Live it Down. A story of the Light Lands

Front matter

VOL. | gtas of % I* fanbs. BY J. C. JEAJTRESON, AUTHOR OP "OLIVE BLAKE'S GOOD WORK," "A BOOK ABOUT DOCTOES," etc., etc. ©|ir& €Mti<m, % fbisrtr. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1863. The right of Translation, is reserved DALZIEL BE0TIIEE9, CAMDEN PEESS, LONDON. CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. Chaptee Page I. The Rector Doesn't Dance . . 1 II. A Fire Extinguisher . . . .26 III. Christina and Carry . . 45 IV. Miss Christina creates another Sensation ..... 58 V. HowMr. Edgar Turrettwas Generous rather than Prudent in his Re solves ...... VI CONTENTS. Chapter Tugs VI. A Strange Visitor .... 90 VII. An Important Interview . . . 105 VIII. At Home and on the Tramp . .127 IX. A New Thought for Carry . . 143 X. Faithful unto Death : — Faithful after Death ..... 154 XI.

Old Friends 165 XII. John Braddock's candid Opinion of his Son-in-Law . . . 180 XIII. Alec Barber's 'Little Place' . . 191 XIV. Mr. Alexander Barber Studies " Crown Laav " . . . . 207 XV. New Aspects of Alec Barber . . 224 XVI. Another Year 249 XVII. Conversion ..... 266 XVIII. Castle Holloat and Elseavhere in 1821

Chapter I

the rector doesn't dance. Hitherto Edgar had never cared for woman as lovers care, — had indeed never expended the poetry of youth in fervent homage to woman's sex. Like an honest gentleman he had ever regarded women reverentiaUy, believing tbem the peculiar guardians of those sacred qualities of mind and temper and outward grace which, in the person of his aunt Adelaide, fiUed the old ' Hollow House ' with gentle quietude, and made him step softly whenever he approached her. But heretofore he had expended all the force of his athletic frame and brave heart on those field-sports which he followed with an enthusiasm and entirety of ardour which can scarcely be appreciated by young men of this generation, who have so many more amusements and pursuits than a young country squire of the ' old time.' And from its very novelty, love took the stronger hold upon him.

Not that it engrossed aU his thoughts, or gave him VOL. II. B distaste for former pleasures. The case was far other wise. It merely gave him new occupation, — the chi valric worship of the girl who had promised to be his; but, though it gave him no more than this one fresh task, it coloured aU his old pas times, rendering them a hundred-fold more attractive. The outhne of his future was much the same as it had ever been ; but as he now regarded it, every point of the prospect revealed some minor beauty either recently developed, or previously unheeded. He had from boy hood always vaguely presumed that one day he would be the Squire of Castle HoUow, that one day he would wed a virtuous English girl, and that amidst rural pleasures and business his days would move on with dignity, — if not with eclat.

As for facts, — the present was much as he had anticipated it would be, and (with the exception that greater wealth bade fair to come to him than he had ever hoped to possess) the future lay before him much as it had ever done. But here was the grand difference; — he had begun to contemplate closely things more important and higher than material facts. He could not be always at Merton-Piggott. In the ' old time/ though lovers were allowed greater freedom and privileges in certain departments of what may be termed the picturesque demonstrations of devotion than they are now-a-days, — they were in other respects kept at greater distance. The days of the minuet had ways of wooing widely different from those of the polka. When he was not honoured with a special invitation to Gray Street, Edgar (unless he could frame an ingenious excuse for a supplementary visit) was expected to keep away from John Bromhead's house, save on stated occasions, when Martha had ceremoniously informed him that ' Carohne would be gratified by his presence.' He had therefore plenty of time on his hands between his acceptance and the commencement of the shooting season ; and he employed some of it not unwisely, in strolling along the sea-shore, under the white, and yeUow, and green-hued cliffs, — now watching a brood of infant smugglers as they came toddling over the shingle from the guUies in which their parents' huts were hidden ; now sitting on a ledge of crag, watching the breakers, as they foamed crisply and merrily against the beach, or (when the wind changed from east to west) regarding the waves as they rose in long, low, heavy ridges, and feU upon the shore with suUen rumbling flaps of sound.

Very happy he was in these solitary walks ! The life to come was so bewitchingly bright, no wonder he thought much of it. Though he had loved Carry in the first instance solely for herself, and would have sought her hand if she had not had a penny ; it was still a far from disagreeable fact that she would bring him wealth which, even amongst the great nobles of the country, would have made her run after as an heiress. He may not be caUed sordid, because this circumstance of his position often occurred to his mind, and on each recur rence seemed yet more a subject for congratulation. Had he sought her in the first instance for her wealth (which was so far greater than he had expected), those riches might have presented to his calm reflection con siderations the reverse of pleasing. But as it was her love only he had cared for, that love enabled him to contemplate with unqualified satisfaction aU the benefits attendant upon it.

So visions rose before him of modes and fashions of b2 coming life. By-and-by, when Castle Hollow should be bis (he did not exactly think of death as the ser vant of his ambition, but simply jumped over a grave in his imaginative canter, without stopping to think who lay in it) he would free the estate from the last of those incumbrances which his great-grandfather had fixed upon it. Lawyer Loggett should be paid off. As occasion offered he would purchase land contiguous to the ancestral domain. Possibly he would invest some of his wealth in the fen-country. Anyhow he would exert himseh to reclaim portions of ' the waste' on the old estate, and would employ capital also in pro moting a more liberal kind of agriculture than that which was as yet practised in the 'light lands.' For it must be remarked that Edgar was a practical fellow, with a fuU aUowance of English energy, and English distaste for a do-nothing life ; and he entertained a hope of being useful (in quiet fashion) to his generation, — a hope which, naturally in a countryman, took a rural form.

As for his pleasures, by far the most prominent features of each-day dream, — he would keep a hospitable home, filling the ' Hollow House' at fit seasons with old Cambridge chums, and hunting friends from the ' corn country/ and the gentry of the 'light lands.' He would endeavour to maintain the ' old world' life of the wide region, which was menaced with dissolution, now that the old Duke of Dovercourt was no more. He would get up a first-rate subscription pack of hounds to replace the hunting establishment which was at that very time being broken up at Melford House ; possibly he might see the way to be himself ' Master of the Hunt.' Anyhow he would build new stables to the HoUow House (the old mansion would need no altera tion, — it was quite grand enough for a prudent Squire with £4000 per annum), and the stables should be fiUed with the best cattle money could pro cure.

Carry, of course, was to have money liberaUy expended upon her— in carriages and attendants (brilliant with Turrett liveries), in conservatories and choicest garniture for her drawing-rooms, in jewels and rare ponies. For it must be remembered, in these sunny day-dreams all the undertakings and grand doings of Edgar Turrett, Esquire, possible Justice of the Peace, and Deputy-Lieutenant of the 'light lands/ were to be entered upon, continued, and finished, with the advice, criticism, co-operation, and enthusiastic approval of Caroline, the wife of the aforesaid Edgar Turrett. Vain dreams these ! Ay ! but how many far better men than Edgar Turrett have entertained hopes less innocent? How many good men have had their vain dreams also, until they have been roused and saved from the sin of vain and profitless lives by seemingly trivial events, to which the presumption of ignorance gives the name of ' accidents.' Whilst Edgar was thus building airy castles od the sea-shore, Caroline was passing her days at Merton- Piggott not less happily and profitably.

Of course it was not enough for her to estimate Edgar as readers do, who like the young man for his honesty, his manliness, his affection for his grandfather and aunt, and, above all other considerations, for his success. He was a hero to her, — brave, unselfish, generous ; and the dear foolish child began to trouble her little heart with thinking that she wasn't good enough to be the wife of such a rare man, and never should be good enough. She began to lay plans for making herself better, and, unlike many framers of exceUent resolutions, she began to put those plans in action. They were very simple ones. She would spend less time on satin-stitch, and more on the reading of grave and instructive books ; she would spend less of her pocket-money on herself, and more on works of charity and subscriptions to religious societies ; she would more frequently step in on that poor old Mrs. Trussler, and that irksome old gentleman, Mr. Nullaby (one of her father's super annuated and pensioned clerks, of whom the merchant had many) , and cheer them up with merry gossip.

She would be more regular and indefatigable in her duties as ' little Fan's ' instructress ; more habituaUy studious to be an inspiriting companion to her melancholy mother ; more earnest in her devotions at meeting and church (for of late John Bromhead had encouraged her to attend the services at St. Mary's, as well as those of 'the persuasion'); more selfforgetful, more devout. Little, insignificant plans these ! But it must be remembered, it was only in such smaU things that so good a girl as Carry could hope to make herself better. To Fanny Magnum, of course, she was very commu nicative about her intentions and doings, regarding that much-loved friend as a greater benefactress than ever, now that she had secured her lover in some measure (Carry was modest enough to say in every measure) through the patronage of Bassingbourne House.

"Yes, my beauty," said Fanny, well pleased to take her full share of the credit, but not shutting her eyes to the fact that an artist's genius is of little avail unless he has the proper tools to work with, " you've made a briUiant game, at the very opening of the day; and I've had just enough to do with your success, to be able to congratulate you on it with much delightful self complacency." " How unspeakably pleasant," exclaimed Carry, to her friend, "it is to think that now, all our hves long, we shaU be neighbours and close companions ! We shall always be driving to and fro to see each other • and when Fan grows up into a dazzling arch little beUe, she'U come over to Castle HoUow to help me to get ready for my parties. At my annual Christmas baU (of course, I shaU have one grand ball every Christ mas), she'U be 'the young lady who's staying in the house.' " " Bless you, my beauty," answered Fanny, " when the time comes for you to preside over splendid gather ings at the Hollow House, you'U have become such a grand lady of the county that you'll not care to have a doctor's daughter for your particular friend.

Of course you wiU not be otherwise than very kind and condescend ing to us, but you'U say, ' It's just as well to keep Mrs. Magnum in her place, and not encourage her preposter ous notion that she got me my husband — just as if I wanted anyone to get a husband for me !' Well, weU, Carry — I and Fan, hke modest sensible people, will take what we can get, and come smiling to your ' second parties/ just as if we hadn't heard the gossip about the ' first ones.' " To which absurd banter Carry replied with vehe mence, " Don't talk such nonsense, Fanny. I don't like it. You're only laughing, I know ; — but it isn't the best side of you that's laughing, when you make such jokes. You've no business to amuse yourself by picturing me a heartless woman of the world. You may dress me up as a fairy, and put a gold wand in my hand, and carry me off to the Assembly Rooms, for everyone to laugh at me if you like ; but you shan't put my heart into fancy costume, as you have done just now."

"Well, Carry, speaking seriously," returned Mrs. Magnum — uttering the first words gravely, but without a tinge of asperity — ■" I can assure you that non sense contains a kernel of sound, good truth — though the truth is one which (I needn't be told) will never apply to you. There's not a woman in all the ' light lands' who has done half as much in the way of match-making as I have. Of all amusements a woman can have — match-making is the one that suits her best, and (what's more) ought to suit her best. I revel in it. I wish 1 had six daughters instead of one, simply in order that I might have the pleasure of marrying them all off well — for, mind me, I never yet made up a match that didn't turn out well. All my matches wear like the best silk — they look splendidly when they are new, and even in old age they don't wear as shabby as those of inferior make.

They dye, turn, cut up, clean, alter — and (when all is up with them) make first-rate linings." To this Carry responded with a ringing peal of laughter. Fanny Magnum had such a droll way of putting things. Moreover, Carry was well pleased to hear such high testimony borne to the excellence of her friend's ' matches/ albeit tbe witness to character was the maker herself. " My dear," continued Fanny, in her droU way — this time finishing her sentence seriously, whereas the last had opened gravely, though it closed in broad farce — " I began match-making when I was sixteen years old, and I've kept it on ever since. Before I was mar ried, people used to caU me a coquette, and a j Ut, because I used to flirt with every unmarried man who appeared in the Assembly Rooms. Bless you, I wasn't love-making for myself, but for other people.

I used regularly to go out man-fishing. Everything was done methodically and according to rules of art. First I threw in my ground-bait (any ordinary politeness did for that), then I selected and fixed on my fly (I was always very particular about my flies ; I would use none which weren't made of the finest adulation and most dehcate irony that could be procured in the market), then I began to whip the stream (I never had to do that long), then I played with the nibblers (what a crowd of nibblers there were, to be sure !) then a huge voracious feUow would snap my fly and make off with it (you have no conception, my dear, how voracious the 'right sort of fish' is !) then came the sport of trolling — letting him run out and forcing him to come in, worrying him and fatiguing him, keeping him clear of the reeds, and every now and then seeing him throw his big tail up with a splash above the waters of caution (oh, what a delicious game it was !)

At last, I would land him ; and when I had done so, I would take my hook out (it was a rule with me never to let anyone see the fly with which my fish had been caught) , and lay him on a white napkin, and put him in a basket, and dress him up all pretty with sprigs of green parsley, and give him to one of my friends. Heigh-o — oh, the times upon times when I had this fun ! Of course, my hving here in the town near Assembly Rooms, which is the great fish-preserve of the ' light lands/ was a great advantage to one with my angling propensities. Well, my dear, I married my sisters off; and there are now living no less than seven ladies in the 'light lands/ married into first-rate county houses, who'd never have had their husbands if it hadn't been for me; but of them all only two (and they are Lady FarreU and Kate Madison), have treated me well, and shown a proper sense of my services.

Each of the others (of course, they never quarrelled with me — people can't quarrel with me), after she'd been married a short time, sent me back with her compliments the basket, and napkin, and parsley sprigs in which her present of fish had been sent to her— and never again talked to me about my pet pastime of man-angling." Of course this vivacious description of her friend's man-angling propensities was received by Carry with frequent interruptions of laughter ; and when it was concluded, the merry girl said, " Well, Fanny, I shan't be so ungrateful. I shall keep my basket, and napkin, and parsley sprigs, and have them placed upon the table, as a centre-dish, whenever you come to Castle HoUow to dine with me. We shaU be always as close friends as we have been." " No, no — we shan't," answered Fanny, with cheery good sense, " we shaU be good and right loving friends, but not such close ones.

Up to this time, you've only been my echo — and a sweet musical echo too ; but now you'U have a voice of your own — and ere long weaker voices to echo it. Every day now, you'U find yourself growing more and more a woman — thinking more for yourself, and caring less to lean on me." " Upon my word," answered Carry, with frankness, "I feel sure you are right, and that I have already grown years older than I was a month since." " Of course, you have, darling," responded Fanny, laying aside her graceful levity aU of a sudden, and speaking with unaffected solemnity; "you are chang ing fast, and the change is all for the better ; so I can't regret it. We have all of us to live down our former selves ; and if it is sad for women of my age to think how fast we are living down old joys, it is an enduring consolation to know that we are also steadUy living down old sorrows."

So strangely constituted was that woman's mind, its animating brightness was ever followed by clouds of gloom ! Into its texture were so cunningly woven the finest threads of mirth and sadness, that it resembled those banners, delicately wrought of silk and precious metal, which, whUe they flutter in the breeze, appear golden or purple, according as the sun's rays fall upon them. But ordinary spectators saw only the sprightly, buoyant woman of society. Her husband knew each secret of her heart; and Carry had seen enough of it to be assured that there was in it a mystery she could not read ; and three or four old friends had reasons for suspecting that it contained the memories of troubles which no human sympathy might presume to touch; but, beyond this small circle, there was scarcely a person of her acquaintance who did not speak of her as ' a woman who had never known a real sorrow, and whom no amount of sorrow could dishearten.' It may not be supposed that discussion about 'the engagement ' was confined to Edgar and Caroline and their immediate friends.

There was scarce a person in Merton-Piggott, or for twenty miles round, who had not words to say about the matter. Upon the whole, public opinion regarded the arrangement with favour; even the least amiable exponents thereof admitting that in a free country young persons ought to be aUowed to marry whom they pleased, so long as they paid due regard to canonical prohibitions, and did not 'go to church' without the consent of their parents or their appointed guardians. 'The quality did not indulge in unkind reflections on the counte nance given to dissent by an old Church-and-State family ; and the ' connexion' took comfort to itseh by saying, " You see, we are as good as anybody else, and a vast deal better; we can marry with the county gentry when we wish, — which is only now and then.' At Merton-Piggott, indeed, there was a brief hiss of dissatisfaction; Mr. Nibcheek, the leading 'persuasion' taUor, throwing out suggestions that 'the con nexion was being sold/ and that, ' there were traitors in the camp.' But Mr. Nibcheek was speedily silenced by more prudent members of the ' pursuasion/ who, with eyes fixed on the Test and Corporation Acts, reminded him that it would not do for 'their party' to break with the powerful John Bromhead.

So Mr. Nibcheek refrained from further criticism until the end of September, when the merchant — who had never before patronized the tailor's shop — gave a large order for coats, breeches, slops, and waistcoats, which the benevolent chief of the 'connexion' in due course, distributed amongst the poor of the town. On this, Mr. Nibcheek suddenly altered his opinions on 'the interesting topic/ and, recanting in the most honourable and high-minded manner imaginable, maintained that John Bromhead was the true marrow of ' persuasion' principles, and that his daughter's engagement would strengthen the ' con nexion' prodigiously. At the 'town-club' Stephen Dowse was openly con gratulated on the event by Mr. Tilcot, who declared that he was immeasurably elated by the intelligence, and that nothing was more likely than the contemplated union to counteract the evil effects of turnip husbandry.

It was very absurd, but not the less true, that the members of the ' town-club/ and also certain important members of the ' persuasion' — Mrs. Cam berwell amongst others — were pleased to regard the match as the result of a subtle policy set in action and brought to maturity by the bank agent. "You see, sir," observed Mr. Tilcot to Stephen, " it is no difficult task for a man with two eyes in his head to see who has done it ; and very deeply indebted to you, I am sure, must your cousin feel herself for the in fluence you exercise on her husband." Whereunto Stephen Dowse responded, " Well, Tilcot, of course, tbe affair hasn't had my disapproval ; and, of course, John Bromhead has felt that, in counte nancing Mr. Edgar Turrett's affection for his daughter, he would not displease her mother's family ; but stiU I should be very sorry to have you imply that I govern my cousin's family.

No, no, TUcot ; every man ought to be master of his own house. I am only glad that the master in Gray Street doesn't oppose good counsel, when a tried friend gives it." In saying which, if Stephen Dowse didn't tell what school-boys call ' a crammer/ he certainly was on tbe verge of that sin. For, in real truth, Stephen, instead of being gratified with Caroline's engagement, was greatly nettled by it. He was stung to think that the dissenter, over whom he had been wont to assume social superiority, should in the eyes of aU the ' hght lands' be about to ally himself closely with an old county famUy, who were of a condition infinitely above that of a country bank-agent. He was also very in dignant at what he was pleased to term 'the dark ways of his cousin Martha/ who, until the engagement was an accomplished fact, never whispered to him a syUable about the sentimental intercourse of the young people.

" To think of it," he observed many scores of times to Mrs. Dowse, " that that meek creature, who never had any of the true Dowse spirit — or she wouldn't have married a dissenter — being so ' dark !' and wanting to ride over her own blood in that way ! That's what comes to a man who is fool enough to stick by his kin, as I have stuck by her ! " So, having some grounds for offence with the circum stances of the engagement, Stephen had conceived a strong dislike to the engagement itself, and an active antagonism to one of the parties to it, — namely, Edgar Turrett. " I'U be bound," said Stephen, warmly, to himself, " there's no good in that young fellow, and that nothing but disaster wiU come of his pretended attachment to that child, who is young enough to be his daughter. He's only looking after her money ; and a pitiful scamp a man must be who can pretend he cares for a girl's heart, when he is only looking after her cash-box.

But I'll soon find out all I can about him. If I am not mistaken, horse-racing and card-playing must have produced for him a handsome lot of debts somewhere. I'll make a few inquiries about him. Indeed, I shouldn't be doing my duty to my own blood, if I didn't make inquiries about him." At the period when Stephen Dowse came to this decision, if Edgar had heard of the bank-agent's resolution, it would have provoked him to laughter rather than indignation ; but incidents (which wiU, in due course, be narrated in these pages) were soon to occur, out of which prying curiosity and petty malice would find it an easy task to frame a story most injurious to the young Squire's reputation. And it may as weU be remarked here that a man in Stephen Dowse's position has many peculiar, and even terrible, oppor tunities for becoming acquainted with a certain class of facts, which the private individuals whom they most nearly concern would especiaUy dislike to have pub lished to the world.

Doctors of medicine are the holders of many delicate secrets; and in countries where auricular confession is generaUy exercised, priests have committed to their keeping facts, the revelations of which would make strange stir in the world ; but, more than physicians or priests, the bank-agents of free England are the dreaded guardians of debcate transactions, the exposure of which would make strong men quake with fear and tremble with shame. Strange inquisitors and fearful tyrants (all the more fearful be cause their social position is so humble, whUst their power is so prodigious) are those men who hold with observant, calculating sUence the money secrets of rural districts. They are a mysterious fraternity, working darkly with hidden correspondents. No wonder that haughty Squires generously load them with game in the shooting season, and that small farmers and petty traders cap them the whole year round !

But the engagement of the lovers was not the only matter for the 'light lands' to feel an interest in during August and September. Merton-Piggott was preparing for its annual fair, which even so late as the year 1820, lasted for fuU six weeks. The fair was the carnival of the year to the old town. During its continuance, the judges visited Merton-Piggott, to dispense the King's justice in the Court-house ; and, together with their lordships, came the learned members of the bar (' gentlemen of the long robe/ they were most frequently termed in the ' light lands ') , renowned for eloquence and wit, and disinterested devotion to their clients, whom they would serve to the utmost at every risk ; "ay, though they incurred the displeasure of the court, and went forth into the world, knowing that their prospects were blighted by the frown of power."

In honour of these distinguished guests, the Assize BaU had for generations been held. Briefless juniors attending the Circuit in this present year of 1863, can scarcely realize the excitement which assizes created in towns like Merton-Piggott fifty years since, or imagine the respect paid to ' the bar ' by aU classes of society. The members of that noble profession were not (as now) per mitted to travel by ordinary public conveyances ; but had (for the sake of dignity) ' to post/ or ride the circuit on horseback. They were not allowed to exercise ingratiating arts on the humbler branch of the legal profession. The high misdemeanour of shaking a solicitor by the hand in an assize town during assizes was visited on the offending counsel by a fine to the wine fund of the mess ; and the flagrant crime of dining at an attorney's table, during the same period, brought upon the serrile and unworthy member of the bar sentence of expulsion from the mess.