Matthew Redmayne. A New Zealand romance

Front matter

MATTHEW KEDMAYNE MATTHEW REDMAYNE % itctu focalmtir Romance BY OLIVEE H. GROWDEN London SWAN SONNENSCHEIN AND CO. Paternoster Square CONTENTS. PART PAGE I. a wife's confession ... ... ... ... 1 ii. a wife's confession {continued) ... ... 81 III. IN WHICH THE AUTHOR TAKES UP THE STORY 123 IV. THE REDMAYNE CASE ... ... ... ... 152 V. THE ENLIGHTENMENT OF MATTHEW REDMAYNE 160 VI. WHY SCYTHE-BEARER DID NOT RUN FOR THE CUP 210 VII. THE NIGHT OF THE ELEVENTH JUNE ... 241 VIII. "NO SUCH THING AS CHANCE" ... ... MATTHEW KEDMAYNE.

Part I

A WIPE'S CONFESSION. " My Dear Husband, " When you read this your wife of a day will be dead. I cannot convey to you how earnestly I wish you to credit what I am about to say. I could not rest in my grave if I thought the disgrace which has covered me in my lifetime should rest upon my memory when I am gone. Think of me as speaking from the dead ; and remember that however improbable some of the things I relate may seem, I am not likely to write anything but the truth now, and least of all would I think of doing so to you. " It is part of my diary — the only part bearing upon those facts of which I know you must so intensely desire to learn the truth. As it was written then, so it remains now. " Since the day when I was dragged from before you in the cabin of your yacht, I have never known a happy hour.

It was a heavy burden that was laid upon my shoulders then ; and never for a moment has it been lifted from them. You believed me guilty — and oh ! my dear, dear Matthew, it was in that that the bitterness of it lay. Everything has been against me ; — every one has believed me to be a guilty, wicked woman, and I dared not open my lips to defend myself. The trial came on ; evidence was piled up ■2 MATTHEW REDMAYNE. against me ; there was not a man or woman in the land that did not condemn me. I saw it in the faces of the gaping crowd that came every day to stare at me ; in the stern looks of the judge, the jury — everywhere. I wonder I did not go mad. I have sometimes wished they had found me guilty, for then I should have escaped the slow torture I have endured since. " And yet I was innocent.

"I might have cleared myself, but I could not bring myself to do it. It was not that I was careless of life ; on the contrary, I had the one thing that should have made life happy. I knew then, as well I know now, what I was giving up ; but there was only one thing that weighed with me — and that was your love, my dear Matthew, for I may call you so now. I made the choice ; and had I my life to live over again, I could not but choose to do the same again. Believe me, I had a reason for what I did ; and, much as you must have suffered, before you have read to the end of this Confession you will admit it was no light reason. " The struggle to contain myself in silence has been a hard one for me. I have often heard about you. The world is a small place after all, and it has come to my ears in many chance ways how you have lived since that fatal epoch in our lives.

I have heard how you have shut your self out from society ; how you have gone from country to country an aimless and hopeless wanderer ; how you have been pressed again and again by those who had every right to advise you, to get a divorce from one who was but your wife in name, to whom you had attached yourself by a hasty boyish pledge, and who had, apparently, proved her self so base and unworthy of you. I know, too, that you have remained true in spite of all. Think then, if you deem me worthy of the bestowal of a thought, how I must have suffered in my obscurity when I saw from what I had shut myself out, and whether I would have condemned you and myself to all this without a weighty reason. That reason, dear Matthew, it is now my purpose to show you. " And when you have read this Confession, and pass judgment upon my poor afflicted sister, who has been the unwitting cause of it all, do not forget the calamity that had befallen her.

She was not responsible for her terrible act. Had she been sane she would have been incapable of even conceiving the thought. She had had much wrong, and had been basely deceived. She was an instrument in the hands of a just Fate. My heart is fit to break when I think of her and all the terrible misfortunes that over whelmed her through one rash act. My poor Catherine ! " May you be happier henceforward than you have been while I lived to blight your prospects. May you learn to forgive her who entered into your life only to ruin it, but who would gladly have given her existence to make you happy had Providence ordered our lives more kindly than it did. Would that I could convey to you by some other means than pen and paper what I feel towards you at this moment of writing. Though misfortune has come down upon me like a thick darkness, my life has known one green spot in its dreary wilderness — through all my love for you has remained as strong as on the day when you first won the admission from me.

I may confess it now ; for when this reaches your hand the grave will have hidden all the faults and follies of " Your loving wife, "Esther. " October 9, 1888." THE DIARY. I. Jan. 15, 1885. — How strange it seems to me to be seated in this room writing in my diary to-night. I can scarcely realize that I am the new governess, and that I am at The Peak. The advertisement was : " Wanted, young lady of education and refinement as governess. Knowledge of lan guages required in addition to ability to instruct in ordinary curriculum. Terms, £40 per annum. Apply, The Peak." Well, I was a young lady of education and refinement. I knew French and Spanish passably, was well acquainted with Latin, had a slight smattering of German (very slight, I may say), besides English, which of course didn't count.

I flattered myself I knew how to instruct in the " ordinary curriculum " — which I supposed meant the three R's — and above all, I wanted that £40 badly. I applied for the place, got it, and here I am, tired to death with travelling for the last two days, and with my daily portion of diary -writing, which I have religiously pledged myself to do, still staring me in the face. To-day was one of those unseasonable days occasionally met with even in mid-summer. Thick clouds of mist were drifting over the hills as we set out from Wellington this afternoon, and in about half an hour it began to pour down in torrents. The driving sheets of rain made the scenery a mere indistinguishable blurr, and I lay back in the carriage in despair of finding anything from without to interest me. I was full of a feeling of timid nervousness.

I had not yet seen Mrs. Shaw, the lady by whom I had been engaged, for I had applied for the situation in writing, and I wondered what she would be like. I took out the letter she had written in reply to mine, and read it over again. It was kindly enough worded, assured me of having a very comfortable place, that the two little girls it would be my duty to instruct would be found exceedingly docile and teachable, and all that ; but it was written in a thick heavy hand. The t's had no upstrokes, and had great black bars dashed across them ; the tails of the g's and y's were as stiff and unbending as pump-handles, and the ends of the words ran away into mere ragged lines. Altogether a grim, forbidding kind of hand ; a hand that brought up a vision of a woman with a little too much will of her own, a set, severe face, and tightly-closed lips.

I did not like the picture I had conjured up, put the letter back in the reticule, and looking out of the carriage window again, found I was in sight of The Peak. From the valley road along which we were slowly crawling — I could call it nothing else — I caught sight, through the gray cloud of rain, of a large rambling building perched apparently on the top of the highest hill. The coachman pointed to it with his whip, and said that was "It." From the valley it was impossible to form any idea of what the place was like, for I could only make out the dim outlines of a number of high-shouldered gables pushing up above the trees ; a great straggling place it seemed, all the bigger and more unwieldy from the mists that hung about it. Then it was shut out again, and we began to ascend a hill side, so steep that the horses had to go in an abrupt zig-zag to lessen the strain.

The trees, heavy with the rain, over hung the banks at the roadside and brushed against the coach windows as we passed. Then, without in the least knowing how we got there, I found myself jolting along a rough narrow mountain path, with The Peak in the midst of its wide grounds lying below. Behind the house, the mountains rose giddily upward till their tops were hidden in dense clouds of mist, that closed, and opened, and changed, and hung down the steep hillsides like masses of tangled drapery. A cold icy wind had arisen and was sweeping keenly along the heights ; a wide, bleak prospect opened out ; on every side stretched rugged brown hills studded with the blackened stumps of charred tree stems, with random patches of native bush showing here and there through rifts in the mist, and having an indescrib ably wet and draggled look about them.

I wondered what could have possessed any one to build such a house as the one before me, and then hide it away in a wild, barren, out of-the-way spot like this. A few more turns in the road, and we stopped before a pair of tall iron gates, which the driver opened. Then we wheeled up a broad pebbly yellow-sanded sweep of carriage drive, and halted before the hall door, and stepping out, I found myself fairly arrived at The Peak at last. It is not the most comfortable feeling to entertain at the beginning of such an engagement as mine, and I may be wrong, but I have an unpleasantly strong idea that Mrs. Shaw and I will not be the best friends in the world. She received me herself in the drawing-room on my arrival to day, and I was surprised at the closeness of her resemblance to the picture I had formed in my mind.

She was tall, gaunt and bony, with eyes severe, and dress of formal cut. Her eyebrows were bushy — too bushy for a woman ; and her forehead, though she was by no means an elderly woman, was full of wrinkles. Her nose was pointed ; her ears stood out sharply from her head ; and in the very first moment of my introduction I was conscious of a certain grim, disagreeable air of sanctimony about her. She rose from her chair as I was announced, and stood with one arm crossed in front of her, and the other by her side, steadily looking at me. She took in every point before she spoke. Then she said, " You are Miss Gower, I presume. I am glad to see you. I trust we shall get on very well together." / trusted we should get on very well together, added what I thought the occasion required, and presented my credentials.

" You will be tired after your journey," she said, when she had made me thoroughly uncomfortable by the critical way in which she seemed to read over the letters. " The servant will show you your room." She rang the bell, and a servant girl appeared, who piloted me up a flight or two of stairs and along a dreary stretch of passage to the quarters assigned me, where I have remained ever since, Mrs. Shaw being considerate enough to indulge me with tea in my own room. And now I am just about tired out. The bed looks inviting, and I think I have done enough for one day. II. Jan. 16. — First day over, and I am not sorry for it. I want an hour or two's leisure to decide whether I like the place or not. I think it will do. Mrs. Shaw, whose chief characteristic seems a pretty strong will and a pretty quick temper, is not so bad as I thought she would be.

I con cluded last night that she was not a lady — by a good deal, and she left the impression upon me to-day that she has not always been used to her present style of living, and is afraid of the fact being known. It appears she is a widow. Mr. Shaw died at sea about thirteen months ago. Besides the two young girls I am engaged to teach, she has one son, the offspring of a previous marriage. He is at the University, she told me to-day, and she expects him down almost immediately. His name is Edgar Stadding, and he is spoken of (by his mother) as a rising man in the scholastic world. My two pupils seem only ordinary specimens of child life. Mediocre in every way — nothing remarkably good, bad, or clever about them, and consequently a very fair field to work upon. The Peak is much more comfortable than one would think from its surroundings.

It is an isolated, bleak place certainly, but it has its advantages — among them a mag nificent view. The grounds are of great extent, and are well laid out — that is, from my point of view. The paths are full of odd twists and turns, and reveal all sorts of unexpected attractions at unexpected places. The shrub bery is cut into a variety of strange artificial shapes, which is the one point in the gardening I do not like. The whole place, both grounds and house, is sadly neglected. The house itself is a very substantial affair, having been built in times when the Maoris were troublesome, and when the possibility of a raid on their part was among the things which might reasonably be calculated upon. There is even now some legend extant about a solemn league and covenant having been made between the earliest repre sentative of the Shaw family and a certain Epuni, who, in those days, was chief of a tribe of savages called the Ngatiawa, and a mighty man in the land.

Jan. 18. — Great preparations were being made for the arrival of Edgar Stadding all day yesterday, and the place is even yet in a state of mild uproar. Things had been left to the last moment, too, and the object of all this fuss arrived in the midst of the confusion. He came very unexpectedly, and without sending any word. I had the rather doubtful honour of seeing him last night before any one else in the house, and there was something in his behaviour that puzzled me then, and which I am at a loss to understand now. It was a beautiful night. The moon had just risen, and the dew was glittering in the silvery light. I had wandered from the house, and found my way to the low stone fence that borders the garden. I stood there enjoying the fresh beauty of the night, looking along the road that stretched away in the moonlight like a long gray ribbon till it was lost in distant windings among the hills.

There was a spire of tufted grass growing out from between the stones of the wall, and nodding in the breeze. It was such as Goethe's Marguerite might have said her charm over — " He loves me, he loves me not " — and I plucked it, and choosing two words, repeated them as she did, picking a blossom at each word. I came to the end, and held the stripped blade in my hand. I was to be unfortunate ! I laughed and threw the blade away, and turned to go into the house again, but paused. Slowly there grew out of the silence a faint rattle that gradually took the sound of carriage wheels, and two dots of flame, like twin stars, floated out into the dimness far along the road. As it came nearer I saw that the lights belonged to a dog-cart, which had two men in it. It stopped suddenly when directly opposite me, and one of the men, giving a hasty exclamation, sprang out, and the next thing I was conscious of was that a young man was approaching me with lifted hat and outstretched hand.

I was more than surprised. I had never seen him in my life before, but he seemed, in some unaccountable way, to regard me as quite an old friend. He was tall and over-dressed — even in the moonlight I caught the flash of jewellery on cuff and shirt front — and the fingers of the hand he held out had several rings on them. "Ha," he said, as if he were greeting some familiar acquaintance, "who the unmentionable would expect to see you hanging over a fence at this hour? How the deuce did you get here, of all places ? You've stolen a march on me, you puss ; begad you have. Good heavens ! " he said, stopping short in comic despair within a pace of me. ' ' Is it not — can I have made a mistake ? " He certainly had, and I went so far as to say so. " Puss," indeed ! the impudence of the fellow. " Indeed, I — I beg your pardon.

I thought I had the pleasure of meeting " The man in the cart laughed, and the other, murmuring some apology which I could not distinguish, scrambled back to his place in what I thought a very ungraceful and undignified way, and drove on again. As I walked towards the house, wondering how such a strange mistake could have arisen, I heard a peal of laughter from along the road, and looking back, saw the dog-cart take the turning that led up to the house, and it at once crossed my mind that it was Edgar Stadding who had taken this informal way of returning home, and that it must have been he who had spoken to me. And I should like to know who on earth could he suppose me to be, that he should have the unheard-of impudence to call me " puss ! " Jan. 19. — I saw him again to-day. He introduced himself the other night in a way that prejudiced me pretty strongly against him, and my dislike — for it amounts to that ; I always go by first impressions — was increased this afternoon, though he seemed to put himself to some pains to make himself agreeable.

As I was walking by myself in the garden after the day's lessons were over, I saw him lolling on one of the old-fashioned garden seats that are scattered here and there over the grounds. He had a number of letters beside him on the seat, and seemed to be reading one very attentively; he kissed it once or twice too, if I am not mistaken. From " puss," I suppose. I wonder who the creature can be ? How that word does annoy me, to be sure ! Presently he caught sight of me, and, thrusting the letter into his pocket, came hurrying along the path after me. "Oh, Miss Gower," he said, as he overtook me, " I have just been over to the post-office for our daily batch of letters, and here is one for you." I took the letter, thanked him, and was passing on when he said — "I hope you have forgiven me for my stupidity of the other night, Miss Gower.

It was the dim light did it ; and you really are so much like — the party I took you for." I felt anything but flattered by the resemblance ! "There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Stadding," I said, tartly. " I had forgotten all about it." It was a case of antipathy at first sight. Without there being any one thing in his manner or appearance that one could single out as the objectionable feature, there was something about him that roused my dislike at once. If he thought to use the letter as an excuse for opening a conversation, as I supposed he did, he had chosen the worst possible means for his purpose, for it was in my sister's hand, and I was anxious to get away to my own room and read it. But he stood right in my way, flicking the flowers with his riding switch, and apparently determined not to go till we were better acquainted.

" You are very kind to say that, Miss Gower," he said ; " you have no idea how I have been tormenting myself about my awkwardness. I am afraid you will find The Peak very dull," he went on, after pausing to see if I would speak, " especially after being accustomed to living in town." "I don't think I shall find it at all dull. I prefer country to town." "Do you? Well, I don't. Awful bore, I think it. Tells on a fellah, you know — least, it does on me. Gives me the miserables, and I make for the town the first chance I get. Course, being a university man — student, you know, and all that " (he looked out of the corners of his eyes with elaborate slyness as he said it, but I carefully avoided his glance) — " er — town offers me many advantages." I said, " Indeed," endeavouring to reduce myself to a lump of inanity in the hope that he would drop the conversation, but he went on as cheerfully as ever.

" Oh, yes, six months in the country would make me into an unmitigated clod-hopper " (a great deal less than that would do it, I commented mentally). " Allow me," and he picked up the letter, which had slipped from my fingers. " Do you know, Miss Gower, I can do a little at the second-sight business," he said, desperately trying to keep up the conversation, as he held out the letter, and gazed impudently into my eyes. Everything he did was more or less impudent, it seemed to me. "Yes?" frigidly. " Yes. Shall I give you a sample of what I can do ? For one thing, now, I can prophesy good news for you in this letter. Shall I go on?" B " By all means, Mr. Stadding, tell me all you know ; only I am afraid you are not recommending yourself as a letter-carrier for the future." " Oh, I say," he said, with a stupidly deprecating air, " that's — that's very severe.

But, now — you couldn't cross my palm with silver, could you, in true gipsy style ? No change ? Oh, very well. Your letter, then," and he gazed abstractedly into space, and let the words drop slowly, one by one, from his lips, " is from one near and dear to you — whom you haven't seen for some time — a female, a mother — no, not a mother, nor an aunt — let us say a sister ; let us further say her name has nine letters, and that the first is C. Am I right as regards the writer so far, supposing it is from her ? " and he assumed what he meant for an engaging smile. " Quite right, so far," I said, somewhat surprised. " Good breeding requires that I must not allow myself to pry too closely. She is an actress, tall, dark, has — well, in fact, has a temper of her own, and — yes, meditates very shortly paying you a visit."

" Why, Mr. Stadding, you must surely be acquainted with my sister to know all this ! " " Performance is over, Miss Gower " (another smile), "it merely remains to pass round the hat." "But, tell me, do you really — you must know my sister Catherine." "To those who have the gift of second sight, ordinary conditions don't apply. We know 'em all, any one you like, without the preliminary of introduction. I have that mar vellous gift, and it enables me to know that the Grand What's-his-name of Thibet is a humbug, and that the Czar Alexander looks under the bed every night before he goes to sleep." " Oh, but," I said, impatiently, " without any nonsense, do you know my sister Catherine ? " " I know Catherine's sister " He was interrupted by a shriek of laughter, and little May Shaw, one of my two pupils, came running along the path, her hat hanging round her neck by the strings, her hair flying out behind her.

" Oh, Eddy, hide me quick ! She wants me to go to bed, and I won't go-o-o," shrieked the child, trying to hide behind him. " Confound the child ! go away ; don't bother me with your nonsense now," he said, irritably, pushing her away. " Oh no, of course not," and the child fell back a pace and pouted, " 'cause you want to talk with Miss Gower," she added, with the charming frankness of her years. " May Shaw ! " I said, severely. " You impudent young monkey ! " said Mr. Stadding, at the same time looking at me and smiling as if there was a perfect understanding between us. "Miss May," said a sharp voice, "come along and let's have no more nonsense," and the nurse, a cross, vinegar faced woman, appeared round a sudden bend in the trees and seized the child by the wrist. She looked sourly from me to Mr. Stadding, and back again, and was turning away without speaking, when Mr. Stadding said ill temperedly — " I wish you could manage to keep those youngsters a little more under control, Mrs. Hetherwick."

Now, Mrs. Hetherwick, I have reason to know, occupies a peculiar position in the family. She is generally spoken of as " the nurse." That is her official capacity. She came into the house with her mistress, and from their long acquaintance has drifted from the position of servant into that of confidante. She is allowed considerable authority, and, from what I have seen of her, seems to exercise it in the most disagreeable way, and is heartily detested by the other servants. She has the reputation, too, of being the most consummate of gossips, and has unusual facilities in the way of learning local scandal, being related to the landlady of the Truss o' Straw, a hotel at the Hutt, a place not far from here, where such news naturally collects. She turned upon Mr. Stadding at once, with crest erect.

" Indeed, Mr. Stadding, I think I know my place better than some others I could name, if it comes to that," she snapped. " I am sorry if the little thing interrupted you. There are times, I know, when children are in the way." She looked spitefully at me as she spoke, and I began to wake up to the fact that I was being placed in a very unpleasant position. " Hoity-toity, marry come up," said Mr. Stadding, mock ing her. " Do we know who we are speaking to, Mrs. Hetherwick ? " " Yes, we do, Mr. Stadding, and it would be better if some others in the house were just as careful who they talked to. I know my own place, at least — and know how to keep it, that's what's more." " If I had my way, that last is just what you wouldn't do, madam." "Oh, I dessay ! And I think I know some who would be just as sure of their place if you had your way, sir — which the Lord forbid you ever should !

" she said, shaking her head at him fiercely. " You take my advice, Mrs. Hetherwick, and don't go too far. I didn't ask you for any impudence, you know, and when you speak to me you'll be good enough to remember the difference in ouipositions. If you are allowed liberties elsewhere, you'll lay aside your Jack-in oflice airs with me. I've no more words to waste on you. Miss Gower, may I see you into the house ? ' ' I had felt de Prop during this passage, and did not wish to appear to identify myself with either party. I was irritated at the conduct of Edgar Stadding, whose thought lessness had placed me in a very false position. It was im possible not to understand the point of Mrs. Hetherwick's reference to myself, and I dreaded how she might use her influence with Mrs. Shaw if her enmity were once aroused.