-red cheeks grew suddenly white, and even Mrs. Pentreath was startled by the strange look, half anguish, half indignation, " Why don't you speak for yourself, John ?

" 3 which flashed from the brown eyes. "You do not mean that. . . He couldn't — I am sure he never spoke about me and — and Captain Pentreath ! " Mrs. Pentreath smiled with a sort of chilling com posure very aggravating. " Then you are quite wrong, my dear, for it was only yesterday that he was doing so, and regretting the way in which you were going on ; and I am glad to see that you have some regard for your clergyman's opinion, if not for mine. You must remember, however, that George Hamilton and Ernest are cousins, and that young men are in the habit of speaking freely to one another, especially of girls who by their own lightness have What is it, Hickson — the carriage? Very well, I am coming ; and, Hetty, don't be silly. It is no use crying in that violent way as if someone had ill used you.

I assure you that you ought to feel grateful that you have someone to act a mother's part to you ; and though Ernest is my son, it is not at all in his interests, but yours, that I have spoken to you to-day." Mrs. Pentreath said this in a softened tone, perhaps because her conscience told her that she had been somewhat harsh, perhaps because the attitude of the culprit, sobbing now beyond control, with her face hidden in her dimpled hands, touched her sense of pity ; but she went away for her drive all the same, a stately old lady, with her white hair and fine face, and the furs and velvets which shrouded her still upright figure. And Hetty Mavors was left to cry on by herself. She made a pretty picture so, despite her woe, with her slender, childish figure, and soft dark head pressed B up against the panelling of the deep old window-seat, behind her a fence of tall ragged chrysanthemums, red and saffron tinted, and filling the air with their bitter sweet odour; and behind them a flutter of brown and yellow autumn leaves and the stainless blue of one of those rare days in November when winter seems still far away, and the fair, wan effigy of summer lies lightly on the moist ground, unburied save in fallen leaves.

Hetty, however, was far from thinking of herself in an artistic light. Perhaps she was deficient in " cul ture," or perhaps she was too miserable ; anyhow, she never lifted her face, but sobbed on till startled into another position by a footstep at her side and a voice saying : " They told me I should find you here, so Why, Hetty ! Hetty, my child, what is the matter ? " Hetty lifted her face quickly enough then — not in welcome, however, but with a look of such unmistak able anger flashing through her tears as fairly startled the visitor, a rather plain young man in clerical dress, but with a frank, kindly expression which seemed far from warranting the indignant one which greeted him. Yet, though the girl was trembling in every limb, she made a strong effort to control herself, and stood up, saying coldly : " Mrs. Pentreath is not in, Mr. Hamilton."

"So Hickson told me; but as he added that you were in the drawing-room, I thought I might come in and see you. I had no idea you were in trouble, how ever. Is it — is it anything I could help you in, or would you rather I went away ? " the vicar asked quietly and with a certain plain directness, and absence of " Why don't you speak for yourself, John ? " 5 society pretence, which made Hetty's efforts at com posure somewhat difficult. Yet she answered him as directly and with the same coldness as before : " I would rather you went away. People who make trouble can hardly help in it : and as it seems that I have to thank you for mine, I would rather you did not stay to triumph in it." " Make trouble ! Triumph ! I don't think I under stand you," said George Hamilton. He had become v.-ry pale, strikingly so in contrast to the crimson cheeks which confronted him, but he still spoke quietly, and stood his ground, facing the girl with a calm steadiness which was not without its effect.

"How have I got you into trouble ? I was not aware that I had done so ; but if I have, it must have been, as you know perfectly well, so purely accidentally that I hope you are generous enough to feel as sorry for me as I am for you." The grave, reasonable tone made Hetty's eyes misty again. " Oh, it does not matter," she said, trying to speak lightly ; then breaking down with ignominious speed : " Only I did not think, I did not, that you — you " " That I what ? Hetty, my — my clear child, for Heaven's sake don't cry, but tell me what I have done. Don't you know — God knows you might by this time — that I would sooner cut off my right arm than hurt you by a pin-prick or see anyone else do it. What is it ? Has Pentreath " But Hetty, looking up with hot cheeks and flashing eyes, broke in on the question with sharp distinctness.

"Captain Pentreath has said and done nothing — nothing at all. I don't believe he would ever think such things. He knows too well how shameful and untrue they are." " What things, Hetty ? " This young girl certainly required a good deal of patience, but it was not lack of that quality which made George Hamilton's grave face graver, and his voice colder than before. " What Mrs. Pentreath and you have been saying, that I run after " but Hetty was sobbing too violently now for her words to be very intelligible, .and the vicar could only catch such broken phrases as •" forward," " wanting to marry him," " unladylike," the rest drowned in passionate blushes hot enough to .almost scorch the tears which flowed over them. Mr. Hamilton's brown face flushed for sympathy. Manlike, however, he wasted no words on it, but went to the point at once.

" I never said one word of the sort," he said. " What's more, I never thought, dreamt, or implied it. Has my aunt told you so ? I can't believe it ; and, if you'll excuse me, I don't believe you do either. You look on me as a friend, I suppose. It isn't much to expect after all these years, but I do expect that. Do you think friends lie and calumniate one another? Tell me at once what you mean." Hetty's sobs ceased. She was very young. She was quelled by an anger greater than her own ; subdued too by a certain delicious joy springing up in her bruised and wounded little heart. She looked up at him quite deprecatingly. " It was Mrs. Pentreath said so. She was angry at " Why don't you speak for yourself, John ? " 7 something -such a little thing. Captain Pentreath asked me to cut him a sprig of gardenia from the con servatory before he went out this morning, and when I went for it he came in after me, and stood talking for a minute or two while he pinned it in.

After he was gone your aunt began, and said all this. 1 couldn't even understand her at first, or why she was so angry ; and then she said Lady Carisfort had spoken to her some time ago about my — my conduct, and you too." " My aunt made a mistake," said the vicar, coolly. " What Lady Carisfort may have said of you I don't know ; nor do I think it matters much, as she is well known to be the most vicious-tongued old woman in the county ; but since it has come to this, and you have been made unhappy, I owe it to myself to tell you what I said." " Then you did say something ! " Hetty's tone had an almost childish accent of disappointment, and her eyes began to look angry again. " I certainly did. My aunt came to me yesterday and told me — it is her fault and yours, mind you, Miss Mavors, that you ever hear this — told me that she was disturbed in her mind, because she thought that her son was beginning to show a disposition to pay you idle attentions, and that you were encouraging him under the impression that they were serious.

She added, however, that she did not blame you as much as her son, because you were very young " " She is very kind, and I am much obliged to her," said Hetty, haughtily. " And rather spoilt." " Then it is she who has spoilt me, and why did she ? I wish" (beginning to cry) "that she hadn't. I thought she was — was fond of me, as fond as I was of her." " But that people were beginning to make remarks. Someone had even asked her if her son was going to marry little Miss Mavors, and as, of course, no one could know better than she that he had not the faintest idea of the sort — forgive me, Hetty, and remember I am only quoting her words — she came to me to consult me as to the best means of putting a stop to an affair which was giving her trouble and might damage your name. She said she did not at all wish to part from you even for a time " " To send me away, you mean ! but I will not give her the trouble.

I will go away. I am going at once," Hetty burst in, vehemently ; then with a sudden change of tone : " And you ? What did you say ? You are only telling me Mrs. Pentreath's part, not yours." " I said that I thought she was mistaken," said the vicar, speaking with great distinctness, though with a frown on his brow which implied a difficulty for the task. " For, to commence at the commencement, it was my opinion that her son, instead of 'beginning' to pay you idle attentions now, had done nothing else but pay you the most marked ones in his power from the first day of his coming here and devote himself to you in a way which might warrant any innocent girl in believing herself to be loved by him. Further, that I should like to know her grounds for thinking that Ernest did not do so ; and further to remind her that men seldom took even their mothers into their con fidence when they first began to think seriously of a " Why don't you speak for yourself, John?" 9 woman ; and that even if Ernest had been rather given to flirting in past times, it was my opinion that your sweetness and — I mean your manner and charms alto gether," put in the vicar, interrupting himself in a rough, impatient manner, " were enough to give any man a fair reason for breaking through all previous dislike to matrimony and " " Oh, but that was nonsense, and you ought not to tell it me again.

Don't go on with that part," sa.'d Hetty hurriedly, but with such a lovely rose-colour in her cheeks, and'such a lovely shy, questioning glance, as would have made any one think it was just that part she did want told to her. The vicar thought so, and for a moment his pulses beat with marvellous, almost dangerous rapidity ; then the remembrance of why she felt such pleasure in his speech came back to him, and he answered her in a colder tone than before : "Well, that was what I said to my aunt, and I took the liberty of adding, in conclusion, that if she were right in her opinion of her son, and he were capable of laying himself out to win the affections of a young girl without any other end than his own amuse ment, he deserved to be kicked round Kew Green, and I should be very glad to lend a foot for the But there's no use in repeating all that," cried the vicar, cooling down suddenly from the hot anger which merely quoting his words had roused in him, " and I shall only make you as angry as I did her.

You must try to forgive me, however, for I was merely arguing on a hypothetical case. You are not to take Mrs. Pentreath's opinion of her son as mine. Probably, indeed, you don't need either of them, and are only laughing at our presumption in having any. Thats not to the point, however. You accused me of having spoken ill and insultingly of you, and of having got you into trouble. I have told you what I did say, and if, hearing it, you still think you were right to greet me as you did just now, I can only say I am sorry for it, and wish I had said nothing at all." " But I don't. It was I who was wrong, and — and I beg your pardon, Mr. Hamilton. There ! Now please don't hurry away," cried Hetty, with the prettiest mingling possible of submission and impatience. " There is something more I want to ask you, if you don't mind."

" Well, what is it ? I will tell you anything that concerns myself." "And myself! Mr. Hamilton, I want to know why you think your cousin really cares for me. His mother does not. She said the idea was absurd ; but you — you differed from her. Why ? " The vicar looked embarrassed. In honest truth he had not much faith in the depth of his cousin's affection for anybody, but how could he tell the girl so — he of all men ? "I differed from her, certainly," he said with some hesitation ; " partly because it would be a tacit im pertinence to you to assume that any man would dare to single you out and appropriate you as Pentreath does without caring for you, and partly because — well, because I cannot realise that any man should live in the house with you and not do so." The vicar's voice had grown so hard that the last words, if intended for a compliment, sounded more " Why don't you speak for yourself, John ?" 11 like an accusation.

Did he too suspect her of inten tional fascination? Poor Hetty's face grew pale and wistful as a chidden child. " Oh, but you only mean in a certain way," she said eagerly ; a pleasant friendly sort of caring that no one need dislike. Of course I know he is more demonstrative than some men, and — and says silly things now and then ; but I do assure you he has never said one word which — which anyone could take hold of." The vicar looked at her in surprise. Evidently she was not so sure of her lover's affection as he had thought, or she would not want so much reassuring on the subject. He felt vexed with her for asking it, and without even a blush on her smooth round cheek too ; yet he was too chivalrous not to answer her comfortingly. " Oh, but you need not think anything of that," he said, smiling.

" Men often say least when they care most ; aud even if Ernest is a bit flighty at times, he knows well enough how to appreciate the blessing of a pure-hearted girl's affection. I daresay my aunt has been a little irritating and incredulous ; but these are things that mothers are always last to realise. Don't you believe me ? " for she had grown paler, and there was a distressed look in her face. " Why, I have known a man — if it is any good to you to hear of him —who cared heart and soul for a girl very like yourself, and in much the same circumstances ; and who, though he would have laid down his life gladly to have called her his wife even for one short week, never opened his lips on the subject, or told his secret to her or anyone." "Never?" He had come to an abrupt stop, and Hetty's voice repeated the word like a startled echo.

She was crimson enough now, and there was a new look in her beautiful eyes, turned from him in sudden shyness. "Never. There were reasons against it in the beginning, and afterwards it would have been no good." " But why ? Hew ? " The vicar had stopped again, his voice hoarse with barely smothered pain, and he did not notice the tremble in the girl's voice, her nervously-clasped hands or heaving breast. There was even a touch of impatience in his manner as he answered her. " Why ? Because when he began to care for her she was such a child compared to him, such a mere child in reality, he would have thought it profanation to speak to her of such matters; and afterwards, as she began to grow up, it was to such beauty and sweetness that, knowing his own demerits, knowing too how little she had seen of the world, he hesitated equally between the risk of a "No " which might lose him the friendly confidence which had become the chief happiness of his life, or of a " Yes " which she might regret through the whole of hers.

He told himself he would wait a little longer still, till she knew others and could choose more freely; and — while he was waiting another came, and the game was over. The second man went in and won in a week what he had worshipped for years, and there was an end of it." " Why don't you speak for yourself, John ? " 13 " And was he content to let it be so ? But, oh ! you mean that he had no choice, that she married the other one before he could interfere ? " " I don't know if she married him or not. What does that matter so long as she loved him ? And as my friend loved her, do you suppose he would want to interfere between her and the happiness she had chosen for herself? " " Not unless he thought he could make her happier." Hetty's voice was very low. The vicar's rang against it with deep impetuosity.

" That had nothing to do with it. It was for her to choose. She had known him the longest, and if she preferred the other he was too proud, for all his love, to haggle with her over her preference. Besides, it would have lost all its value for him if it could have been transferred from one man to another in that way. To sue for a touch of the cheek which had blushed under the kiss of another, to clasp a hand and gaze into eyes which had been pressed by other's fingers and smiled on other's vows might have been possible enough to some men. It wasn't so to him. The one love he cared for was that first, fresh, unsullied one which only a girl who has never played at love, or thought of lovers before, has it in her to give, the But there ! what a fool I am to go on talking to you in this way — nearly as big a fool as he !

Only I warn you, don't you think that because a man is silent he is not in earnest, and remember that I consider Pentreath has every reason to be so at present, and I congratulate him heartily on his wisdom and his luck in having such a rare chance of making use of it. Good-bye." " He is not here to thank you, or I daresay he would," said Hetty ; " but before you go let me warn you not to think that because people laugh and joke they must be in love. It is very kind of you to think Captain Pen treath lucky in having won me ; but why you should assume that he has done so, and be as ready to make me over to him as his mother is to do the reverse, I don't know ; and I am not obliged to you — not at all." " Hetty, what do you mean ? Is it not true then ? Don't you care for Pentreath ? " " What right have you to ask such a question, Mr. Hamilton ?

And what do you mean by ' caring ' for him ? As a friend, someone to talk and sing with, to enliven his mother and me when we are a little dull ? Yes, in that way, very much — as much as he cares for me." " Hetty, it isn't in that way that Pentreath cares for you." " Is it not ? Then you know more than I do, or than he has told me, and I do not wish to hear anything more of it. I am quite sure of one thing — that I shall not do so from him. He is not so silly as you imagine him, Mr. Hamilton, and would as little dream of falling in love with me as of suspecting me of doing the same by him." " But Hetty " " No, Mr. Hamilton, I don't want to hear or say any more. You and Mrs. Pentreath have joined to misun derstand and misjudge me, and I have been obliged in my own defence to tell you that you are wrong ; but it is not pleasant to me to have to do so, and I did not think you would have required it.

I thought you " Why don't you speak for yourself, John ? " knew But there, I won't think anything more about it, only please go away now and leave me. I don't want to be rude ; but I am angry and hurt, and — and I would rather not see you any more — not now, at any rate. Please go," and then, as he made no motion to do so, but rather came a step nearer, with hands out stretched as if to detain her, and a sudden light and flame in his face making its plainness almost beautiful, she fairly slipped past him and fled, flushed and panting, to hide herself in her own room. At which time, perhaps, it may be well to pause and tell you something of her story.

Chapter II. The

CAsTAIN'S LITTLE DAUGHTER. ■^rfSTHER MAVORS was the daughter of an ,-A** officer in the coastguard who, thirty years be fore, had loved and wooed a certain beautiful heiress, one Miss Isabel Bovilly. Lieutenant Mavors was handsome but poor. Miss Bovilly's relations would not hear of the match ; and finally, afcer first encouraging and then playing with him, Miss Bovilly threw him off and married Mr. Pentreath, a wealthy banker, by whom she had one son — Ernest. Lieutenant Mavors took his blighted hopes to sea, got into a reckless way of living, threw away more than one chance of promotion, and finally, ten years later, was knocked down by a fever on the West Coast of Africa, nursed back to health by an old Wesleyan missionary, and married, out of gratitude, to the latter's daughter, by whom he had one child, a girl — Hetty.

So much for genealogy. With the advent of the child, however, came the end of his married life. The young mother died in childbirth, and leaving the infant to be brought up by its maternal relatives, Captain Mavors went to sea again aud remained there with brief intervals for another ten years, when the fortunate bestowal of a post in the coastguard service enabled him to settle down at home and begin life afresh with his little daughter in a pleasant Devonshire watering place. It was not a long life. He had meant it to be so. He had planned out all manner of new delights and new duties for it. Perhaps the duties seemed most delightful of all, both because they were new, and because of a sense of remorse that they should be so. In truth he was rather a simple, one-ideaed man, whose life hitherto had been made up of but two things, a love and a profession.

The love had come to nothing ; and the profession had swallowed up everything else. As for his marriage that was but a twelve months' in terlude ; and though, being a tender-hearted man, the suddenness of its ending both shocked and grieved him,, the grief was not of an utterly crushing nature, but rather suggested to him that as the sea had proved the best medicine for his first trouble, the .sooner he had recourse to it for the second one the better. There was the child, of course ; but as the missionary and his wife, broken-hearted at the loss of their only daughter,, begged, almost with tears, that it might be left in their care, Captain Mavors thought himself more than justified in acceding to their prayer, and in almost forgetting the fact that he had a daughter, except when four times a year he religiously sent home a portion of his pay, more than sufficient to provide for her maintenance and education, and received in return a report of her continued existence and well being.