Lakeville; or Substance and Shadow

Front matter

LAKEVILLE ; OR, SUBSTANCE AND SHADOW. "BY MART HEALY. IN THREE VOLUMES. Vol. I. EonUon : SAMPSON LOW, MAKSTON, LOW, & SEARLE. CROWN BUILDINGS, 18S, FLEET STREET. 1871. AH rights reserved. CONTENTS. VOL. I. CHAP. PAGE I. GIRLHOOD UNDER A FIRST ASPECT . 1 II. GIRLHOOD UNDER ANOTHER ASPECT . . 2.5 III. AT H03IE 40 IV. val's eyes begin to open. . . .53 V. THE BLACK prince . . . . .69 VI. A HALT ON THE ROAD . . . . .91 VII. FAIRYLAND . . . . . . .108 vni. clara's displeasure . . . . .134 ix. lucy linden . . . . . .157 x. the heroes of the present day . .172 xi. in the sick room . . . . .189 xii. the private theatricals . . . 206 xiii. alick's confidences ..... 224 xiv. lynch law ....... CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XV. MY PRINCE ....... 254 XVI. THE ENGAGEMENT REGARDED FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW . . . . .271 XVII. THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL . . . 285 XVIII. val's TRIUMPH

Chapter I

G1KLHOOD UNDEE A FIRST ASPECT. AXE bright, cold day, during the Christmas holidays, a dozen or more girls clustered about their leader, a tall, fine-looking young lady, of about seventeen; who, to her great chagrin, was known by the unromantic name of Sarah Goodwin. These girls formed one of the cliques or sets into which St. Mary's convent school was divided, in humble imita tion of that larger world wherein these girls would hereafter take their places. The play hall was comparatively empty ; a black-robed, placid-faced nun sat in one corner working, apparently disposed to slacken the usual dis- VOL. I. B ft cipline in consideration of the holiday season, and a few young girls were reading or talking together in small groups with that air of mysteiy so dear to their age. Sarah Goodwin looked upon her followers with a certain supercilious satisfaction, and on the outsiders with undisguised scorn.

" Sarah, sit down here," exclaimed Mary Blunt, prime minister to her majesty, " and satisfy Nellie's curiosity ; she is like all new girls, wants to know everything at once. No one can enlighten her as well as you ; there, take that chair, and we will seize upon all the low benches before the other girls come in. So, now we are comfortable. Nellie, put your questions." " Well," said Nellie, a bright-faced shrewd girl of sixteen, who, as yet, belonged to no set, being quite a new comer, " there are many things that I want to know about ; it all seems so strange and new to me. Yester day afternoon, when mother left me, I found all the girls labouring under such excitement, that I thought they had just come out of the tower of Babel." " All owing to that stupid play ; " remarked Sarah, who had been given no part in this same play, and consequently judged it with unsparing severity.

" Exactly ; when sister took me up to the dormitory to show me my alcove, I was entirely bewildered by the noise. The beds were strewn with shapeless garments, much decorated with gold paper lace, and Canton flannel ermine. One girl, who was to per sonate a Roman matron, stood looking disconsolately at herself in her hand-mirror, and calling out, ' What shall I do, what shall I do ? my hair will not curl !' " " Yes," interrupted Sarah, " I heard it all, for I was in my alcove at the time ; what geese those girls looked in their draperies, which, at will, represented the attire of warriors, senators, or court ladies. The poor girl whose hair would not curl, finding that she got no sympathy from her neighbours, applied to Val, queen Val, all important Val, who was to take the part of ' Miriam, the Virgin Martyr.' Such a Miriam as she made !

The Roman matron fared no better here, for Val, who was trying to make her virginal veil hang in proper folds, had no time to think of b others, and called out: 'Put it up any way Annie.' Then she declaimed, ' Hear me, ye great of the earth; your power I scorn, your terrors are vain ! . . You know, dear, you can wear that gold paper crown with the tinsel jewels; it will have a sweet effect. . . . Death is welcome to me as the bridegroom to the bride!'" The girls, like other well-trained courtiers, laughed and applauded, enjoying heartily the spite with which Sarah ridiculed her rival's accent and manners. " True," said Nellie, who still ventured to have an opinion of her own, " that was all ridiculous enough, especially when some one rushed up the stairs, calling out, ' Girls, girls, you must come down this moment, the music-hall is already half filled,' and each scrambled about, half mad with excitement, scolding the little ones, and getting ludicrously entangled in their finery.

But, when half an hour later, I sat among the audience, I was so much interested in the play, that I quite forgot my peep behind the scenes. I think it was very fine ; and Val, as you call her, acted splendidly; I quite cried during her great speech, and saw others cry too. That darkeyed nun, Sister Clare I think they call her, put her handkerchief to her eyes more than once. Mary Blunt, why are you treading on my foot ? have I said anything wrong ?" " Mary Blunt," observed the queen with haughty dignity, " I am quite capable of managing my affairs without your aid. I will not allow the new girls to be influenced in any way. Nellie will learn soon enough that she must choose between Val Turner and me. If she chooses Val, I for one will not complain — I have friends enough." "Oh, Sarah!" exclaimed Nellie, much frightened, " of course I should choose you ; have I not known you in the world?"

This high-sounding phrase was much in vogue among the young ladies. " But pray who and what is Val Turner ? she must be quite old — eighteen at least." " Yes, she is eighteen. Her history is simple and uninteresting enough ; I will give it you in half a dozen words. Her mother was French, which accounts for her ridiculous name of ' Valerie,' and also for her fondness for French expressions. I think it a perfect shame that the sisters should always give her the first prize for speaking her native language passably. But in her case, the teachers all show a partiality which is revolt ing; as to Sister Clare, she is quite foolish on the subject of her darling — and all because Miss Turner has been the child of the convent ever since she was six years of age. Think of being shut up at school for twelve whole years without leaving it, except for an occa sional afternoon visit to some old people in town.

Why, the girl knows nothing, ab solutely nothing of the world, of society, of " " Of flirtations and love affairs ! " suggested the youngest of the party, " little Sharp-eyes" as her companions called her. This little girl possessed more of the real American spirit of independence than her companions ; for, though she belonged to Sarah's "set" she battled for the enemy at times. " That is not her fault, poor thing ; though I dare say she will make up for lost time when she does leave school. Let us pity, not condemn, as the novels say. Val is handsome enough to make a real sensation." "Handsome!" exclaimed three or four voices in shrill indignation, while Sarah sat in frowning silence. " How can you say so ?" " I say so, because I think so, and Nellie is of my opinion, I know. Val has the finest eyes in school, and if she wore clothes made by a real dressmaker, instead of putting on Sister Bridget's remarkable performances, she would be very handsome.

I repeat it, I know you do not agree with me, Sarah, but I cannot help it, if she only had your dash and grand way, she would be perfect. But Nellie is waiting to hear the end of the story." Sarah, perhaps, thought it best not to notice her rebellious subject's defection, so she continued quietly enough — " There is not much more to tell. Val's father, when he died, which was years and years ago, appointed two guardians, ordering, however, that she should remain at school, under the particular charge of Sister Clare, whom he knew as a young lady, until her education was completed. One guardian, Mr. Taylor, died a few years since, therefore it is with Mr. West of Lakeville that she is to reside when she leaves school. The gentle man seems in no hurry, however, to claim his ward, at which I do not much wonder, for he has grown daughters of his own on his hands."

" Do you know them, Sarah ?" " I met the Misses West in society, last vacation;" observed Sarah, drawing herself up with dignity (it was rumoured in the school that during that same vacation she had had a " real love affair," which enhanced her importance greatly). " They are dashing young ladies, rather fast, and would com pletely crush such a girl as Val Turner." "Heigh ho !" exclaimed another incipient worldling, to whom school dresses, school rules, and school seclusion, were becoming each day more hard to bear. " What a delightful change it will be for Val, who knows no more of the world than my five year-old sister, when she finds herself suddenly transported into the gayest circle of a gay city ! But I am sure she will not appre ciate her good fortune, nor make the most of her advantages.

I only wish I could be in her place!" " Well, young ladies," suggested Sarah, ill-satisfied at the turn the conversation had taken, " if you have sufficiently discussed Miss Turner, it might be time to consult about our charades for to-morrow night. We do not expect to draw tears from our audience, it is true, but in our humble way, we may aspire to amuse." From the tone of their leader, the young courtiers knew it would be dangerous to disobey the sugges tion, and for the next half-hour all were deep in the interesting topic of the forthcoming charades. But Sarah that day was destined to hear the enemy once more become the main object of interest, even among her own particular subjects. She was just recovering her good humour, for she was in her element, ordering, planning, contriving and enjoying beforehand the triumph that would be sure to attend her efforts, when the door of the play hall was violently thrown open, and a stout, overgrown girl of fifteen, flushed with running, rushed in, exclaiming — ■ " What do you think, girls ?" and then she stopped literally for want of breath.

" What is it ?" exclaimed several eager voices, while each face expressed a full share of truly feminine curiosity. " Val Turner is — is going away ! Yes, it is really true. I thought she was as much a fixture here as the hot-water pipes, but it seems I was mistaken. Mr. West has written for her, I know it for a fact." Some of her companions might have felt inclined to ask how she knew it so positively, which would have been rather an awkward question to answer, involving unavoidable confessions of eaves-dropping, but all minds were diverted from too minute inquiries by a half stifled cry, which interrupted the orator. This cry came from a young girl who, during the foregoing conversation, had sat apart silently sewing on some dainty embroidery. She was very small, so small, indeed, that at first one would have taken her for a mere child, but the face, as she raised her eyes to the speaker, was one which already bore on it the traces of suffering.

Those eyes were very remarkable, almond shaped, large, full of expression, and sur mounted by delicately arched eyebrows ; eyes that could supplicate, and that, at rare intervals, could flash with passionate intensity. They were of a dark grey colour that was dashed with green tints, so that she was generally called by the teaze of the school, " Green-eyed Lucy." The rest of her features, though very regular in their tiny proportions, never struck one as pretty, for their usual expression was one of reserve, or of suppressed suffering. Lucy Linden, in the seventeen years of her life, had already known sorrow. Her mother had died in giving her birth, and her father, a weak man, had soon married again. Lucy's stepmother was a harsh, unjust woman, who looked at the young girl as an obstacle in the way of her own little children, and grudged the smallest sum that was spent on her; thus it had come to pass, that for more than two years Lucy's school bills had remained un paid, and that the poor child owed the very clothes she wore to the charity of the sisters.

Over this humiliation Lucy brooded until she became morbid on the subject ; and though she was now able to be of use to the nuns, by teaching one of the lower classes, the feeling of her dependence goaded her. Beside this, poor Lucy had a serious fault, which nothing had sufficed quite to eradicate; she was timid to excess, and this timidity engendered a want of frankness and truthfulness which distressed her friends ; she had not courage to be truthful. With her peculiar tempera ment, her cold, timid manner, poor Lucy made few friends, and for that reason she clung the more to Val, whom she worshipped, and whom she considered the most noble, the most beautiful of creatures. Therefore, when she heard those words, " Val Turner is going away," she turned faint ; her terror for once broke through her usual quiet reserve, and she uttered the cry which caused all those careless girls to look toward her.

" Lou !" she exclaimed, dropping her dainty work, forgetting for once her usual precise order and carefulness, " are you sure of it; are you quite sure of it ?" " Yes ; I heard Sister Bernard speaking of it to Sister Angelica, and then as I passed the directress's room I peeped, that is, I happened to see Val with her darling Sister Clare, and heard — " But Lucy did not stop to hear the rest, she slipped quietly and quickly out of the playroom, without trusting herself to say any thing more. " What an odd girl," continued Lou, who would have enjoyed nothing better than to answer a hundred questions on the subject. " Odd, I should think so ! " exclaimed Sarah, " she always was ridiculous, with her silent, touch-me-not ways, and since she has taken it into her head to worship Val Turner, she is quite unbearable."

" Poor little thing;" said one of the more compassionate girls, " what will she do with out Val? she has no other friend ; I quite pity her." "What will she do ? I tell you what she ought to do ; she ought to go out into the world, and work for her living, instead of eating the bread of charity, and affecting the airs of a dethroned princess." 0 gentle, sweet, compassionate season of youth ! Where then shall we seek for the spirit of charity, if young girls turn against each other with such coarse cruelty ? One or two looked at their queen with something like disapproval; Mary Blunt, in her capacity of prime minister, adroitly turned the subject, and soon all the girls were discussing Val Turner and her prospects with an amount of knowledge of all worldly things, real or affected, surprising in young girls of their age.

Meanwhile the object of all these different comments was trying in vain to realize the great change that was about to take place in her life. Val Turner was a slight, tall, wellfavoured girl ; as she sat on a low stool by Sister Clare, her head on that lady's lap, there was something very childlike in her expression, as well as in her attitude. Indeed, despite her eighteen years, Val's life heretofore had been so strictly secluded, she had so little knowledge of that great world beyond the convent walls, that in many respects she still was a child. Perhaps it was thinking of this that gave such an anxious look to Sister Clare's fine intellectual face. She had faithfully and lovingly done her duty by this girl, but now that the moment of separation had come, she asked herself how far she had been justified in shielding her so completely from the knowledge of good and evil; as long as she remained at school her complete unworldliness was very charming ; but it left her terribly unprotected against the dangers of her new life.

While these thoughts were crossing the nun's mind, Val was reading for the third time Mr. West's very business-like letter. It ran thus : — "Deae Madam, " I beg to acknowledge your favour of the 18th instant, and am glad to hear of Miss Turner's good health, as well as of her satis factory progress in her studies. " In looking over the papers relating to my ward, I find that she was eighteen years of age two months since, and, as this is, I believe, about the age when young ladies leave school, I have concluded to remove her from your most excellent institution, and to receive her into my family, where of course she will enjoy the same advantages of society as my own daughters. I know that you will be pleased to hear that in consequence of certain ex cellent investments, Miss Turner's little for tune has increased, so as to bring her a clear income of two thousand dollars (2,000 dols.) in currency, a very sufficient sum for a single woman.

Until her twentyfirst birthday, or in case of an early marriage, until her wedding-day, I have decided that one-half that sum yearly would suffice for all her personal expenses. I am sorry that an unusual press of business will prevent my going for my ward myself; but some friends of mine, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, of Cleveland, will pass through N on the 29th, and have kindly promised to take charge of Miss Turner; she will go on with them as far as Cleveland, where she will be put into the train for Lakeville. As there is no change of cars, she will have no difficulty ; I will be at the station to meet her. Enclosed, please find a check for 150 dols. (one hundred and fifty dollars) which, after the payment of the last monthly bill, will leave an amount sufficient for travelling expenses. " Pray accept, my dear Madam, my most grateful thanks for your continued kindness to my old friend's child, and believe me to be in all things, "Your most obedient servant, "John West."

" He speaks of me as if I were some bun dle of goods to be shipped off with the utmost despatch!" cried Val indignantly. "Sister, do not send me away ! I am happy here, and I know that I shall be miserable among those strangers. Mrs. West and the girls have never taken the slightest notice of me ; I sometimes doubt whether they are even aware of my existence. As to my guardian • him self, he has been to see me three times in twelve years ! and then only because business brought him South. You know he always had his watch in his hand to count the precious minutes he spent in asking me whether I was contented, whether I learnt my lessons well, ending the speech and the visit by handing me a present. Two years ago, when he came, he brought me a doll, as he had done on the previous occasions ; but when he saw how tall I had grown, he looked quite sheepish, and tried to hide the thing in the folds of his travelling-rug.

You remember the next day he sent me a fine velvet work box, with scissors that would not cut, and a thimble large enough for his cook. I mean to write to Mr. West, informing him that I will not go to Lakeville, but that I wish to stay here, and become a nun like you !" Sister Clare smiled rather sadly as she looked down on the young girl's flushed and VOL. I. c eager face, but rather absently smoothed the curly, brown hair that never would be smooth. Sister Clare was by no means the sort of nun which romance writers, eager for the roman tically horrible, love to describe. No one looking at her would be tempted to think of mysterious dungeons, secret passages leading to a chamber of horrors, where refractory nuns were, on convenient occasions, walled up as examples. On the contrary, Sister Clare was distinguished hy her strong com mon sense, her high attainments, and her kindly affectionate heart.

No wonder that the orphan child had clung to her for years with the devotion of a daughter, and the admiration of a disciple. On this occasion, Sister Clare had a difficult task before her ; in little more than two days, Val must be prepared to take her place in the world whose maxims are the opposite of those she had always inculcated, where the religion in which she had been brought up, for Val was like her French mother, a Catholic, was looked upon sometimes with contempt, and always with disfavour. This was a difficult task indeed, but Sister Clare was not of those who shrink from difficulties, and though her own affectionate heart was suffering from the coming parting, she put her private feelings quite on one side, and talked to her pupil long and earnestly. Val was at first too much bewildered to derive much benefit from these instructions, for her guardian's letter was a great shock to her, but gradually she listened more attentively.

"Now, my child," said Sister Clare, after more than an hour of serious and earnest conversation. "Go to the chapel, to that dear little chapel where you first learned to pray, and seek for strength, there, where alone it is to be found." Val was awed ; it seemed to her that this going away, which she had first regarded with something of the natural levity of her age, was a solemn and very dreadful event. The directress' room was approached by a rather dark corridor; and as Val walked along, she almost stumbled over something which lay in her path. This something moved, and Val, with some difficulty, re cognized her little friend and ally, Lucy Linden. c "Why, Lucy, how came you here? You must be frozen ! " " I think I am cold, I have been waiting for you so very long. O Val, tell me that it is not true!" pleaded the child-like voice, which had in it some tones touchingly sor rowful, "tell me that you are not going away."

" My poor little Lucy ! it is true ; I have only two more days to stay here." She was interrupted by such violent and passionate weeping on the part of Lucy, that for the next few minutes she could think of nothing but the best means of soothing the poor child. In the midst of her efforts, Val could not help wondering at this sudden outburst from one who was usually so quietly self possessed, that she was by many pronounced to be as cold as ice. "What shall I do? what shall I do?" sobbed the young girl, her tiny frame shaken with the violence of her emotion. " 0 Val, I have but you in the world." " My darling, I wish I could take you with me ; I wish I had a home of my own that you might share, but I myself am going to strangers." " Then listen, Val ; if you love me you will do this," said Lucy, with such energy that in an instant she subdued her sobs.

" When you become acquainted with the people in Lakeville, find me a place as governess, or nursery maid, or any thing ! I will not stay here to receive the sisters' charity, and be an object of contempt to the girls !" Val promised, wondering more than ever, and feeling that intimately as she had asso ciated with her young friend, she had never known her before. The short, remaining days of Val's school life slipped quietly away, and those teachers who had been proud of their pupil's profici ency, those girls who had been her class mates, and who liked her in spite of Sarah Goodwin and her party, accused her of want of feeling. But Sister Clare understood her better; she knew that the shock had been so sudden, that it had left her half stunned. She could not realize the change ; she saw the prepara tions for her departure, she received the keys of her modest trunks, at last she even put on her travelling dress, and not even then could she realize it.

It was not until Sister Clare, whose voice trembled audibly, said, " There is the carriage dear; Mrs. Wilson will not like to be kept waiting," that the sense of what was going to happen really came upon her, and then her unnatural quietness gave way, and she sobbed as though her heart would break, clinging to Sister Clare, and begging her not to send her away. But fate, in the buxom person of Mrs. Wilson, interfered ; and almost before she knew it, Val, still crying, was hustled into a carriage, treading on Mr. Wilson's worst corn, and sitting down on a small boy who resented the imposition with loud cries. Poor Val certainly appeared at her worst on that occasion, and Mrs. Wilson was perhaps excusable when she said to her husband, in a loud whisper, later in the day, " What a dowdy, dull girl to be sure ! what will the Wests ever make of her?"

Val overheard the remark, and it did not tend to reassure her ; her opinion of her own merits and attractions never was at so low an ebb before. On the journey, the close atmosphere of the stove-heated car, the noise, the unaccustomed and jerking motion made her feel ill, for it must be remembered that this was her first experience in travelling since her seventh year. Mrs. AYilson was a veteran traveller; scolded the children, talked incessantly, of fered nuts and apples, ate a goodly quantity of those delicacies herself, and was quite un conscious that her young, silent charge was suffering, until even her attention was at tracted by the poor girl's extreme paleness ; then, for notwithstanding her unprepossess ing exterior, Mrs. Wilson was really good hearted, she forced Val to lie down, covered her with shawls, overwhelmed her with excla mations and condolences ; and finally, 0 greatest of comforts ! partially opened a window, and let the cold air in upon her face.

Val felt humbly grateful for this kind ness, which in her present state of depression she feebly wondered at, and at last fell asleep. This repose was sadly needed, for her last night at school had been almost sleepless. When at last they reached Cleveland, Val, with the blessed elasticity of youth, was quite herself again, and proved her gratitude to Mrs. Wilson by so many little attentions, that the lady, with characteristic impulsiveness. changed her opinion ; that night she informed her lord and master that he had been quite wrong in his estimate of Miss Turner, and that she was a little shy at first, that was all. Worthy Mr. Wilson wondered, in his slow way, when and where he had expressed any opinion on the subject ; but he had too vivid a conviction of his wife's powers of argument to venture on the expression of his wonder.

Chapter II. Gielhood Under Another Aspect

" IV^^ you are very sure you no^ ke frightened at being left alone?" rather anxiously asked Mrs. Wilson next morning, as she settled her charge as one of the passengers for Lakeville. "0 dear no, not at all!" answered Val, who by this time had so far recovered her spirits as to be able to smile. "Well, good-bye, then, my dear; the con ductor has been told to look after you, so that you will not have any trouble. Give my love to the Wests — and mind you do not forget to eat your lunch." Then Val was left alone with her thoughts, and for the first time almost since she had read the letter which had so changed her life, those thoughts assumed a somewhat definite shape. The car was not crowded, as it happened; she had the double seat to herself and her parcels, so she settled herself as comfortably as she could, and putting aside the book which Mrs. Wilson, in the kindness of her heart, had thrust in her young charge's already full hands, looked out of the window.

It was a bright, frosty winter's morning, the farm houses, villages, and log cabins by which the train dashed looked pretty with their weight of snow, crystallized by the sharp cold. It troubled Val to think that she was thus, against her will, being whirled along to her fate ; the monotonous rattle of the cars, the occasional shriek of the whistle, as they neared a station, and to which she could not accustom her nerves, seemed to her something threatening and sinister. This inclined her to take some what a melancholy view of the new life which was before her ; but she was very young, and as the sun began to gather new strength, it seemed to brighten her thoughts as well as the wintry landscape outside. Perhaps her strongest feeling was curiosity about the people among whom she was going.