The Golden Mileston ... Third and revised edition

Front matter

JARROhDS' 3/6 SERIES OF Popular Novels, By WELL-KNOWN AUTHORS. (Crown %vo, Cloth.) Uniform with "The Golden Milestone. i. LOUIS DRAVCOTT. By Mrs. Leith Adam*;. 2nd Edition. 2. GEOFFREV STIRLING. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 5th Edition. 3. BONNIE KATE. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 2nd Edition. 4. A NEW OTHELLO. By Hon. Iza D.-ffus Hardy. 2nd Ed. 5. THE MAID OF LONDON BRIDGE. By Somerville Girnev. 3rd Fdit:on. 6. EVELINE WELLWOOD. By Major Norris Paul. 2nd Ed. 7. OLD LATTIMERS LEGACY. By J. S. Fletcher. 2nd Ed. 8. THAT LITTLE GIRL. Ry Curtis Yorke. 5th Edition. 9. DUDLEY. By Curtis Yorke. 4th Edition. .0. THE WILD RUTHVENS. Bv Curtis Yorke. 3rd Edition. n. THE BROWN PORTMANTEAU, and other Stories. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 12. HLTSH ! By Curtis Yorke. 3rd Edition. 13. ONCE! Bv Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edison. 14.

A ROMANCE OF MODERN LONDON. By Curtis Yorke. 3rd Edition. 15. HIS HEART TO WIN. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 16. DARRELL CHEVASNEY. By Curtis Yorke. 17. BETWEEN THE SILENCES, and other Stories. By Curtis Yorke. 18. THE PEYTON ROMANCE. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 3rd Edition {S/wrtly. 10. THE GOLDEN MILESTONE. Bv Scott Graham. 20. A RECORD OF DISCORDS. Bv Cukti, Yorke. 21. "CHERRY RIPE!" By Helen Mathers. 22. STORY OF A SIN. By Helen Mathers. 23. EYRE'S ACQUITTAL. (Sequel.) By Helen Mathers. 24. JOCK O' HAZEI.GREEN. By Helen Mathers. 25. MY LADY GREEN SLEEVES. By Helen Mathers. 26. FOUND OUT. By Helen Mathers. {Shortly 27. PHŒBE DEACON. By W. Lionel Green. {Shortly. 28. GILDAS HAVEN. Mrs. Haycraft. [Shortly OTHERS IN PREPARATION. LONDON: JARROLD & SO.VS, 10 and n, H'a,-u,ick Lane. & "gtoceC EY SCOTT GEAHAM Author of "Tlie Sandcliff Mystery," "A Bolt from the Blue," " Pemberton 's Piece," etc., etc.

THIRD AND REVISED EDITION LONDON JARROLD & SONS, 10 & 11, WARWICK LANE, E.C. [AU Bights Reserved] CONTENTS. CHAPTM PA8, I. A Goodly Heritage .„ ... ... 9 II. A Self-Made Man ... ... ... 13 III. Carington House ... .. ... 19 IV. The American Claimant ... ... 24 V. A Verdict for the Plaintiff ... ... 35 VI. The Pitt of It ... ... ... 39 VII. Fallen Greatness ... ... ... 45 Vin. Promotion for Lord George ... ... 52 IX. An Unexpected Visitor .., ... ... 58 X. A Plan of Action ... ... ... 64 XI. A Distinguished Guest ... ... ... 69 XII. Good-Bye to Stacpoole Court ... ... 74 XIII. George Fenwick Has Great Pleasure ... 79 XIV. Lucy Mansfield ... ... ... 84 XV. The New Master ... ... ... 93 XVI. The Family Skeleton ... ... ... 99 XVII. Francis Receives His Conge ... ... 103 XVIII. Very Suspicious ... ... ... 118 XIX Francis Finds an Old Friend ... ... 127 XX.

Chapter I

A GOODLY HERITAGE. PERHAPS no country in the world is as rich as Great Britain in historical mansions, abounding in interesting associations ; many of them still belonging to descendants of their original owners, though some have passed into alien hands. Everybody has heard of Stacpoole Court in Westernsliire ; and the noble old house has been so frequently sketched, engraved, and photographed, that its outward aspect is well nigh as familiar as its name. The Burgoyne family, to whom it belonged at the date of my story, and to whom it still belongs, rejoice in a name familiar as a household word in the mouth of every Englishman. The family trace their descent in a direct line from Ranulph de Bourgogne, one of the Companions of the Conqueror. The Burgoynes, who were staunch Royalists, narrowly escaped losing all their possessions in the Civil AVars.

The then head of the family garrisoned Burgoyne House for the king, and held it stoutly for two or three years ; but in 1645 it was besieged by Fairfax, sacked, and its owner slain in the assault. The estates were then sequestrated, and bestowed by Parlia ment upon Sir Hugh Stacpoole, a neighbouring Puritan land owner, whose only child, Dulcie, a lovely girl of eighteen, had for some time been secretly betrothed to young Roger Burgoyne, the heir of the fallen house. Early in the war the young man bade his love a secret, but sorrowful, farewell, and departed to join the king, for whom he had raised a troop of horse. He fought in all the great battles, and escaped to the Continent with Charles II. He returned to fight at Worcester, and was again compelled to flee for his life ; but at the Restora tion he was one of the most conspicuous and favoured members in the monarch's train as he entered London.

Finding his sweet Dulcie still unchanged, she having remained single all these years for his sake, despite the entreaties of those anxious to secure the rich heiress for themselves, the faithful lovers were married, and Roger received, as a dower with his wile, all his lands back, with large additions. Sir Hugh Stacpoole had died some years before. The Cavalier and his wife rebuilt, on the site of the old mansion, the present home of the Bur goynes. Stacpoole Court — so called in compliment to the noble lady whose fidelity to her exiled lover in those troublous times has made her name immortal — stands at the head of a long, gradual slope, and enjoys a splendid prospect of cluster ing trees, rolling corn-fields, and trim orchards, with the blue Vernal hills in the background. Both inside and outside the old house is a perfect dream of beauty.

To enter the doorway, which is richly decorated, and surmounted by the family coat-of-arms, and the date 1670, is to leave the prosaic, bustling, noisy nineteenth century alto gether behind, and enter a charmed region of romance and high-bred repose. The visitors who annually troop through the splendid rooms acknowledge by the very silence of their admiration the strength of the spell cast upon them. From the great entrance-hall, with its floor of black oak, huge bay-windows filled with stained glass, and panelled walls hung with armour, weapons, and trophies of the chase, is entered the great dining-hall, eighty feet loug, panelled with dark oak and stamped Cordovan leather, and with a beautiful low-relief ceiling. The old Cavalier's high-backed arm-chair, with his initials and the date 1665, in which every reigning Burgoyne since his time has sat at the dining-table, is always pointed out to strangers ; as well as his goblet of silver, dinted and worn by hard usage, having accompanied its owner in the wars.

On the other side of the hall is the great drawing-room, corresponding in size with the dining-hall. It is a lovely old room, with a ceiling representing the Muses and the Graces, A GOODLY HERITAGE. 11 an inlaid floor, and antique furniture of ebony inlaid with ivory. The beautiful old Boule, marqueterie, and Italian mosaic* cabinets and tables which fill every recess, are laden with a superb collection of china, majolica, and Limoges enamels. The pictures on the walls are chiefly of the English school ; and over the elaborate white marble mantelpiece hangs the portrait of Dulcie Burgoyne, painted, like that of her husband, by the hand of Lely — a brown-haired, brown-eyed beauty, holding a red rose against her white satin dress. The beautiful gardens surrounding the old mansion are laid out very much as Roger and Dulcie left them, with geometri cal parterres, balustraded terraces, straight walks, clipped evergreens, fountains, and flights of marble steps.

The old tennis-ground and bowling-green, in whose mossy turf the foot sinks to the ankle, overlook the rose-garden ; and beauti ful aquatic plants float on the surface of the lake, whose banks are overhung by the drooping branches of the trees. "Retired leisure That in trim gardens takes his pleasure " could not in all England find a sweeter spot in which to meditate than this. When my story opens, in the month of February, 1871, John Burgopie was the possessor of the estate. He was a man of fifty. He had married the daughter of the Earl of Fiunart, but she died a few years afterwards ; and he was now a widower with a grown-up son and daughter, whose names of Roger and Dulcie recalled the romantic story of their house. He was the most popular man in the county— not because he sought to win applause, but because the sterling qualities he had shown during his quarter-century of rule had caused his justice and courtesy, his high principle and calm good judgment, to become proverbial in Westernshire.

AVith all his great possessions and high lineage, he was personally the most modest and unassuming of men ; although to him had long ago been conceded the proud position of head of the county. His ancestors had refused baronetcies and peerages in former years ; and it would not have added one whit to his elevation, in popular opinion, if he had been made a duke. The old name, borne with credit for eight hundred years, was far more honourable than any brand-new modern title. It was hard for such a man to have a son who, although handsome, manly, and fairly steady, was an utter and hope less dunce. Roger was now nearly twenty-two. He had been at Eton, and was a practical example of how little a good education can do for a man who has no ambition to excel. Roger would not go to college or to a private tutor ; politics he cared nothing for ; and he took no interest in the manage ment of the estate.

His father often wondered how the property he had nursed so carefully would fare in the hands of such a landlord as his son. But from a chdd, young Burgoyne had shown considerable natural taste for mechanics, and a predilection for tools and machinery which kept his nurses in perpetual fear lest his fingers should be chopped off. Therefore, as anything was better than that Roger should sink into a mere idle, purposeless young man of fashion, his father consented to his request to be allowed to go to a good engineer for a year or two, to gain an insight into the profession. So he was articled to George Fenwick, a celebrated marine engineer and shipbuilder at Northernborough ; and to the intense astonishment of his father, who believed he would not stay with him six months, he expressed himself highly delighted with everything at Northernborough ; while Mr. Fenwick wrote most flattering accounts of Roger's diligence and abilities.

The riddle would have been solved had Mr. Burgoyne been aware that the engineer had a most beautiful daughter, with whom his son had fallen desperately in love.

Chapter II

A SELF-MADE MAN. GEORGE FENWICK, of Northernborough, marine engineer and shipbuilder, had been the architect of his own fortunes ; but, otherwise, he had nothing in common with the self-made man of fiction and the stage, whose vulgarity and bad taste have become traditional. The conventional self-made man started in life forty years ago, with three-halfpence in his pocket, and now inhabits a gorgeous mansion, externally all plate-glass and Corinthian columns, and within tawdry with mirrors, gilding, and bright-hued furniture. His one idea is to outshine everybody in the profusion of his entertainments and the magnificence of his equipages ; for he never reads, he never thinks, and he absolutely knows nothing beyond pounds, shillings, and pence. George Fenwick was exactly the opposite of such a man in every way.

His father had been a pitman in one of the collieries near Northernborough, and late in life had begun business as a boat-builder and small jobbing engineer, in a tiny workshop by the river. His son, by perseverance and ability, had developed the business into an enormous manufactory, employing two thousand workmen. Now he was the richest man in Northernborough, a city of rich men. He had been married twice. First, when he was a struggling young fellow, hardly above the grade of an artisan, to the daughter of a small local brewer ; and again, at forty, when his fortune was secured, to Eleanor Carington, a spoilt fashionable beauty of very good family, but limited worldly possessions. His first wife had left him two daughters — now commonplace young women approaching middle age ; his second, a son and a daughter, now aged respectively twentyone and twenty, and both the objects of high ambition on the part of their father : the son for his cleverness, and his determination, at all hazards, to gain a high place in society ; and the daughter for lier beauty, which even exceeded that of her mother.

Most people would have thought Mr. Fenwick a very enviable man ; but he himself derived very little pleasure from his great wealth. He was possessed of an overpowering longing for the distinctions high birth alone can confer. He hated to remember that his father had been a working collier, and that he himself was unable to boast even of such a commonplace luxury as a grandfather. He would have gladly exchanged his wealth for the veriest poverty if, in so doing, he could have acquired the right to boast of blue blood. He hated Northernborough and all its inhabitants, because they remembered the days when his father used to stand at the door of his little cottage, in a back street of the city, smoking his evening pipe in his shirt-sleeves. Mr. Fenwick would have left Northernborough altogether, only that the profits of his business were too great to be relinquished.

He turned scornfully away from the proffered friendship of the plutocracy of the place — men who had been poor and struggling when he himself was poor and struggling — disdaining to emulate the reckless extravagance with which they squandered their hardly-earned money. Nothing less than county society could satisfy him. The few old families of the neigh bourhood at first looked upon him very coldly, and his ambition had exposed him to many rebuffs ; but he persevered doggedly until he had gained a footing in society. His second marriage had helped him, although his wife died while both her children were still very young. Mr. Fenwick's energies had for some time been concentrated on a splendid marriage for his youngest daughter. He had taken care to let it be known that her fortune would be a hundred thousand pounds.

It seemed to the engineer that heaven must be specially favouring him, when Roger Burgoyne became his pupil. No more eligible son-in-law could be desired. He began cautiously, by inviting him to luncheon or dinner occasionally, veiling his real purpose under the guise, of a friendly interest. It was not right for young men to be left too much to themselves, he told his friends. A little cheerful society, and the companionship of ladies, did them good, and kept them out of mischief. A SELF-MADE M.AN. 15 There was no difficulty in inducing young Burgoyne to accept his hospitality. He came so willingly, after the first time or two, that invitations were mere matters of form. The engineer saw with satisfaction that his most sanguine hopes bade fair to be realized. Perhaps Mr. Fenwick's scheme might not have succeeded so well if there had been anything in himself or his family calculated to offend the sensitive in matters of taste.

But even Lady Northernborough, the great lady, par excellence, of the neighbourhood, and the inveterate enemy of all self-made men, had once been constrained to own that " The man was very presentable, really ! " His father had been unable to write his own name until quite late in life, but he had given his son a good plain education, sending him to Edinburgh to attend the classes of some of the professors there. Thanks to this, and to the unwearied perseverance with which he had set himself in his youth to eradicate every trace of vulgarity from his speech, George Fenwick was never guilty of bad grammar or of errors in pronunciation. And his reading, which was really extensive, combined with great natural cleverness, enabled him to more than hold his own in any society he might be thrown into.

His residence was characteristic of the man. Disdaining the vast, many-windowed, heavy-porticoed mansions in which the other wealthy parvenus of the city loved to dwell, he hae1 built for himself, under the direction of a high-art architect, a house the like of which had never before been seen in Northernborough ; for æstheticism had not then pervaded every nook and corner of the land. Carington House, as he had named it, was about three miles to the north of the city, well away from the smoke which night and day hung over it like a pall. The engineer would have dearly loved to adopt his second wife's patronymic in addition to his own, and blaze forth before the world as Mr. Carington-Fenwick ; but this the pride of the Caringtons would in no wise permit. He consoled himself by trying to believe that he was descended from the ancient and honourable Border family of Fenwick ; though the fact that his father had been left to starve under a hedge when a child, by parents about whom nothing was known, except that the child himself declared his name to be " George Fenwick," rather militated against that theory.

The obliging Heralds' College, however, "found" him a crest— a griffin— which he did not hesitate to display. This griffin, besides serving as a nickname for him at the Works, had been the subject of innumerable jokes at his expense. Perhaps the best was that of Lady Northernborough, who said that, no matter what his arms might be, they would be exhibited on an escutcheon of pretence. Since building Carington House, he had turned his former residence in the fashionable part of the city, into quarters for his pupils. He had several, for it was well known that with him they were sure to receive an excellent and thorougldy practical training in the duties of their profession. Roger Burgoyne was the only one among them who did not reside in his employer's house in Albion Square ; for he was privileged in many ways, besides being much older than most of his fellow-pupils.

He had private rooms of his own in the next street — an arrangement which he found preferable. Mr. Fenwick's only son, Charlie, a fair-haired, supercilious youth of twenty-one, was himself a pupil in his father's works, aud a very unwilling one. He hated and detested engineering, and would have gone in for the army, had not his father been determined that he should follow his own profession. So, very unwillingly, he had to go through the Works. He was snob enough to be ashamed of the noble profession in which his father had risen to eminence ; for George Fenwick's weakness on the score of good birth was intensified tenfold in his son. He was extremely proud, and held entirely aloof from all the young men of his own standing in Northern borough. Until Roger Burgoyne came, Charlie had scarcely a friend in the world.

He had at once conceived a warm friendship for Roger, and the two were firm allies. Young Burgoyne was Charlie's mentor in all things pertaining to dress, fashion, and sport ; and Roger humoured the lad's vagaries for Mary's sake. It was not a very noble or beautiful friendship, certainly ; being largely founded on self-interest on both sides. But are there not many friendships in this world not one whit more genuine or disinterested ? Roger had been about a year at Northernborough, when it became evident to the keen engineer that matters were rapidly coming to a crisis. Every spare moment the young man had, he spent at Carington House. Iu rides, drives, and walks his place was invariably at Mary Fenwick's side. At dances she received more attention from him than any girl in the room. Her most trivial occupation was a source of the A SELF-MADE MAN. 17 deepest possible interest to him.

Even if the engineer had wished him to be less marked in his devotion — seeing that it was by no means certain that John Burgoyne would consent to receive Mary as a daughter-in-law — remonstrance would haye been of no avail. Roger's love had grown to a height which defied concealment, and would have borne down all opposition. And wheu, therefore, one day in January, Mary, blushing and trembling, confessed that Roger had asked her to be his wife, the engineer's rapturous consent was only qualified by the necessity for waiting to hear what Roger's father might say on the subject. John Burgoyne had himself married an Earl's daughter ; and even George Fenwick could hardly flatter himself that, beautiful, well-bred, and well educated as Mary was, she was Roger's equal in social position. So he gave a conditional consent ; and Roger went home to Stacpoole Court to ask for his father's consent in person.

It must be confessed that Mr. Burgoyne received the news with anything but pleasure. He had had far different views for his only son, than that he should marry the daughter of a panenu engineer ; for it had been his wish that Roger should choose his wife from among the fair maidens of AAresternshire who were of his own rank in life. But, fortunately for the young lovers, Mr. Burgoyne was both a just and generous man, and not one to hastily decide in an affair of such importance. Besides, he was a firm believer in the necessity of love as au essential for a happy marriage. He had long ago determined that, so long as his son's choice fell on a girl who, in mind and heart, was worthy to be the mistress of Stacpoole Court, he would not oppose the match on the ground of inequality in worldly advantages, if such should exist.

Perhaps he had never expected to be thus put to the proof; but he nevertheless gave his son a patient nearing, and finally declared that, before he came to any determination, he must go to Northernborough and see Mary's home and surroundings for himself. So he went, and was received with every mark of attention. As might have been expected, he had to surrender. What else could he do with Roger, Mary's beauty and winning ways, and her clever father all arrayed against him ? He looked about him critically, but could find_ nothing to object to. The house was admirable in its appointments. George Fenwick was a most courteous host. Mary, though tremulous and rather shy, had no trace of gaucherie or bad style. And her beauty was beyond anything for which his son's ravings had prepared him. She sang to him, and her pathetic contralto voice in the old Border ballads she loved so well, thrilled him as no voice had done since his dead wife had sung the veiy same songs to him years before.

His brief visit prevented him from acquiring any very deep insight into her character ; but it was impossible to meet the glance of her steady, honest grey eyes, and not believe they were the index of a noble soul. So he gave his consent — not with unmixed pleasure, but with less of regret than might have been expected under the circumstances.

Chapter III. Carington House

"H7HAT a confounded sell!" ' ' The speaker was Lord George Beaulieu, a tall, fashionable-looking man of forty, with regular, somewhat impassive features, cold gray eyes, and thin straight lips. The Marquisate of Marazion, of which Lord George's only brother was the present possessor, was uot an old title, being a creation of AA'illiam III. , in whose train the ancestor of the family had come over ; but in the short period of a hundred and fifty years, the successive Marquises had contrived, aided by their children, and sometimes their wives, to acquire as doubtful a notoriety as if they had started with the Conquest. The Beaulieus were always getting outlawed, fighting duels, coming to grief on the turf, going into liquidation, and figuring in courts of law. The mere outlines of their history would fill a volume — not an edifying oue.

Lord George's father had been the most notorious mau of his day ; and the present Marquis was a gambler and spendthrift, whose poor remains of property were all mortgaged to the Jews. As a last resource he had married Miss Blackburn, the only child of a Lancashire cotton-spinner ; a lady who had red hair, the temper of a Xantippe, and half a million of mouey. The Marquis had three little daughters, but no son. Lord George himself, though he hated matrimony, would have been glad to marry likewise. It was some time since he mournfully owned to himself, that he was about at the end of his tether ; and the tether of a man of his rank is a long one. But society was getting tired of a man whose talent for denud ing foolish young men of their surplus cash was so undeniable ; the clubs inquired how it was that he always won at cards ; and the Turf, remembering a certain famous case in winch he E was defendant, looked askance at him when he appeared on a racecourse.

And money-lenders, both Jew and Gentile, lifted up their voices and wept, when they thought of the bits of paper bearing his signature which were at present a mere dead letter. Out of the season he made his brother's house his home when he could ; but the Marchioness detested him, and made no secret of it, for she was a woman of appalling frankness of tongue, and afraid of nobody on earth. He had made Mr. Fenwick's acquaintance some years before, and it had occurred to him at this crisis of his fortunes that the engineer might look favourably upon him as a husband for his beautiful daughter. He was not aware that he already had a rival in the field in the person of Roger ; although he had met him on one occasion at Carington House. The low ness of George Fenwick's origin did not repel him in the least.

The Beaulieus had no foolish false pride about them : all was fish that came to their net. He stood at a window in the dining-room of one of the principal AVest-end clubs, reading a letter with every sign of dissatisfaction. " A confounded sell ! " muttered he again, looking down upon the street below, peculiarly unattractive in the damp February afternoon. " No chance for me — and I felt sure of her ! And engaged to Roger Burgoyne of all people — the son of the man I most dislike in all the world ! What luck some people have ! What do the Burgoynes want to marry money for ? I'm sure they're rich enough ! " The letter was from the engineer ; announcing temper ately enough, but with irrepressible exultation peeping between the lines of the smooth sentences, his daughter's engagement to Roger Burgoyne ; concluding with a most gracious invitation to Lord George to run down to North ernborough for a fortnight or so.

The fortnight or so meant, as the reader well knew, at least a month or six weeks ; aud the prospect of desirable quarters for so long a period was not without weight with his lordship, ruffled as he was. Before he left the club, he sat down and penned a sufficiently gracious answer to Mr. Fenwick ; congratulating him on his daughter's engagement, and saying that he had business in York which required his attention next week, and from theuce he should be very happy to come on to Northernborough. CARINGTON HOUSE. 21 There accordingly he presented himself, about one o'clock in the day, upou the date agreed upon. Mr. Fenwick met him at the station with every sign of pleasure ; and with some inward trepidation, but outward calm, he mounted the dogcart in which his host proposed to drive him to Carington House.

Mr. Fenwick's driving was more ambitious than skilful ; nevertheless, they arrived safely at their destination. They drove under an antique gateway surmounted by a very dreadful griffin, and along a carriage drive through what, in course of time, might possibly be worthy of the name of park. At present, it was only a large meadow planted with young trees. The house was sufficiently removed from the city smoke to have "weathered'' very satisfactorily ; and was such a clever reproduction of its kind, that more than one wandering artist and architect had sketched it, under the delusion that it was a genuine manor-house of the sixteenth century. To the great mass of the Northernburians, however, it was an ugly, fantastic barn ; and not even the fact that every brick in its walls had cost sixpence could make them see any beauty in it.

The visitor was ushered into the drawing-room, which was the pride of its owner's heart. Over each door was a shelf filled with old china ; India rubber plants in huge blue and white jars stood in all the corners ; and every vacant space was filled with oddly-shaped little brackets and corner-cupboards, each laden with treasures of the ceramic art. The furniture, by Chippendale, Sheraton, and Hepplewhite, was of slim, attenuated form in mahogany or satin-wood, with brass handles to the innumerable drawers and flaps. Seated primly by the fireplace, with their feet placed in the first position, and their hair and dress the pink of neatness, were Mr. Fenwick's two eldest daughters, Kate and Louisa. They were plain young women, with smooth, dull-brown hair, and light-gray eyes. Their father had endeavoured to raise them to the level of their surroundings, but in vain.