The Stage and the Company; a novel

Chapter I

" My mother was as mild as any saint, And nearly canonized by all she knew ; So gracious was her tact and tenderness." The Princess. Mr. Foster was quietly sitting one morning in his study, perusing the " Times," and warm ing his boot-soles, when he was interrupted by the introduction into his room of two gentlemen, who wished to speak to him on matters of business. VOL. II. L They were both strangers to Mr. Foster, but one of them has already been introduced to the reader, being no other than the individual calling himself Baker, who travelled with Sidney from London. Baker was not now the name on the card which he sent in with one from his com panion ; they were announced as Mr. Aldrich, and Mr. Winnecott. Perfectly unacquainted with the persons of either gentleman, Mr. Foster looked from one to the other with something between curiosity and anxiety ; and not being much prepossessed by the sinister, downcast expression of the ci devant Baker, he turned to the more lively, though scarcely more agreeable face of the other, to seek an explanation.

" Sir, Iam a solicitor — my name is Winne cott ; this gentleman, my friend and client, is Mr. Aldrich. I believe I am speaking to Mr. Foster ?" A bow was the token of assent — the worthy British squire entertained a horror of all solicitors, whom he, by the bye, always called at torneys • and illiberal as it might seem, it cost him a spasm to find one in his own study ; much such a feeling indeed as would have thrilled through his wife at the sight of a cockroach on her breakfast-table. " You, I understand, are the guardian of the orphan children of the late Mrs. Elliott, some time resident at Nunneley Lodge ?" " With Admiral Borlase ; yes. Well ?" " She, I believe, died possessed of considerable property bequeathed to her by her uncle ?" " Possessed ; hum ; it was left her, certainly, but she can hardly be said to have possessed it, seeing she died the next day."

" Left to her, I understand, with entire liberty to do as she pleased with it. Hers without restriction or limitation." " Such liberty as a woman on her death-bed could enjoy. She had the liberty of leaving it behind her, to be sure : but I don't know how that could have been interfered with." B " True. But Mr. Morgan's will, I believe, dates some time back ; she was not on her death-bed when it was made. And Mrs. Elliott, I gather, did not exercise this power ; she left her property to descend as the law might dic tate, not interfering in the disposal at all !" " She made no will, that I could find," said the Squire, bluntly. " There could be no doubt who would inherit it after her : the land all goes to her son ; the money, of course, the daughters share with him." " Mr. Morgan left no child, I think," said Mr. Winnecott, with a quick glance at his com panion.

" I never even heard that he had married," replied Mr. Foster ; " he was a regular old bachelor." The gentlemen again interchanged an almost invisible eye-glance. " Were you acquainted with him in his early life ?" asked the attorney, blandly. " No, sir ; were you ?" " I ? oh, no ! your intimacy began, I presume, when he settled here ?" " Thereabouts." " Which was, I understood, when his niece became a widow • that is, when the Reverend Harold Elliott died ?" " Aye ; now, sir, may I ask to what these questions are to lead ?" " Well, sir, few words are best. I fear it will be an unpleasant and unpalatable fact which I have to state ; but it is this. This gentleman, my client, Mr. Aldrich, claims possession of all the property of which the lady in question died possessed, in right of having been her husband."

Mr. Foster looked at him with a stare of un qualified amazement, and for a moment did not speak, but finding that his visitor also continued silent, he said, at length — " I have not the honour to understand you, »j sir. "This gentleman, my client, Mr. Aldrich, claims to having been the real husband of the lady known to you as the wife and widow of the Reverend Harold Elliott, who was the niece of the late Edward Morgan, or properly Edward Sandys, formerly a merchant of the City of London." Still Mr. Foster gazed in silent astonishment and perplexity ; the announcement was so per fectly incomprehensible, that it took away even the power of asking questions. He looked from one stranger to the other, as if expecting to read in their faces some explanation beyond the words which met the ear. Mr. Winnecott's countenance wore a keen ex pression, as if studying the effect of his words ; the other gentleman sat with his arms crossed, his head bent down, and his eyes gravely fixed on the ground ; rather like one endeavouring to assume the appearance of subdued emotion than actually struggling with it.

At length Mr. Foster again broke the silence by saying — " May I ask when my late friend, Mrs. El liott, contracted this marriage of which you speak, for I have known her so intimately for these last sixteen years, that I am as puzzled to think at what period she could have renounced the reality, as why she should have kept up the semblance of widowhood ?" " The marriage in question, my dear sir, dates farther back than your acquaintance. It was contracted during the year 1810." Mr. Foster started, and prefacing his excla mation with a strong interjection, he cried~- " You do not mean to accuse my friend of bigamy, sir ?" " Not intentional, not conscious bigamy ; Heaven forbid ! The unfortunate lady of whom we are speaking believed her first husband, Mr. Aldrich, dead, before she married again ; and was not made aware of his existence until after Mr. Elliott's decease.

She was perfectly guilt less, therefore, though, as I said, she was un fortunate." A pause ensued. " You cannot expect me to believe this extra ordinary story, gentlemen," said Mr. Foster, at last, " without something more than your bare assertion. May I ask what proof have you of this far-away marriage ? you must really forgive me if I still think there is some mistake." " The marriage between James Aldrich and Sidney Sandys is entered in the parish register of the town where it occurred — at that time the residence of the gentleman ; the clergyman who performed the ceremony is still living, being in cumbent at the present time of a parish in Kent, and can be consulted. Mr. Aldrich has other proofs in his possession ; early letters from his wife, a portrait, also letters from the lady after his return to England, acknowledging his claim, I believe, and entreating his forbearance.

Possibly some of his letters to her may be found amongst her papers." " I think not — I am sure not !" eagerly ex claimed Mr. Foster ; " we searched everywhere for a will, and had such letters existed, Harold or I should have noticed them. I am positive there were none. She had almost no papers, excepting her son's letters." At this assertion Mr. Aldrich drew a long breath, like one relieved from a burden ; and changing his posture, crossed his arms and legs in the opposite direction, and resettled himself. " Ah, indeed," observed Mr. Winnecott, de murely, with a glance at his client. " And supposing this to be true," added Mr. Foster, " what do you propose to do ?" " Of course my client came to urge his claim to his late wife's property ; seeing that she died intestate, the whole, of necessity, is his ; but, as he feels great compassion for the unfortunate young people, whose expectations are thus inter fered with, he proposes, I believe, to adopt these innocent children of his late wife, and promises to befriend them by every means in his power."

" He is very good !" exclaimed the Squire, vehemently kicking away a footstool from before b him. " There are few men whose magnanimity would be equal to such a proceeding. Most gentlemen would entertain some reluctance to the remembrance, not to say the sight, of chil dren whose existence was a shame to him as a husband." The Squire paused, and a reminiscence of the judgment of Solomon floated through his brain ; he pondered, and then said — " You don't expect, I presume, that we guardians shall quietly give up our wards' property on the mere hearing of a story so nearly related to the class called ' cock and bull.' For my part, I can only say that if Admiral Borlase did, I would not consent to such a proceeding ; I do not in the least mean to impugn your veracity, gentlemen — I do not question your honour, or your upright intentions — but permit me with all deference to say, that I do not believe "a word which you have told me.

And if it is necessary to do more than refuse to act on your modest request, I shall choose to do so through my own legal adviser. Anything more you have to say, Mr. Winnecott, may be stated to him, and he will make it known to my brother-guardian and myself. At present I decline all further dis cussion." They all rose as he spoke. His tone conveyed great irritation, he believed he had been selected as the subject of an atrocious fraud, and there is something very trying to man's philosophy in such an idea. " Only one thing more I have to say," con tinued Mr. Foster ; " if the personal property did really belong to Mr. Aldrich as a husband, the land and house does not. " " Only for life," said Mr. Winnecott, " I admit ; but he is tenant by the courtesy, his wife having borne him a living child."

" Aye, of course, if it were necessary ; she would have borne him a dozen if it were needed," muttered Mr. Foster. " Well, gentlemen, when all this is proved we will put you in possession • till then, good morning to you," He opened the door for them to pass. Mr. Aldrich walked towards it ; the lawyer paused a moment, and said, earnestly — " Of course we do not expect you to give up your wards' property without full conviction of the justice of our cause ; but as I can assure you that my client is quite determined to assert his right by legal means, if friendly ones fail, I advise you to pause and consider, before you compel us to this course. It will be highly un pleasant to the young people in question to have the matter brought into court, publishing as it will the fact of their illegitimacy and their deceased mother's misfortunes.

Had you not better consult with them as to the part they would prefer ? Do not force disgrace on them against their will. " Mr. Foster was perhaps a little startled at the confident tone in which the attorney spoke, but he endeavoured to conceal it, by answering, " They will probably take the same view as I do, sir." During the pause occasioned by this last speech, it so happened that Geraldine Elliott chanced to descend the stairs opposite the foot of which the door opened, and just as Mr. Al drich advanced, presented herself full before him. She drew back a step to allow the strangers to pass ■ but casting his eyes on her, the visitor ex claimed, with a start and a manner which per haps it was prejudice on Mr. Foster's part to call theatrical, — " Merciful Heaven ! Sidney Sandys in all her bloom of youth and beauty ;" and advancing as he spoke, he took the young lady's hand and raised it to his lips.

Startled by an action and expression so strange and unexpected, Geraldine, who was still nervous and excitable from her late sufferings, uttered a scream of surprise, if not alarm ; and at the sound of her voice Sidney ran out of a room above, and hastily descended to see if any thing ailed her sister. The recognition between herself and the visitor was instantaneous and mutual. " Mr. Baker !" " Miss Sidney Elliott ?" dropping Geraldine's hand as he spoke. " I did not expect to meet you here," said the blushing girl, "is it possible you are ac quainted with this family after all ?" "I am here on business," he replied. "I hope I see you well." Geraldine, leaning against the balustrade, pale and half frightened, looked with amazement from one to the other. The Squire evinced extreme impatience to get rid of them, and Sidney's own face was indicative of more pain than pleasure at the meeting.

After an awkward pause, Mr. Winnecott touched his companion's arm, who started, bowed profoundly to the young ladies, and withdrew, casting back, however, a lingering look at the elder girl, with a murmur of — " What a like ness !" Geraldine walked on towards the drawing room, but the Squire caught Sidney, and brought her into his study. " What do you know of that man ?" exclaimed he, eagerly, " where did you ever see him, and when ?" Sidney related the circumstances of their meeting, adding that he was very disagreeable, and that Mark as well as she disliked him very much. " But why do you call him Baker, my dear ?" interposed Mr. Foster, " he calls himself Aldrich now. " He called himself Baker then ; but I remember Stephen saying it was not his real name, though he did not tell me what was."

" Stephen — did he know him ? what did he say of him ?" asked he, with eagerness. " He said he had known him formerly, before my mother married, and that he had done some great harm to my uncle, and dear mamma, and was their great enemy, and he begged me not to talk to him at all about them." " Indeed! — did he explain what, my dear, what harm he had done ?" " No, he said he must not tell me, poor mamma would not like it ; so of course I did not ask any questions then, for I thought perhaps my dear mother would tell me herself some day. She used sometimes to hint at her early years having been unhappy, and once she said she would tell me, only it would vex my uncle ; so she did not, and now I shall never know." Sidney burst into tears at the many thoughts crowding on her memory. The Squire walked up and down the room, and then throwing him self in a chair, he exclaimed — " There, there, don't cry, there's a dear.

Sidney, you are a sensible girl for your age, and a brave one, and very discreet, so leave off crying just now, and listen to me ; you can cry as much as you like afterwards, and I will not blame you." Sidney struggled hard, and after a few minutes regained her composure; she had great self command at all times, and now she had more than one motive to urge her to exert it. " When your mother talked to you, Sidney, about her youth, can you recal any particulars which she mentioned ■ any misfortune or fault ?" " Oh, no, she only spoke generally, as having been unhappy, except — " Sidney hesitated, and tears again filled her eyes. " Except what, my dear ? It is of great con sequence I should know." " She said she had been weak, sir • I hope it is not wrong to say so ■ it appears disrespectful to remember anything which may seem harm about her."

" No, no, never mind that ; you must get over the feeling, child, and speak out. Weak ■was that it ? did she say in what way ?" " No," said Sidney mournfully, " but she warned me against weakness of character." "And did she ever tell you where she lived when she was young ?" " I fancy mostly in London, or the neighbourhood, now and then I believe she was in Kent, at Margate or Ramsgate ; but she disliked talking of that, and we never asked her." " And have you no relations that you know of, Sidney, who were acquainted with her in early life ; can you remember none ?" " I never heard of any. Mrs. Borlase was my father's cousin, and I know none else. I fancy my poor great uncle and my grandfather had no sisters, or perhaps they all died early, as my grand parents both did ■ I know my mother once said she was the only child of an only child, so of course she meant my grandmother.

But dear mamma so very much disliked being ques tioned about her youth, that we never did it at all." " It is most unlucky !" exclaimed Mr. Foster, and then after some impatient stirring of the fire, he said : " What a plague, too, that Stephen should be gone to America ■ Sidney, I wish you had possessed a grain more feminine curiosity." " Why, sir ?" said Sidney, uneasy at his manner. " I wonder whether we could get him home again, and find out from him ? Was there nobody else who knew your poor mother in her girlhood ?" " Nobody that I know of now ; there was the old nurse who lived with us, but she died, you know, ten years ago. Stephen could have told us, perhaps ; but I really can remember nobody." " How extremely unlucky !" repeated Mr. Foster, impatiently. " But do tell me why," said she, eagerly ; " why do you ask these questions ?"

" It will be no use telling you, it will only make you uncomfortable." " If it only makes me uncomfortable, I shall be the gainer," replied she, " for until I do know, I shall be both frightened and unhappy." " Oh, Sidney, you are a daughter of Eve • like the rest of your sex, you would rather have your curiosity gratified at all hazards : nothing else satisfies you." " Please don't joke, my dear sir," urged Sidney warmly, " let me know at once." " It is some money business, about the suc cession to this property, my dear. This Mr. Aldrich sets up a claim which I believe is a fiction, a lie, a fraudulent attempt at imposition. I am certain he is a swindler and a cheat, but being such, he will probably stick at no perjury, or any other method by which he may carry his point. There, that's all."

" Perhaps," said Sidney, after a pause, " Mrs. Foster could tell more about dear mamma's early days ; she may have talked to her, you know ; and that might help you. Or possibly Geral dine may know more than I do." " True, we will go and see. Come into the drawing-room, Sidney." In the drawing-room they found Geraldine and the hostess together : the former brimming over with curiosity to understand the strange scene upon the stairs ; followed as it was by this confidential interview in the study between these other two. Miss Elliott rained down questions on Sidney the moment she entered, asking how she knew this stranger — what he meant — why he called her by her mother's name? " He must have been an old lover of poor mamma's," said she, " there was such gallantry in the air with which he kissed my hand.

I assure you, Mrs. Foster, it was quite Grandi sonian, there was such respect and politeness. It was done in such a pretty complimentary way* I am quite proud to think of such homage to my charms." " Did you ever hear your poor dear mother talk of her early days, and youthful lovers ?" asked the Squire presently. " Never," said Geraldine ; " once or twice she said I was like her at her age ; and once I asked her how she came to have no fortune, when my uncle was so rich, and she told me her father had not succeeded in his profession, and died young ; and she had been an orphan, brought up by my great uncle, and treated like a daughter by him. So of course it was under stood that she should have all his money ; and for my part, I am sure she intended that we should share it all alike, knowing what my uncle's will was."

" My dear, did poor Mrs. Elliott ever talk to you about her youth ?" said he, turning to his wife, who was composedly netting a cur tain. " Never ; excepting to tell me once she had no brother or sister, and scarcely a friend in the world, excepting her uncle and husband. She was brought up, I fancy, in great seclusion, and living in London, she was quite isolated as it were. There was an elderly person, a sort of half-nurse, half-governess, who lived with her for a few years after her marriage • you must remember her, Geraldine, Mrs. Smithwick, although she died when you were very young : she had been with her always, I believe ; but she was as close as possible about the past, and was quite affronted because I once asked some trifling question or other, which she thought inquisitive." " It is odd," said the Squire, musingly, " how little we know of her."

Here the conversation ceased • but Sidney was far from being satisfied with what she had heard ; and the looks and tones of Mr. Foster, so indicative of perturbation of spirit, weighed on her mind, and disturbed her peace for some days. She was just beginning to recover her usual equanimity of mind, when Mr. Foster one morn ing suddenly announced his intention of going to London a week or two sooner than it was at all his habit of doing yearly, and begging the ladies all to prepare for the migration, as he wished to be gone in a very few days. This unexpected change gave a new turn to the ideas of the whole party, and as Mrs. Foster found many little occupations for Sidney's useful head and willing fingers, she was too busy, until after the journey was actually made, to think about her former alarms.

She was, on one account, very glad of the change. Geraldine did not seem to recover her former health, since her illness ; she was thin and pale, coughed more than her sister liked to hear, and had an air of languor and weariness which was very unusual with her. Sidney hoped she would get some good medical advice in London ; although Geraldine herself, with a perverseness very common in invalids, invariably denied that there was anything the matter with her, and pettishly resented any request to be careful of her health. Her own conviction was, that she was in love, and that Mark Foster's sudden departure was the cause of her languor and melancholy ; so that it was provoking enough that her sister should persist in attributing to vulgar physical causes, appearances which had so much more sentimental an origin ; and should expend so much solicitude about her chest and lungs, to the entire disregard of her heart, where the affection lay.

So thought Geraldine, and I dare say she was right j her present malady, no doubt, was precisely what many young ladies call being in love ; for she was idle, listless, dissatisfied, and wishing for change and excitement ; missing the amusements and flattery which had been so exhilarating to her spirits just before her illness, and of course attributing all these feelings to the absence of Mark, whose devotion she daily felt the want of. There was nothing in the society of the elder Fosters, or her sister, to satisfy the cravings of her awakened vanity ; and their recent bereavement, of course, put other amusements entirely out of the question. If Mark had only proposed to her before leaving England, she would have had all the interest of an engagement, the eclat of being known as her guardian's future daughter, and the importance which is always attached to a betrothed young lady.

These were the ideas which filled her mind, and which she took no pains to banish ; she would engage in no occupation, neglected her VOL. II. C usual pursuits and amusements ; could not en dure to touch the piano herself, and was irritable to Sidney, because she wished to resume those habits and employments which their mother had formerly approved and recommended. It was generally supposed to be grief for the loss of their mother, and tenderness for her memory, which affected her so deeply ■ Mrs. Foster whispered everywhere — " Ah, poor thing, she cannot recover the shock ; she suffered so terribly, you know • she has such strong feelings, such great sensibility. She has not Sidney's spirits to help her through." And, of course, every sympathizing friend ad mired and honoured the sensibility which was so amiable and praiseworthy.

Poor Sidney, meanwhile, had much to undergo from Geraldine's peevishness and indolence ; for whilst missing her mother's affection and counsel every day, nay every hour, she was perpetually obliged to hear complaints of weariness she could not alleviate, or charges of officiousness which she dared not combat. If she let htr sister alone, she was accused of being negligent ; if she expressed concern for her, she was repulsed perhaps with coldness. The cheerfulness it cost her so much to maintain, was ascribed to for getfulness of the past ; and the distress to which she could not help now and then giving way, was resented as a cruel aggravation of Geraldine's sufferings. The journey to London, however, gave a change to Geraldine's ideas, which greatly relieved her spirits. Although, just at present, they could not go out, she knew the Fosters would have company at home, and they must see some strangers, some variety ; there would be excite ment and pleasure in only driving about the streets ; and though early in the year, every week would be adding to the crowd, and making it more worth while to put on a becoming bon net, and arrange her curls artistically.

It was quite wonderful how she revived under the exc pectation ; she almost forgot she was in love, and did not think of Mark Foster for many hours together. They reached London in safety, and were soon settled in a house in Manchester Square, within a very few doors of Admiral Borlase, and consequently able to have frequent intercourse with their cousins. Two or three days passed away comfortably enough to Sidney ; the young ladies were de lighted to see her again, and equally delighted to assist and direct Geraldine to such shops of fashionable repute as would enable her to rectify the too great rusticity of a Mansfield bonnet and mantle. There had been nothing to revive the alarm Sidney had once felt about Mr. Aldrich, and it had passed from her mind, when suddenly the whole subject was renewed with an abruptness most startling in its effects.

The sisters were sitting together one morning previous to their daily drive, when Harold suddenly walked into the room, having that moment come up from Oxford. They were, of course, a little surprised to see him, and as he did not assign any particular reason for his appearance, Geraldine began accusing him half in malice, half in mirth, of a quarrel with Caroline Harding, and suggesting absurd speeches and scenes of reconciliation. But Sidney perceived, by his face, that some thing was really the matter ; and when her sister ran away to get ready for their drive, she lin gered behind to ask a question or two of grave concern. He took advantage of the opportunity to inquire if she could not stay at home that afternoon, as he wanted to talk to her ; a proposal to which she willingly acquiesced ; and when, half an hour afterwards, Mrs. Foster and Geraldine drove away, they left Harold reclining in an easy chair, while Sidney, sitting on tl e elbow, was twisting his curls through her fingers, and chatting carelessly on indifferent topics, to conceal her real uneasiness.

No sooner, however, had they heard the carriage drive from the door than he started up right, and catching Sidney's hand, he exclaimed, looking hard in her face — " Do you know anything of this confounded business, Sidney ?" A variety of alarming ideas passed through her mind with the speed which a vivid fancy gives to thought, but she could only answer, "What business?" " Mr. Aldrich ! this man — this impostor, I say, who has presented himself — do you know ?" " That man — that horrid man," cried Sidney, turning hot and cold, red and pale, and feeling odd and sick at the foresight of some unknown danger. " You do know, then," said Harold, clenching her hand so tightly as to cause her pain, and gazing at her with knitted brows and flashing eyes. " Nothing, almost nothing," she gasped ; " what can it be ? how vou frighten me."