Rupert Godwin [A novel.] By the Author of 'Lady Audley's Secret' [M. E. Braddon] . Fourth edition

Front matter

RUPERT GODWIN BY THE AUTHOR OF "LADY AUDLET'S SECRET" etc. etc etc. IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. II. FOURTH EDITION LONDON WARD, LOCK, AND TYLER WARWICK HOUSE, PATERNOSTER ROW M DCCC LXVII {All rights reserved] LONDON : ROBSON AUD SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. CONTENTS OF VOL. II. CHAP. PiGE i. Wilmingdon Hall I ii. A Recognition and a Disappointment . . 23 m. The Maequis op Roxleydale . . . . 36 iv. Bent, but not broken 59 v. Julia's Protege 69 vi. On the Threshold 85 vii. Miss Vanberg is malicious .... 96 vm. Falcon and Dove 117 ix. In the Labyrinth 148 x. A dark Journey 162 xi. The Housekeeper's Story . . . .179 xii. " She wept, delivered from her danger" . 202 xiii. Underground 227 xiv. On the Track 246 xv. Esther Vanberg has her way . . . 278 xvi. The Evidence of the Miniature . . . RUPEET GODWIN.

Chapter I. Wilmingdon Hall

Lionel Westford yielded to the influence of the bright face which had looked at him so compas sionately in the moment of his despair. He gave way to the temptation against which he had struggled resolutely and manfully, only to break down in the end ; and he wrote to Rupert God win, accepting the engagement offered him. Before writing this letter the young man called upon an old college companion, a shallow-minded but kind-hearted young idler, from whom he had RUPEET GODWIN. kept aloof since his reverse of fortune. It was very much against the grain that he went to ask a favour at the hands of this gentleman, but he had no alternative. Mr. Godwin required some testimony as to the respectability of the stranger whom he was to admit into his household, and Frederick Dudley, his once familiar chum, was the only person to whom Lionel could apply.

Mr. Dudley willingly consented to testify to his old friend's merits. He knew very little of the changes that had befallen the Westfords, and he jumped at once to the conclusion that Lionel's assumption of a false name was only a part of some romantic scheme. " I see it all, Westford," exclaimed the young man, "though you are so confoundedly close with a fellow. It's a love affair, that's what it is; you've fallen head over heels in love with this old fogy's handsome daughter — I've met Julia God win in society, and a remarkably fine girl she is though not my style — and you want to get into the house disguised as a poor artist. Quite a romantic dodge, upon my word, and I envy you the spirits for the adventure! I'm so deucedly used-up myself that I should never have thought of such a thing.

Come now, confess that I've hit it;— eh, old boy?" "I can confess nothing," answered Lionel; " but I must not allow yrou to entertain any false ideas with regard to Miss Godwin. I have only seen that young lady once in my life, and then only for a few minutes." " Very likely, my dear boy ; and for all that you may be awfully in love with her. There's such a thing as love at first sight, you know, if we're to believe those prosy old poets. I don't understand the thing myself; but then I'm so deucedly used-up. I have not experienced the tender passion since I was spoony on a pretty little pastrycook at Eton." added the young simpleton, whose moustache had only lately begun to sprout. " At any rate, I may rely upon your kind of fices, Dudley?" asked Lionel, as he prepared to leave his friend's chambers.

" You shall have them with all my heart, dear boy. But you'll stop to luncheon, won't you ? I can give you a grilled chicken, and a dry sherry that yrou'll not match every day in the week. I shall so enjoy a smoke and a chat with you. It will recall the old times, you know, when we were young and fresh. What have you been doing with yourself lately, old fellow ? I haven't seen you for the last six months." "No, my dear Dudley," answered Lionel; " and very few of my friends have seen me during that time." "Why not?" " Because your world is no longer my world. Since my poor father was lost at sea, a great change has taken place in my fortunes. Such lucky young scapegraces as you can no longer be my companions, for I have entered the ranks of the breadwinners." "But, my dear Lionel," exclaimed the young man, "surely your friends could be of some ser vice to you !

I haven't a very large balance at my banker's, for the relieving officer has all the paro chial hardness of heart, but so far as it goes it is entirely at your disposal." Lionel wrung his friend's hand with a grateful pressure. " My dear Fred, I know what a good fellow you are, and I thank you most heartily ; but I am now certain of employment which will be tolerably remunerative. Good-by-e, old friend !" "And you don't like me well enough to bor row a few tenners just to carry on the war with ?" " No, thanks, Dudley ; I can do without the tenners, if I get the five pounds a week Mr. Godwin is willing to give me for some very easy work." "Do you want an introduction to my tailor? I keep the fellow an unconscionable time waiting for his money, but I make a point of recommend ing him to my friends.

What a pity a fellow's friends have such a knack of going through the Bankruptcy Court, by the way ! It takes so much off the value of one's introductions. Shall I give you a line to my snip ?" "No, dear boyr, I'll not victimise him, this time. I have the remnant of my University ex travagances in that way, and can make a decent appearance at Wilmingdon Hall." "You will come and see me again, dear boy?" " Yes, when my position has improved ; until then, good-bye." Three days after this interview Lionel West ford left King's Cross on his way to Hertfordshire. For the first time in his life the young man had told his mother a falsehood. He had told her that artistic work had been offered him in the town of Hertford, and that he was about to occupy himself for a few weeks in that place. Clara Westford was grieved at the thought of even a brief separation from her son ; but she had seen his spirit drooping, and a dark cloud upon his brow, so she was glad to think that he would have employment and change of scene.

Lionel's con science upbraided him cruelly as he left that de voted mother; and yet he tried to reason with himself against his scruples. Was not Rupert Godwin's money as good as that of any other man ? and would it not purchase comfort for that dear patient sufferer ? and was he, Lionel Westford the pauper, to fling away the chance of fortune be cause it was offered by the banker's hand ? Thus it was that he went to Wilmingdon Hall. Rupert Godwin had only yielded to a caprice of his daughter's when he consented to engage the young artist. Julia's influence over her father was almost unbounded. The cold heart, for her grew warm and human; the remorseless nature became softened. Rupert Godwin hated his son ; for he knew that the young man had read the secrets of his inner nature, and despised him.

He hated his son ; but he loved his beautiful daughter with a morbid and exaggerated affection, and there were few requests of hers which he cared to refuse. At any other time Mr. Godwin might certainly have been inclined to question the prudence of his daughter's views with regard to the stranger whose desperate condition had excited her compassion. He was by no means given to the Quixotic impulses which were common to Julia's nature; and whatever benefits he had bestowed upon his fellow-creatures had been given in obedience to the prejudices of society rather than to the impulses of his own heart. At another time he would have sided with the outraged guardian of his daughter's youth, and would have protested against Julia's philanthropic schemes as absurd and impracticable. Julia had been prepared to encounter such opposition, and had been just a little inclined to repent her somewhat precipitate offer of employment in the interval which elapsed between her meeting with Lionel Westford and her father's next flying visit to Hertfordshire.

To her surprise, however, the young lady met with only the faintest possible opposition. Of late Rupert Godwin's mind had been entirely occupied by one all-absorbing care, and he had grown strangely indifferent to the details of his daily life. He made one or two peevish objections to Julia's proposition, and then gave way to her wish, but not with the good grace with which he had once been accustomed to grant a favour asked by that fondly-loved daughter. "You want me to write to this young man," he said half absently, as if it were almost too much trouble for him to concentrate his thoughts for even a few moments on the subject in question. " Yery well, Julia — very well ; I will write. Don't worry me any further about the business. I think the whole affair very absurd, but you must have your wish.

What does it matter ?" " What does it matter ?" That was a phrase which Rupert Godwin had used very frequently of late when called upon to discuss the trifles that make up the sum of existence. These things had become of such complete indifference to him, and it seemed to him that people made such fuss and noise about the petty details that appeared so con temptible in his eyes ; — in his eyes, before which for ever loomed one dark awful shape, the shadow whereof shut out all other things from his sight. Lionel Westford arrived at the Hall in the afternoon of a brilliant August day. Not a leaf stirred in the verdant depths of the park, not a blade of grass was ruffled by a passing breeze. The lake, lying in a green hollow overshadowed by spreading chestnuts and beeches, was smooth as the face of a mirror, and reflected the rich blue of the cloudless summer sky.

Lionel had been for many months a prisoner in the dreary desert of London ; — London, which is a delightful city for the denizens of Mays air or Belgravia, who, if called upon to make a map of the British capital, would place its centre at Aps ley House and its eastern boundary on the further side of Regent -street; but a dismal abode for those needy wayfarers who contemplate it from the purlieus of the New-cut. For months he had looked only on shabby houses, close streets whose blackened walls shut out the light of day ; and the pleasantest sound which had announced to him the advent of summer had been the shrill cry of the costermonger vending his " Cauliflow-vers !" to the small householders of the neighbourhood. So it was that, entering the banker's grand old do main, a kind of intoxication stole over his senses.

He looked about him, and drew a deep inspiration ■ — a long breath of rapture. His chest heaved, his head was lifted to the summer sky, his step grew elastic as he trod the crisp springy turf. " It is a paradise !" he exclaimed — " a para dise, and she is its queen !" The distance from the lodge-gates to the house was a long one. Lionel had left his portmanteau at the lodge, and had there obtained instructions as to the nearest road to the Hall. The lodge keeper had directed him to go by a narrow path way winding through a thick shrubbery, and lead ing past the grotto and fernery. In the depths of this leafy arcade a solemn gloom prevailed, even on this brilliant summer day; and as Lionel Westford advanced further into that forest darkness, the sombre twilight of WILMINGDON HALL. the place, together with its perfect stillness, pro duced a strange effect upon his mind.

He was no longer elated, he was no longer carried away by a sense of rapture. On the con trary, he felt all at once strangely depressed; a mysterious burden seemed to weigh down his heart. It was almost as if there had been some thing stifling in the very atmosphere of that luxu riant shrubbery. And under this strange influ ence even the image of Julia Godwin faded out of the young man's mind. All other feelings seemed absorbed by that mysterious sensation, the nature of which he could not define. He quickened his pace. The solitude of the scene was distasteful to him. He hurried on, eager to reach the Hall, eager to behold human faces, to hear cheerful voices. After walking a considerable distance, he came at last to a spot which he recognised as the grotto and fernery. VOL. II. c This spot was darker, wilder, and more solitary than any other part of Wilmingdon Park.

Great craggy masses of limestone and granite were mingled with the ruins of some classic t_> temple; and amongst the broken pillars and the rugged rockwork the ferns grew high in rank luxuriance. A small cascade trickled noiselessly amongst the moss-grown stones, and dropped into a smooth pool of water — a pool that looked as if beneath its quiet surface there lurked a treacherous depth. " It looks like a spot that has been blighted by the influence of some evil deed," thought Lionel, as he paused for a few moments to contemplate the scene. " It looks like a place upon which the red hand of murder had set its stamp. I could fancy some Eugene Aram lying in wait for his victim behind one of those Doric columns, prepared to shoot him through the head, and then drop him quietly to the bottom of that pool.

It's WILMINGDON HALL. the sort of place a Highlander would call l un canny.' " While this thought was still in his mind he was startled by a long melancholy moan, which sounded near him. Lionel Westford inherited his father's courage, and yet his heart sank within him as he heard that strange unearthly utterance. The hardiest nature succumbs, for a moment at least, beneath the influence of the superna tural. But that sudden thrill of fear passed with the moment. " Pshaw !" exclaimed the young man ; " the sound was human enough, I daresays though it was awfully like the wail of a departed soul. I have only to discover its cause. It seemed to come from behind this rockery." As he said this, Lionel Westford walked romid the irregular pile of stonework, and speedily discovered whence that mysterious moaning had proceeded.

An old man, dressed in a suit of well-worn corduroy, was sitting on a block of moss-grown stone, with his elbows resting on his bony knees, and his face hidden in his tanned and withered hands. He seemed very old, for long thin locks of snowy whiteness fell over his spare shoulders. He was evidently employed about the grounds, for gardening implements lay on the grass near him. As Lionel stood looking at this strange figure, the dismal moan was repeated. Then the old man spoke. " O Lord, O Lord!" he cried, "it's dreadful to bear ; it's dreadful, dreadful, dreadful !" This time Lionel Westford's only feelinowas one of compassion. He laid his hand lightly upon the gardener's shoulder. The old man started to his feet as if under the influence of a galvanic shock. The face he turned towards Lionel was blanched with fear, and his whole frame was shaken by a con vulsive trembling.

" Who are you ?" he gasped. " Who are you, and where did you come from ?" "I am a perfect stranger here," answered Lionel. "I heard you moaning just now, and naturally felt anxious to discover the cause of your distress." " A stranger !" repeated the old man in a hoarse whisper, wiping the sweat-drops from his forehead as he spoke. " A stranger ! Are you sure of that ? —eh?" He peered earnestly into Lionel's frank face, as if he would fain have read the truth there. "Yes, yes," he muttered; "I see you don't deceive me. You are a stranger to this dreadful place. But just now I was talking, wasn't I? I talk sometimes without knowing it. I'm an old man, and my brain's getting muddled. Did I say much — did I say anything — anything queer — anything that made your blood run cold and your hair stand on end ? — eh ?"

Lionel Westford looked compassionately at the old gardener. What could this be but madness, or at least the cloudy twilight of a fading mind, through which there flitted the dark and hideous shadows of delirium ? " My good man, there is no occasion for this distress," Lionel said gently. " You said nothing, except that something or other was dreadful. Pray calm yourself. It was only the sound of your moaning that attracted me here." "And I said nothing? Ah ! but I say queer things sometimes— very queer things ! But there's no meaning in 'em — no meaning ; no more meaning than there is in the screeching of them old ravens as you'll hear sometimes in this here shrubbery. They're as old as I am, and older, them ravens, and they screeches awful sometimes after dark. That sounds dreadful ; but there's nothing in it.

I'm a very old man. I've served the God wins, man and boy, for seventy years. I remember this Mr. Godwin— Rupert Godwin — a baby ; and I remember his father a boy — a bright-faced, free hearted boy ; not dark and silent, like this one, but bright and open ; the right sort he was — yes, the right sort. I've served 'em long, and faithful ; and they've been good masters to me. It isn't likely that I should turn against 'em and betray 'em, now I'm an old man. Is it I" " Of course not," answered Lionel. " What should you have to betray ?" " No, no," muttered the old gardener, speaking to himself rather than to Lionel, "it isn't likely. I've eaten their bread for seventy years, and it isn't hkely I should speak agen 'em, though I feel now sometimes as if that bread would choke me. But I musn't be talking, sir ; I musn't stand talk ing here to you, for I say queer things sometimes, only there's no meaning in 'em ; mind that — there's never any meaning in 'em."

The old man shouldered his spade and walked off, leaving Lionel very much bewildered by his manner. " Mad !" thought the young man. " Mad ! Poor old fellow ; I wonder the banker doesn't pension off such an old servant. I should scarcely like to have such a melancholy object about my place, if I were Mr. Godwin. Frere, il faut mourir ! The man must be a perpetual reminder of the horrors of old age." Lionel Westford walked on a few paces further, and presently emerged from the shrubberies on to a smooth lawn, across which he saw the grand old mansion that had sheltered so many noble inhabitants. In a moment the recollection of the mad old gardener was blotted out of his mind. He thought only of that radiant vision which had so bewitched and enchanted him a week before in the print seller's shop.

He could only think of the won drous dark eyes of Julia Godwin. He arrived at the house, and was received by a stately butler, who ushered him immediately up the broad staircase and along a corridor, out of which a great many doors opened. One of these doors was thrown open by the aristocratic butler, and Lionel found himself in a comfortably-fur nished sitting-room, out of which there opened a bed-room and dressing-room. These were the apartments which the house keeper had caused to be prepared for the artist. Lionel could but compare their simple though luxurious furniture with the dingy curtains and meagre-looking weak-legged chairs and tables of shabby lodging in which he had left his mother and sister. He seated himself before a table near the window, on which a large portfolio had been placed ready for him, and began to consider his work without further delay.

But his mind was oppressed by the thought that he was acting a treacherous part towards both his mother and Rupert Godwin ; and the image of the half-im becile old gardener mingled itself strangely with the radiant vision of Julia in all her proud young beauty.

Chapter II

A RECOGNITION AND A DISAPPOINTMENT. YlOLET attended the rehearsals at the Circenses with unfailing regularity-, and won the warm praises of Mr. Maltravers, the stage - manager, both for her punctual habits and her quiet man ners, which were in strong contrast with the noisy chatter and clamorous laughter of some of the giddy careless girls employ-ed in the theatre. The interior of the theatre was like a strange world to this girl, who had been reared in the refined atmosphere of home. Esther Vanberg and her companions treated the new-comer as an in truder. They would have been very kind to her, perhaps, had she been an ordinary-looking girl, homely muddy-complexioned sort of young person whom other girls speak of as " a dear ;" but she was something very different. Her un deniable beautyinspired all manner of malice, envy, and uncharitableness ; and these young ladies did their uttermost to render the theatre uncom fortable to her.

They did their uttermost, but tbeyr failed most completely ; for Violet's thoughts were so far removed from theirs that she scarcely felt any an noyance from their sneers or their insolence. Strange as this unknown world behind the curtain seemed to her, she was supported by the know ledge that she was earning money that would at least secure her mother from actual privation ; and she was comparatively happy. At last the eventful night arrived on which the new burlesque was to be performed. Yiolet was by this time perfectly familiar with the easy task she had to perform. Her dress was ready for her, and no expense had been spared to render the costume magnificent. Even Violet Westford, unconscious though she ordinarily was of her own attractions, could scarcely fail to recognise the perfection of the face and figure she saw reflected in the glass when the finishing touch had been put to her dress, and a starry circlet placed upon her sunny hah, which was allowed to fall in wavy masses that reached below her waist.

She went downstairs to the stage, and was warmly complimented by Mr. Maltravers on her appearance. He saw her seated in a fairy temple which formed the central feature of the gorgeous scene that was to conclude the extravaganza, and then left her. In a few minutes the front scene would be drawn aside, and Violet Westford would find herself face to face with a London audience. Her heart beat quickly ; for though she had nothing more to do than to sit in statuesque repose upon a gilded throne and look beautiful, she could not help being a little alarmed at the prospect of finding herself the focus of all the eyes in the crowded house. On one side of the temple Esther Vanberg was placed amongst a group of girls ranged on gilded pedestals, for the scene was one of those displays of pretty young women and gor geous stage decoration which Mr. Ruskin condemns on æsthetic principles.

The Jewess was talking loudly while waiting for the scene to be unclosed. "Pretty!" she exclaimed scornfully- ; "if Mr. Maltravers calls that piece of fair-haired insipidity a beauty-, I don't think much of his taste. She's about as fit to be the Queen of Beautyas the snuffy old woman who cleans out the theatre." Violet knew that this elegant speech referred to her; but she knew also the envious feeling which dictated it, and she was not disturbed by her rival's malignity. But as Esther Vanberg spoke Violet turned almost involuntarily to look at her. The Jewess was splendidly dressed, and looked very hand some ; but the hollowness of her cheeks and the feverish brightness of her eyes were visible, in spite of the rouge and other cosmetiques which she used to enhance her beauty. As Violet looked at those dark eyes, some memory, which she was powerless to put into any distinct shape, arose in her mind.

Where and when had she seen such eyes as those ? She could not answer the question ; but she knew that she had at some time or other encoun tered a gaze which was now recalled to her by that of Esther Vanberg. Miss Westford had no time to ponder upon this question, for the scene was unclosed, and she saw before her the crowded theatre, with its myriad faces and dazzling lights. A tremendous burst of applause followed the unclosing of the scene, for the final tableau of the O 7 new burlesque was a miracle of the scene-painter's art. For some moments Violet could only see a confused mass of faces and glittering lamps ; then little bylittle the scene grew clearer to her eyes, and she could distinguish single faces from among the crowd. She saw beautiful women — aristocratic-looking men. She saw hundreds of opera-glasses, which all seemed to be levelled at herself.

She saw humbler sight-seers gazing with enraptured coun tenances upon the scene from the Olympus of the eighteenpenny gallery, and little children applaud ing vehemently with their chubby hands. Then, as the scene was a long one, and as she had nothing to do during its progress, her gaze wandered idly about the house, now resting here, now lingering there, attracted by the novelty of the scene. Suddenly she started, and trembled from head to foot. In the dress-circle — in a corner nearest the stage — she had recognised a man sitting alone, with his arms folded on the velvet cushion, his eyes fixed dreamily on the scene before him, as if in utter absence of mind. This man was George Stanmore the painter ! The recognition had set Violet's heart beating violently. But she remembered where she was, and the myriad eyes that were upon her.

By a powerful effort of self-control she restrained all outward token of emotion. George Stanmore's dark eyes were still fixed upon vacancy, rather than on the dazzling scene at which all the rest of the audience were looking; and as Violet watched those dark eyes, a sudden fancy startled her, almost as much as she had been startled by her first recognition of the artist. She perceived a singular resemblance between VOL. II. D the eyes of George Stanmore and those of the Jewess, Esther Vanberg. This was the likeness which had so puzzled her only a few moments be fore the unclosing of the scene. It was strange ; and Violet was grieved at finding a likeness bets o tween the man she loved and the figurante, whose short youth had been one career of folly and extravagance. It was strange ; but these accidental resem blances are of frequent occurrence, so Violet did not long puzzle herself about the subject.

She was too much absorbed by the knowledge that the plighted lover from whom she had been so long separated was now before her. Surely he must speedily recognise her, as she had recognised him. She did not consider that she saw Georo-e Stanmore in his everyday habiliments; while he beheld her in the complete disguise of a brilliant stage costume, and moreover in a position which he could not have supposed she would occupy. Presently, however, she saw him rouse himself from his reverie and look at the stage. He had no opera -glass; but he started, and looked at Violet with a prolonged and eager scrutiny. "Yes," she thought, "he recognises me; I knew that he would do so. And now, how will he act? Will my appearance in this place dis gust and annoy him ? Will the change in our circumstances produce an alteration in his feelings ?

Will he despise the woman who has sunk from affluence to poverty, or will he respect my endeavour to earn a livelihood by any means in my power ?" Violet asked herself these questions, but in her heart she never doubted the fidelity of the man she loved. He had recognised her, and he would doubtless leave the box immediately, and hasten to the stage-door, whence he could send her a message or a letter. But to her surprise he did not hasten to quit his seat. He sat quite still, gazing fixedly at her until the curtain fell and shut him from her sight. Then Violet fancied that he had only waited for the fall of the curtain, preferring to wait rather than to disturb the people about him by rising in the middle of a scene. She left the stage, where the confusion caused by the shifting of the scenery was something be yond description.

She left the tumultuous chaos of noisy carpenters and ponderous machinery, and hurried to the room in which she dressed, in com pany with Esther Vanberg and about half-a-dozen other girls. Her heart throbbed with a new sense of happiness, her cheeks were flushed with ex pectation, her hands trembled as she removed her fantastic dress, and plaited her long hair. She had no ears for the loud talk of her excited com panions, who were noisily discussing the success of the scene they had been engaged in, and the relative merits of their several costumes, or speculating and disputing as to who was or who was not in "front," — the front in question being that portion of the theatre which has been more elegantly de scribed as the auditorium. Every moment Violet expected to hear her name pronounced outside the door of the dressing room ; every moment she expected to be summoned, in order that a letter or message might be given to her.