The Wilful Willoughbys. A cathedral city story

Front matter

m _7_:i " Vere certainly managed cleverly enough when they reached the ford." Paqt GO A Cathedral City Story By EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN Author of " The Doctor's Dozen," "A Pair of Pickles" " Little Miss Vixen" etc. etc. Edinburgh and London Oliphant Anderson and Ferrier 1 8 93. BOOKS BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN. *A/\A/V Dorothy's Vocation. Crown 8vo. Illustrated. 2s. Oliver Langton's "Ward. Crown 8vo. Illustrated. 2s. The Stronger "Will. Crown 8vo. Illustrated. 2s. 6d. Syd's New Pony. Ex. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth. 6d. The "Witch of the Quarry Hut. Ex. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth. 6d. Daring Dot. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth. 4d. Clive's Conquest. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth. 4d. Mrs Romaine's Household. Ex. Crown 8vo. With Frontispiece by Sidney Paget. 3s. 6d. Falconer of Falconhurst. Crown 8vo. Cloth extra. With Illustrations by Perct Tarrant.

Price 2s. 6d. A Pair of Pickles. Crown 8vo. Cloth extra. Illustrated. Price ls. 6d. The Doctor's Dozen. Crown 8vo. Cloth extra. With Thirteen Illustrations. Price 2s. 6d. "Wyhola, the Rose of Corve Dale. 8vo. Illus trated. Paper Covers, ls. Cloth, ls. 6d. JESinburob anfc lonfion OLIPHANT, ANDERSON & FERRIER. And all Booksellers. TURNBULL & SPEARS, PRINTERS. EDINBURGH. CONTENTS. — »Af\s\fv—— fart £ CHAP. PAGE I. A Bitter Pill ..... 7 II. Courage in Adversity .... 20 III. The Fane Family ..... 33 IV. Sisterly Confidences . . ,48 fsrt 11. V. The Girls assert Themselves , . .61 VI. Monkton Hall ..... 73 VII. Ruby's Vigil 85 VIII. Viscount St Aiden ..... 99 IX. At the Deanery ..... 110 Part 111. X. "Below the Line" ..... 124 XI. A Welcome Adventure .... 137 XII. Cynthia's Picnic . . . . .151 XIII.

Veka's Perplexity . . . . . lau Contents. 6 fart f©. CHAP. ri0E XIV. Leaving the Nest ..... 172 XV. Winter Days ..... 181 XVI. Life in London ..... 196 XVII. Race Week 207 fart 1. XVIII. Farewell and Welcome .... 222 XIX. Lady Atherton's Reception . . . 232 XX. Sunshine and a Shadow .... 245 XXI. Anxious Days . . . . .258 fart «£ XXII. Vera's Wedding . . . . .272 XXIII. The Shadow of Death .... 286 XXIV. Into the Sunshine ..... 298 XXV. The Squire of Willoughby Hall . TEbe Wilful WillouQbb^

Part I. Chapter

I. A BITTER PILL. " \ A I _______ boys, what news ? You have not kept |/y us much informed as to how things have ™ ™ gone with you all this while. We have had to digest our impatience as best we might. Come, speak out ! " " Don't be so obscure, old man ? Out with it ! Tell us what it feels like to be a country squire, with a couple of thousand of acres and a fine old Manor house to live in as well." " And horses to ride, and any amount of shooting. Speak out, Eusie, and be quick about it ! " Letty, in a new black frock, which seemed to be token recent mourning, was dancing round her two tall brothers, who were taking off their hats and coats in the hall (the black bands upon the former rather suggested the idea that they had recently been worn at a funeral), while Eoscoe and Euby outpoured their eager questions.

A flood of bright light streamed out into the hall through the open door of the drawing room, and it was plain, from the hum of eager voices proceeding thence, that the return of the travellers was somewhat anxiously awaited. " Come in and tell us all about it," cried Euby, who had not had leisure as yet to observe the gravity upon the faces of her brothers. " Mother is very anxious to hear everything. She quite expected a letter this morning from one of you. Is it a very lovely old place ? Are you awfully proud of it ? Wouldn't you like us all to come and live there with you ? I 'm just aching to hear every single thing about it ! " Whilst Euby was pouring this broadside of com ment and question into the ears of her silent brothers, the two young men had allowed themselves to be led into the cheerful drawing-room, where the rest of the family were assembled, and where the tea equipage and the hissing kettle upon the glowing fire seemed to give cheery welcome.

An elegant-looking and sweet-faced woman, still wearing the garb of widow hood (though now in its modified form), and two tall girls, evidently her daughters, were the occupants of the homely apartment — home-like would be perhaps the better word, for though there was no ostentation of wealth in the plenishing of the room, there was much quiet elegance and refinement of taste. These elder girls, like Ruby and Letty, wore mourning, and the black dresses were evidently fresh and new. Plainly there had been some recent loss in the family, yet not one of a nature to awaken any great sorrow in the hearts of its members. All faces were turned eagerly upon the brothers as they entered. Mrs Willoughby only read in their grave looks something of the feelings incidental to the solemn scenes which they had been recently sharing in, and Helen attributed them to much the same cause ; but Vera, whose quick sympathy with her twin brother enabled her to read his face almost like a book, felt instantly sure that there was something greatly wrong, and her eyes sought his face with a quick searching glance, as though to ask what it was.

The death of an uncle whom they had never known personally could not be reckoned as a very heavy trouble, although old Mr Willoughby had been a kind friend to his sister-in-law, and had allowed her two hundred pounds a year, ever since the death of his brother, Canon Willoughby, had left the family in somewhat straitened circumstances. As this old Mr Willoughby, the head of the family, had lived and died a bachelor, and his brother's family were his next of kin, it had surprised no one to hear that Eustace had been made heir to the property. As a matter of fact, the young man had known this for many years ; for his uncle had made no secret of the matter. Canon Willoughby, who was a man of sound sense and high principle, had never let his son live upon his prospects, and had given him the education to fit him to make his own way in life ; at the same time, it had been impossible for the young man not to feel that his profession was only a tem porary occupation, although, as until the last few months the old uncle had seemed likely to live on to a green old age, he had not looked forward to any immediate change in his position.

And now, what was wrong _ Not the matter of the heirship, they knew, for the will had been opened at once, and Eustace's name had stood foremost as next in succession and residuary legatee. He had known as much as that before he and Vere had started off for his uncle's house, to remain there till after the funeral. What, then, had occurred of a serious nature ? Vera was not left long in suspense, for,' after kissing his mother and sisters, Eustace spoke, and spoke tersely and to the point. " I 'm afraid we are the bearers of bad news, mother," said he. " No, Euby, you must dismiss these golden visions from your mind. I shall never be master of Willoughby Hall. The old place will have to be sold to clear off the mortgage upon it." " Mortgage ! " echoed Mrs Willoughby, clasping her hands closely together, and looking from one grave face to the other.

" What do you mean, Eustace ? What can you mean ? Your uncle could never have done anything so strange as that. He was a wealthy man. He had an income double his expenditure. The thing is impossible." " I 'm afraid that it is true, all the same," answered Eustace, with an air of certainty that carried convic tion to his hearers' hearts. " We were not easily con vinced, I can tell you ; but we went into the matter with the lawyer, and there is no loophole left for hope. Our eccentric uncle took to speculating in his later life, thinking to double and treble his fortune before he died. He appears to have had a perfect genius for getting hold of thoroughly rotten things, and his thousands melted away with great rapidity. It almost seems as though latterly his mind must have become unhinged, for he grew absolutely reckless in his undertakings in his last transactions.

He raised money upon every sort of security, and lost it as fast as he got it into his clutches. Whether or no he was really aware what he was doing does not appear. His will, made many years back, leaves almost the whole of the property to us — to me — with a rent charge upon the estate for your benefit, mother. Since he took to speculation, there has been no addition or alteration in the terms of the will — only now there is nothing to inherit. By the time the debts have been paid off, and the small legacies to the servants settled, it seems doubtful whether there will be so much as a thousand pounds to be paid over to me. The Hall is mortgaged up to almost its full value, and the bulk of the so-called securities in which the money is placed are little better than waste paper." The news was told now.

A dead silence fell upon the room. Mrs Willoughby's cheeks grew slightly paler than before. She seemed to be bracing herself to meet a rather heavy blow. Helen's face was the most anxious as she realised what this news might mean to the family. Euby and Roscoe had broken into loud exclamations of sorrow at being disappointed of seeing Eustace a country squire. They were laugh ing as well as lamenting, for they were light-hearted young things, upon whom the troubles of life sat lightly enough in the present. Letty's face' was a trifle more grave, although she was the youngest of the party. She began to understand from the looks of those about her that this thing might entail serious consequences upon the family. Mrs Willoughby spoke at last, and spoke in a low tone. " That two hundred a year your uncle has always allowed us hitherto : what about that _ " " That, of course, will cease from this time," answered Vere, speaking for the first time.

" As Eustace says, if a thousand pounds is saved from the wreck, that is the best we can expect. Perhaps there will not be as much. In any case it will mean a serious diminution of income for us. We shall have to consider how it is to be met." "Shall we be poor?" asked Letty, under her breath, addressing her timid query rather more to Vera than to any other person in the room. " Oh ! I do not think I should much mind that. Sometimes I think it would be charming to live in a dear little house, and cook one's own dinner, and do more things for oneself. Vera, darling, shall we be quite poor — romantically poor, I mean ? Don't laugh at me, but tell me something about it. I do so want to understand." Vera was little disposed to laugh, but Letty's words had called up a smile upon her face. She did not know very much of the world as yet, having led the sheltered life of the average English maiden in a quiet cathedral town ; but she knew a little more of practical matters than the more youthful and impulsive Letty, and was doubtful how far poverty and romance were connected in every-day life.

" Hush, Letty dear ! we will talk later. Let us listen to what the boys and mother are saying now." The " boys " were trying to take as bright a view of the situation as was possible under the circumstances. They had had time to face the matter whilst tra velling home. The unwelcome news made plain, they now spoke bravely and hopefully. " We boys must turn to and see what can be done," said Eustace. " Thanks to my father's foresight and good sense, I have a profession to live by. I shall not be master of Willoughby Hall, but I may live to be a fashionable M.D. yet. I must have a talk with Anstruther, and see what he has to say about it all. Perhaps he will take me into partnership — I am such a favourite with the ladies, you know — and then I should get on like a house on fire, and make up the deficit in income very fast indeed.

Cheer up, mother ; with two such clever and attractive sons as Vere and my humble self, you shan't be left in the lurch. We'll manage something for you, never fear, poor old uncle's folly notwithstanding." And Eustace bent down to kiss the pretty, troubled face of his mother, showing by the protecting fashion in which he spoke to her that she was a woman to be managed for rather than manage herself, to be cared for rather than to care for others. " A very sweet woman — a very charming woman — a woman to fascinate and win hearts by her appealing gentleness and softness " : such was the verdict passed by society upon Canon Willoughby's wife when the pair had first come to Monkton-Carbury. The Canon had been a man of wide erudition and great social gifts. He had been beloved and respected wherever lie went, and his death had made a distinct blank in the place.

Perhaps this was one reason why his widow and family had been so kindly treated by all who knew them, and why their path in life had been so greatly smoothed. Monkton-Carbury was a place which had recently been visited by the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, and some of its great wealth had been diverted into new channels. Thus it had come about that the number of the canonries had been cut down, and therefore there were more houses in the Close than canons' families to occupy them. This being the case, upon the rather sudden death of Canon Willoughby, his widow had been permitted to remain on in the fine old ecclesiastical house she had occupied ever since her residence in the place commenced, and the Chapter had allowed her to retain it at a rent that was merely nominal. Then Dr Anstruther, the most popular and busy medical man of the place, had offered to take Eustace, whose medical studies were drawing to a close, as his assistant ; and the young man had readily accepted the berth, although the salary was nothing very great.

He did not look to be long engaged in doctoring, and for the present it was pleasant enough to remain at home, and concern himself with his townsfolks whom he knew. Vere, who had always been the intellectual one of the family, had obtained a mastership in the fine old collegiate school of Monkton-Carbury, which was as old as almost any like institution in the country, and was thought no small thing of by the inhabitants of the place. Dr Fane was said to think very highly of the young man, and there were those who declared that Vere Willoughby would likely enough rise in time to the post of head master himself ; but at present he only occupied a subordinate position, though he hked his work and was popular both with the senior masters and with the boys. So, with one thing and another, the family had managed to go on living in the big old house pretty comfortable even when the Canon's salary had been suddenly cut off.

There had been the insurance money. The expensive education of the two elder sons was finished, and Eoscoe was being educated at Monkton-Carbury school. Above all, there was the two hundred a year regularly paid by old Mr Wil loughby to his sister-in-law, and the prospect of considerable wealth at his death. It is wonderful what a difference that expectation made to the family. The furniture was growing dim and faded — almost shabby in some of the rooms ; but what did it matter ? Eustace would say ; — when his ship came in, he would furnish the old house from top to bottom with the first capital that came into his hands. If Eoscoe's future were under discussion, it was just the same thing. Eustace would be ready with the premium money long before it was wanted, and the boy had only to make up his mind what he would like to be, and stick to it.

Trousseaux for the girls (who, by-the-bye, had no serious thoughts as yet of matrimony), and all other things needful or ex pedient were to be forthcoming in the golden days that were at hand. The wealth that was to be had gilded over anything that might have seemed pinch ing and hard in the comparative poverty that was. It had made everything bright and everything easy. And now that confidently-expected plenty and afflu ence had taken to itself wings and fled away in a moment of time, leaving only the memory of what had been expected to throw into darker relief the exigencies of the present. And the mother must not suffer — must not be cast down, must not be allowed to see too clearly how heavy was the blow which had fallen. That in the first moment was the leading idea in the minds of the two sons, whilst the sisters bravely seconded them in this resolution.

At the dinner-table that day no one would have guessed that a heavy reverse had been experienced by the family. There was light, and brightness, and gaiety as the meal proceeded, and Mrs Willoughby almost forgot that the news brought by her sons had been so bad. She began to think there would surely be something more saved from the wreck than had at first been supposed, or that the news about the mortgage must be a mistake. Her sweet face lost its look of vague distress. She began to listen with interest to the accounts her sons brought back of the meetings with various kinsmen and friends at Willoughby Hall ; and nothing of a dis quieting nature passed in her presence during the remainder of the evening. But the surface calm was deceptive. Thoughts and questions were stirring in the minds of others.

Vera's grave eyes often rested upon Eustace's laughing face, and she wondered how this handsome, gay, insoiu_ient brother of hers, with his graceful, easy manners and pleasant idle ways, would stand the test of real hard work, which would now become necessary if he meant in any way to make his way in the world. How was the deficiency of income to be made up ? How were they to meet the expenses which had been hitherto staved off until the ship came in ! The ship never would be in now. It had foundered before ever reach ing port. What would be the practical result in the family circle ? What must the daughters do to try and meet the deficit ? Others beside the golden-haired Vera were mutely asking this question. Ruby and Letty shared a large room on the gallery which led to a supplementary winCT of the queer old-fashioned house they had always called home.

Vera's room led out of theirs, with an independent door upon the gallery of its own. Vera was long in coming to bed that night, but the two younger sisters could not settle till she had come. They divined that after Helen had taken mother to bed — since their father's death Helen had shared her mother's room — Vera and the elder boys B had been sitting up talking together, and they were in a fever to know the result of the discussion. Poverty had no terrors for these two brave, bright girls. Perhaps it was their inexperience, perhaps their instinctive longing to try conclusions themselves with the world, and learn usefulness in a wider sphere than that of home ; but be this as it might, the prospect of poverty in no way daunted them ; and their airy castles had reached a prodigious height before the light step of Vera was heard in the passage, and the door opened to admit her to her own room.

The younger pair precipitated themselves upon her at once, both speaking together in almost the same words. " Oh, Vera, dear ! do tell us — you won't keep it secret from us ? Are we dreadfully poor ? Shall we have to go away, and live in a little house or a cottage ? Shall we girls have to work for our living ? Oh, Vera dear, I do hope it isn't naughty : but we should so like to do something for ourselves, like girls in books — be great authors or artists in time, perhaps, and not leave everything to the boys. I don't see why the boys are always to have all the work and all the fun. I think we ought to share in both. Have you been talking about it ? Oh, do tell us every thing ! Indeed, we are not children now. We are old enough to understand. We will help as much as ever we can — if only we may know everything" " You shall know all that I do, dears," answered Vera, her face, which had been grave before, kindlin« ___ now into smiles as she met the eager glances of the bright-faced younger sisters, " I 'm afraid, perhaps, it will not be quite so nice as you think to be so much poorer " " Oh, but in a sweet little cottage in the country we should not be nasty poor, you know !

" " But think of mother in a cottage, away from all her friends — no, we do not think that would do. Besides, as Eustace and Vere say, we pay so little rent as it is that we could hardly get a house to hold us all that would cost less. We have not had time to make plans — that must come later ; but what I think it will come to is this — that we go on Uving here as before ; but that some of us girls will have to turn to and do something for ourselves. Mind you, the boys don't allow this. Eusie was quite angry when I ventured to suggest it ; but I believe it will come to that in the end ; and I do not think that any of us will much mind if it does." CHAPTEE II. COURAGE IN ADVERSITY. « S~\ H, Helen, is it really so ? " questioned Mildred IJ Carew. " Yes, I am afraid there is no way of shirking the difficulty.

We are a good deal poorer than we have been before, and the only thing is to be brave over it, and not to let ourselves lose heart." Mildred's face was so very grave that it provoked a smile from her companion. " Well, Milly, and what is the matter now ? Were you not prepared to be told as much ? I thought the news would be all over the place by this time. It generally flies fast in Monkton- Carbury." " I had heard, of course, about — Eustace," answered Mildred, with a very slight hesitation in pronouncing the name. "People are all talking about him and his disappointment, and everybody is dreadfully sorry, because he is such a favourite and he is taking it so bravely. That is what they are all saying, at least." Pretty Mildred's cheeks were a deeper pink than usual as she spoke, and her eyes had brightened with visible emotion of some kind or another.

" But I did not know — I don't think that people do know that the rest of you will be any poorer. I have not heard a word about that." " I am very glad you have not, Milly, and I hope you will not say anything about it to anybody, either. I tell you these things because you are my friend, and because I know you care ; but of course the boys would not like our private affairs gossiped about, and though I suppose in time people will learn that things are rather different with us, we shall not talk about it ourselves, and " " Oh ! I quite understand. I will not breathe a word of it. It is so very good of you telling things to me, and letting me be your friend. How I wish I could do something myself to help you all ! " Helen smiled. She did not think it likely her brothers — who were virtually the rulers of the house — would easily allow themselves to be helped by any outsiders ; certainly, Mildred Carew would be about the last person in the world they would think of as a possible friend in need, notwithstanding the fact that she was heiress to a very pretty and considerable fortune.

The friendship between Helen Willoughby and the daughter of Carew, the retired cotton-spinner, was sometimes commented on rather contemptuously by the Mite of Monkton-Carbury ; but since Mrs Wil loughby did not interfere, it was useless for anyone else to object. There is perhaps no society so select and so defined as that of a Cathedral city, and Monkton-Carbury, far from being an exception to this rule, seemed rather to push exclusiveness to its extremest limits. Long years ago Monkton and Carbury had been two distinct places — the former graced by its grand Cathedral and Cathedral buildings, and its fine school and adjacent houses, the latter merely a small town lower down the winding river, where nobody ever dreamed of living — nobody, that is, with any kind of claim to be in society. Little by little, however, the town had encroached upon its proud neighbour ; mills had sprung up on the banks of the river, fortunes had been made by the owners thereof, and as a natural consequence, fine large houses, some of them encroach ing upon Monkton itself, some of them on the Carbury side of the river had rapidly sprung up, and the distinction between the two places grew gradually less and less defined.

Eich mill-owners sent their sons to the school ; a general fusion between the places set in. The very names became at last bracketed together ; and though there was still a distinction in living on the Monkton side of the river and in its old environ ments, the two places were practically one, and Monkton and Carbury visited amicably together for the most part. But every rule has its exceptions, and the exception here was the cathedral " set." The old Dean had set the example of holding aloof socially from the rich Carbury people, with their grand houses and lack of culture, and his successor followed his example in this. In the community of the Close the Dean sets the example — at any rate, it was so here — and the Canons follow his example. There should be only one set in the precincts of the Cathedral, and that set should not include the doubtful class of self-made commercial men.

Society without might be mixed enough, there might even be reasons alleged why it was better so, but within the Close old traditions should be kept up ; and kept up they were. Yet Helen Willoughby was allowed to call Mildred Carew her friend. The cotton-spinner's daughter came pretty freely to the house in the Close, and Helen not unfrequently spent the day in the huge and luxurious mansion across the river which Mr Carew playfully termed " the nest he had built for his little bird." Mildred was an only child, and was idolised by both her parents. This friendship had come about suddenly and oddly many years ago. An epidemic of virulent scarlet fever had broken out in the place, and all Mrs Willoughby's younger children fell ill almost immedi ately. In that time of terrible confusion and distress, when the distracted mother knew not which way to turn, Mrs Carew, who had the kindest heart in the world, and was acquainted with the Canon's wife, although the two did not visit, swooped suddenly down upon her, full of eager desire after helpfulness, and forthwith carried off Eustace and Helen — the only two who had not got the fever — to her house, to be out of harm's way ; and there they had remained for several months, for the fever hung about long in the Canon's house, and it was out of the question for the young people to return till all risk was at an end.

Helen and Mildred were just growing out of child hood ; just at an age when enthusiastic girl-friendships are easily made, and sometimes easily broken. But in this case there had been never any break. The mutual liking had only deepened with time, and after the substantial proof of friendship shown by the Carews to the Willoughbys in their hour of need, no obstacle had ever been raised against the friendship between the girls. One great bond between the pair had undoubtedly been the admiration and affection they both felt for Eustace. During those summer months, spent all together, Mildred, who had never had any brother of her own, was let into quite a new world of romance and excitement and delight. Eustace, like his sister, had never entirely dropped his friendship with the family, and as years passed by, the admiration and almost adoration with which Mildred had learned to regard him rather deepened than lessened, and he was as much her hero and preusc chevalier to-day as ever in those old and happy hours when she had really believed him to be the knightly personages he took upon himself to depict.