Lady Dobbs

Front matter

BV EMILY MARION HARRIS, AUTHOR OF "ESTELLE," "FOUR MESSENGERS," "MERCER'S GARDENS," ETC. ETC. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER, & CO., LrV 1890. [The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.] " Love unconquered in the fight. Love, who makest havoc of wealth, who keepest thy vigil on the soft cheek of a maiden ; thou roamest over the sea, and among the homes of dwellers in the wilds ; no mortal can escape thee, nor any among men whose life is for a day ; and he to whom thou hast come is mad. " The just themselves have their minds warped by thee to wrong, for their ruin : 'tis thou that hast stirred up this present strife of kinsmen ; victorious is the love-kindling light from the eyes of the fair bride ; it is a power enthroned in sway beside the eternal laws." — Translation of the Ode to Eros by Professor Jebb.

Chapter I

Two girls, deep in thought, walked in a beautiful old garden. Thought left no single line on the smooth brow of either ; the depth of reflection found no response in the calm expression of faces accustomed to serene ways, refined days, all the joy of existence, apart from the existence of pain or the ex perience of sorrow. Quiet and highly bred as the two companions appeared, the discussion, which first waxed eloquent and then dropped into pauses of vexed silence, concealed the elements of storm. The tall, fair girl, the elder of the two, was used to praise, to flattery even ; to deference and complete acquiescence in all that she wished. Once only in the course of her easy life had she been baffled in her purposes by contradiction ; VOL. I. A once only had she rebelled, and rebelled use lessly, against authority.

But she had for gotten that slight episode ; she had suddenly and strangely awakened from her usual un ruffled calm, to avenge it by as cruel an act as lay within her capacity ; then she had returned to her habitual state of apathetic indifference. He who had thwarted her was gone, and now she was listening to no praise, but hearing argument which annoyed her, and an urgent persuasion that merely increased her determination to obstinacy. Almost energetic, almost impassioned, for once her cousin, Alolet Alaynard, was differing from her, ad vising her, expressing censure, instead of delighted appreciation. Careless as the handsome Helen was of the opinion of others, she did not like this with drawal of a constant homage. She was not amused, or interested, or even stimulated by it, never being amused, or interested, or stirred from a settled cold, self-centred, per fectly unemotional composure by any event ; but she was conscious of a dully smouldering anger, the one quality ever ready to rise at rare opposition.

She now walked in proud and sullen displeasure, until her cousin, who felt the situation disagreeable, broke the un comfortable silence. " Do speak, Helen. Do say that you are not serious. It seems such an impossible conclusion. You will really be committing a sort of moral suicide. If I had the gift of eloquence to dissuade, of wisdom to deter you ; but I have neither, and yet I feel that you are hastening to unhappiness." " You have sufficient eloquence, but not much wisdom," Helen Donnington answered. " If you were wise you would at once see that I have no choice." "No choice!" repeated Violet, as if by repetition she could find some solution to the novel enigma of Helen's compulsion under any circumstance. " But of course you only say this, for you cannot mean it. If you do not choose such a fate, you ac cept it."

" Accept is the better word," said Helen in the same level tone of voice, which never rang higher or lower in a conversation, whether important or commonplace, or be trayed any feeling except that of the shade of resolution if, as so seldom happened, any attempted to thwart her. "Fate is accepted, never selected; but you speak of fate as if it must always be a tragedy. I never cared for romance, as you know. You likewise, Violet, are fortunately free from absurd and exaggerated ideas." For Helen sorrow was absurd, poetry an exaggerated idea, happiness and sorrow inter woven, and love and despair, and hope and dis appointment, alternating or blended, equally futile subjects to distress oneself about. "There is nothing especially golden or glorified in life," she continued, glancing round on the lovely landscape, and speaking not as a cynic, or one whose intellectual condition remains ill at ease after repeated efforts to win the highest, but in the accent of physical satisfaction with a prosperous lot.

"Fate does not exactly signify doom. You know I never raved about people or things, or aims or ideals, as Amy AVentworth did." Violet, in her earnest endeavour to con vince her cousin, or at least to coax her, could not forbear a smile. For who that knew Helen Donnington could imagine her on any occasion as " raving," or warmly ex tolling any subject, or being carried or led away by ardour; or, in simpler description, enthusiastic, swayed by impulse, governed by fervent zeal for some of those fine am bitions and soft sympathies natural to youth ? Yet who, also, could believe her one to be persuaded or led into a course antagonistic to that adopted and decided upon in her mind % Yet again, who could with justice aver accurate understanding of Helen Don nington's character ? Certainly not Violet, who, mildly disliking impetuosity, display of feeling, or originality, being more yielding, unselfish, and gentle than Helen, had received very much the same sort of training, and took the world on its surface according to her education, that fostered moderation, entire self-control, and well-bred neutrality.

"You are always very sensible, Helen ; you always were practical, which is strange, when the fact of your beauty is considered. Beau tiful girls are so often sentimental, but you are not, and therefore it seems only right that events should mould themselves to your wishes, and that you should arrange your future as you choose. But you seem purposely acting exactly opposite to this belief. You cannot wish to do this thing ; and if I doubted your inward dissent to your avowed intention, all doubt would disappear at your remark that fate is merely passive assent to the strong will of somebody else. Yours is a strong will. I am sure you pretend to be passive now just to escape the tedious combat with my entreaty. Do not carry this plan out, Helen ; do not call a — an obstinate resolve " Here ATolet checked herself, for she also was restrained in expression.

It was not pleasant to her to call some qualities by the real names they wore for her in her reflections. " Do not call the determination to take your own path fate," she finished. "As you well know, Violet," Helen replied, twisting her white fingers as if she were unweaving a puzzle that perplexed her — the only gesture she had — " I never cared for learning. Yet this I do remember from school, that the fates were symbolised by women in the mythology. So they are now frequently in modern times. There were three, were there not, Violet ? Two or three ? You have not forgotten as well ? Yes ; I thought so," she continued with an unaffected air of content as her cousin smiled, and held up three fingers : for Helen, with all her faults, was thoroughly inartificial and free from pretension or assumption, only entirely and dully certain that to be Helen Donnington was quite sufficient to liberate that beautiful specimen of girlhood from the need of improvement by study, by cultivating com prehension of the world of humanity, or of any endeavour or endurance outside her ex perience.

" There are three of us now," she said, looking exceedingly handsome as she threw back her golden head and clasped and un clasped the white indolent fingers, which had just ended the unravelling of their tangle, and finally rested them on her splendid, glittering plaits ; " three fates. At least, as you say Violet, I am my own fate. Mamma ; Sir Marmaduke's mother, whose heart is set upon the marriage ; me. How usual, how utterly matter-of-fact all this is ! It hardly calls for comment, certainly not for tragical opposition or disagreement, yet here are you becoming odiously excited, and here am I tiring myself to prove that, notwithstanding all your long sentences, the thing will be. Do you hear, Violet? Do you quite under stand ? I shall do as I say ; I shall marry Sir Marmaduke Dobbs. A conventional marriage for a conventional end !

Aloney married (and of course poor Sir Alarmaduke) to keep, or rather to consolidate, position ; and if not exactly wealth, still a certain affluence, with out which I am sure mamma would die." But ATiolet was by no means so sure that, in default of Helen's marriage, Airs. Don nington would be so feeble. It was novel, however, to hear Helen think, or say that she thought, of any one but herself, so she remained silent while Helen resumed, as if arguing with a crowd of A'iolets rather than with this one appreciative relative. " It is a general thing for a poor girl of good family to marry a wealthy man of no family at all. Sir Alarmaduke refuses to take anything from mamma, so that she need not give up my small fortune during her lifetime." In her own heart Helen thought a fine motive urged her to take such a step ; too indifferent to be swayed in the least by the opinion of others, she still liked to add to her usual self-esteem the belief that a really high feeling actuated her.

" Yours cannot be considered a general case," Violet answered ; " you cannot be blind to the fact of your own attractions." But the eagerness of her argument was missing now from Violet's tone ; there was something so slow, so unalterable and over whelming, in Helen's decisions, in her matter of-fact sentences, that they seemed to crush her opponent by their weight. Naturally neither romantic nor impulsive, Violet was more in telligent and far less selfish than her cousin, who would sacrifice with unabated calmness anything, everything; the enthusiasm of en terprise, the brave efforts of the world, the beautiful dreams of imagination belonging to that world for which she cared so little apart from its material comforts, as long as she was not made ill at ease thereby. Violet was re pelled by the cold, practical common-sense displayed, as hitherto, by Helen ; for she had depended on a crisis such as this to reveal some feminine sweet instinct in her.

Per haps — yet this Violet did not know — the posi tive crisis to show Helen's true character had not arrived. Perhaps, too, such a crisis would illumine a quite different aspect, light up a passion unsuspected, show a depth of emotion even tragic in its intensity. But Violet was no apt reader of human nature. Her reading had been limited and exclusive ; her sympathies were narrow and quickly shocked. If love would lead or hatred hasten Helen into novel paths ; if jealousy would make the apparently apathetic beauty writhe in agony or disappointment, summon a sort of volcano in that level landscape of her disposition to consume her quiet days with burning anguish, or dull them to desperate deeds or dreadful thoughts, or to drown her very soul in the overflow of its burning lava, who could guess ?

Not the well-trained, amiable ATiolet. Not Helen's mother, whose placid life drew an unalterable line, and marked a boundary round the conventional forms of love and sorrow, and who could but love coolly, and who could not hate at all. Not Lord Donnington, Helen's uncle, who would have been much surprised to see any resemblance between the powerful novels that he fully appreciated and the calm tide of life in his family circle. Not Sir Alarmaduke Dobbs, who, with a far more acute penetration and a deeper insight into character, was gifted with great indulgence, and who, looking on the beautiful girl whom he hoped to win, saw only possibilities of future excellence in her. With his proposal Violet believed the test of Helen's real mind and heart had arrived. She also was worldly, uninfluenced by idealism, but she shrank from the idea of marrying a man for whom she did not care, only to save herself from encountering the restrictions of a lower place in life to that in which she was born.

Helen considered her acceptance of Sir Marmaduke quite as a matter of course. She surveyed the scheme calmly, satisfied that it was a scheme ; that Sir Marmaduke was not a bad man ; and if not especially distinguished in society, still satisfied that her usual prosperity would be enhanced, and not diminished. Life must be either a dream or a scheme. Of dreams Helen knew nothing, and until she meditated on the advantages held out to her, she had thought them of every sort disagreeable. This too was a scheme forced on her (she strove to blind herself, to be lieve that it was) ; then it must be under taken in lieu of a more difficult alternative. " You are handsome enough to wait," Violet resumed. " AVith you surely destiny need not do so hard a thing as to compel you to act in a manner that is uncongenial."

As Helen had never but once had her will thwarted, the trust in destiny's favouritism was not so extravagant as it sounded. " You to accept a commonplace life ! " she exclaimed, encouraged to persistent effort by Helen's silence. " You see that I repeat your own phrase, but I cannot believe that you really will carry it out. To take up such a part apathetically ; deliberately to choose, yes, and again, as deliberately excuse the choice ! Consider, Helen." " The choice is not mine," Helen repeated. As with most self-possessed persons, she allowed herself few actions. She rarely emphasised a word by demonstrativeness. But now she placed her hand on Alolet's arm, and it was with quite a close grasp. This with Helen proved a strange access of passing agitation ; and whether the agitation were due to contradiction, discussion, or some hidden source of feeling, it checked the flow of Violet's persuasion.

It seemed to set a seal on her words. Nevertheless Helen winced at those words. A commonplace life ! It might be hers to endless years, after all ; a dull monotony of having her own way, and that way always to lie in the same groove ; of wishing and ever obtaining fresh luxuries ; of avoiding and never being called upon to combat trials. AVhat though her character was strange to the promptings of fine endeavour, of noble aim, and that hitherto her existence had conduced to foster an instinctive coldness, haughtiness, a disdain for everything not particularly woven with her individual and most narrow scope. And now Helen was twenty, the only child of a mother who understood her daughter's disposition so slightly that she thought her faultless, and the object of most unselfish love and admiration to Sir Alarma duke Dobbs, a man risen from the people, rich through industry, highly principled, but undistinguished, judged from the surface.

Knighted during a season of universal rejoic ing in the city, with half a dozen others, who suspected that any particular knightly quality lay concealed beneath a somewhat plain ex terior? who believed the insignia of knighthood was not required to bring to the sur face fine, and steadfast, and excellent, and knightly attributes, and that unadorned Mar maduke Dobbs was gifted with a patience, a loyalty, a manly, protective instinct of com passion to the weak, to the erring, to the sorrowful, such as animated of old the knight's quest in adventure, the knight's rest when peril was over and glory won, and when still some damsel in danger was in need of succour by the road, in rags rather than in attractive apparel, was to be fed rather than defended ? This son of a provision merchant, without a recognised ancestry before that provision merchant set up a warehouse, possessed a chivalrous soul, a quiet, tender, patient pene tration into the very heart of difficulties, doubts, struggles, and a fine forbearance with all faults, all errors, and a great compassion for those inner battles whereof the world takes little thought unless offered to its notice through the medium of an opera, a story, or a drama.

This nineteenth century knight carried his lance in rest, keeping it very bright and stainless, ready to do good service to the oppressed. Through Sir Marmaduke's busy life a sparkling stream of benevolence wandered like the river in " Lancelot," never noisy, never dazzling, but sunny, and at the service of some, or all, who, drinking of it, might be refreshed. The city haunts, the city children, tasted often this silent, clear stream of charity ; the dream of the city child, tenants of the close room felt its cool, invigorating influence. No more a studious man than he was a professed phil anthrophist, Sir Marmaduke cultivated a sincere love of literature and a true ap preciation for art. AVhat, then, was amiss with this kind and sheltering suitor ? Only that he was not handsome, neither absolutely plain nor awkward, but somehow missing the graces society gives ; only that, although he was sensible, good, really reli o-ious, and in all matters considerate and kind, no brilliant eclat of wit or of especial talent were among his gifts.

What, also, could be confidently expected from a Sir Marmaduke Dobbs but an exces sive humility as regarded the winning of an Helen Donnington — an idolatrous, almost a servile attachment, not seeking to display itself in many words, but by a hundred kindly, generous acts, a patient, enduring, yet by no means a discouraged delay, an ex treme but carefully restrained exaltation at any sign of attention or pleasure drawn from Helen's icy demeanour? Sir Alarmaduke, with his insight into moods and phases, which are no more character than are the fluttering shadows which flit over, and blend with, and impel the wind swayed grasses, which are never actually the grass forms, saw and was gravely silent, and while withholding every sign of blame and of criticism, bore with Helen as he would have borne with a petted child.

Her intellectual inferiority even to the general standard of an indolent girlhood provoked no comment from him. She was perfectly content not to play or sing or draw ; and he, if he were discontented with her lack of ability, made no remark on the absence of all such pretty devices by which young ladies please or entertain. And the effect that this leniency and love produced on tlelen occasionally startled her self. Without any uoble impulses or quick perceptions, there yet were times when she seemed to herself as if compelled to view that self as it was, and to confront it with the stern inward judgment which fails to be deceived ; when she learned, as it were, how to turn a strong but evanescent, electric light on her own deeds, and in the sudden illumination of ideas with which she had hitherto been well satisfied, beheld Helen Donnington as a rather vulgar-minded, or at least a sordid girl, in circumstances where taste and worldly inclination were rated higher than principle and earthly well-being above an ideal theory of the triumph that succeeds all contests between that which is puerile and that which is spiritual.

The electric light, flaming up for a minute, shed its clear lustre on her contemplation of Sir Alarmaduke, and in fine colour displayed motives of use, of sympathy, of un selfishness, opposed in fullest force to her own love of luxury. Then for a space his existence seemed all zeal and purity of purpose, and hers ruled by self; and then the slowly stirred spirit would hide its poor, paltry actions from that light, fast becoming lurid, and Helen would wonder at her own harsh reading of her behaviour. VOL. I. B Such moments were not cherished ; their valuable lessons were but too speedily for gotten. When self-knowledge grew painful Helen hurried away from its teaching. None guessed the actual force, the absolute bent of her character ; not even herself, not even her mother, knew that, deep beneath that fair, level landscape of her child's life, a sort of hidden geyser lurked, of passion, of anguish, of pathetic and concentrated power, ready to spring at the magic touch of circumstance or coincidence, either to wreck or to reward that fair life, to flood with misery the spell of conventional pleasures that marked her girlhood, to change the moral slumber which stupefied her faculties into a terrible nightmare or a divine dream.

The cousins moved on in silence for some minutes after their conversation, thinking their own thoughts, too intensely occupied with them to note the wild beauty of the old-fashioned garden. They walked towards a little alcove. Here all was peace and sweet solitude. All was uncultivated as well ; much being a mere tangle of wild and fragrant beauty. The old deaf gardener did his best with the flowers and shrubs, but his best was but limited effort, and plentiful pauses of long meditation on the handle of his spade. The garden seemed to close in and surround the low-built, pretty house, half in play, half in gentle protection ; for here a wilful branch thrust its crown of foliage suddenly and causelessly in through a window, while among the jessamine and the A7irginian creeper a white rose-tree grew, and threw its eager attempts to climb higher.

Here and there a vivid carnation raised itself and its crimson blushes amidst the untrained plants, and at intervals beneath the broad beeches' golden crests a knot of violets might be found in the spring ; and in summer colour came with the roses, and lovely light with the heliotrope ; and again in the autumn the lamp-like flames of the red leaves sent fiery tints to the brown decay of the trees. The gardener was old, and money for improvements and fresh workers was not plentiful, but notwithstanding these apparent obstacles, a result of brilliant and .delicate contrast was attained by Nature in her own easy and victorious fashion ; while the long vista of the brown, clear river Otter, and the far-away aspect of a silvery line defining the sea, bestowed a vigour and freshness on the wild herbage, the beautiful blossoms, and the languid scents.

It was Airs. Donnington' s dower-house, The Counties, for many generations the home of the younger son of the Donnington family. No show or splendour assisted its modest attractions. Old furniture filled it, old por traits invested it with interest to its succes sive tenants, but few could resist its pensive, pretty air, the sentiment of memory, and patient content which seemed its atmosphere, the essence of the garden, the very breath of the place. The alcove was a bowery sort of arbour formed by the union of two trees in a high arch, full of foliage and birds and sprouts of young branches. There was space for a rough garden-seat and a wicker-table. This arch was from another point of view to that which offered a peep of the dancing Otter, and distant hills made the prospect beheld from the secluded spot appear illimitable.

Such silence, such space and sweetness, would have been enviable elements in the life and the labour of many a hard working-student or ambitious visionary. The stone crop and the Iceland pink were trained to trail their green tresses over the graceful, natural arch, to blend with the boughs, and a veil of delicately hued blossoms fell easily in the most lavish flowing over stems and extended branches. These details failed to rouse enthusiasm in Helen. She knew that people made a great fuss about the beauties of Devonshire, and that tourists and artists especially left the beaten road of such beauty often for the side-paths, the by-ways, of such spots as this of Ottery, or of Tipton, or the joyous, sparkling Budleigh ; fern-crowned, peaceful, smiling signs of existence, apart from hard, mechanical toil and greed for gain.

Helen never even noticed the thick green knots, the abundant green tresses, as if some bygone Dryad had leant her head against the trunk and thrown her long hair over the arch, and watched the sunlight shine and dim in the interlaced trellis of the twigs, thick set with folded buds. Violet, also, saw unmoved the varying scenes of nature ; but if she withheld loving praise from a place to which she was accustomed, she was not altogether so apathetic. " It is nice to be out here," she said, fanning herself with her garden-hat; "very nice. You would not like to leave it, dear ? " "I should like to leave that earwig," Helen replied ; " please move, Violet. If we could afford to keep proper gardeners, the earwigs would not overrun the arbour in this horrid manner." She crushed it with her foot.

The foot was very light and pretty, but the earwig felt its weight without possessing any conso lation derived from admiration of its perfect form. Alolet felt slightly disgusted, well and accurately as she thought she understood her cousin. The crushed earwig was an ugly sight. It marred the refinement and tranquillity of that insect-humming, glancing, shining assemblage of green leaves. The blackbird's note pierced the silence, but the blackbird was himself invisible. Perhaps if Helen had felt annoyed by its loud singing she might have killed that. "You might have allowed the poor thing to live, Helen," she said reproachfully. "Why?" the other inquired, looking with surprise at her cousin. "There are millions of earwigs left, apparently." " Oh, why, and why ! " exclaimed Violet, provoked.

" Where is the use of arguing with you, Helen?" and the subject, like the reptile, fell to the ground. Some traces of Helen's morning employ ment remained on the rustic table. No verses, no letters, but several sheets of scribbled paper, on which she had written " Helen Dobbs ; Helen Theodora Dobbs ; H. T. Dobbs " (this looked business-like) ; lastly "Lady Dobbs," with a fine flourish. Helen had not written her name idly, after the manner of girls who try in advance to see how a possible surname suits their prefix, but with the hope that the plain, unadorned Dobbs might seem less heavy when hers was added, and that the city title would give it grace. " You said you were busy this morning," Violet remarked. "Was this the task? How fatiguing, variations on the theme of Dobbs ! Do you like it better, Helen ?

" " Liking a name is of very small import ance," Helen replied, with her usual placidity. "At least I shall not need to alter my monogram. "And does that reckon with you as an advantage ? " " Yes ; among many." " What can be your attraction ? AVhere does the advantage lie, except in the wealth ? Not handsome, certainly ; not distinguished ; not even clever." " The attraction may probably be that he is negative," Helen said. " Have you any more questions on your conscience, A'iolet ? " " He does not kill earwigs at least," A'iolet said, roused to anger by Helen's contemptuous, if tacit, refusal to dwell seri ously on the matter. " He is kind ; that is all I will say for him." " And I am not, you infer ? Still, I do not exactly destroy earwigs as a daily duty, only when they interfere with my pleasure.

You think, then, your last on the list of negative qualities in his favour?" " So far that certainly he will be kind to you." "Even although he is what one hastily describes as ' a son of the people ? ' I suppose he has been taught not to kill a fly, as well as not to thrash his wife ; and so, my dear, too anxious Violet, you can gather com fort. And now, in conclusion, he is not ab solutely common or vulgar, or anything of which one would feel ashamed. And what else am I to do ? Stagnate here ? Listen to Uncle Charles's frequent repetition that ' Helen must many,' and endure a little more dependence, and not a little more advice, until I do, and even in time gain censure from our more prosperous relatives ? No ! I will never bear blame, nor will I accept advice." Violet mused as to what her cousin wished to define by this dogmatic decree, but it was hardly worth while to ask her to explain.

Nor were Helen's views especially expansive on this or on any subject. Starting from herself as a centre-point, she considered only her own side of the question, not the happiness or disappointment in which Sir Alarmaduke might find his life, too late, involved. Helen's inexperience prevented her from the stern facing of one fact, that indifference may develop into hatred ; when the constant pre sence, the continual society, of an apathetic person frets the nerves to impatience, and gradually wears away an outward forbearance and forced respect, unless good manners are influenced by such a guardian as religion, or sympathy sheds its lustre on all discre pancies. Nor did she fear that in time she might meet some one whose power to awaken her mind to misery, her heart to revolt, would far surpass that of the man she accepted.