'Nothing but the Truth.' An unvarnished picture of the effects of intemperance. A tale

Front matter

AN UNVARNISHED PICTURE OF THE EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE % SDstie By WILLIAM GILBERT Author of " Shirley Hall Asylum" " De Prq/undis" "Doctor Austin's Guests." etc. WILLIAM MULLAN & SON 34 PATERNOSTER ROW LONDON 4 DONEGAL PLACE BELFAST l877 Printed by Hazell, Watson, and Viney, London and Aylesbury. CONTENTS. CHAP. . PAGE I. INTRODUCTORY .... I II. MARGARET'S FIRST LOVE AFFAIR . 1 9 III. MARGARET'S SECOND LOVE AFFAIR . 46 IV. MARGARET'S SECOND LOVE AFFAIR (continued) . . . .64 V. MARGARET'S WEDDING . . .83 VI, MARGARET MARRIED . . . 102 VII. MARGARET A WIDOW . . . I 1 6 VIII. GIN 136 IX. THE FUNERAL. . . . .164 X. MARGARET'S NEW SITUATION . . 1 89 XL GEORGE MEADOWS IN LOVE . . 21 5 XII. CHRISTMAS . . . . .241 VI CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XIII. SARAH MORLEY . . . .285 XIV. MRS. BEAMAN'S WIDOWHOOD . ■ 3 3° XV.

THE TRIAL ..... 343 XVI. GEORGE MEADOWS LEAVES ENGLAND . 382 XVII. MARGARET'S RELEASE FROM PRISON . 4OO XVIII. FROM BAD TO WORSE . . . 440 XIX. " IN THE LOWEST DEPTHS " . . 484 XX. DROP THE CURTAIN. . . . 5OO

Chapter I. In Which The Heroine Is Introduced To The Reader

/^^\N a Sunday evening in the summer of 1828 when the rays of the setting sun were gilding trees, cottages, churches, and the rich landscape round one of the loveliest villages in the lovely county of Kent, a number of peasants1 had collected in the Lammas field near the par sonage. There is a peculiarity about a scene of the kind in England, which can be found in no other part of the world. There is about it an appearance of solemn quiet and grandeur, an air of happiness and contentment — too often delusive — which particularly impresses it on the mind of the beholder. A scene of the kind presented itself at the moment our narrative opens. Men with ruddy faces and athletic forms, clad in their clean white frocks, had formed themselves into separate groups. Others, composed of women in their Sunday bonnets and neat dresses, were also gathered together, the majority evidently em ployed in discussing knotty points of humble housewifery.

The children were playing to gether apart from the rest, and with the adults assisted in forming a scene to which it would have been difficult to find another attribute to increase its beauty, and impossible to deprive it of one feature without injury to the whole. One of the groups was formed of very young children, the eldest perhaps not exceeding seven years of age, who were playing with a girl who possibly might have reached fourteen ; and on a bank near them was seated an old woman, who was evidently watching them with great interest. If the amount of happiness and satisfaction the urchins were enjoying could be judged from the earnest ness of their ringing laugh, the game must have possessed immense attractions ; but without the aptness and acuteness of perception in matters INTRODUCTORY. 3 of the kind which distinguishes their age, it would have been difficult to discover in what way anything like humour could have been de tected in it.

The elder girl stood in the centre of the group, and the merry little creatures formed a circle round her. Suddenly one would start forward, and approaching slily from behind, pull her frock. The elder girl would then turn rapidly round, and appear to run after the culprit, but with steps so short and mincing as to allow the little creature ample time to escape, who would then turn round and laugh with delight at its own feat, her companions joining in her merriment, and then the rest in their turn would imitate their companion's audacity. The patience and good-temper of the girl in the centre appeared untiring, for certainly her little playmates exercised both to their utmost. Nothing can tell more perfectly the amiable disposition of a girl, nothing can give greater promise of her becoming a good lovable woman, than her power of engaging the affections of young children.

Admirable physiognomists in their way, they seldom select those on whom to place their affections who are not worthy to receive them ; and those chosen by them may always be considered as possessing an excellent certificate for amiability and kindness of heart. The girl in question was a handsome happy creature, a perfect specimen of a young English country maiden. She was nearly womanly in form, with a clear fair complexion, dark brown hair, and deep blue eyes, ordinarily mild and tranquil in their expression, but which were now, lit up by her exertion, displaying great brilliancy. But though approaching womanhood in form, and quick in ability, she was still a very child in simplicity. Bearing ill-will to no one, and kind to all, she did not suspect the existence of false hood or guile in others.

She was an orphan; her mother had been a domestic servant and had afterwards married a farm labourer. Her father died when she was yet too young to remember him. Her mother's death a year later had left some vague reminiscences on her mind of a being so pure as to identify her parent with her ideal of an angel. She could remember various kind acts she had performed: soothino- INTRODUCTORY. 5 her in sorrow, caressing her, and watching over her in sickness, — but all so indistinctly, that they floated on her memory rather than dwelt in it ; they were so uncertain as to render it doubtful whether they were facts or the fondly cherished dream of a being who had loved her. Her life up to the present time had met with but few changes. She had been brought up by an old grandmother, who eked out a very trifling pension by keeping a small shop for the homely confec tionary of the village children.

As a child she had exhibited considerable intelligence, and she was now employed as monitor and assistant at the village school. While the game was proceeding with great glee, a gentlemanly middle-aged man, with a lady on his arm, entered the Lammas field. They were met by a very respectable-looking young woman, the governess at the village school, and the lady entered into a conversation with her which lasted for some minutes, and they then proceeded together towards the group of young children. The gentleman and his wife were evidently of some importance in the neighbourhood, as might be seen from the respect shown to them by all. Even those young re publicans, the children, whose ideas of station in society generally went no higher than the mistress of their village school, suddenly stopped their romps as they approached ; and the old woman, our heroine's grandmother, rose from the bank on which she was seated, to receive them.

The lady advanced into the centre of the group of children, and selecting the elder girl, said to her, — " Margaret White, I hear an excellent ac count of you from your governess, and she says that you have been of great use to her in her school. You are now old enough to be employed in some manner that may relieve your grandmother from the expense of maintaining you. If," she continued, turning to the old woman, " you would like a situation for her, I can offer you one." " I should be very glad," was the reply, " if she could be somewhere near me ; but though she certainly is a heavy expense to me, it would break my heart if I were to lose her." INTRODUCTORY. 7 " The situation I speak of is in my own family," said the lady, " and she will be placed under the housemaid. You may be sure that every care will be taken of her, and she will have six pounds a year to commence with."

Margaret said nothing in reply, but her eyes told eloquently the happiness she felt at the offer. She was at that age when the mind rushes to the face, and answers more quickly and truth fully than the tongue. The offer now made to her was of a rise in the world which in her humble position was more than her childish ambition had hitherto reached. Her engagement in the house of Sir John Webb raised her con siderably in her own opinion, and the remuneration she was to receive appeared ' to her nearly fabulous. It was arranged that Margaret was to enter on her duties at the end of the following week. Many were the cogitations .in the house of the grandmother as to the manner the poor girl's outfit could be managed with the greatest possible advantage and economy. The old woman, with something like family pride, brought out of a mysterious box some remains of clothing which had belonged to Margaret's mother, and gave the history of each separate piece as she drew it from its receptacle.

The gown she had been married in, and which had been given by her mistress for her good conduct while in her service ; a shawl which she (the grandmother) had made her a present of on the same occasion ; stockings which had been bought only a few weeks before her death, and which were as good as new ; — all were exhibited and examined. The old woman also called attention to the manner she had preserved them until her 'granddaughter should be old enough to go out in the world. The necessary alterations v/ere now made in the various articles of clothing, and beyond that several shillings were invested in minor adjuncts, so as to make Margaret look in the eyes of her fellow servants " as if she belonged to somebody, and not as if she had no one to care for her." Saturday even ing at last came, and the old lady bribed a boy with a penny to carry her granddaughter's small box to the hall.

It was not so heavy but that they might have taken it themselyes with the most INTRODUCTORY. 9 perfect ease, but respectability was to be taken into consideration ; and all being in readiness, the grandmother, Margaret, and the diminutive porter started for the house. Arrived at the hall, Lady Webb received them with great kindness. The grandmother obtained unlimited permission to visit Margaret as often as she pleased, and they were then introduced into the kitchen. Some refreshment was then given them, and after the old lady had partaken of it, and fortified herself for the parting with a glass of ale pressed on her by the butler, with a some what sorrowful and anxious mind she bade adieu to her granddaughter, and Margaret with a throbbing heart remained in the house to com mence her career in the world.

Our heroine was to share a bedroom with Mary the cook, a good-tempered, respectable young woman some four or five-and-twenty years of age. Margaret's head was scarcely on her pillow, when the excitement she had been labouring under the whole of the day began to subside, and a reaction took place which ended in a flood of tears. Her companion, however, reasoned with her, and with so much kindness in her tone and manner, that the poor girl's sorrow soon calmed down, and a sound sleep, the tired undisturbed rest of fourteen, recruited her for the duties of the following day. Margaret soon became a favourite with all, and Lady Webb was so much pleased with her adroit ness, intelligence, and good-temper that she at tached her permanently to wait on her person, something in the position of a lady's-maid.

Nothing occurred particularly worthy of notice till our heroine was between fifteen and sixteen years of age, when the health of her grandmother, which had been for some time failing, suddenly gave way. To the old woman's satisfaction and comfort, Margaret was with her in her last moments, Lady Webb having kindly allowed her to leave the hall for the purpose of nursing her aged relative. Although the love of a grandmother for her grandchild is frequently made a subject of ridicule, yet if it be examined carefully and candidly, there is hardly a sentiment in human nature more pure and beautiful, especially if the mother of the child be dead. By it the affection she enter- INTRODUCTORY. 11 tained for her own son or daughter is carried on. She associates with it the time when she herself was a young mother, and when one now dead, or fallen into the sear and yellow leaf, was the " god of her idolatry."

The former dearest cares now bud forth afresh, and the days when her own child was the same pure bright happy creature as the one before her, are brought vividly back to her memory ; — all live and are young again in that grandchild, and she dotes on the little creature, who in its turn unconsciously conceals from her with flowers the pathway she is treading to the grave. The parting of the soul from the body, is, when witnessed for the first time, a terrible sight to all, and to as sensitive a girl as Margaret it was naturally most severe. A neighbour was with her at the time of her grandmother's death, and, the first burst of anguish being over, kindly conducted her back to the hall. Some very humble preparations for mourning were then made, for the old woman had latterly fallen into great poverty, and a considerable portion of Margaret's earnings had gone to assist her.

The funeral itself was of the plainest description, but the beautiful burial service of the Church of England was impressively read by the rector of the parish. Although Margaret was the only mourner, her fellow-servant, the cook, comforted and supported the poor girl. In the middle of the service she became much affected, and her sorrow was so uncontrollable, that she threw her arms around the cook's neck and remained in that position, uncontrollably sobbing, until the ceremony was over. The funeral over, they returned to the hall. Every one kindly sympathized with the young girl, who now for the first time felt that she was entirely alone in the world. The next morning that great solace of the poor — labour — came to her relief, and in a few days the buoyant mind of her age recovered its ordinary tone, while her respect for the memory of the deceased remained unabated.

Margaret continued two years longer in Lady Webb's service, when a circumstance occurred which . entirely changed her prospects. Sir John had unfortunately connected himself with a bank and a mining company, and both had INTRODUCTORY. 13 been unsuccessful. He was in fact little better than a ruined man. After his decease the estate would go to his nephew, the next male heir. This gentleman, with whom he had been on bad terms for many years, refused to assist him in his difficulties, and nothing remained for him to live on but his wife's jointure, and that did not exceed three hundred pounds a year. The establishment at the hall was in consequence broken up ; furniture, carriages, and horses were all sold off by auction, and the servants were dispersed in different directions as they obtained other situa tions.

The cook was engaged in a family resident in Finsbury Square, and Lady Webb obtained for Margaret a situation to wait on a lady, an intimate friend of her own, in Eaton Place. As might naturally be expected, a great altera tion had, in the last few years, taken place in the appearance and person of our heroine. She had changed from the growing girl into the well developed fine young woman, " playful as a colt, Sweet as a flower, upright as a bolt." * * Chaucer. Her face was, without flattery, exceedingly hand some, and there is no use denying the fact — she knew it. It was perhaps fortunate for her that she did so. She had many rustic admirers, but the value she set on her own charms kept them all at a distance. She was exquisitely formed, tall with out being masculine, and, if any faith is to be placed in the antique or anatomy — frequently, in fine art phraseology, synonymous terms — she was a perfect model of female beauty.

Her duties had considerably assisted her in arriving at this result. From the nature of her ordinary employ ment, every muscle of her body had received its full and equal development. She carried with her an appearance of perfect health ; while from absence of exposure to the atmosphere, she had obtained great delicacy of complexion. In temper she was naturally mild, and beyond that was endowed with a sweet and retiring disposi tion. All the women liked her, and all the men admired, and many loved her. With qualifications such as these, the world of London, if it offered attractions and advantages, was certainly not INTRODUCTORY. 15 without its dangers. Margaret, however, had not only her natural reserve for her protection, but she was also a good and virtuous girl, well and piously brought up.

On leaving the hall, Lady Webb parted from her with regret, and her friend the cook, who had left a few days before her, had pro mised to call on her the very first holiday she had. Margaret, for whom a seat behind the driver had been secured on the stage coach, now started on her journey to her new place. There is no difficulty in believing that to a country girl arriving in London for the first time from her own quiet village, an immense amount of surprise and astonishment must be occasioned. The fatigue of the long, journey was at last somewhat relieved by the sights which met her eye in the vast and ap parently interminable suburbs of the metropolis, and the bustle and confusion of the City, as the coach made its way over London Bridge towards Charing Cross. All the principal objects of curiosity they passed were pointed out to her by the coachman as she sat behind him on the roof, he turning round from time to time to converse with her about them as he indicated them with his whip, The Monument, Mansion House, Bank, Guildhall, and St. Paul's had each a sketch of their histories and uses poured into her ear.

On descending Ludgate Hill, he showed her the turning towards Newgate, and further told her that in his younger days he had frequently seen half-a-dozen men hanging before it of a morning. Every new object she saw tended to surprise and confuse her, and when she was transferred from the stage to the hackney-coach she was hardly able to give dis tinctly the direction to the coachman. As she approached her destination, the grandeur of the surrounding streets, many newly built, com pletely overwhelmed her with wonder, and the quiet of the house when she reached it, was almost a necessity, after the incessant excitement of the journey. Mr. Herbert Watkins, under whose roof Mar garet was now employed, held a Government appointment of great trust. He was absent from home during the day, and rarely returned before the family dinner hour.

His wife was an amiable lady-like woman, a great invalid, and, like her husband, somewhat elderly. The duties of our INTRODUCTORY. 17 heroine were, as before stated, principally to wait upon Mrs. Watkins, and if Margaret was fortunate in obtaining a kind and considerate mistress, the latter in her turn was no less fortunate in meeting with a domestic whose attention and solicitude contributed so much to the comfort of the habitual invalid. The only other member of the family was a son, a gentleman about twenty-seven years of age, a captain of Hussars, and who was at the time with his regiment in India. The regiment however was ordered to return home the next year, its term of service having expired ; and his parents, who had not seen him for seven years, looked forward with no little anxiety to the period of their son's arrival.

The domestic staff of the house was composed of a butler, footman, two housemaids, and a cook. The coachman, being married, resided with his wife and family over the stables. Although Margaret increased rapidly in favour with Mrs. Watkins, her life was, at the commence ment, by no means an agreeable one in the kitchen. The butler, as well as the footman, were unmarried, and as both were smart good-looking men, they easily imagined that a young country girl would soon yield to the attractions of one of them, and the female servants were somewhat jealous of the attentions they paid her. They considered that the homage offered to Margaret was uncomplimentary to themselves, and they were naturally somewhat annoyed at so marked a preference being shown to the new-comer. The butler and footman how ever had each arrived at a false conclusion, and a very short space of time had elapsed before they perceived how utterly fallacious were their hopes.

At length all things settled down into a quiet, comfortable routine, and if Margaret formed no attachment among her fellow servants, the duties of the house were at any rate carried on in an amicable manner.

Chapter II. Margaret's First Love Affair

COME months now passed over Margaret's head without any circumstance worth especial men tion to record. Mr. Watkins and his wife had spent a great portion of the winter at Brighton, and had returned to town for the season. Our heroine had not only gained the perfect confidence of Mrs. Watkins, but her friendship as well. She had also improved in appearance, and any little awkwardness of manner she might have imported with her from the country had entirely disappeared. Many were the attempts that had been made upon her heart ; equally numerous were the fail ures. The butler and footman had long since quitted the field, and had now perhaps a spiteful satisfaction in witnessing the discomfiture of others. Often did footmen, wearing the smartest of liveries, quit the carriages they were attached to, waiting at houses five or six doors distant, and saunter carelessly before Mr. Watkins' house, sanguine of success ; but their attractions were powerless.

In vain did those waiting at the houses at the oppo site side, strain their necks to look over the blinds in the dining-room ; in vain did those calling at the house endeavour during their short stay to cul tivate such a friendship with the footman as would entitle them to ring at the area bell to visit a brother in the service. Even the good-looking policeman no longer raised his eyes to the upper windows, but contented himself with exhibiting his whiskers to the cook. Even his sergeant, after twice calling at the house to inform the family that bad charac ters had been seen in the neighbourhood, gave up the attempt. The tradesmen's assistants, if chance gave them an opportunity of calling at the house, soon lost all hope of success. It must not be imagined that Margaret's heart was inaccessible to love.

She was, on the con trary, as susceptible as most girls of her age, but she had painted to herself the man she could admire, and she had heard him often described by others. She had dreamed of him, and in her dreams he had been too attractive to allow her to wish for a less noble reality. Little did Mrs. Watkins think, when speaking with her husband on the near approach of their son's arrival, that the subject might also be interesting to the poor girl then in their presence. Little did they think that the lavish praises they bestowed on the hand some young soldier were listened to with avidity by another. Often did the girl reason with herself on the folly of her thoughts, and as often was she convinced of their absurdity ; but love has generally little to fear from reason, and the next panegyrics Mrs. Watkins pronounced on her son were sure to bring back the feeling to its full strength.

At last, th'e news of the ship's arrival reached London, and a few hours afterwards a letter informed Mr. and Mrs. Watkins that the next day their darling son would be again with them. How slowly after the receipt of the son's letter did the time seem to pass with his parents, each successive hour appearing longer than the one which preceded it. Four o'clock had just struck, and as Margaret, after having completed Mrs. Watkins' toilet, was proceeding to leave the dressing-room, an impatient step was heard rushing up the. stairs, and before an answer could be given to the hurried tap at the door, it was opened, and with a cry "of joy the delighted mother once more held her dear son in her arms. For some moments Margaret stood breathless and motionless as a statue, watching the group, and then remembering herself, left the room.

Momentary as had been her first glance, not one feature of the captain's face had been lost on her. His reflection in a mirror could not have been a more perfect copy than that which had impressed itself on her memory. His tall manly form, his noble brow and handsome features, browned by the sun of India, his dark hair and darker moustache, at that time worn but by few regiments, all were retained by her. She flew to her own room, and with her hand pressed on her palpitating heart, seated herself on the side of her bed. In that position she remained for some time, and then leaving the room, went downstairs into the kitchen. There she found a new visitor — the captain's servant ; a bold, impudent-looking fellow, who had left England with the regiment and had acted as valet to his master during his whole stay in India.

He was naturally looked upon with much interest by the servants of the house ; and he, with the perfect self-possession of a soldier in a kitchen, soon made himself thoroughly at home. He honoured Margaret with a prolonged stare, and then went on receiving instructions from the footman as to the different parts of the basement of the house in which his abilities for brushing and cleaning were to be displayed. Margaret, having no occasion to see any of the family till evening prayers, remained below and listened with breathless attention to the long and somewhat apocryphal descriptions given by the captain's valet of the various travels, dangers, and adventures of himself and master. After prayers that evening, had Margaret, who was, as a rule, most attentive to her religious duties, been asked what had been read or what had been prayed for, it would perhaps have been impossible for her to have given anything like a correct answer.

Her memory of Mrs. Watkins' remarks on her son, as she was preparing that lady for bed, was far more retentive, for she could have repeated all she said with the most perfect accuracy. The fond mother's tongue, moreover, had been employed without intermission on that one subject. Half thinking, half talking to her favourite dependent, the good lady had no idea that the poor lass she was in effect addressing was of the same flesh and blood as herself. Little did she think that in the girl's heart love could burn as brightly as in her own ; but how terrible would have been her indignation at the girl's pre sumption could she have suspected the truth. Dismissed for the night, silently the fond girl sought her bed. The dawn of the following day found her in the same train of thought which had occupied her mind when she laid her head on her pillow the evening before. ■ Mrs. Watkins the next morning, feeling some what more indisposed than usual from the excite ment of the previous day, breakfasted in her boudoir, and our heroine, as was her custom on these occasions, waited on her.

Mr. Watkins had at an early hour left for his office, and the mother and son were alone. Fortunately for Margaret, the years she had been at service had enabled her to obtain a perfect command of countenance, and thus, under the appearance of being totally ab sorbed in her duties, she retained every word that was uttered. The momentary glances she was enabled to take confirmed her in the admiration she had already conceived of the captain's attractions. As he sat there, his proud, noble, and frank air, his good-humoured hearty laugh exposing his beautifully white regular teeth, made still whiter by the contrast with his dark moustache, his handsome face beaming with animation as he talked rapidly of his' adventures, all combined to make his mother perfectly happy, and the expression of her countenance fully proved it.

Occa sionally he would glance at the beautiful girl who stood behind his mother's chair. His admiration of her was great, but the cold reserve on her face somewhat chilled it. Little, however, did he imagine what thoughts at the moment were passing through her mind. Days passed, and although Margaret frequently saw the captain, she avoided rather than sought the opportunity of being alone with him. In the meantime his servant paid her the greatest attention, and tried by every means in his power to thrust himself on her notice. Not only was he unsuccessful, but from his relative position with his master, his attentions were positively annoying to her. The man was not only vexed at her indifference, but was jested for his want of success by the other servants, and this so irritated his pride, that at last he determined to make another attempt.