Little Lady Clare, etc

Front matter

LITTLE LADY CLARE. "they stood looking after tuke." LITTLE LADY CLAEE. BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of "The Eversley Secrets;" &c. ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT FOWLER. LONDON : BLACKIE & SON, 49 & 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C. GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND DUBLIN. CONTENTS. CHAI'. Page Introduction, 9 I. Our Home and Neighbours, 13 II. Anticipation 26 III. The First Visit, 42 IV. Her Little Ladyship, 59 V. The Family Feud, 76 VI. Eric's Birthday, 92 VII. Easter Vacation, lo8 VIII. Summer Days, 123 IX. The Encounter, 139 X. Under False Pretences, 155 XI. Lord Tewksbury 169 XII. Reconciliation 185 XIII. Three Letters, 201 Conclusion ILLUSTRATIONS. Page "They stood looking after Tuke," .... Frontis. Little Lady Clare and her Favourites, .... 46 Tuke assists Clare after her Fall, 144 Nell receives Lord Tewksbury's Explanation, . LITTLE LADY CLARE

Introduction

. Hjl HAVE been nursing some little cousins of mine, who have ali been ill with scarlet fever. Their mother has been ill too, which is the reason why I was sent for ; for I live a long, long way off, and I have been here a whole month, and do not see my way to getting home just yet. However, as I like being useful and love children dearly, and as I hear from Nell that she is managing nicely at home and keeping Father comfortable, I am pleased to stay a while longer; and it is nice to hear my little cousins say twenty times a day, that they will never, never let me go any more. Dear little things ! I love them very much ! But all this does not explain how it comes about that I am actually going to try to write a story — I, who never was clever at all, and who never had time to ioin even the children's magazine club at home, to FAVOURITE STORIES. which Nell and Trixie and the boys sometimes send contributions.

But my little pets here are quite determined, and I haven't strength of mind to say "No." I shall make a great mess of it; but perhaps they won't notice or care, and it's only for them I am writing. You see, whilst they have been ill, I have been called on to tell stories from morning to night, and half the night through sometimes. Children, as everybody knows, fix upon certain stories as favourites, and never tire of hearing them; and the one story in my reper toire that has pleased them most, the story they are never tired of hearing, and ask for again and again, though they must all know it now by heart, is what they call "The Story of Little Lady Clare." I think one reason why they like it is because it is so long — it takes a whole evening to tell it through from beginning to end — and partly because it is true, and because I know all the people, and come into the story myself, and my brothers and sisters too.

Then sometimes I remember fresh things I had forgotten before, which makes a little variety and excitement always possible ; and perhaps I tell a true story better than one I have read in a book, or made up out of my head. At anyrate, the story of little Lady Clare is a great favourite, and now that the children begin to know I A STORV WITH NO END. must some day go home again (though they always pretend they will never let me) they have begun to clamour for me to write down this pet tale of theirs in a book, so that they can read it to one another after I am gone. I said I really couldn't at first, but when I saw how their hearts were set upon it I promised to try; only I couldn't help telling them that it wasn't the sort of story to be written down, because it had no end. But they wouldn't listen to that objection for a moment.

" Make the end you always make when you tell it to us," they all shouted at once. " Make the end you always do — that begins 'And some day I fancy — '" They are dreadful little tyrants, so I suppose I must obey them. If they lived nearer my old home, or were ever likely to see the people I tell about, I don't think I should dare to write it all down, and if I thought Lady Tewksbury would ever see the story, I could never write the end, about what I fancy, as she might be very angry, though I know it is just what she fancies herself. However, for these little far-away cousins of mine I don't think it matters much what I say. They are never likely to see Lady Tewksbury, and I don't know after all that it would do any harm if they did. I am only going to write a true story. I don't in the least know how a proper author would MY METHOD. set about it.

I can only do it in my own way, and put things in the order they really happened, though often I did not hear about them till much later. The talks I shall have to give between little Lady Clare and her grandmother, and other people, she told me about afterwards, and lots of things in my story, I did not hear or see myself, but heard about from her or from others later on. All this makes it difficult to write a proper "I story," as the children call it when the writer tells the tale himself, and sometimes mine will be an " I story," and sometimes it won't. I suppose clever men who write reviews would say it was very clumsily designed if ever it were to be published (which it won't be); but I can't help that, for I never was clever, and I can only tell a story in my own way, which is sure to be a bad one.

However, my little cousins don't mind that, and as it is to please them I am writing, I don't much mind about anything else. I shall have to leave them some day before long, and I know they will cry and be sorry; but I think it will comfort them best if I can leave behind for their amusement the written detailed history (so far as it goes) of Little Lady Clare.

Chapter I. Our Home And Neighbours

:»>'•.• ■wjlUR home is a delightful old rectory house, ■°la><§H very near cliurch °f Deerhurst. It Sj>,Ia«m is a queer, rambling, old-fashioned house, and I love it dearly, though some people say they think it must be very uncomfortable to live in such low rooms, all irregular and full of recesses, and wonder that we do not break our legs up or down the queer little steps in the upstairs corridors, leading into the different bed rooms, that are hardly ever on the same level with one another. However, we have never had any serious tumbles since our baby days, and I don't think we should quite know what to do with ourselves in an ordinary square regulation house. We have lived in the rectory all our lives, and we love it with all our hearts. The garden and the house are both delightful, and we are as happy as the day is long.

Our father is Dr. Melville, the rector of Deerhurst, and I am his eldest daughter, Magdalen. I am nine teen now, but I think I look and seem older, for when OUR FAMILY. our sweet mother died, eight years ago, when little Hugh was a tiny baby, Father said I must do my best to fill her place; and though the old servants were very kind and helpful, I was always looked upon as the little mistress, and took dinner late with Father, and sat with him in his study afterwards, as Mother used to do. I always felt, as I grew up, that I had a great deal to think about and to do; and I don't suppose I was ever quite so gay and merry and full of fun as the younger ones, who had less on their minds. There are six of us Melvilles. My own dear brother Duke is the eldest of us. He is twenty-one now, and he went to Oxford two years ago, just about the time that little Lady Clare's story begins — so far as I can tell it.

He has always been the best brother to me, and I love him dearly. I am never so happy as when he is at home. Of the younger ones, Eric comes next. He is fifteen now, and Nell is fourteen. They are very like one another — the beauties of the family. They have golden hair, and very blue eyes, and gentle voices, and graceful manners. Everyone admires them ; but I do not think it has spoiled them at all. I am sure Eric would be glad to be less good-looking, for some of the boys tease him and call him " Miss Erica," and laugh at him for his " prettiness;" and as for Nell, she is so fond of her music and her books and her pets, BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 15 that I don't think she ever troubles her head to be vain about her beauty. I am very fond of Nell — indeed I love them all dearly, and I don't think there is ever any real quarrelling in our home.

Trixie and Hugh make the most noise and give most trouble, but we would not have them different for anything. She is ten and he is eight, and they are devoted to one another. You see we go in pairs all through the family — a brother and a sister specially companionable. But then Nell is almost as much niy special sister as Duke is my special brother, for Eric is a good deal out of the house at his tutor's, and Nell and I read and work together, and teach Trixie be tween us; and even if her special confidences are reserved for Eric, I have no reason to complain, for do I not talk to Duke even more freely than to her? We are very fond of one another, and that is all that really matters, I think. So much for ourselves — now for our neighbours. I don't know that they will come much into the story, but it is just as well to know their names.

Perhaps I had better begin with Mr. Turner, the clergyman who settled in Deerhurst several years ago for his health, which had broken down. He helps Father with the duty on Sunday, and takes pupils to read with him during the week. Eric goes every day, THE HAYWARDS. morning and afternoon — except that Saturday is a half holiday; and Hugh learns Latin with him and some other things, though he doesn't go so much as Eric. Squire Hay ward's sons all go to him too — three big boys whom I know quite well, though they are rather too rough and noisy for my taste ; and Frank Conway, the doctor's son, who is Eric's "chum" (as they call it), and who comes here often. The Haywards live in a big square house that was once a farm, but has been altered and added to and made into a gentleman's residence. They are very good-natured, but rather noisy people— "rowdy" Eric calls it — yet not exactly vulgar, for they do not pro fess to be anything grand, and are not ashamed that their forefathers were farmers or yeomen.

They go into society a little, and people rather like them, be cause they are so good-natured and honest. He loves to be called " Squire, " and as there is nobody else to dispute the title with him, he is generally allowed to have it. His wife and daughters dress in very bright colours, and have a great many new bonnets; but then they do not profess to be "gentry," so they vex nobody. Mrs. Hayward was very kind to us when dear Mother died, so I shall always like her, whatever she wears or says. She came over herself, and took Eric and A TRUE FRIEND. 17 Nell to her house, so as to keep ours more quiet, and was so good to them that they did not cry to come home; and she came every day to inquire. And when I came to her the sad, sad day to say that dear Mother was really dead, she burst out crying as if it had been her own mother, and that made me cry ; and then she took me in her arms and kissed and cried over me, and for a moment I felt as if the worst of the pain had gone away.

Ah, well! that has nothing to do with my story, only when people laugh at Mrs. Hayward I feel inclined to say, " Just wait until you are in trouble, and then you'll see." Only, with her red face and loud voice and hearty laugh, it is difficult, I suppose, for people to understand how kind-hearted she really is. Mr. and Mrs. Conway are perhaps our greatest friends; and their little twin girls, Stella and Laura, often come to play with Trixie, who is very little younger and a good deal bigger. I often think we have very nice neighbours, though there are not many of them, and the poor people in the village are nearly all nice, and I know them every one. But the big house of the place I have not men tioned yet. It is called Deerhurst Park, or sometimes Deerhurst only. Father says that the house is very old, much older than the church, or the rectory, or (504) B DEERHURST PARK. the village, and that it is the place that is called from the house, and not the house from the place.

I do not mean that Deerhurst Park is such a very large or grand place as compared with many others one could name. Long ago, I believe, it was much larger; but it fell into decay at different times, till the present house is not anything so very remarkable, except for its interesting history and its antiquity. The park, too, I believe, has been much reduced from what it once was, so that many people would not think much of Deerhurst. But it is much the biggest house in our parish, or, indeed, for several miles round; and so we children grew up with the idea that it was a very fine place indeed. I think I had better begin at the beginning of my acquaintance with the place, and give a little sketch of what happened many years ago. My early recollections of the house are that it was always empty.

Nobody lived in it, and it was kept shut up, with only servants to take care of it. Some times I used to get Nurse to let me play in the park; and I loved, if Duke were with me, to steal up to the silent house, and wander up and down the grass-grown terrace, upon which great windows opened that were always shuttered now. Once or twice, to my great delight, some errand would take Nurse to the back AN OCCUPANT FOR DEERHUUST. 19 door, and we were then ushered into the housekeeper's room, and had an interview with that august being. I was immensely curious about the old house, but I was too much in awe of the silent servants to ask any questions. Duke called it a musty old place, and was more eager over birds'-nests in the park, so that I never made much progress in my knowledge of the place. I hardly even knew to whom it belonged.

I learned this, however, by overhearing a conversation between my parents at breakfast one morning. " I see that Lord Tewksbury is dead," said Father, looking up from the paper. " Indeed; is he"? He cannot be an old man, surely?" " Barely sixty. He leaves one son, lately married. By the by, I suppose Deerhurst Park will be occupied again now." I pricked up my ears at this, but asked no questions till I was alone with Mother. I had not been able to understand the talk that had followed, but I knew it referred somehow to Deerhurst, and was mixed up in some way with a "dowager-countess," though what a dowager-countess was I had not the least idea, and that was the first question I asked when I was alone with Mother. She smiled at my puzzled look of gravity. " A dowager-countess, my dear, is a countess who A "DOWAGER." has lost her husband — at least she becomes a dowager if her eldest son is married;" and then, as she saw I did not understand, she explained it all over again more plainly.

" You see, Magdalen, Lord and Lady Tewksbury were earl and countess; but now that he is dead, his son is the earl and is called Lord Tewksbury, and his young wife is a countess — whereas before they were only viscount and viscountess — and so old Lady Tewks bury becomes what is called a dowager-countess, and her daughter-in-law, so to speak, takes her place. Do you understand now?" "I understand better, I think; but what has that to do with Deerhurst?" " Deerhurst Park is what is called a Dower-house. That means it becomes the residence of any dowager Lady Tewksbury, when her son succeeds to the bulk of the property. It has never been occupied during our time here; but I expect we shall soon hear that Lady Tewksbury is coming." " Won't she be angry with her son for turning her out of her old home and making her into a ' dowager' ?

" I asked. But Mother laughed, and said she didn't think so. That sort of thing was taken for granted by people of their class. Most likely she would be more ready to THE FIRST VISIT leave the castle than her son to take possession. It was not at all likely that there would be any ill-feeling on either side. I did not ask any more questions, but I kept my ears open during the days and weeks that followed, and, sure enough, I soon heard that Lady Tewks bury was coming to live at Deerhurst Park. I remember very well how excited I was about it; how eager I was to hear what she was like, and to see her in church next Sunday, and how disappointed I felt be cause she sat far back in a great square pew between two pillars, and kept the curtain drawn the whole time. But ample amends were made a little while later, when Mother told me one day that she was going to call at Deerhurst Park, and that she would take me with her if I liked.

How well I remember the almost breathless sense of expectant curiosity with which I looked round me, as we were ushered through the square, slippery hall, and into a very large drawing-room, hung with amber and pale blue brocade ! I thought I had never seen such a beautiful room, and I wondered if any one ever dared to speak out loud in it. Then Lady Tewks bury came in, and for the first moment her sombre widow's dress disappointed me; for I had fancied some- LADY TEWKSBURY. how that she would have been dressed in cloth of gold with jewels, like Queen Elizabeth in a picture I had once seen. Afterwards I got to think that black was just the colour that made her look most grand and imposing. I have always thought that no empress could be more stately, more proud, or more hand some than the Dowager-countess of Tewksbury.

I was afraid of her that day and for many days afterwards, and to tell the truth, I am rather afraid of her still, and always shall be, I think. Yet, she has always been kind to me, and I am sure now that she liked our sweet Mother very much, and talked more freely to her and to Father than she did to anyone else, in our neighbourhood, at least. I just remember that I heard the name of little Lady Clare, and that Lady Tewksbury expressed regret that she had not been a boy. I remember, too, hearing later on of the birth of a boy, who was called the little Viscount, and of Lady Tewksbury's deep disappointment and sorrow when the child died only a few months later. I went with Mother to see her a little while afterwards, and one thing that she said puzzled me a good deal. "I am especially anxious for a direct heir; for if my son leaves no son of his own, title and estates alike pass to another branch of the St. Maur family — a branch, I regret to say, with whom we have held no AN INHERITED QUARREL. intercourse for many generations.

I cannot express how deeply I should feel it if the property were alienated in that way." On our way home I asked Mother what she had meant, and Mother, though I think she was sorry I had heard so much, explained that if Lord Tewksbury died without leaving a son, the next Lord Tewksbury would be a distant cousin, with whose family there was evidently some long-standing quarrel. It was a very sad thing, Mother added, when families allowed themselves to be split up into factions, and kept up old grudges and ill-will. "But there is little Lady Clare," I said quickly. " She is Lord Tewksbury's little girl. Wouldn't she have the house and lands, and be called Lady Tewksbury?" But Mother smiled and said no. The title and estates in the St. Maur family always went to a man. I thought this very unfair, and said so; but Mother answered that I need not distress myself yet, as little Lady Clare would very likely have a brother some day, who would, in due time, if he lived, become Lord Tewksbury, and keep out the family foes from inherit ing the property.

It was not very long after this that our dear mother died; and then for a good many years I hardly saw ANOTHER DEATH. old Lady Tewksbury at all, for I was too young to go out visiting alone. She left cards from time to time for Father, but she was a great deal away from Deer hurst. She had a small house in a fashionable part of London, I heard, and she spent a good deal of her time with her son and daughter-in-law at Castle St. Maur. I used to hear this much from the house keeper at Deerhurst, who sometimes came over with presents of fruit and flowers, which she said her ladyship wished us to have. It was from her that I heard in the course of a few years of the death of Lady Tewksbury (the son's wife, I mean) and another little baby boy; and she said that the husband was half distracted by his sorrow, and that his mother would remain with him for some time.

To our old nurse, with whom she was very confidential, I heard her say one day that Lady Tewksbury was most anxious the earl should some day marry again. I heard her say so; but I hoped he wouldn't, for I thought if a man had really loved one wife he could never want another. Fancy, if our father were to do such a thing ! I just couldn't imagine it. So we saw almost nothing of Lady Tewksbury and Deerhurst, and I had begun to forget the interest I had once taken in it and its mistress, whilst the INTERESTING NEWS. 25 younger children hardly even knew to whom it be longed, when all of a sudden we heard some news that interested us very much, aroused all my latent curiosity in Deerhurst and its owners, and in fact led up to our acquaintance with little Lady Clare. And now I must make a skip to a point about two years ago, and begin my story properly.

Chapter II. Anticipation

1 1>- E AR me, dear me, what a curious thing!" 1 W« I sa^ Father, as he sat at breakfast one v^rz.Æ morning with an open letter before him. "I wonder we had not heard of it before." "Heard what?" I asked, and we all turned and looked at Father to learn what his news might be. " Why, that Lord Tewksbury is dead. He died, it seems, at Mentone a fortnight ago. My friend, who is chaplain there pro tern., visited him often. He speaks as if he had been in failing health for some time, almost ever since the death of his wife. Dear, dear, what a sad thing — quite a young man too — only five and thirty — and with such a fine property, everything to make life smooth and easy. I had no idea he was out of health; but I wonder we have heard nothing from Deerhurst ourselves." " It has been such a cold, snowy month," I said.

"Nurse cannot get to the Park with the roads so GREAT CHANGES. 27 heavy as they are now, aud Mrs. Blount has had asthma, you know, since November, and has hardly been out at all. I daresay the news has travelled slowly, too, this bad weather. Most likely we shall hear something soon." . "No doubt, no doubt. By the way, my dear, if you felt disposed to drive or ride across to the Park to-day to inquire, it might be as well. I should like to know Lady Tewksbury's present address. I think I ought to write to her. It will be a sad blow to her — an only son, an only child, indeed." I was very willing to undertake this errand, my old interest in Deerhurst Park was always ready to revive. "Will Lady Tewksbury come back to live there, do you think, Father?" I asked; and Father said he almost thought she would do so.

"Why?" asked Eric. "Why won't she stay and look after the Tewksbury property ? " Father explained then what I had heard once before, that as Lord Tewksbury had died without leaving a son, the title and estates would pass to the next heir. Little Lady Clare's name was mentioned then, and we all agreed that it was very hard she should not have the right to succeed her father. Eric said it was the result of the law of primogeniture and MY VISIT. entail, and Trixie asked him how long he had taken making up that word. The children soon forgot in their chatter all that had gone before. Deerhurst was nothing to them, and Lady Tewksbury only a name. But I thought over it a good deal as I went about my housekeeping that morning, and wondered very much if the dowager-countess would come back, and whether little Lady Clare would ever come to see her.

I began to think it might be pleasant to have neigh bours at the Park. I had always rather liked Lady Tewksbury, although I stood in considerable awe of her. I think when we are young there is a sort of fascination in this kind of fear. At anyrate, I felt very anxious to know if the mistress of the Park were coming back again. So after my round of duties was accomplished, whilst Nell and Trixie were still at their lessons, I had the saddle put on old Polly, and trotted through the deep snow-slush of the lanes up to the Park. It was the last day of January, and the snow was melt ing fast beneath the rays of a warm sun. There was a sort of promise of spring in the air that was very exhilarating and delicious. As I approached the house I saw that all the blinds were down, and the shutters closed, as if someone MRS. BLOUNT. lay dead there, and I wondered why this was, as it was more than a fortnight since Lord Tewksbury died.

I rode into the stable-yard and gave Polly to a groom, and then I asked for Mrs. Blount, and was taken straight to the housekeeper's room. I think she was pleased to see me, for she dearly loved a gossip about the family; and visitors had been few and far between during this past inclement season. She made me sit down beside her glowing fire of logs, and proceeded to tell me the news that had only reached them three or four days ago. "Not but what I was quite prepared for the worst," she said shaking her head. " I always did say, when he never held up his head after his sweet lady's death, that he would not be long after her. I saw him last summer, when I visited Castle St. Maur. I saw death in his face then; and when I heard he was ordered abroad for the winter, I said he would never live to come back."

"Who was with him?" I asked. "Nobody but his servants. He would go alone. My lady tried her best to persuade him to let her accompany him, and bring little Lady Clare; but he would not hear of it. He saw that his ill health depressed the child, whilst my lady's anxiety to rouse him up and THE FEUD. interest him in life worried and distressed him. He went alone, and he died quite suddenly at the last before any one could be sent for. Ah, dearie me! And to-day he is to be buried at the castle. The funeral is this very afternoon. What a sad thing it seems! And all that fine property alienated to strangers, or worse — for I do think my lady would sooner see it sold away to actual strangers than go to the Cornish St. Maurs." "Why doesn't she like them?" I asked; but Mrs. Blount only shook her head.