Married or Not Married. ... A novel

Chapter I

"A deep story of a deeper love." Shakspeare. The rays of a bright April sun shone cheerfully into the dining-room at Ravenstone Manor, where sat the mistress of that comfortable man sion at breakfast with her nephew, a boy of about thirteen or fourteen years of age; two dogs were of the party, who, much too well- VOL. i. b : bred to be beggars, sat looking wistfully at the presiding genius of all the good things spread upon the table; Rattler as if he thought his toast ought to be bestowed, Fairy as if it was high time her milk was poured out; but their kind mistress was not noticing their eager anxious looks. She had been silent for some time, and at last said, somewhat suddenly : " Surely the post is late this morning?" when her nephew exclaimed : " I hear Nicholl's ma jestic step." The door opened, and a very dignified butler entered, and presented " The Times " and one letter on a salver.

" Only a note from West Wood," said Miss Sydenham ; " I suppose about the flowers. There, Edward, do you take the newspaper, while I give Fairy her milk ; and my poor patient Rattler, you have not had one bit of toast yet. Here good dog!" Miss Sydenham was just placing Fairy's saucer on the floor, when, " Oh, Aunt !" in a very alarmed tone, made her hastily raise her head, and exclaim : " What is the matter ?" " Oh, Aunt Anna, among the deaths is poor Mr. Harington!" "Mr. Harington!" she repeated, in a faint voice, as she extended her hand for the paper. Edward brought it to her, and kneeling by her side, affectionately put his arm round her while she read the announcement: "Died, at Nice, on the 16th instant, the Revd. Charles Harington, M.A., Rector of Ley bourne, Kent, of rapid consumption."

Miss Sydenham let the paper fall from her hands, and sinking back in her chair, exclaimed : " My poor Caroline ! what will become of her?" " And he was getting so much better, was he not?" said Edward. " Yes; at least, my last letter said so; but he was not to venture to return to this country till all the cold spring winds were past, and summer fairly set in. I have been anxiously watching for another letter, for Mrs. Harington has been so much longer than usual in writing. Poor dear Caroline ! I little thought what caused her b : silence. His last illness has been rapid indeed; and what will she do alone in a foreign country, with so much sad business devolving upon her. I must write to her immediately." When Anna Sydenham heard of distress, bodily or mental, in high or low, rich or poor^ her first thought was — what could she do to alleviate?

In this instance, her feelings were strongly engaged, for Caroline Harington, on whom the dreadful affliction of widowhood had fallen, was her earliest and dearest friend ; and though on entering life two widely different paths had been marked out for them, it had not interfered with their girlish friendship, which had increased and deepened with advancing years. However much Miss Sydenham's thoughts might be engaged on matters of deep interest to her self, she never suffered them so to engross her as to be the cause of inconvenience to others, so on this occasion she provided against her nephew being left to a morning of dull solitude wh ile she was occupied with her letter to Nice, for in general he was her constant companion. " I think you had better take the pony and ride to Vernon Park this morning; it will save my writing, if you will tell them my sad news, and say 1 hope they will excuse my dining with them to-day.

I really do not feel equal to it. They know about the Haringtons; they have met them here. And if you will see if Macleod is in the garden, and will send him to me, I will tell him about the cuttings Lady Charlton wishes for; the groom can take them; so if you like to pay a visit there you can, if it will not be too long a ride for you," " Oh, no ! I rode quite as far as that last Friday, with the Charlton girls." "Yes; but remember how completely you were done up after it." Edward had returned from Westminster for the Easter holidays, sickening of the measles, and though the attack was not a , bad one, he did not recover his strength quickly, nor shake off a troublesome cough; his anxious Aunt was keeping him till after the midsummer holi days. : " Well, dearest, only don't over fatigue your self; and if Lady Charlton asks you to stay to luncheon, you may do so if you please."

" And are you going to be alone all day, and not go out?" " Perhaps I may go out a little before dinner, but I can do nothing till I have written to poor Mrs. Harington." Kissing him affectionately, she left the room and proceeded to her daily morning duties ; when these were completed, and she had seen Edward off for his visits, she retired to her own private sitting-room, and in arranging her ideas before commencing her letter, fell into a deep reverie of the past, which her friend's affliction had caused to rise before her. She thought of Caroline Harington's happiness in having been united to the man she loved; of the still greater and rarer happiness of not having been disappointed in that man ; then of the wearing anxiety caused by the delicacy of his health, of the severe trial by the loss of two beloved children, and the many cares consequent on very limited means.

And now of the crushing blow of the separation, for ever in this world, from the husband whose love had soothed and softened all her trials and sorrows. Then Anna thought: " I have not known these sorrows, but oh ! would I not have borne them had I known her happiness. United to the being she loves, what may not a woman endure? But alone! Oh, discontented and ungrateful that I am, how many -many blessings are mine, and how unworthy I am of them; and I dare to repine, because that is denied which is doubtless withheld in mercy ! No — no, I do not repine, but ought not to wish for what my gracious God has not seen fit to bestow." She gave one sigh, cleared her eyes from the tears which had gathered but not fallen, and ad dressed herself to her letter. :

Chapter II

Perhaps some of my readers are thinking Anna Sydenham is my heroine; of course she cannot be, for she is neither young nor beautiful. But nevertheless she deserves some more particular description, and a sketch of her past life is also desirable, as she bears a considerable part in this history. First then, her appearance; it may be best described by a series of negatives — no, not best described, for when it is said she was neither pretty nor plain, neither stupid nor clever looking, neither tall nor short, that does not give much idea. Every one then must picture her to themselves, when they are told her features were irregular, her expression very amiable and pleasing, beautiful teeth, and her whole air unmistakably that of a lady. Her figure was pretty and neat, without being cast in that mould which sculptors might approve; a very sweet voice and gentle manner made her most attractive, she was so retiring she was often passed by in a crowd, but once known she was never forgotten.

Now then her age — awful subject to be most delicately approached, tender ground even with a married woman, but with an unprotected female, delicate indeed ! She stood on that debatable ground where youth is decidedly past, age not come, but approaching; what a struggling period is this to many, clinging fast to that which will not stay, vainly endeavouring to deceive themselves and others, and often appearing ridiculous, and all because Time will roll his ceaseless course. Polite people said that Miss Sydenham was of an uncertain age, rude ones that she was fifty; the naked truth must be told, she was forty-five, and moreover did not care if the whole world knew it. Whether this B : uncommon strong-mindedness proceeded from the perfect innocence of all thoughts or intentions of attracting the other sex with matrimonial views, we cannot pretend to decide; but certain it is, that only the year before we introduced her to our readers, she had received what is commonly called a very eligible offer, which however shared the fate of some previous ones, an immediate and decided refusal.

Yet Anna's gentle and affectionate disposition, quiet and domestic tastes, peculiarly fitted her to give and receive much happiness in the rela tions of wife and mother, as the centre of all home and social joys; why then was she doomed to "grow, live, and die in single blessedness?" Perhaps a few pages of her life's early his tory will tell. She was an only daughter, and at the early age of seventeen became acquainted with that friend — or enemy, according as we meet it — affliction ; her mother died. Her father, though always kind to her, was not a person to make up in any way for the loss she had sustained, and she soon found that that loss had laid upon her the weight of many cares and anxieties, which her poor mother had borne before her. Mr. Sydenham did not live like a very poor man, but he was dependent for everything be yond what two hundred a-year could procure, upon an old and very rich uncle, the owner of Ravenstone Manor.

If this old gentleman would have bestowed, in the form of a regular allowance, even the half of what he gave the Sydenhams, they would have been infinitely more comfortable; but notwithstanding various hints on the subject, he would settle nothing, and his gifts were often of the most injudicious kind. Sometimes he would say that Mrs. Sy denham and the children would be the better for change of air or sea-bathing, and desire them to go to some expensive watering-place and take a house for three months, for which he would pay the rent, and he then expected they were to be happy and delighted beyond expression; while perhaps the living at this place, to say nothing of the journey to it, would be so expensive, that poor Mrs. Sydenham would be almost in despair at the increased appetites produced by this charming place, and to find Tom's new shoes quite worn out before they were paid for.

Another time this kind uncle would send little Anna the smartest of smart hats and pe lisses, selected without much taste or discretion, while her poor mother was struggling to mend frocks and stockings, which positively declined being mended any longer, and she actually groaned with vexation once, when, opening a box of finery, she thought how well she could have renovated Anna's wardrobe if the old gentleman would have given her the money these things had cost. On one occasion he sent his nephew a present of some very sine old wine, which he had bought at the sale of a gentleman's effects, and this arrived just as Mr. and Mrs. Sydenham were composing a letter to him, requesting the loan of a small sum; the butcher would wait no longer, and was threatening all sorts of dreadful things if his eight months' bill was not immediately settled.

They did not venture to tell him the cause of their present application, or perhaps he would not have kept them for a week without answering the letter. At the end of that time he sent the money, with some plain remarks on their want of delicacy in asking him for money just when he had sent them wine at five guineas a dozen. Miserable as such a state of things was, Mrs. Sydenham would have been thankful if it had been no worse; but her greatest trial was her husband's impatience and imprudence under this tyrannical liberality. " My dear," he would say, " there's no use talking. You know we can't live on two hun dred a year, and Uncle Edward knows that as well as I do. Of course he will make it all straight in the end." And so on this supposi tion Mr. Sydenham borrowed money and owed bills in every direction, and Mrs. Sydenham sighed and struggled on.

That this trying life increased and accelerated the causes which ter minated in her death, there was no doubt ; and poor Anna was soon obliged to rouse herself from the indulgence of her bitter grief to try, as the cook expressed it, and keep things going as her late mistress had done. The state of the family was of course openly discussed in the lower regions, on which occasion the cook magnanimously declared that she would stay on for a while to help the poor young lady, who otherwise would never be able to keep things going, though of course everything must come to an end some time or other, and she could not be expected to stay on always with her wages so irregular. Anna thus found herself compelled to be " back to busy life again" before her tears had ceased to flow for that loss which can never be repaired on earth — a tender and affectionate mother.

By far the worst of her trials and sorrows was her brother Tom. Tom was very handsome, very lively, and amusing, generally in good humour, and loved her dearly ; but Tom was never out of scrapes. He was two years younger than Anna, and for as long as she could remember, her chief care had been to keep him out of mischief, or if the mischief was done, to try and screen him from the effects. As he grew older his scrapes grew more serious, and the wars with his uncle often alarming. Though as in other things old Mr. Sydenham would promise nothing beforehand, he had been at the whole expense of Tom's education since he was ten years old, and consequently considered that he had unlimited power over him; he was in the main kind to him, but was not very lenient to the follies of youth, and sometimes pulled the reins too tight, whereupon Tom kicked furiously.

The old gentleman, without consulting or thinking of the young one's inclinations or disposition, decided that he should go into a profession, wherein he might make money. Tom had also decided that he would be a soldier, or nothing. A conflict ensued, which at last, chiefly owing to the gentle but earnest entreaties and sensible representations of Mrs. Sydenham, ended by Uncle Edward : allowing Tom to be sent to Sandhurst, with awful and solemn assurances that if he failed there, he must go out to a house of business in China, or be for ever cast off. Whether this dreadful threat had any effect, we know not; but Tom, after a hair-breadth escape of being expelled, went through the course of study appointed, passed high, and was gazetted ensign in one of his Majesty's regiments of the line before he had completed bis eighteenth year.

His great uncle gave him his outfit, and all was couleur de rose. Anna, in her innocence, now thought all her troubles with Tom were over ; that he was settled for life, and would become everything that was steady and prudent. She was soon undeceived, but it is not our purpose to follow him in his course of wild folly and selfish extravagance. A few years had passed on, and Anna had imperceptibly but surely won much way with her great uncle. He observed in many in stances such correct judgment, such perfect truth, and so much honorable feeling, so much patience and self-denial, that she rose steadily in his estimation; and he began to trust her in a way he had never done any woman; for he was one of those blinded individuals, who, whatever other good qualities they may allow to the weaker sex, do not consider them capable of possessing good sense and stability.

Anna was now three-and-twenty, and the following letter from her to her brother will shew how things were progressing at this time. The letter contained a five pound note : "Dearest Tom, " I am sorry to say papa is not much better, and Dr. Thomson wishes him, when the weather gets a little warmer, to go to Germany for some of the baths. Uncle Edward has been very kind about it, and papa is to go. Of course I should have liked very much to have gone with him, but it would have made such a difference in the expense, I did not like to say any thing about it; besides, Uncle E. has asked me to visit him at Ravenstone. What do you think : of his going to have some lady visitors, and I suppose projects some gaieties for them. It is an old acquaintance, who lives in Devonshire, a Mrs. Woodford, and two daughters.

I hope, my own Tom, you will try and resist Ascot; you know it will be such a scene of temptation for you. Could you not ask for leave for that week and come down to Ravenstone? I shall be there then. It would be such a pleasure to me, and I think Uncle E. would be pleased at your coming away from those horrible races. Do think of it. I have no time to add more now; I have so much to do before we leave home. My uncle was so very kind as to send me twenty pounds for the adorning of my beautiful person. I hope you will not think me very selfish tor only sending you the fourth part of my present; but I must obey orders, for he will not be pleased if I do not turn out very smart; but let me hear from you soon, and I remain, ever your very affectionate sister, " Anna L. Sydenham." Anna went to Ravenstone, where she pleased her uncle's friends so much, that Mrs. Woodford invited her to return with them to Devonshire, and spend some weeks' with her at her place near Exeter.

" I should like to show you some of the beauties of our part of the country," said Mrs. W. " And we are great people for pic-nics and out-of-door parties of all sorts. I hope you would not tire with us for a little while." The plan was proposed to Mr. Sydenham, who, highly gratified at the favorable impres sion made by his niece, and the deferential manner in which his consent was asked, immediately gave it, and smoothed the way. Anna then accompanied her new friends. She was in the highest spirits, her cares all put by for the time; for three-and-twenty in good health can put by cares wonderfully when not under their immediate pressure. It was a beautiful summer, and they almost lived out of doors, not at all in rural retirement, but in the midst of gay parties of pleasure of every description; a great addition to these parties, at least in the eyes of the young lady part of the community, was the presence of the officers of a very smart cavalry regiment quartered at Exeter.

The smartest of these smart gentlemen was Captain Somerville, who from the first day he met Anna attached himself particularly to her, and very soon won her heart, much more completely than he surrendered his own. To do him justice, poor man ! he had not much heart to bestow, and what he had was not worth having; but he had that extraordinary talent of fascination before which reason is of no avail. He was not particularly handsome, but always very particu larly well dressed; he possessed no talents (un less riding admirably and dancing to perfection may be so called), but the undoubted one, of the power of pleasing whenever he chose to exercise it; that he was selfish, vain, superficial, and with principles not proof against temptation, did not at first appear. That he behaved very ill to Anna, though it caused her long and deep suffering, was most fortunate for her.

Had he married her, she would have been his slave through life; his means were very small, and selfish indulgence had brought him into difficulties. He knew he could not marry without money, and yet he told this young girl he loved her, and gratified his vanity by winning from her the confession of her complete devotion. Devotion indeed, but how different to his! Well might she have said: " Men may say more, swear more, but indeed their shows are more than will, for still they prove much in their vows, but little in their love." But Anna would not have said this, for she believed what he had taken such pains to impress upon her, that she possessed his whole heart. But the time for Anna's leaving Devon shire drew near; her visit had been twice pro longed, but now her father was soon to return, she must be at home to receive him.

Captain Somerville had endeavoured but vainly to get leave ; for he thought, coward as he was, he might get off by sudden and unavoidable absence; but a General, newly appointed to that district, was expected shortly to inspect them, and he found he certainly could not get away till after that. He was in great perplexity how to break with Anna ; her unsuspicious nature and perfect faith in him added to his difficulties, and prevented him from adopting the methods he had found successful on former occasions, for he had sighed to many before he had seen Anna, though he had involved himself more seriously with her than he had ever done before ; for he really did love her as much as such a character can love. The appearance of a new character on the scene suggested a mode of extricating himself which he was not slow to adopt.

A large party spent a beautiful day in pic-nic fashion at a ruined Castle, some distance from Woodford Park; but summer was beginning her struggle with autumn, and though she still reigned supreme during the day, her evenings were fast fading from her and on this occasion it was arranged that the party were to end the day at Sir William Seton's by an extensive tea and dancing. On reaching the house they found that General Belmont and his daughter had arrived; the young lady, though a stranger to the whole party, except two of the officers whom she had met before, not being troubled with shyness, made herself quite at home, and determined in the course of that evening that Captain Somerville should become one of her danglers. Anna was silent during the long drive home; she had never felt so tired before after any of their excursions; somehow the party in the evening had not been so pleasant as they usually were.

General Belmont had lost his wife when his daughter was only a child, and not knowing what to do with the young lady when she became fifteen, and finding her rather troublesome in his unsettled life, he sent her to an expensive school in Paris, where after remaining for three years she returned to him with various accomplish ments, all of which she was quite ready to dis play for the benefit of her friends. She could speak French and Italian with as much ease as her own language; could make an astonishing noise both on the harp and piano-forte; drew figures admirably, and was an excellent carica turist, a splendid horse-woman, and a first-rate billiard player. This latter accomplishment, in justice to Madame de Bourie, we must say, her pupil had picked up during her home visits at Christmas.

She was what is commonly called handsome; had a high spirit and a determined will with an insatiable craving for admiration. Now that her education was finished, as the General thought, his next desire was to marry her, especially when he found that though in a different way she was not less troublesome than before. Accordingly, Catherine Belmont, or as she was more commonly called, Kitty the Belle, had seasons in London, Paris, and Dublin, went to race meetings, music meetings, archery meetings, all over the United Kingdom, but though she always had a train of admirers, and, " Oh, more than all," ten thousand pound in her pocket she was still at five-and-twenty, going, going, — but not gone. The General had had many disappointments on this subject, and was now determined to come down pretty sharp on the next gentleman who should engage in a violent flirtation with his daughter, and Captain Somerville soon gave him an opportunity.

We need not linger over poor Anna's agony at the sudden, and to her unaccountable change in the conduct of him, upon whom she had lavished her whole heart's treasure, and upon the possession of whose love she had rested every hope of happiness. At first amazement kept her silent, then despair insisted on an explana tion. A painful scene ensued; hypocritical excuses and mean shufflings on his part; first gentle remonstrances, then bitter tears and indignant reproaches on hers, and thus they parted. His punishment was speedy, he had commenced the flirtation with Miss Belmont solely from the vol. I. c : hope of disgusting Miss Sydenham, and so get ting free of his engagements with her. He carried it on vigorously to drown some unplea sant feelings of remorse, which found place even in his vain and selfish heart.

But the very day that Anna with a broken heart left Devonshire, General Belmont brought him to book, and before the evening of that day closed, he found himself the affianced husband of Kitty the Belle. The General took care that no unnecessary delays should postpone the happiness of the be trothed, so in six weeks after, a very gay wed ding transformed Miss Belmont into Mrs. Somer ville. Nor was it any consolation to Anna to hear within a twelvemonth after that Captain and Mrs. Somerville led a life, expressively compared to the union of cat and dog.

Chapter III

Anna's first distress on returning to her father and her home, was his soon remarking her al tered appearance and spirits, which, struggle as she would, were apparent to the most casual ob server. " Really, if you don't get a little flesh upon your bones and a more life-like look in your face, something must be done. I am sure you don't look as if you had enjoyed Devonshire much, though your letters were so full of the charms of it. I think I must write to Mrs. Woodford and ask what you've been about, that you've come back such a picture of misery." c : This so alarmed Anna, that she strove to the utmost' to conceal the sorrow which was indeed beginning to tell upon her health, but her unna tural efforts during the day caused a violent reac tion at night, when the solitude of her own room enabled her to shake off the 'mask she had worn before others; and hours then passed in tears, and vain retrospections did not improve her ap pearance at the breakfast table next morning.

Fortunately for her, just at this time Tom's dreadful misdemeanors took off a good deal of her father's attention from her, as she feared ex cessively his guessing anything like the real state of affairs. Considering that Tom was always in debt and always in love, it was wonderful how he had contrived to keep himself so long out of jail and out of matrimony ; but somehow or other he had always managed to avoid the worst conse quences of his various scrapes. His twenty-first birthday approached, and his great uncle had determined that it should be kept at Ravenstone with all due honor, for notwithstanding the war which was generally going on, more or less ■20 fiercely, between him and Tom, the young man had not yet placed himself beyond the pale of his uncle's endurance, who, ia his own mind fully intended to make him his heir Mr. Sydenham was anxious to be the founder of a family ; his own, though very respectable, was not on a par with the old established gentry of the county.

He was a younger son, and had made a large fortune honorably by his own exer tions, and purchased Ravenstone Manor. Per haps a good deal of his kindness to his nephew and family was owing to Mrs. Sydenham being a peer's daughter, a very poor one to be sure, but still she was the Honorable Mrs. Sydenham ; and he now determined in his own mind to marry Tom to some member of the aristocracy; he thought that by marrying him early he might settle down ; that he should leave the army and come and live with his wife at Ravenstone. For the accomplishment of all this, he looked about for some lady who would unite in her person all that he desired, and soon fixed upon Lady Jane Corn bury, the daughter of a neighbouring Earl. She : was the youngest of seven ugly daughters ; her father was poor, and his estate much embarrassed.