Daisy Nichol: a novel

Front matter

DAISY NICHOL: & ftowl. By LADY HARDY, AUTHOR OF "A CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE," "PAUL TTYNTEr's SACRIFICE," £1C, ETC. Vol. I. Sontton : SAMPSON LOW, SON, & MARSTON, CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 1870. \_All rights reserved."] CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. NOON AND NIGHT II. THE REAPER 1 18 III. — ON THE SANDS 44 IV. THE TEA-PARTY AT FENALLY . V. " THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER " VI. — COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING VII. PHOTOGRAPHS 62 84 109 136 VIII. CROSS-PURPOSES 174 IX. THE BEACONSFIELD BALL X. GOLDEN HOURS 197 238 XI. MABEL MAEJES HER GAME XII. FINESSE 266

Chapter I. Noon And Night

"All went merry as a marriage-bell — When, hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! Did ye not hear it?" TTAVE we not ad some portion of the migratory element in our natures — a longing at certain seasons of the year to stretch out our spirit's wings, and fly out ofthe grooves of dady hfe away from the regular routine that has ruled us for weeks and months past; wearied, not only with the business of the work a-day world, but of the gaieties and palhng pleasures of society, to which so many fall willing victims ? Those men and women who VOL. I. b *i harness themselves to Pleasure's car, and drag it to the end of the season, or perhaps fodow it, are more thoroughly worn out than those who go the regular mid-horse round of work ing hfe. All alike grow weary — pleasure ceases to please, and the overtaxed brain can no longer pay the world's demand upon it.

All ahke grow restless, and cry out for change. Some fly to the sunny spots of our own land, and enjoy the dolce far niente on the grassy slopes or in the verdant vadeys ; others rush down to the sea, to the " great sweet mother," whose briny kiss bronzes the cheek, and whose refreshing breath invigorates and makes strong. Others again take a bolder flight and hie away over the sea to the land of waterfads and mountains — the very strong holds of nature, and penetrate into her inmost recesses, scaling her rocky ramparts, tid they are arrested by her grim guardians of snow and ice, and can go no farther. Some rest contented with the calmer, softer aspects of that majestic land, and nestle down on the borders of its lakes, where they can still hear the roar of the waterfall and look upon its " throne of ice and diadem of snow."

Among such were Mr. Beresford, a thriving barrister, and his wife, who, after ascending one or two of the lbwer Alps, professed to have had enough of mountaineering, and preferred to contemplate the grandeur and glory of nature at a distance. For that purpose they settled themselves upon the borders of the lake that one of our greatest poets loved to look on, and which he has consecrated by his genius and made famous by his pen — Lake Leman, near to that castle of Chillon, to which more willing pdgrims have been attracted by the poet's pathetic verses, than by all the guide-books that have issued from the combined efforts of Murray and Bædeker. At an hotel which bears the poet's name, b they took up their quarters for a season. It was, nay, it is, just such a spot as a man tired of the busy world would choose to nestle down in and be at rest ; every thing above, below, and around it speaks of peace and tranquillity.

It stands on slightly elevated ground, sur rounded by a tastefully-laid-out garden, fided with flowers of rich colours and delicious perfume ; behind, closing a pleasant prospect of swelling hills and wooded vadeys, rises a forest of dark ponderous pines, whose lofty heads are lost in the distant clouds. On one side, stretching far away in the distance, stands a lofty range of snow-clad mountains ; on the other, as far as the eye can reach, lie clusters of pretty villages, nestled in quaint nooks and corners on the borders of the curving lake. Close by, as it seems within a stone's throw of the hotel gardens, stands the gloomy castle of Chillon, whose sad memories of past days seem to cling even yet to the old grey wads, while the tiny wavelets of the lake lave its rocky base with the same soothing sound as it murmured to the poor prisoners centuries ago.

What further can be said of the lake itself ? Nothing, except that it is still as fair, fresh, and dimpling with smiles as when it charmed the poet's eyes, laughing in the face of the prosiest passer-by, even as it laughed ages ago and drew from his soul the music which gladdens our ears still. So bright, so beautiful and blue it is, it looks as though an azure veil had faden from the skies and spread over and covered the face of the sparkling waters. With so many features of attraction on every side, those who were once settled at Villeneuve were loth to quit it. Some, mere birds of passage who came for a single day, stayed many, and even then left it with lingering footsteps. " We have been here already three weeks," said Mr. Beresford, pacing up and down the terrace-walk, puffing away at his cigar ; " we ready must be moving soon."

"Wed," rephed Mrs. Beresford, as she pattered along cosily by his side, " if it were not for these horrible mosquitos — ah! there's another!" She slapped her cheek viciously as she spoke, and caught her enemy in the very act. " I should really be sorry to go away. See! how disfigured I am," she added, looking patheticafly in his face, as she apphed ammonia to the tiny wound. Her husband answered her appeal with masculine indifference, uttered a sort of monosyllabic sound, and added, — " Why don't you do as the gadant General does? They never bite him." Mrs. Beresford followed the direction of her husband's eyes, as they glanced towards the figure of a grand looking old officer, who was solemnly parading up and down the gravel walk, swishing a horse's tad before him, much in the same way as a lady flutters her fan.

"How absurd!" replied Mrs. Beresford, smiling. " Fancy a lady walking about in that fashion ! But I do like him, he is such an amusing old gossip. George, what were you talking about last night ? I thought you were never coming in." " Well, my dear, since you really wish to know, I'd ted you," replied Mr. Beresford; "we were having a game at speculation." " Speculation ! " echoed his wife. "What ! play speculation out here, when the night was as dark as pitch ? Nonsense, George, you hardly expect me to believe that." " Fact, nevertheless ; and don't you know, Bessie, that a great many speculations are carried on best in the dark ? " "Now, don't talk metaphysics, George," answered his wife, who had a habit of calling every thing "metaphysical" that was not placed in large plain figures before her mind's eye ; and if they were not so placed, she was liable to confuse or misapprehend them, "or I shad think you were doing something you are ashamed of."

" Not exactly. The fact is, we were playing speculation with living cards, and never a knave in the pack." Seeing his wife's face wore a puzzled expression, he added, smiling, " In plain words, we were talking over our travelling companions, especially that romantic-looking couple who generally sit opposite to us at dinner; you know which I mean." " Oh yes, that pretty girl in grey," replied his wife. " She looks very young ; if it were not for the httle chdd, I should think they were on their wedding tour, they seem so wrapped up in one another." " Is that samewrapping up always exhausted during thewedding tour," asked Mr. Beresford, with a comical kindly look upon his face. " I think we know some people who have been comfortably 'wrapped up' ten years or more." " Of course ! just as we are, dear," she an swered, giving his arm a gentle squeeze and looking at him with true affection in her kindly eyes; "but theirs is a different sort of wrapping up ; they don't seem to think or care for any body but themselves ; they have neither looks, words, nor smdes except for one another; they walk in the loneliest part of the garden and take romantic rambles, accompanied al ways by that pretty prattling chdd.

I wonder they have not a nurse for it — they must be well off; she wears a beautiful lace shawl that must have cost thirty guineas at least." " That's no criterion of the state of their funds," said Mr. Beresford ; " some people empty their pockets on their backs — the more there is on the one, the less there is in the other." " I've looked in the visitors' book and found out their names — Mr. and Mrs. Nichol," resumed the lady. " I am determined to get into conversation with her, and find out who they are. I should think they were rather nice to talk to ; we may just as wed amuse ourselves while we are here, George, and make the time pass pleasantly, as not; we need not know them beyond the hour — meeting abroad means nothing ; it is always easy to cut people when we get home." " That may be the way with you women," said Mr. Beresford ; " but it is not my way.

If I fraternize with a man in one place, I'm willing to give him my hand in another. But look ! is not that our interesting couple in the boat yonder — coming from the castle of Chdlon ?" Mrs. Beresford turned her glance that way. Her husband was right ; there, sure enough, were the objects of their conversation, seated in a pleasure-boat which glided lazily over the lake ; the child, with its gay red ribbons flying in the air, being seated in the stern. Slowly, and as it seemed reluctantly, they approached the shore; the monotonous plash, plash, of the dripping oars making a sort of melancholy music to the ear. Mr. and Mrs. Beresford leaned over the parapet, or rather the garden wad, and watched them as they disembarked and came up by a winding way to the hotel — their temporary home, the low trilling laugh of the girl-wife mingling with the chdd's more boisterous mirth.

The lady who attracted so much attention certainly did look very young to be a wife and a mother — small, fair, and fragile-looking, so flower-like in her dehcate grace, as to suggest the idea of a creature who could be placed in a man's big brown palm, and blown away into fabulous fairyland. The husband, though but a few years older, was wed formed to be the guardian and pro tector of that frail young womanhood — a man slightly above the middle height, with strong, well-built limbs, and a frank, good-looking face that is much more than actual masculine beauty; his large dark eyes watched every movement of his fair young wife with loving care. Their child had none of the mother in it, but seemed to be a reflection of the father's dark characteristic face, toned and softened down. If you had taken a telescope and looked through the wrong end of it, in the young child you would have seen a miniature por trait of the father ; she had the same large passionate eyes and crisp curly hair.

The lady seemed to labour as she came up the steep winding way, and stopped more than once to take breath, her husband supporting her and drawing her veil and wraps round her, as though the " winds of heaven should not visit her cheek too roughly:" the chdd trotted along in front, prattling merrily. Al together, it was a pleasant picture the Beres fords looked upon ; nature, both in her stdl and living aspect, was all smiles and sunshine ; there was not a cloud, even so big as a man's hand, hovering near. Mrs. Beresford made an ineffectual attempt to attract the child's attention ; but it was chasing thistle-down and never heeded her. She determined to watch her opportunity and take the initiative step towards an acquaintance whde they were taking coffee under the trees, when the dinner was over; but the opportunity was wanting.

The bright sunshiny day closed in darkly ; lowering clouds drifted across the evening sky, and hid the moon. A wet evening abroad, where every body is lazdy bent on pleasant lounging out of doors, acts as a heavy damper on the spirits, as well as on the atmosphere. People wander about like restless souls, some betake themselves to the saloon, spread out their skirts, and play with fancy-work in dreary silence, occasionady casting furtive glances round to see if any body is going to be " amusing ;" but few have courage to make the first move in that direction. The drollest spirit tames down and sneaks in cowardly silence out of the frozen atmosphere ; though with genial encouragement, it would have set the " table in a roar." The male element, scantdy represented, buries itself in Galignani or an old copy of the Times; and if any lady is bold enough to march up and attack the out-of-tune piano, calling forth sounds as though a ghost were rambhng among the tortured strings, he only grunts approval of her prowess, but has not courage to cry " bravo."

Sometimes, indeed, a hvely American, with as much brass in his face as gold in his pocket, wid be of the party, and startle propriety by his extraordinary revelations, taking every body into his con fidence concerning his family history, and generally ending by the announcement that he is ready to " buy up " every thing, nay, every body. Truly, if money makes the man, a shoddy American citizen is the manliest creature living. Sometimes, indeed, in out-of the-way places, a dud day or a rainy night brings out the genial qualities of some natures, and lays the foundation of life-long friendships; but in the more beaten track, British reserve is on guard, and bravely does its duty. On the evening in question, Mrs. Beresford peeped into the saloon, where those who were gathered there seemed more sociably inclined than usual ; but the faces she sought were not among them.

Vexed and disappointed, she turned away and joined her husband in his monotonous march up and down the cor ridor. He would not be inveigled even for a moment into what he caded the territory of "book muslin." At an early hour — early even for that time and place — they retired to their own room, both slightly affected with a fit of the blues. Soon the whole house was stdl, the lights were extinguished, and the world shut out. It was past midnight, and darkness and sdence within as wed as without, reigned supreme. Suddenly a cry — a shrid, terrible cry — rang out, echoing from roof to rafter : once, twice, thrice, that shriek of agony and despair was repeated. Scared and affrighted, the sleepers rushed from their beds out into the corridor, with white wondering faces, exclaiming one to another " What an awful cry ! where was it ?

What can be the matter ? " M. Guerin, the master of the hotel, and his servants appeared upon the scene with lights, and proceeded to dis cover the cause of the disturbance. The shrieks were repeated no more ; but a sobbing sound mingled with moans, as of a soul in pain, attracted them to the end of the corridor, indeed to the very room occupied by the Nichol family. M. Guerin entered alone, and closed the door. The startled household waited in breathless silence without. In a few moments he re-appeared with a grave, shocked expression on his face, and said briefly, " There is nothing to fear ; you can return to your beds in peace." " But what is it ? What is the matter ? " asked many. " Nothing to alarm you," he answered. " There is death in the house, but it is all over now." And they who had flocked thither wondering and amazed, crept back to their beds awestruck in solemn silence. VOL. I. o

Chapter II. The Reaper

" There is a Reaper whose name is Death ! And with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath. And the flowers that grow between." fin HE fair young wife who had unconsciously created an interest in genial Mrs. Beres ford's breast, was now taken to her heart in profound sympathy. It proved upon inquiry that Mr. and Mrs. Nichol had retired to rest at their usual hour, he complaining of a slight head-ache and a general drowsy feeling, but of nothing more. During the night she awoke and found him cold and stiffening by her side; hence those heart-rending cries that had roused and terrified the household. Due in quiries were made as to the cause of this fearfudy sudden death. Physicians of high position and recognized ability were sum moned from Geneva, and upon a strict exami nation of the dead man, discovered that an abscess had formed on the brain, which burst during the night; and thus, without pain, without warning, he had died even as he slept.

Mrs. Beresford came to the comfort of the bereaved girl-widow, and spoke to her in the voice of home, knowing wed that the sympathy which came in a foreign tongue from foreign hearts would be more strange and less genial than her own. She was one of those women who seemed formed to be the friend and com forter of the afflicted; her very touch was sympathetic, and her tone fad of the caressing kindness which overflowed from her warm heart. But in the present case all her efforts c at consolation were unavailing. The forlorn young creature was so full of her great grief, that there was no room for a word of comfort ; eyes, thought, sense, feeling, ad seemed ab sorbed in the dead love that lay there shrouded and stdl. The brave heart that had beat so strong, so tender, so true, but yesterday, was quiet now — even unto the end of time it would beat no more.

The fire had died out of the large pleasant eyes ; and the lips that to her had never spoken a harsh or petulant word, were frozen and cold. She would never, never be gathered to his breast again; she might call upon him in her agony and despair, but her voice would never reach him now ; he would be deaf, and dumb, and dead for ever more. He who had been to her as a tower of strength, was cut down even in his prime ; his life and love could support and shelter her no more. She was alone in the world ; how lonely, she herself could only comprehend. She sat by his side the whole of the next day, resting her cheek on his dead hand, and moaning piteously. She would not be wooed away from his side even for a moment. At length, during that day, she fainted from sheer exhaustion — physical as well as mental — and they carried her away, and locked the door.

When she recovered, they tried in a hundred sympathetic ways to change the dreary chan nel of her thoughts and give her consolation, but she would not be comforted ; she listened to them with a blank, dazed expression in her eyes, and crept back and moaned at the door, like a faithful dog, till she was again admitted to the chamber of death. Mrs. Beresford, whose heart bled for the speechless misery she witnessed, tried again and again to rouse her ; she would have given any thing to have heard even that terrible cry again; any uttered sound, even of frenzied grief, any thing would have been better than that aching, dumb despair. Once, as she sat by her side, trying in vain to win a coherent answer, she inquired if there were any friends in England to whom she would wish the sad news to be commu nicated.

The widowed wife answered not a word, but flung herself by her dead husband's body, as though ad her friends, ad her world lay buried there. At night they carried her away, and left her, as they thought, feeble and exhausted, but sleeping quietly. In the morning they found her with her arms flung round him, her head upon his breast, and her blue wide-open eyes fixed upon his face — love and life had passed out of them together. She had fol lowed him quickly. Husband and wife now lay together side by side, and one grave would cover them. They looked so young, so beau tiful, so peacefully at rest, that those who looked upon them forgot to pity their early end, and only felt inclined to say, " It is wed THE REAPEE. with them." They had escaped the rude storms and chilling changes of hfe ; the changes that will come upon the souls and bodies of us ad.

They had gathered the rich fruit, and, while its taste was still fresh and sweet upon their hps, had passed away. Mis trust, or doubts, or fears, or angry words, could never come between those two now. They had escaped the pain so many hve to feel — the pain of outliving love. They died whde the romance and poetry of hfe was still in its full glory, therefore we say it was well with them Not in cruelty, not in wrath, The reaper came that day ; An angel visited the earth, And bore the flowers away.' Mrs. Beresford, who had done ad that the most sympathetic friend could do for those who needed her good offices no more, took the child, httle Daisy — so she had heard them call her — entirely, under her care, and advised and superintended, so far as she was permitted, the funeral arrangements. At first she was greatly perplexed by Daisy's constant hankering after " Mamma."

They got her strange toys, and tried every way to amuse her and keep her quiet and stdl; but after the first momentary attrac tion, one thing after another, ad faded ; the toys were cast aside; the golden fish in the fountain no longer pleased her. The great St. Bernard dog, who carried her on his back, and had hitherto been her plea sant playfedow and constant companion, was unnoticed now ; or if he laid his huge head in her lap, and looked with his mdd eyes into her baby face, she thrust him impatiently aside, twined her arms round Mrs. Beresford's neck and whimpered with quivering hp, — " I want Mamma. Why doesn't she come to Daisy ? " " She cannot come back, darling; she has gone to God," replied Mrs. Beresford. The child's face brightened. " Then let Daisy go to God too." " You wdl — you wdl one day, but not yet ; you must wait."

" No no," exclaimed the child, interrupting her pettishly, " I won't wait — I want to go now — I won't be good here, I'll scream." Evidently to " scream " was one of Daisy's trump cards, by which she had been accus tomed to win her game ; for without more ado she scrambled out of Mrs. Beresford's lap and commenced a series of short, ear-piercing shrieks ; but she took her up in her arms again and tried to quiet her. Those robust rebellious cries were so strangely at variance with the gloom that seemed to brood in tragic silence every where, they grated on Mrs. Be resford's nerves ; indeed, she felt almost afraid they would penetrate into the chamber of death, as though the chdd's cries could reach the dead mother's ears ! Daisy was evidently a wayward, spoilt child, accustomed to fence and fight for her own way, and generady to get it.

She was too young to comprehend the magnitude of her loss — indeed, to comprehend her loss at all. Mrs. Beresford had felt averse from letting her look on that which had been the living, loving world of her baby life ; but seeing the child's strange persistency, she thought it better for her to know all, young as she was. " Daisy," she said, in a low whispering voice, as she gathered her closely in her arms, " you shall see Mamma, Daisy dear, but you must promise not to speak to her and be very very quiet." " You said she had gone away," said the child suspiciously. " Only a part of her, dear ; you shall see all that God has left behind," said Mrs. Beresford. " But people don't take to pieces," ex claimed Daisy, with a shrewd, weird look in her eyes as she lifted them to Mrs. Beresford's face, " and I want my Mamma, every bit of her."

Into the sdent, darkened room Mrs, Beres ford, without more ado, carried the orphan child. With reverent hands she uncovered the dead, and lifted up the child that she might look upon them. Daisy stared down in blank amazement at the white, waxen faces; no need to ted her to be quiet now ! She clutched Mrs. Beresford tightly, and held her breath as though struck with fear or terror ; instinctively she seemed to recognize the truth, that God had indeed taken a "part" — the better part ; voice, sight, motion, ad had gone. That which lay there so white and rigid was and was not "Mamma." The sense of a great solemn mystery seemed to come over the child. She could not put her feelings into words then, but years afterwards she called to mind the impression of that moment ; she never forgot it, never.

The stiffened forms, so rigidly outlined beneath the snowy coverlid, and the white, white faces, were photographed on her baby brain ; for all her life afterwards she only remembered her fair young mother as she saw her then, shrouded in her grave clothes. She buried her face in Mrs. Beres ford's bosom, and in a low, hushed voice whispered, "Won't Mamma ever wake again?" " Never, darling, never ! " Daisy made no comment, no more inquiries, but that night she sobbed herself to sleep in the arms of her new friend. Of course, the proper authorities were duly informed of all that had taken place. The trunks ofthe deceased were searched, in order that their friends might be discovered and communicated with. Papers and letters were found, telling ad that needed to be known. Some of the letters — apparently those which came from the nearest and dearest friend of the departed — were signed, "Your affectionate sister, Catherine Gordon," and dated from Charles Street, Berkeley Square.

A telegram was at once despatched to this lady, informing her of the tragic occurrence. Within three days Mr. and Mrs. Gordon arrived at the Hotel Byron. The lady, who proved to be the eldest and only surviving' sister of Mr. Nichol, was a softened likeness of himself; a grand, proud, stern-looking lady, with a stately step and a cool condescension in her manner, that was slightly calculated to chill and overawe those who presumed to sympathize with her on the tragic fate of her relatives, or to stretch out a friendly hand to herself. She needed no sympathy, no help ; and, after indulging in the briefest possible regrets, proceeded at once to business. She expressed herself perfectly satisfied with all that had been done, and gave directions as to the com pletion of the funeral arrangements.

A frosty tear glistened in her cold eye, as she looked down upon what had once been her favourite brother ; perhaps a thought of the days that were bygone came over her ; she had been proud of him, and hoped great things of him once — longr ao-o. Ah ! it is wed the dead eyes could not open and see the look, half scorn, half hatred, she cast upon the calm, fair thing, lovely even in death, that lay beside him. She dropped the cover over their faces, and turned away to her husband, saying : — " I have always had a presentiment of some such end as this ; I knew no good ever could result from such a marriage." " The end is not the result of the marriage. Kate," rephed her husband gravely; " it is a terrible catastrophe, which no human know ledge could have foreseen, no skid have pre vented. After all, their only sin was lovinoone another ; she was a pretty creature, Kate, and might have turned the head of a wiser man than even your brother Philip."

" I should not have minded her turning his head, or his heart either ; they might have loved one another with as much silly senti mentality as they pleased ; but he had no right — he ought never to have married Edith Ramsay ; he knew there was a taint in the blood — her father died mad." " You can't expect young people to weigh these things correctly, and rule their feelings by plummet and line," replied Mr. Gordon. " When you see a beautiful flower, Kate, even if you know there's canker at the root, you don't give a thought to it, but are content to enjoy the beauty and the perfume." " I am not talking of flowers and perfumes," said his wife somewhat contemptuously, " but of the moral obligations which we owe to one another. No man has a right to propagate either moral or physical disease ; and when any special infirmity is known to exist in a family, it should be allowed to die out, there should be no question of marrying."