The Roll Call. A novel

Front matter

THE ROLL CALL a iiobet. IN THREE VOLUMES. BY MRS. ARTHUR TRISTRAM JERVOISE. Author of " Holding Fast and Letting Go." VOL. I. ganisan ; REMINGTON AND CO., New Bond Street, W. 1884. All Rights Reserved. CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAP. PAGE I. Sunshine ... ... ... ... ... ... t II. Dreamland ... ... ... ... ... ... _(, III. Aunt Flora ... ... ... ... ... ... 32 IV. Love and Trust ... ... - ... ... ... 47 V. The Very Dear Cousin ... ... ... ... 69 VI. The First of September 97 VII. Without "Good-bye" ' ... 125 VIII. Mystery , ... ,,6 IX. Taunts Succeed at Last ... ... ... ... 152 X. An Only Love ... ... ... ... ... iy8 XI. Bad Form ... ... ... ... ... ... 104 XII. Another Tete-a-Tcte with Rachel ... ... ... 205 XIII. Ghosts ... ... ... ... ... ... 220 XIV. In the Billiard Room 234 XV. It came as a Message from the Dead ... ...

Chapter I. Sunshine

It was a lovely day in the month of August. The summer sun shone high in the heavens, while the sheaves of corn, which stood bound and leaning one against another in the broad fields surrounding Brashleigh Manor, seemed each moment to grow yet more golden in its golden beams. Every ear of the ripe grain betokened in its fulness the perfect work of cradling earth, mellowing sunshine, and rain-dropping skies ; while the ravished ground but waited for its produce to be gathered in and garnered. " What a lovely day ! " involuntarily ex claimed Esme Montague, as she looked from an open window of the mansion belonging to the Manor. " What a lovely day ! " she re peated, as her bright eyes wandered from one VOL. I. B object to another — from the tall trees all robed in their rich raiment of summer foliage, to the smooth green grass beneath them, and the silvery Trent winding in and out and glistening in the distance.

Beautiful as the Leicestershire landscape was, however, upon which she gazed, it failed to arrest the attention of Esme for any length of time. Weary of her solitary work of admiration, she turned from the window, and, shading her eyes with one hand as if dazzled by the brilliancy of the sunlight, she crossed a corridor, and entered a spacious picture gallery. But here, her footsteps were brought to a standstill by a voice, which exclaimed eagerly— "My little Esme! where are you going? I have been looking for you everywhere." A smile and a blush struggled hard for the supremacy over the dimples and lilies in the face of Esme, as she was thus accosted ; but SUNSHINE. 3 she vouchsafed no reply. Poising her small head somewhat proudly, she stood quite still, only drooping her blue-veined eyelids so that their long lashes might veil the pleasure which danced in her eyes.

" My little Esme ! " said the voice again, and now a note of love stirred in its glad tones. " My little Esme," echoed the girl, " I tell you once for all, Arthur, that I will not be called your little Esme. I claim myself, for myself. I am my own property. Besides, I reach almost to your chin, so how dare you call me ' little ? ' It was only the day before yesterday that I allowed you to measure me." As she uttered these words, partly in childish petulance, and partly in womanly scorn, she was a dangerous spectacle for one of Eve's sons to behold. She stood, beautiful as the craze of a Pygmalion, amid a profusion of flowers, which, in the eagerness of speech, she had let slip from her hand. But, whatever the peril of her charms might be, the danger was met undauntedly. The tall figure of a man advanced towards her, while, in answer to her assertion, the voice which had spoken before replied — " I know it was only the day before yester day, darling, and you shall be called great Esme, or little Esme, or, in fact, anything on earth that you wish — only " — " Only what ?

" was the somewhat saucily put interrogation, while smiles and dimples, blushes and lilies, again gave chase to each other upon the fair face of the speaker. The tall, manly figure drew closer to Esme, stooped to pick up some of the flowers which lay at her feet, and then said earnestly — " Only my Esme you must always be. Please God, nothing can alter that ! " She made no answer as he wound his arm around her waist, and led her towards the seat from which he had just risen. SUNSHINE. 5 " You are dreadfully sentimental this morning, Arthur," she said at last, darting a sunny glance up into eyes which she knew were look ing fondly at her. Too happily engrossed for speech, her companion made no attempt to gainsay her. " You know I don't like romance," she went on, " I like you ever so much better when you look angry, or are riding an awfully spirited horse, or driving a tandem straight through an impossible gate, or "— "Anything else, Esme?" he enquired demurely, as she paused, either from want of words or of breath.

" Yes, of course, heaps of other things, but I don't like to be teased, so I shall not speak another syllable to you." Her red lips pouted with such provoking prettiness, that Arthur very narrowly escaped a relapse into the forbidden state of senti mentahsm, from which, to tell the truth, he had barely rallied. Struggling valiantly to repress any expression of its almost over whelming force, he rejoined — " Not a syllable ! That would be awfully slow for both of us, darling." The pouting lips tried hard to maintain their semblance of scorn, but without avail ; and as they reluctantly parted, a merry little laugh escaped from between their rosy portals. The joyous notes brought Arthur Greatorix from his standing position to one which was more lowly. Kneeling down by the side of Esme, he gazed with infinite tenderness upon her face.

It was very bright and fair — bright, by reason of the innocent, undimmed happi ness of its expression — fair, in the porcelain tints of its complexion ; the delicate regularity of its features. And the countenance beside it was noteworthy, although it possessed neither a delicately hued complexion nor a faultless contour of feature. Arthur Greatorix was in the prime of man- SUNSHINE. 7 hood. Nevertheless he had passed the fresh ness of premier jeunesse, while many a battle with self, many a fixed resolve, and many a noble thought had stamped their lines of gravity upon his brow. He was close shaved with the exception of a heavy brown moustache, which, while it hid a well-formed mouth, could not entirely conceal the set of white even teeth within. But the charm of his face lay in the expression of his eyes, an expression which, in its combined fearless ness and tenderness, possessed a remarkable amount of fascination for most persons.

He was very tall, some two or three inches over six feet, broad shouldered, with a muscular and well-proportioned frame. Still kneeling before Esme, his smile answering hers, he said suddenly — " I have something very important to talk to you about this morning. May I begin, dearest ? " " Important ! Nonsense, Arthur." " I wish it were nonsense," he broke in, with such vehemence that Esme looked up in astonishment. She laughed, however, another joyous little laugh, and then said gaily — " I verily believe that I know what it is. You are positively repenting that you have asked someone, nee Esme Montague, to be come one day Mrs. Arthur Greatorix, and you are such a coward you are afraid to tell her that her visions of living, part of every year, in your dear old tumble-down Cornish castle are doomed to end in anticipation only.

I am right, am I not?" she asked gaily. " No, darling, no — a hundred times no ! You are out of it altogether." " Out of it ! — out of the castle," she laughed, with eyes which danced and sparkled with merriment ; " of course I am, that is just what I meant." But somehow her gaiety was not so in fectious as usual. Arthur shook his head by SUNSHINE. 9 way of protest against her raillery, and his voice was low with earnestness, as he made reply — " I only wish that I could carry you there directly — this very instant." "Oh, Arthur!" and a little mouth was pursed up, while two wee white hands were clasped together in token of mock despair, "how dreadful of you. What! before the butcher and the baker — I mean, before the architect and paper-hangers have made all things ready. How can you be so absurd?"

" Am I absurd? " he asked absently, " Very ! Who ever heard of a wedding taking place, without fuss and ceremony enough to frighten one nearly to death ; and how could we arrive in Cornwall without bon fires and bell-ringing, and all those sort of things ? I cannot think what has happened ■to everybody this morning. You look as if you had been studying tragedy, Arthur ; and Uncle Ralph came to me directly after luncheon, in a most perturbed state of mind, and, with a very long face, begged me to go at once to Aunt Flora. I knew that some thing had gone wrong, so I went immediately, and found her in much dudgeon because Uncle Ralph had asked her to receive a cousin of his here for a week or two. Un fortunately, Aunt Flora professes to entertain apeculiar dislike to this same cousin, so I did not quite know what to say.

However, I stayed with her for nearly two hours, doing all I could to reconcile her to the idea of the pro posed visitor. I am afraid it was waste of time, for when I was retiring, Aunt Flora told me that I had tired and bored her fear fully. Pleasant, was it not ? " asked Esme, archly, " to think that I had done nothing to wards helping either dear, good Uncle Ralph, or his unfortunate cousin, besides having lost two hours of beautiful sunshine, and kept a true lover w*aiting." SUNSHINE. 11 No gravity could withstand such a sally as this, and yet it but very slightly relaxed the seriousness which was fast deepening over the spirit of Arthur Greatorix. We all know what it is to have a disagreeable subject uppermost in our thoughts, for if disagreeable, uppermost it will most assuredly be. We have all felt the dragging influence oo o of such a state of mind upon our speech, and have tested into what mockery it can turn our mirth.

Most of us, also, have experienced the misery of having unpleasant tidings to impart to others. Did the joy of those, for whom we bore our message of woe, ever appear to us to be so thoroughly unalloyed, as when we knew ourselves about to quench that joy ? Have they not, the ill-fated ones, at such times coursed merrily with unwonted glibness from one topic of conversation to another; but they never gave us a lead, whereby we could run them into the subject, which, however reluctantly, we were bound to put before them. It was an experience of this nature, which held in thrall the spirit of Arthur Greatorix, as he knelt before his light-hearted fiancee, and replied — " If I was kept waiting, I suppose it was good for me, and that it gave me a lesson in self-denial." " Perhaps so ! But do you know, Arthur, I have very little faith in the virtue of that same self-denial.

In fact, I am a frightful sceptic upon the matter. I read pages and pages about it, in all sorts of good books, but when ever I try to practise it, which, by-the-bye, I am very much afraid is not so often as it ought to be, you cannot think what a dismal failure I contrive to make of it. I snub my self tremendously, and go through all sorts of unnecessary unpleasantness, and then discover that it would have been better, not only for myself, but for everybody else, if I had SUNSHINE. 13 followed the bent of my inclination, and left self-denial alone. It is a dreadful confession, I know, but it is really true, and I often feel very penitent in consequence." There was not much contrition in the gay tones which proclaimed this shortcoming. Gay as they were, however, the next instant a soupgon of pique mingled with them, as Esme continued — " I am going to run away from you now, Arthur.

You are so dull, and besides, I am tired of remaining indoors." Arthur rose, and drawing a chair close to her, said, as he seated himself — " Do not leave me yet, Esme. I cannot let you go so soon. You are my prisoner you know, I caught you fairly, just now." " Not fairly ! You were hidden by the screen, and you intercepted me craftily. Soldiers may lurk in ambush to surprise a foe, but not brave men to capture fair women," she interposed, merrily. Arthur looked fondly at her, as he returned — " I shall have to teach you, dearest, that all things are fair, both in love and war. You are my prize. I will not give you up, even to the sunshine ; so listen to me, darling, and let me tell you what is weighing on my mind." Something unusual in his manner attracted the attention of Esme at last. Resting her hand gently upon his shoulder, she said, affectionately — " You have an attack of the blues this morning, you dear old Arthur !

But come with me into the drawing-room, it is cooler there, and we will discuss this momentous matter. Lord Oakdene and Uncle Ralph are inspecting shorthorns : Aunt Flora is trying to get rid of her fit of the vapours in her pony carriage : and Hannah, la belle, is closeted with her maid. So come, and tell me your wonderful news. We are not likely to be interrupted. Has Poole proved faithless, or SUNSHINE. ■5 has your groom broken your heart by breaking the knees of your pet mare ? " Arthur Greatorix looked wistfully into the beautiful eyes which were lifted to his. Light strains and playful words, jarred upon his heart-strings. With a smile, which had the arriere-pensee of a sigh for its companion, he accompanied Esme to the room, which she had chosen for their conference.

Chapter II. Dream Land

The individual, whom Esme Montague had designated to her lover as " Uncle Ralph," was none other than Ralph Grant, the owner of Brashleigh Manor; while "Aunt Flora" was Ralph Grant's second wife. But although he had been twice married, it was not until he reached the meridian of life that he succumbed for the first time to the power of Cupid. No charms, before then, had been so potent as those of the gigantic mills, which wove for him no gossamer fabric, but a very substantial and tangible cloth of gold. With his father's last blessing these mills, together with land and wealth, accrued to Ralph Grant. The digger, on the far off fields of Australia, DREAMLAND. 17 who has braved the perils of travel and voyage in order to reach his coveted destination ; and the thriving manufacturer, in England, who drives luxuriously along the well-made road to his place of business, share in a similar excitement.

In the one case, an eager hand grasps a pick-axe, or carefully sifts our mother earth for precious ore, while in the other, fingers point exultingly to the accumulating balance of the banker's book, and add triumphantly to the figures of the ledger. Each man is busy with his own plan for aggrandisement, and, whether successful or otherwise, it is often difficult for each to stay his work. So, at least, Ralph Grant experienced it to be, and so, perchance, it might have continued, but for an accident, the result of which changed the whole current of his life. Turning round hastily one morn ing to give some directions to a gardener, his foot slipped from off the stone step whereon he was standing. VOL. I. C He recovered his balance without falling to the ground ; but, upon attempting to resume his walking powers, he found that he had sprained his ankle.

The inconvenience of this disaster was felt keenly by a man of his active habits, and it was in vain that his medical man insisted upon perfect rest for the injured limb. As a last resource, the refractory patient was peremptorily ordered from home, and, after many rebellious pro tests, he finally consented to go for a short time to Matlock Bath. Here the romance of his life began. Not many days after his arrival, as he was resting under the shade of a tree in the grounds of his hotel, with his foot carefully supported upon cushions, his attention was arrested by a little girl, who, as she softly stole past him on the tips of her tiny toes, appeared to be intent upon covertly obtaining some earnestly desired object. Afraid of dis turbing her, Ralph Grant, neither spoke nor moved. DREAMLAND. 19 She was a wee sprite of a child, not more than four years of age, dressed in white, with long light hair falling from beneath her sun bonnet.

Regardless of the proximity of a stranger, she suddenly turned back, and paused for a moment by the side of Mr. Grant. As she did so, his eyes involuntarily followed the direction of hers, and he quickly discovered that she was watching the move ments of a gaudily-coloured butterfly. The insect was lazily flying a few feet only from the ground. Presently it settled upon a flower close by. Creeping towards it, the child exercised numberless infantile manœuvres be fore attempting its capture, and she manifested considerable baby surprise at the failure of her efforts. Again and again the butterfly flaunted jauntily from blossom to blossom, while as often the little figure, with out stretched hands, attempted to make it her prisoner. It almost seemed as though the insect took a pleasure in being thus pursued, so closely did it sometimes allow her to approach it, before it spread its wings, and by flight overthrew her hopes.

The patience of the tiny Diana promised to be inex haustible, and her little feet carried her bravely through the chase. Ralph Grant was literal as well as prosaic. He drew no poetical metaphor from the scene before him. He did not, as he regarded it, speculate how, in after life, that fair child might often stretch out her hand for that which she desired, and as often, be compelled to draw it back unto herself, empty of the treasure which she sought. But he watched the mimic drama with an interest which was intensified by the last act. The object of pursuit soared gaily away, when the child, sorrowfully drooping her head and clasping her hands, cried, in lisping accents — "Good-bye, butterfly dear — give my love to mamma when you go up to bed in the 'tars to-night." The unconscious insect was scarcely lost DREAMLAND. 21 to sight, before an elderly woman advanced with hurried steps, and taking the little girl by the hand, led her away.

That night Ralph Grant had a wonderful dream. It was a marvellous chaos, a mysterious jumble of children, stars, butter flies, and flowers. Nevertheless, he ever afterwards professed to have received there from a teaching, which its mystery disclosed distinctly. In this dream he had flown ; butterflies had talked, and otherwise disported themselves, in a manner which would have astonished the most learned of entomologists. In his magical dream of the heavens, stars had been transformed into lovely faces, one and all of which beamed tenderly upon him ; while he had been surrounded by an innumerable com pany of fair-haired children, who traversed space perpetually, and who, by the swiftness of their evolutions, contrived persistently to hide from his gaze the one star, or face, upon which he most especially desired to look.

And that face was the point upon which his waking imagination dwelt. Convalescence is a dangerous period to most natures. Somehow, hearts are apt to be more susceptible to soft impressions at that time, than at any other, and it is prob able that Ralph Grant's vision would have melted into forgetfulness had he been im mersed in his usual business cares and occupations. But away from these it was altogether a different matter. He pondered over his dream until it haunted him, and, ere long, beautiful faces seemed to smile into the possibility of his future, bringing with their smiles a sense of present loneliness, which he had never before experienced. Thus far, his habitual stoicism was broken up. The plough of happy fancies had gone over it, while the harrow of pleasant imaginings duly prepared the soil for the reception of that seed, which was destined to be sown through the agency of the little butterfly-chaser.

DREAMLAND. 23 There are few things more provoking to an impetuous individual than an unanswered bell. In this manner, a few days after the little episode in the hotel garden, the patience of Ralph Grant was sorely tried. The weather was oppressive, the room uncomfort ably warm, and, notwithstanding all his efforts, he could get no notice taken of the bell which he rang repeatedly. Again and again the summons sounded louder and louder, but still neither his own servant, nor any belonging to the hotel, appeared. At last a breathless waiter entered the room, who gasped — " Very sorry to have kept you a' waiting, sir, but I've been a'helping to look for the lost child." " Lost what? " enquired Mr. Grant hastily, forgetful, in his suddenly awakened interest, both of his previous anger and discomfort.

" Lost child, sir ! Strayed, sir ! out of our gardens here. She were left in charge of the lady's maid, and when the nus' went for her, the little lady couldn't be found nowhere, and they hasn't found her yet." "Whose child is it?" interrogated Mr. Grant. " Well, sir, you see, sir, she's a horphan so I can't exactly say ; but she is a visitor in the 'ouse, and they call her Miss Hesney, or Miss Hesmey, I can't be sure which." " A little girl with light hair?" suggested Mr. Grant anxiously. " Yes, sir, the same as everyone takes notice on. There are four on 'em stopping 'ere — the young lady as the little lady which is lost calls aunt, the little lady herself, the lady's maid, and the nurse." " And the little girl is lost, you say ! God bless my heart, what a terrible business ! Go back by all means, and join in the search for her."

The man needed no second bidding, and Ralph Grant, hobbling to the door, was about DREAMLAND. 25 to follow him, when, just outside the room, he almost fell into the arms of a young lady, who was swiftly proceeding in another direction. A slight collision ensued, which brought both parties to a standstill. It was not altogether an unpleasant catastrophe, at least, so thought Ralph Grant. The blushing girl courteously received the commencement of his apology, but he was considerably startled when she suddenly drowned his syllables with a wild cry, and bounded from him like a young gazelle. Ralph Grant was a bachelor, middle-aged, and endowed with considerable presence of mind. Nevertheless, this finale, following so closely upon the news of the lost child, and the collision with the fair stranger, entirely upset his accustomed equanimity.

Hat in hand, he remained for some moments staring down the empty passage, with a vague wonderment in his mind of what unlikely event was likely to overtake him next. For a brief space of time he seemed destined to solitude and speculation : but only for a brief space. Very soon the sound of voices and of trampling feet smote upon his ear, and a procession of waiters, chambermaids, and servants of all denominations, headed by a lady and a little girl, with a very hysterical maid by their side, came in view. He recognised them at once, and hastened to offer a few words of hearty congratulation to the lady, upon the finding of the child. His con gratulation was cordially received, and, in accepting it, an apology, was tendered by the lady, for the abrupt departure which had taken place upon her part a short time before.

Sundry sounds, she proceeded to explain, without the hotel, had suddenly induced her to hope that the search for the lost little one had been successful. Wherefore, forgetful of everything but the great relief and joy which this hope inspired, she had flown to the spot from whence the sounds issued. DREAMLAND. 27 Ralph Grant was quick to comprehend all the bearings of the case, and with a few more kindly words, together with a friendly pat upon the cheek to the small author of the morning's excitement, he retired to the seclusion of his bachelor apartments, where his day dreams speedily became as vivid as his visions of the night. It did not take long, for the confidential servant, by whom he was accompanied, to as certain full particulars concerning the party at the hotel, in whom his master was so in terested.

The negligent lady's maid was garrulous in her own exculpation. With her self acquittal from all blame respecting the straying of the little one, who had been temporarily confided to her charge, she was communicative about her employer. " My mistress, Miss Lily Carlesford, is an orphan. Her little niece, Miss Esme Montague, is also an orphan. They have lived together for nigh upon three years. Miss Carlesford is the guardian of little Miss Esme, and she has got another guardian ; a tall, fine-looking gentleman. His name is Mr. Arthur Greatorix, and he was Mr. Montague's bosom friend, he was, and Mr. Montague was the papa of Miss Esme, and Mr. Arthur Greatorix happened to be in Italy when Mr. and Mrs. Montague was travelling there-, and when their horses took fright and ran away and nobody could stop them, and the poor lady and gentleman were thrown out of their carriage all down a precipice and was both killed on the spot, and they was both of them handsome and young, the poor lady only nineteen, and the poor gentleman hadn't so very long before come of age, and they had one little baby, Miss Esme, and plenty of money.

And after their bodies were found, they were buried, and the lawyer wrote word as Miss Lily Carlesford, for she was poor Mrs. Montague's sister, you know, and DREAMLAND. 29 Mr. Arthur Greatorix was to have the charge of Miss Esme ; she was only a baby then, but she was to be what they calls their ward, and my mistress doats upon Miss Esme, and makes a fine fuss about her. She hasn't any other relations, you see, my mistress hasn't, at least none as ever I heard of, no more hasn't Miss Esme either; and as for Mr. Greatorix it is very seldom that he comes nigh them ; he's always away in foreign parts, and ain't much good to either of them as I can see." Such was the information given by the maid — information which was quickly im parted by man to master. Armed with it, Ralph Grant soon contrived to commence an acquaintance with the strangers.

Neither " Carlesford " nor " Greatorix " were unknown names to Ralph Grant. By a little dexterity he quickly drew Miss Carlesford to speak of her guardianship to little Esme, and from this, it followed naturally, that Mr. Arthur Greato rix, her co-guardian, was spoken of. The ball, as it were, being thus opened, Ralph Grant made the most of his opportunity. Question and answer followed each other rapidly, and the fact was soon patent that Lily Carlesford and Ralph Grant had many acquaintances and friends in common. So it often comes about, and the old saying, " The world is not so large as it seems to be," was fully exemplified in their case, while the like ness of Esme to her aunt fully accounted to Ralph Grant, for the mystery of the beauti ful face, in the star of his dream. The steps from acquaintanceship to friend ship, and from friendship to love, were made almost at a bound by the hitherto un susceptible Ralph Grant; while more slowly, perhaps, but, nevertheless, quite as surely, were the like progressions made by Lily Carlesford.

Six months sped away. At their expira tion Brashleigh Manor held a loved and honoured mistress within its walls, and little DREAMLAND. 31 Esme was duly installed the pet and play thing of everyone therein. Alas, that so it might not continue ! The remorseless Angel of Death swept over the happy household, and, enfolded the sweet wife in his dark wing, ere the first anniversary of her bridal day came round. Broken-hearted, well-nigh despairing, Ralph Grant retired from business, Brashleigh Manor was closed, and he, with little Esme, turning their faces to other lands, roamed far and wide. " My star — my flower — my beautiful Lily ; your pure light has gone from earth to the bright heavens above. Shine on me still, darling, from your new home — light my darkness, my pitiful darkness. Lily — my wife — my dream — my star — my flower — my Lily."