Mrs. Juliet

Front matter

VOL. I JMEW JMOVELS. BARBARA DERING. By Am ".lie Rives. 2 vols. A FAMILY LIKENESS. By B. M. Croker. 3 vols. THE IVORY GATE. By Walter Besant. 3 vols. THE MARQUIS OF CARABAS. By Aaron Watson and Lie. has Wassermann. 3 vols. BOB MARTINS LITTLE GIRL. By David Christie Murray. 3 vols. TREASON-FELONY. By John Hill. 2 vols. TRUST-MONEY. By William Westall. 3 vols. THE THOUSAND AND ONE DAYS: Persian Tales. Edited by Justin H. McCarthy. 2 vols. A SOLDIER'S CHILDREN. By John Strange Winter. I vol. THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT. By Mark Twain, i vol. THE FATE OF HERBERT WAYNE. By E. J. Goodman. I vol. A LOST SOUL. By AV. L. Alden. i vol. MAID MARIAN AND ROBIN HOOD. By J. E. Muddock. 1 vol. A ROMANCE OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. By W. H. Mallock. 1 vol. THE DOWNFALL. By Emile Zola, i vol. MY FLIRTATIONS. By Margaret Wvnman. 1 vol. London : CHATTO & WINDUS, 214 Piccadilly, W. BY MRS. ALFRED W. HUNT AUTHOR OF ™"~ I* — ' THORNICROFT'S MODEL," ' THE LEADEN CASKET,' ' THAT OTHER PERSON,' ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. I. ii on D on CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAPTER PAGE I. THE DIVINE PAKTHENESSA - - - 1 II. IN THE SMALL DEAWING-EOOM - - 27 III. ' YOUR TEARS DO NOT MOVE ME ' - - 50 IV. A BUSE GIEL - - - - 72 v. at Christie's - - - - 96 VI. ' SUPPOSE SHE is EXPECTING HIM ?' - 115 VII. ' SATISFY HER SOMEHOW ' - - - 137 VIII. ' qui s'excuse s'accuse ' - - - 161 IX. NOETH-EASTERN ' CONSULS ' - 183 X. ' THE CAEADOC COLLECTION ' - - 200 XI. ' I WILL WATCH HER ' 228 XII. ' it's LIKE MAGIC ' -

Chapter I. The Divine Parthenessa

' True to the kindred points of heaven and home.' — Wordsworth. ' The servitor's gown ckmg to him with Nessian venom. He thought himself ridiculous in a garb under which Latimer must have walked erect, and in which Hooker in his young days possibly flaunted in a vein of no discommendable vanity. In the depth of college shades, or in his lonely chamber, the poor student shrank from observation.' — Essays of Elia. ' I do so wish I had never consented to go!' said the Rev. Brampton Gerard, as he contem plated a portmanteau, hat-box, railway-rug, and umbrella, which were piled up by the door of tlie hall. ' So do I, sometimes,' said a dutiful little VOL. I. wife, who had done much to achieve the feat of o-ettin"- him ready ten minutes before the carriage came round ; ' but I am sure you will enjoy it.' • I never enjoyed it when I was young.

London was too big for me then. It is twice as bi<r now, and I am twice as old.' He sighed. She sighed too, but promptly said : ' And you know that you are only going to be away a fortnight.' Mr. Gerard had not been many miles south of Kendal for the last twenty years. He had spent them in his peaceful and beautiful home, which was within live minutes' walk of one of the prettiest of the English Lakes. When a holiday had fallen to his lot, he had enjoyed it with friends in Scotland, or had crossed over to Ireland by the Barrow route ; but London pavement had not felt the pressure of his feet for nearly a quarter of a century, and London people had only been seen by him as temporary occupants of ' genteel apartments ' or furnished houses in the Lake District. Now, however, in the year 1857, when he was all but threescore-and-ten, one of the best known and liked of his friends had invited him to spend a fortnight in London in the month of May. ' I shall know no one !

I shall care for no one !' he groaned. ' I shall lose my way every time I go out. I shall not even know how to behave myself ! Fashions are changed ; manners are quite different. People dine when you and 1 are beginning to think of going to bed!' ' Never mind, you will enjoy it,' reiterated the comely old lady who forty years before had stood by the altar with him ; ' and I hope and trust you will doubly enjoy your home when you return.' ' That I certainly shall,' he answered. ' It was a blessed day for me when I married you. Do you know, when I think of my own happiness I am so grateful that I should like to travel about from place to place marrying all true lovers.' ' My dear, take care ; that's a very danger ous frame of mind ! And yet I don't know ! I must say I always want to see them happy myself.

Brampton, everyone tells me that you and I are too romantic' ' That's impossible ! Quite impossible ! If people would but cherish the little bit of romance that is born with them, the world would be a thousand times happier. Oh, Phœbe, I am afraid that I hear the sound of wheels.' She had heard it already. ' You will enjoy London, I am sure,' she once more repeated. ' It will do you good.' ' I don't know*, dear. When a man has such a home as I have, it is very foolish to leave it.' The carriage had come to the door ; the luggage was being put in. ' Good-bye,' she said. ' You are going into the great wide world, away from me. Be careful. Steel your heart : you are so tender hearted!' ' I tender-hearted ! Surely not more than I ought to be ?' ' Yes, you are. If anyone pleads piteously, you do find it so hard to resist.' He smiled at her anxiety and bade her fare well. ' Good-bye,' he said once more, and thought, ' How wonderfully my poor dear wife mistakes my character!

Because a few words from her have such power over me, she thinks me yielding ; but with other people I am as firm as a rock. After all, I shall only be away a fortnight,' was his next thought, and he gradually began to take pleasure in the sight of new places. He wondered if the men who lived in the many rectories which flashed for a moment before his eyes and vanished were as happy as he, and marvelled at the blackness of the manufacturm**- towns and the frantic O speed of the locomotive. The day passed by ; the journey had been much easier than he had anticipated ; he had perhaps done well to undertake it. Mr. Freeman, who was about to be his host, was an M.P., a merchant, and a millionaire ; Mrs. Freeman a pretty, witty, and genuinely kind woman, who liked to see her house filled. People of that disposition have no difficulty in gratifying such a taste.

The Freemans lived in a mansion in Duke's Gardens. Mr. Gerard was rather tired with his journey, and rested in his room till dinner time. He went downstairs in time to be introduced to one or two of his fellow-guests, but did not know whether they were staying in the house or only there for an hour or two. T am coins' to ask vou to take Mrs. Cradock in to dinner,' said his host. ' I am sure you will like her.' ' Who is Mrs. Cradock ?' was trembling on Mr. Gerard's lips, but Mr. Freeman ex claimed : ' Don't say that you have not heard of Mrs. Cradock ! She is one of the richest women in the countrv. Her husband left all he had to her, and she can do what she likes with it.' Mr. Gerard glanced across the room and saw a rather more than middle-aged lad}*, sitting in a very easy chair. Her face w*as comely but not refined, her figure a good deal obscured by stoutness, her dress a rich brocade of many hues and much wealth of pattern, but her jewels absolutely startled him.

A magnificent diamond necklace shot forth subdued rays from an inveterate crease in her neck, emeralds and diamonds emitted almost angry gleams from the front of her dress, and earrings, bracelets, and various detached sprays flashed distracting lights at each other. There were many other diamonds in the room, but no such diamonds as these. 'Bless my heart!' thought Mr. Gerard. 'what would my dear Phœbe say to this? It is scarcely safe to be in a house with so much portable wealth.' ' That is Mrs. Cradock,' whispered Mr. Freeman. ' Look at her diamonds. It was all done by pills. You have heard of Cra dock's Sympathetic Pills? Mr. Cradock w*as her husband. He invented a pill which would cure all illness, great or small, provided only the patient had faith in the remedy. When the cure was not effected, the patient had no one to blame but himself.

You have no idea what a run those pills had, and have still. She is rolling in money.' ' I should like to realize the exact sensation of rolling in money,' remarked Mr. Gerard. ' But these pills did not keep Mr. Cradock alive, it seems.' ' Oh, you couldn't expect him to believe in them ! That young lady on the sofa is her niece — Miss Juliet Cradock.' Mr. Gerard turned to look at a very pretty, fair-haired, bright-eyed, vivacious girl, who was talking to a clever, eager, almost haggard looking man of thirty or so, and seemed much interested in his conversation. ' He is a writer,' explained Mrs. Freeman, who had now taken her husband's place, ' and an actor — an amateur, of course, or he would not be here at this hour, but he is a very clever fellow.' ' He seems to be paying a great deal of attention to the young lady, and I don't wonder — she is so pretty.' ' Yes, and when those diamonds are in the room everyone sees her in a reflected light, but very likely her aunt won't leave her much — aunts are not to be trusted.' Mr. Gerard sighed : this was such an un romantic mode of speaking.

Mrs. Freeman glided away to perform some pressing intro ductions, and he moved nearer to the richly endowed lady who had been committed to his care. She was surrounded by gentlemen, and he could not approach her until shortly before dinner was announced, when Mr. Freeman led him forward to introduce him. ' Oh, you are going to take me down,' she said ; ' I was just looking at you, for I saw that you were a clergyman. I do so like clergymen, and one sees so few in London. In the country one sees so many, but I can't think what becomes of them in London.' ' I am glad to hear that you have such a good opinion of my brethren, and am sorry that you ses so few of them in London.' ' Oh, perhaps it is as well,' said Mrs. Cradock ; ' I dare say it is. My dear Cradock was very generous to me, but the London clergy would make a poor woman of me in a week if they had their way.

I mean those I don't know,' she added apologetically — ' those that send me letters asking me to till what they call little forgotten or neglected corners in the heavenly vineyard.' Mr. Gerard gazed curiously in the lady's face ; he could not decide whether she was wise or foolish. She was evidently a York shire woman, and they are often shrewd and outspoken. He was familiar with the type, for Manchester, Leeds, and Sheffield are apt to overflow into the Lake District in the summer. ' Do you know that gentleman who is sitting by the young lady in white at the end of the table — my niece Juliet, I mean ?' asked Mrs. Cradock, as soon as she had, after mighty struggles, settled herself dow*n to her liking in her chair. He looked. It was the same clever looking man who had been talking to Miss Juliet in the drawing-room. ' Yes, he is an author ; Mrs. Freeman told me so, but she did not tell me his name.' ' It is Congreve.

I can tell you that,' ex claimed the old lady discontentedly. ' Yes, he writes, but that is a very poor sort of thing !' ' And he acts too.' 'Acts!' ' Oh, only as an amateur.' ' Worse and worse! If you let yourself down to do the acting, you may just as well be paid for it. Juliet has been making a great friend of him lately, but I don't care to see an actor sitting by any niece of mine. She is such a strange girl, Mr. Gerard. I don't believe she ever gives a thought to whether the man she is talking to is illegible or not.' It was strange that the mistress of so many diamonds had not mastered the English language. He was amazed, but said, ' Well, at all events, I see a very handsome young gentleman who looks as if he would like to change planes w*ith Mr. Congreve.' Mrs. Cradock slowly and carefully examined the table, and at a little distance, but on the same side as Miss Juliet, saw a good-looking young fellow whose eyes were often turned in her direction, and who seemed anything but satisfied with what he saw. ' Ah, now, Mr. Gerard,' she exclaimed, gazing admiringly at her new friend, ' it is clever of you to see things so quickly as that, for you are quite right ; that young man is another great friend of hers, and I do believe that he is not best pleased to see anyone but himself sitting alongside of my niece Juliet.

That is Mr. Aylesbury ■ he is a soldier — the East India Company are his masters, and I am told that he is to start for India in the morning. ' Aylesbury !' cried Mr. Gerard ; ' I once knew a clergyman of that name wrho had a living in the North Riding. He afterwards went out to Australia as Bishop. He was the best friend I ever had.' ' Most likely he was a relation of this young Aylesbury ; I know he has been a great deal in Australia, because he gave Juliet that necklace of Cingalese sapphires she is wearing.' The evidence did not seem strong, but Mr. Gerard was deeply interested. The very name of Aylesbury filled his heart with emotion. His thoughts flew to the past, and stayed there, and he did not know how long he had been silently musing on old times when he heard Mrs. Cradock saying, ' Well, you must have been thinking of something uncommonly interesting!' ' I was.

I beg your pardon, but the name of Aylesbury carried me back ' ' Ah, my dear Cradock used to get carried back just in the same way ; but wdien you have anyone at hand to talk to, it is just as well to talk. There is plenty of time to brood over old things when you are alone. For my part, I don't much care to think of them ; my young days didn't amount to much ; life was much pleasanter both to live and to think about after my dear husband made that happy hit with the pills!' And then, before Mr. Gerard could speak, she exclaimed, ' And yet youth and beauty are something. Just think —there was a time when I was as beautiful as my niece Juliet.' Mr. Gerard was afterwards afraid that on hearing this he had shown some of the sur prise he had felt. At first he had only thought of Sophia Western's aunt, who told her niece how in her youth she had been called the divine Parthenessa, but after that he distinctly remembered looking at Mrs. Cradock and thinking that a face which con sisted of what seemed to him a quantity of in significant features huddled together in the o c? middle of a wide expanse of cheek and chin — or rather chins — could never at any time have deserved to be called beautiful.

Miss Juliet was beautiful ; every line of her sweet face was perfect — every feature good ; but this poor lady — he forbore to finish that thought, and Mrs. Cradock herself spared him the trouble of finding something to say by re marking, 'It will be strange if this Mr. Aylesbury is a son of your friend — he was a clergy man, you said.' 'Yes, he had a living in Yorkshire, and then he was Archdeacon, and afterwards they made him a colonial Bishop. He married soon after he went to Australia, and died a month or two afterwards.' ' This young man is a soldier. He has been at home on leave, but is going back to India at once, I believe. Soldiers are all very well, but I like clergymen. Cradock liked them too. I told you so before. He always sup ported the Church at public meetings, and helped it handsomely with money too.

You should have heard the sermon that Arch deacon Jenkins preached the Sunday after the funeral — Cradock's funeral, I mean. He did speak in such favourable terms of my poor demised husband. There was not a dry eye in the whole church. Not that I was there to see ; how could I go there or anywhere within a few days of the time when my dear Cradock had gone to solve the great potato?' This time Mr. Gerard was so startled that he could scarcely avoid showing it. What could she mean? 'The great potato' — was she mad? Suddenly Rabelais' last words flashed upon his mind, and all was explained. Mrs. Cradock's peut-etre was a large-sized British vegetable, and she had rolled it out with much satisfaction. ' You feel for me, I see,' said the lady, who thus interpreted his silence. ' I do indeed. I have a dear good wife myself, and know the blessings of a happy marriage.' ' Yes,' observed Mrs. Cradock thoughtfully, ' there are some blessings ; but I think the men get most of them.

However, women can be happy too, if only their husbands have offices out of the house, and go out a great deal. That was the best of Cradock — he got his fits of bad temper over out of the house. We were very happy. I will never marry anyone who has not a business to attend to. I couldn't endure a man who was always hanging about the house.' Again Mr. Gerard was startled to the very verge of ill manners. Most truly had he said that he should not know how to behave in London. Mrs. Cradock was certainly sixty, and might be more, and yet she was calmly contemplating a new marriage. ' It is better when people have regular work,' he stammered ; he scarcely knew what he was saying. ' Indeed it is — nothing will ever induce me to marry anyone who has not.' He looked up the table and down the table, in the hope that a slight break would cause a change in the conversation.

Miss Juliet was still talking with great animation to the young author, who still seemed delighted to listen. Mr. Aylesbury had settled down into a state of pensive melancholy, from which he occasionally roused himself to say a few* words to one of the ladies next to him. But Mrs. Cradock began to talk again, and this time not of marrying, and presently the ladies retired to the drawing-room. ' My dear, I particularly desire to know if that young Mr. Aylesbury who is staying here is related to the Bishop of Kingsland,' said Mrs. Cradock, as soon as she had an opportunity of speaking to Mrs. Freeman. ' Yes, of course he is. The Bishop was his father. I wonder he has never told you that.' 'Juliet is the one he tells things to — he may have told her. I am glad he is the Bishop's son. That dear old clergyman who took me in to dinner will be delighted.

Celia, my love, if ever I marry again, that de lightful old clergyman shall perform the ceremony.' Mrs. Freeman received this information calmly ; she received everything that Mrs. Cradock said calmly. Her friendship with Mrs. Cradock w*as of very old standing, and had been cemented by many acts of surpassing kindness. For this cause neither she nor her husband ever quailed before the old lady's vulgarity. They had, indeed, all but lost the power of seeing it, and when it was impossible not to do so, good deeds of all kinds rose up in their memory and drove out every other thought, for they knew that they owed their pleasant home, their large circle of friends, their place in the world, and all that they had, to Mr. Cradock's steady generosity when Mr. Freeman was a young man. ' I have good news for you, dear Mr. Gerard,' said Mrs. Cradock, when the gentle men reappeared. ' I have been making VOL. I. inquiries, and that Mr. Aylesbury really is the Bishop's son.' ' You don't say so !

What a pleasant sur prise! I had not the least conception that he ever had a son. Excuse me, madam, but I must not lose a moment in making myself known to him.' ' I can present you,' she began, but her words were unheard by Mr. Gerard, who rapidly crossed the room, laid his hand on Mr. Aylesbury's arm, and said, ' I have come to claim your acquaintance. Your father was the best friend I ever had. Come and sit by my side, and let me have the great pleasure of talking of him. God bless him for ever!' They retreated to a distant sofa. ' My emotion must seem strange to you,' said the old man, ' for though your father and I were friends, you can never have heard of me from him.' ' Unhappily not, for he died before I was born.' ' I know — I know he did ; that's why I said you could never have heard of me.

Let me tell you what reason I had to love him. We were boys together at Rugby— happy, ■9 hopeful boys — sometimes friendly rivals for school honours, always firm friends. We were both entered at Trinity College, Cam bridge, and were looking forward to our University career, when my father died very suddenly, leaving my mother in great straits for money, and all idea of my going to Cam bridge had to be abandoned. This meant abandoning any hope of my ever being able to make a home for her, and it was still more grievous as I had even then the promise of the living which I now enjoy. My mother and I were in despair. Your father came to me then. He was poor, too, and even more alone in the world than I, but his father had left a sum of money large enough to defray his expenses at college. Your father knew that my not going to college meant the loss of the living that had been promised me, and was in fact ruin.

He offered me half the money bequeathed to him by his father, and said that what was sufficient for him if he went to Trinity as a gentleman's son usually goes, would be sufficient for both of us if we went as sizars, and entreated me to let him make this small sacrifice and secure my future. Those are his very words. I re sisted, but I was in such straits that at last he prevailed on me to accept, and laid me under an obligation from which I shall never be released. His noble generosity saved me from despair. But for him my dear mother, who was even then suffering from the disease of which she ultimately died, must have spent the last years of her life not only without any of the comforts an invalid requires, but in positive want, and I should probably have ended my days as a forlorn old clerk.

I can give you no idea how* nobly your father carried out his project. In those days sizars were treated almost as criminals ; the ordinary undergraduates scarcely spoke to them. They were not allowed to sit down to table with the others, but sent into the gallery to wait until their betters had dined, when the scraps left on the table fell to their lot, and they were expected to eat and be thankful. That was not all ; there were worse things to bear than that. I assure you if I had known what mortifications your dear father would have to endure for my sake, I could not possibly have accepted his offer • but 1 did accept it, and shall for ever be grateful to him. ' It was like him,' said Aylesbury ; ' at least, it is like all that I have ever heard of him. I wish I had known my father.' ' It is hard to be born after the death of such a father as that,' said Mr. Gerard. ' You will wonder how I who loved him so much could be ignorant that he had left a son, but let me explain.

We were like brothers when he -was in England, but the last letter I ever had from him was soon after his arrival in Australia. He told me that he was going to marry, and the next news I heard was that he was dead.' ' Yes, it was most melancholy ; he died six months after he reached Sydney. My mother's family always said that he had caught cold in coming out. He had not understood that it would get colder and colder, and he would want warm clothing, and had let all his wraps be stowed away in the hold of the vessel. My mother's married life was a short one.' ' I never could trace her. I did my best, but had no success.' ' She left her home at once and went to a married sister very far up the country. She was ill, and my father's death killed her. She died in less than a year.' Mr. Gerard was listening to these details with the keenest interest, but even he could not help observing that Aylesbury's eyes were for ever straying to the corner of the room where Miss Juliet was sitting, so he said, ' Don't let me detain you ; I can talk some other time.

I onl}* wish to tell you what a debt of gratitude I owe to your father, and to entreat you to look on me as a friend who will always be too glad to perform any service for vou in return.' ' Thank you, sir,' replied the young man ; ' I thank you most sincerely.' His words were spoken absently, and his eyes Avere fixed on Miss Juliet. ' But I mean what I say,' insisted Mr. Gerard, 'and, indeed, I ought to mean it. I should he the basest of men if I could forget what your father did and suffered for me. Whenever I can do anything for you, come to me as confidently as if I were your own father.' At last Aylesbury -was givinghis attention entirely to his new* friend. He was gazing eagerly in the old man's wistful, kindly face, and carefully studying every line and feature. He seemed to be trying to ascertain how much strength of purpose and lasting depth of feeling lurked behind this generous readiness to take on himself the burden of past obliga tions.

What he saw must have satisfied him, for he said, almost bitterly : ' It's almost hard that this should come now. Mr. Gerard, if things had but gone well with me I might have put your kindness to the proof. My request would have been unusual. How I wonder what you would have said !' ' I should have been very glad to be put to the proof,' replied Mr. Gerard unflinchingly ; ' but do not let me monopolize you now — you have other friends here. Mrs. Cradock told me that you were soon going to leave England.' ' Soon going to leave England !' repeated Aylesbury with a touch of something between bitterness and despair in his voice. ' This is my last night for a long time — perhaps for ever. I am to leave this house soon after six o'clock to-morrow morning for Portsmouth. We sail in the afternoon or early evening.' And then he looked at the girl whose face so riveted his eyes.

The haggard young playwright was once more sitting by her side. ' To-morrow !' exclaimed Mr. Gerard ; ; I wish it were not so soon.' ' I don't know what I wish,' said Aylesbury distractedly ; ' sometimes I think I shall be. better away.' Mr. Gerard w*as full of pity for him, but there was something in the young man's face which forbade any expression of sympathy or allusion to the young lady, so he only said, ' Let me hear from you occasionally. Forgive the request ; men don't like letterwriting, but I don't want to lose sight of you again. Remember that I want to be considered as your father's representative. He made a great sacrifice for me, and there shall be no sacrifice that I -will not make for you. Good-bye ! Let me hear from you two or three times a year at least, and if I am alive when you return, come to Limberthwaite Rectory, and look on it as your home.