Castle Lacy, or Family Portraits in Pen and Pencil. An unconventional chronicle

Front matter

a ARABELLA KENEALY'S NOVELS SOME MEN ARE SUCH GENTLEMEN Crown Svo, cloth, 6s. Fifth Edition. Academy-' Vie take up a book by Miss Arabella .Kenealy confident > _expe<* in? to be amused, and in her latest work we are not disappointed. 1 he story ss so brightly written that our interest is never allowed to flag The heroine^ Lois Clinton, is sweet and womanly. ... The tale is told with spirit and vivacity, and shows no little skill in its descriptive passages. Pall Mall Gazelle-' A book to be read breathlessly from beginning |° end: .II is decidedly original ... its vivid interest. The picture of the girl is admir ably drawn. The style is bright and easy.' Literary World—' A really good story, original, well written and strong. A really excellent and engaging story. The materials are rare, and, we must admit, ideal . . . can be read with interest and enjoyment.

Daily Chronicle— Miss Kenealy has original ideas, a nice faculty of literary expression . Her description of the old house where dwelt her strange young heroine, is quite admirable. . . . There is a quaintness and an air^ of romance about the whole story, which are very pleasant to note and to remember. Truth—' Its heroine is at once original and charming.' DR JANET OF HARLEY STREET Crown Svo, cloth, 2s. 6d. Picture Boards, is. This Book ran through Six Editions in the Six Shilling form. Daily Chronicle—1 It is a clever book, and well worth reading ; it can outstrip the ordinary novel by many knots per day (to pursue the metaphor), and it may make one or two people think who are unaccustomed to that exercise. Miss Kenealy has imagined an interesting character, and realised her vividly.' Pall Mall Gazette— -'In "Dr Janet of Harley Street," Dr Arabella Kenealy has shown that the art of writing lively fiction is not the least of her many accom plishments.

Moreover, she has achieved the rare distinction of producing a novel which is didactic and not dull. Miss Kenealy has a quick sense of humour, and a lively faculty of observation, and her style is vivid and effective.' THE HONOURABLE MRS SPOOR Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s. Fourth Edition. Black and White — ' Her latest novel has advanced her to the front rank of lady novelists.' The Daily Chronicle— ' A clever story. The most powerful piece of work that Miss Kenealy has done.' The Pall Mall Gazette — 'This powerful story . . . brilliantly achieved. Her style is, as always, graceful and easy, and her character sketches are excellent said humorous.' DIGBY, LOUG & CO., Publishers, London. DIGBY'S POPULAR NOVEL SERIES Crown 3vo, handsome cloth, price 2_. 6d. per Vol. Each Book contains about 320 pp., and is printed on superior paper from new type.

Part I

A LETTER No. I. From Constance Benson to Charles Benson, I.C.S. Castle Lacy, Chatdene, Yorks, April 1 8— . Dear Charlie, — My original intention was to be like the good wives in the story-books, who kept correct diaries, pointed with moral reflections, for the benefit of their absent husbands, but I find I can't do it. I began the diary part of it on board the Sia/n, and kept it up religiously all the voyage from Bombay to Southampton ; but, when I came to read it over, I found J had forgotten the moral reflections altogether, and the rest of it was so frivolous and stupid, that it did not seem worth the postage, so I shall keep my effusions till you come to fetch me next year, and then we can laugh over them together. How nice that ' together ' sounds ! So, you see, I have given up a diary, and shall indulge in ' talks on paper ' instead, in addition to my weekly letters, for I want you to picture to yourself where I am and what I am doing, so that when I write to you about places and people, they may have for you 'a local habitation and a name,' and not be only meaningless sounds.

It did not matter a bit about the people on the Siani, for they were only passing acquaintances, but here I am settled for twelve months in my brother-in-law's house at Chatdene, and I want you to picture the family circle and the home life which are around me. You remember the little sketches I used to send you from Simla, when I had to go there alone after my attack of jungle fever ; well, I have my little sketch-book here now, and, with its aid, I shall try to give you a series of ' Family Portraits in Pen and Pencil,' for, as the children say, it will only be 'between you and me and the post,' so 1 can write just as freely as I should talk to you. What a long prelude ! But ' good-night ' now, and I must try my sketching powers to-morrow. I will confess that I felt very nervous as the train drew near Chatsmere, for it was fifteen years since I had seen my sister Eva, and I had a very vague recollection of Colonel Louis-Herbert.

I don't think of him as Colonel Louis- Herbert now, though, he is brother Arthur, and will be, I think, to the end of the chapter. We never had a brother of our own, and I feel now how much we have missed. Eva was on the platform as the train drew up, and so was Arthur. I caught sight of his tall, soldierly figure at once, towering above everyone, and then the carriage door was opened and a strong hand had hold of mine, while, ' Welcome to Chatsmere, Constance,' were the first words I heard. And then Eva kissed me, in her quiet, undemonstrative way, but her voice shook a little as she said, — ' Dear Connie, dear Connie.' Eva took charge of me, while Arthur collected my luggage. It was so pleasant to be cared for again, as you would have done, Charlie. We were soon in the carriage, and on our way to Chatdene, but I did not notice the country much then, for I was so taken up with watching Arthur and Eva.

Eva has aged a good deal during the last fifteen years, and, as a rule, she looks grave and a bit anxious, except when she looks at Arthur, and then her whole expression is one of restfulness and content ; she is tall, you remember, and her dark eyes flash out as they used to do in the old days ; her soft black hair is as abundant as ever, and there is scarcely a grey streak in it. I don't know how to describe Arthur ; but he gives you an impression of strength and reliance. Tall (I think he is some inches over six feet) and broad - shouldered, with ' soldier ' stamped on every line and movement ; a firm-set, stern mouth, shaded by a short, thick, black moustache ; a square, resolute chin and lower jaw, giving the impression of intense determination and power ; and a fine, strongly-marked nose.

But above this shine two brown eyes, full of love and gentle ness when watching Eva and the children, and so true, honest and penetrating, that you feel you can trust anything to their owner ; a broad, square forehead, surmounted by short, black hair. I don't think that gives you an idea of Arthur after all, for, when you come to know him, you entirely forget the face in the man. I said to Eva just now, — ' As I am not strong enough for walking or driving at present, I am going to spend my after noons scribbling to Charlie ; for, do you know, I'm a bit husband-sick.' Silly, wasn't it? But Eva didn't think so; she only said quietly, — '/can understand,' and I saw her eyes following Arthur's tall figure as he walked down the garden path. I think the drive from Chatsmere to this village of Chat dene is about six miles, but Castle Lacy is another two miles further still, and the last mile and a half lies through the Park.

The property was left to Arthur by Mr John Lacy, a queer, old, Irish gentleman who took a fancy to him. It is a big, rambling house, with a castle-like tower at each end, and a courtyard in the middle, but it looks very homelike. Arthur and Eva need a big house, for they have twelve children of their own, besides a waif, whom Arthur rescued from a street acrobat, and whom he has adopted. Eva is going to tell me the story some day. She told me they had quite a small home party now — only nine ! Three of the boys are coming home from Eton, for Easter, next week, and the other absentee is the fourth boy, Morton, a middy in the Royal Navy. 'We thought you would like a quiet evening on your arrival, Connie, as you would be tired,' Eva said ; ' so the three youngest will be in bed, and we have sent the rest of the children to dine at the Dene with the Ivanhoffs.

Do you remember Feodor?' I had a faint remembrance that Arthur's father had a Russian ward of that name, and, somehow, I think he was mixed up with Arthur and Eva's love affairs ; but I must ask the latter about it. Well, we drove up through the courtyard, and the big hall door flew open, and a young man of about thirty, in evening dress, opened the carriage door. My dear Charlie, I almost jumped, for you never saw such a face ! It may have been good-looking once, but now it was seamed and lined with hideous scars ; only a large, keen pair of grey eyes saved it from being almost repulsive. 'Why, Louis,' exclaimed Eva, 'I thought you were at the Dene!' , . , 'So I was, Eva,' was the reply, 'but you know, when Feodor and I get together, we always fight and Cora told me if I couldn't keep my temper, I'd better go home, so, like an obedient husband, I came, and here I am We were in the big square hall by this time, and Arthur introduced me to Louis Morton. ' Mrs Benson thinks I'm a Chippeway Indian, Arthur, said Louis (everyone calls him Louis) plaintively, 'but I'm really not, though to look at these ' (and he touched his scars) ' you might think so.

Arthur fished me out of the sea, from a ship wreck, when I was a baby, and has been father, brother and everything to me ever since;' and the loving light in his grey eyes, as he put his hand, thin and sinewy, on Arthur's shoulder, made me forget the scarred, seamed face. I got Eva to tell me the story of Louis Morton's scarred face, and as I am only giving you pen and ink sketches of my surroundings, and not a regular connected history, I will put it in here. It seems that Louis Morton and Edgar Herbert (a cousin of Arthur's) both fell in love with a certain Cora Marsden. She appears to have been a thorough flirt, for she encouraged first one, and then the other, till the two foolish fellows were mad with jealousy. Louis has a most fiery temper, and, when he is roused, no one but Arthur can do anything with him.

Well, in his jealous rage, he asked Edgar to walk along the shore with him, declaring that neither should return home till the matter was settled one way or the other. So on the shore they walked until they were under Chatdale Scar, a point of cliff hollowed out at the base, which juts out in Chatdale Bay, just in front of a ridge of pointed rocks, which they call the ' Cat's Teeth.' Then Louis burst out with his wrongs, and demanded that Edgar should cease his attentions to Miss Marsden ; this, as you may imagine, Edgar declined to do, and the quarrel waxed hot and furious, for neither would yield. But, while this went on, the tide had risen — it sweeps round the points into the bay like a millrace — and they suddenly realised that they were shut in under the Scar, to be drowned like rats in a trap.

Louis recognised the danger at once, for he knew the coast well, and he knew that no man could swim through the surf which was breaking on the ' Cat's Teeth ' ledge ; the Scar, too, slippery and polished with the wash of the waves, was hollowed out underneath, leaving the point at the top jutting out like a tongue, and nearly as sharp as a razor. Well, the two poor fellows begged each other's pardon for their hasty words, and then together they shouted. Old Joe Blunt, the coastguardsman, was working with his nephew in his garden close by, and by some wonderful chance he heard them, and guessed what had happened, for he had seen them go down the cliff. He ran back to his cottage for-a rocket line, sent his little grandchild for help, and was back at the top of the Scar as quickly as possible.

The child ran towards Chatdene, crying out that ' Master Louis and Master Edgar were drowning off the Scar,' and soon a party of people gathered at the top, with Cora among them. Old Joe lowered his rocket-line, but owing to the shape of the Scar it fell into the water inside the Cat's Teeth. Louis and Edgar, however, swam out to it — for the sea was touching the Scar now — and caught it, and then the terrible hauling up began. Inch by inch the doubly-burdened rope was drawn up ; but, within twenty feet of the top, Louis looked up and saw that some strands of the rope had parted, cut by the edge of the cliff. In an instant his resolution was taken. ' Good-bye ; God bless you, Edgar ; be good to Cora,' was all he said ; and then he loosed his hold of the rope and dropped ; dropped into the seething foam above the Cat's Teeth.

The men at the top felt the lightened strain and guessed the truth, but they said nothing; only, as Edgar neared the top, strong hands were stretched over, and he was drawn up safely. Cora sprang forward. ' Only Edgar ! ' she said ; ' where's Louis ? ' and she dropped like a stone. Weeks passed, but Louis Morton's body never came ashore. Arthur inquired everywhere along the coast, but with no result. One day, however, he was at Scarborough, watching the unloading of a French fishing smack, when he felt a touch on his arm. 'Don't you know me, Arthur?' Dressed in a French fisherman's blue blouse, his hair cropped close, and his face seamed and plaistered almost beyond recognition ; still it was Louis in flesh and blood. He said, from the time he dropped from the rope till he found himself on a French fishing smack he knew nothing ; and then soon delirium set in.

They could only guess that the waves had dashed him on, and finally over, the Cat's Teeth, and that the kindly French fishermen had rescued him as he lay, tossed like a log by the waves, outside the bar. And so they nursed him back to life, and, when he was well enough, brought him back to England. Cora says she is proud of her husband's scarred face, and she would not have it altered for the world ! Oh, how stupid! I quite forgot to say that she married Louis, and they are now staying here. Eva has been giving me some further particulars of Louis's history. So, as I am writing about him, I will repeat them here. Arthur's father was staying with his family on the coast of Ireland, about thirty-three years ago, when a ship was wrecked on a reef of rocks close by. All on board perished except a baby boy, who was rescued by Arthur — then only a schoolboy — and his eldestbrother, Reginald.

At first there was a talk of taking the rescued waif to the workhouse, as no clue could be found as to its identity, but Arthur pleaded so hard to be allowed to keep it, that his father consented, only stipulating that the greater part of his allowance should go towards the support of his foundling. Arthur willingly consented, and also promised, as soon as he reached manhood, to repay all that had been expended on the child : I need not say that this promise was faithfully kept. The waif was baptized by the names of Louis Herbert, and Arthur and his brother were sponsors : so he became an adopted member of General Herbert's family. He grew up an impetuous, wilful lad, resenting all control, except from Arthur, whom he loved with the whole strength of his jealous, passionate nature, and who could, and, indeed, can, rule him with a word.

When Louis was about ten years old, Arthur married, and Louis's loving care of Eva is very beautiful to see, though he jealously claims a right to both, before their own children. Just as I was writing this, I looked out of my window, and saw this illustrated. Arthur was walking slowly along the terrace, with his elder sons, Neville and Lacy, one on each side of him, each with an arm through his. Neville's spare hand was in his pocket, while Lacy's was engaged in stroking a long, silky, dark moustache, which always occupies a large share of his attention. Neville is very little below his father's height, and he has his father's honest, brown eyes, and determined mouth and jaw. He is twenty-three, and Lacy a year younger, and the two brothers are devoted friends. Lacy is some inches shorter than Neville, and lacks his breadth of shoulder, but (and he knows it) he is a handsome young fellow, with large, sleepy, dark eyes, shaded by long, black lashes ; there is, however, less strength of character than Neville shows, about the lower part of his face.

Father and sons were talking earnestly together, when Louis strode up and, without a word, took Neville by the shoulders, turned him round, and then slipped his own arm within Arthur's. I saw Neville's eyes flash, and his hand clench, but it was only for a moment ; with a quiet smile he passed to Lacy's side, and, laying his hand on his shoulder, walked on as before. Arthur turned to Neville with one of his grave smiles, and I could see that he felt his self-control was well rewarded. I don't think I know a nobler, or more unselfish fellow than Neville. I wish you could know him. He is his father's friend as well as son, and the perfect confidence and love existing between them is quite beautiful : his mother's right hand, devoted to her, and, as far as possible, anticipating her every wish ; the companion and guardian of his sisters ; the Mentor (only he never preaches) of the elder boys ; the play mate of the little ones ; and, in loyal obedience to his parents, the example of all.

I did not take this in at once, for Neville is eminently unobtrusive, but you find little kindnesses done, little quarrels smoothed over, and, in fact, a general oiling of the wheels of the family coach, without exactly knowing where the oil comes from. He is so strong, too, and self reliant, though he sets -aside his own wishes for those of others ; pure-hearted, truthful and honourable ; a true son of his father, the type of a Christian gentleman. Yes, I think that is the keynote of all, Charlie. Somehow, I never thought much of Christianity before, except as some thing that took you to church one day in seven, but it seems different here, and to be such a rearthing to Arthur and to all ; just as real a thing, you know, to Arthur to be Christ's soldier as the Queen's ; to be loyal to One as to the other. without any fuss or parade about the matter.

But here — oh, how I have wandered from my subject, which, when I look back, seems to have been Louis, who would not at all approve of being set aside for Neville. When Louis was about eighteen, Reginald Herbert met, coming home from Gibraltar, a certain Captain Morton, not of the best character; he paid a good deal of attention to a pretty girl on the vessel, coming home from India under his (Reginald's) charge, and he promptly proposed to her by letter. This letter the girl wisely handed over to Reginald, who at once had an interview with Captain Morton, and put some pointed questions to him. 'Was he a bachelor, or a widower?' etc. He said he was a widower, and then he began to shuffle, but it finally came out that, eighteen years before, his wife and child had been sent to England from the West Indies ; the ship had been wrecked off the Irish coast, and all on board were supposed to be lost, but he had never taken the trouble to inquire.

Stirred up, however, with the hope of winning the heiress, he did now make stringent inquiries, proving beyond a doubt that his wife was drowned, but that Arthur's rescued waif was his son. When she heard the story, the girl refused him, and Captain Morton vowed vengeance. He claimed Louis, and took the poor fellow from the only home he had ever known. I can't tell you the history of the next five years. The wretched man tried to drag Louis down to the depths of his own infamy ; but Arthur's training bore fruit, and the lad stood firm under every temptation, mockery, abuse, and even blows. It seems wonderful how he kept his fiery temper in check, but from love to Arthur he did. Release came at last, but not till Louis had nursed his father through delirium tremens and two years of cunning insanity.

He recovered just before he died, thanking Louis for his patient, tender care of him ; then Louis came back a rich man, now, however, to rest and be at home with Arthur and Eva. Two years after, he married, as you know, Cora Marsden, the very heiress who had rejected the attentions of his father. * I meant to have introduced you to the members of the family as they were introduced to me, 'all proper,' as the heralds say, but I wandered off on a long story about Louis. Now, however — Revenons a nos moutons — or, in plain English, I must go back to the day of my arrival. My room looked so cosy and homelike when Eva took me to it, and there, Charlie, on the dressing-table, on a little easel, was a lovely little pencil sketch of you, taken from your last photograph. ' Marion, our Ina, our second girl, you know, did it for you, as she thought you might like it,' explained Eva, and my heart warmed to my almost unknown niece, who was only three years old when I saw her last, so she must now be eighteen.

We had such a nice quiet talk after dinner round a big fire in the library, and about ten o'clock we heard the sound of cheery voices. ' Are you too tired, Connie ? or will you see the children to-night ? ' asked Eva. Of course I wanted to see them, so Arthur brought them in. The two elder girls, Evangeline, or Lina, as she is generally called, and Ina, had each slipped an arm through their father's. Both girls are tall and dark, but Lina is slighter than Ina, and I think looks a year younger, rather than older, than her sister. Sweet, earnest faces both have, and it seemed quite natural that Lina should bring up my ' chota hazri ' in bed the next morning, while Ina swept up the hearth and lighted the fire. Following Arthur and the girls, came Lacy, occupied, as usual, with his moustache, but finding time to lead in a slight, rather delicate-looking boy of about sixteen, whom Eva introduced as ' Bernard, our blind boy.' ' May I feel you, Aunt Constance ? ' he asked, and when I consented, it was so strange to feel his slender, sensitive hands passing over my face and head, and, with special care, feeling my wrist, his general point of recognition. ' Bernie is our church, as well as home, organist,' said Arthur, ' but you must stop him if his playing is too much for you at any time.' It is a treat to hear Bernie play, Charlie ; he makes the organ almost speak, and it is wonderful to see the power of his slender fingers.

Lacy seems specially tender with him, putting aside whatever he is doing, even to the cultivation of his beloved moustache, if Bernie wants a blower for the organ. CASTIE LACY 12 I spoke of this to Lacy one day, and he looked grave and sad. 'I owe it to him, Aunt Constance,' he said. When Bernie was a little chap four years old, I was left to amuse him in the Park, with strict orders not to leave the grounds ; these orders, I'm sorry to say, I disobeyed, and went out into the village, taking Bernie with me.' And he went on to tell me how the child ran into a cottage to take some water to a sick boy, who was crying for diink. Lacy said nothing at home about his escapade, but, in a week, Bernard was attacked with scarlet fever, from which he only recovered with the loss of his sight. Following Lacy and Bernie came Neville and the third boy, Guy, a year younger than Lacy ; black-haired, black eyed, with a strong, passionate, resolute face, which yet has a wistful look on it.

Poor fellow, his violent temper is a con stant trial to him, and Arthur has put a veto on his going up for his Army Examination till he has managed to pass six months without an outbreak of passion. I think I must tell you here, what happened the other day. The son of on old friend of Arthur's was here, a dreadful boy of thirteen, and he got hold of two Scotch terrier puppies belonging to the youngest boys, twin laddies of eight years old, and threatened to drop them in the well. Poor little fellows, they begged for the life of their favourites, and just then Guy came in from riding. Whether his sudden appearance startled the boy or not, I. do not know, but, at anyrate, splash went the puppies into the water. Guy boiled over. With one spring he caught the boy by the collar, while he thrashed him with the riding-whip which he had in his hand.

Arthur heard the outcry and strode up. ' Give me that whip, Guy,' he said, laying his hand on Guy's arm. But Guy was beside himself with passion, and, wrenching his arm away, he hit again at the boy, but, missing his aim, the whip struck Arthur on the cheek, raising a livid line along the flesh. The whip fell from his hand at once, and, at Arthur's command, he rushed off to the study. •I was sitting on a seat near the open study window, and I saw Guy fling himself down on the window-seat, still quiver ing with the excitement of his passion. Presently the door opened, and Arthur came quietly in, the livid line standing out on his cheek. Guy rose half-defiant, half-remorseful. ' Guy, my poor boy ! ' was all that Arthur said. The defiant look was gone at once. ' Oh, father, don't be kind to me ; I don't deserve it,' and Guy dropped his head on his hands.

Arthur's arm was round him in a moment, and then, Charlie, it seemed too sacred to watch, and I slipped quietly away. I find I have left out Cora Morton all this time, but, at present, I am not much taken with her. She came home with the others on the evening of' my arrival, and, before she came into the room, I heard her full, contralto voice inquiring ' if Louis had come home ? and whether he had recovered his temper ? ' 1 do think she tries that said ' temper ' sorely, for Louis comes in for many caustic speeches, and they have many passages-at-arms. Cora is a fine woman, with a splendid figure, and a regal head crowned with massive plaits of dark hair. I do think she loves Louis after her own fashion, but she seems very much afraid lest anyone should know it. She is brusque and imperious with everyone, except writh Eva and Arthur, and to them she is gentle and daughterly.

I did not see Beatrice, or Beaty, as they call her, the third girl, until the morning after my arrival. She is twelve years old, and will, I think, grow up a handsome woman, as she has fine dark eyes and a luxuriance of glossy, dark, waving hair, which, at present, flies behind her like a mane as she rushes down the stairs, or races about the garden. Arthur brought his youngest children to me when I came down in the morning. 'Our twin laddies,' he said, 'Rash leigh and Rossington, but, as these names are too big for such small persons, they are generally known as Rashie and Rossie.' Two such dear little lads of eight they were, and I fell in love with them at once. I know them apart now — if they ever are apart — and can distinguish the saucy toss of Rashie's curly, dark head, and the full, searching inquiry of Rossie's big, brown, long-lashed eyes.