Juanita Carrington. A sporting novel

Front matter

a ARABELLA KENEALY'S NOVELS SOME MEN ARE SUCH GENTLEMEN Croivn Svo, cloth, 6s, Fifth Edition. Academy — 'We take up a book by Miss Arabella Kenealy confidently expect ing to be amused, and in her latest work we are not disappointed. The story is so brightly written that our interest is never allowed to flag. The heroine, Lois Clinton, is sweet and womanly. . . . The tale is told with spirit and vivacity, and shows no little skill in its descriptive passages.' Pall Mall Gazette — ' A book to be read breathlessly from beginning to end. It is decidedly original ... its vivid interest. The picture of the girl is admir ably drawn. The style is bright and easy.' Literary World—* A really good story, original, well written and strong. A really excellent and engaging story. The materials are rare, and, we must admit, ideal . . . can be read with interest and enjoyment."

Daily Chronicle — ' Miss Kenealy has original ideas, a nice faculty of literary expression. . . . Her description of the old house where dwelt her strange young heroine, is quite admirable. . . . There is a quaintness and an air of romance about the whole story, which are very pleasant to note and to remember.* Truth—* Its heroine is at once original and charming.' DR JANET OF HARLEY STREET Crown Svo, cloth, 2s. 6d. Picture Boards, 2s. This Book ran through Six Editions in the Six Shilling form. Daily Chronicle — ' It is a clever book, and well worth reading ; it can outstrip the ordinary novel by many knots per day (to pursue the metaphor), and it may make one or two people think who are unaccustomed to that exercise. Miss Kenealy has imagined an interesting character, and realised her vividly.' Pall Mall Gazette— 'In "Dr Janet of Harley Street," Dr Arabella Kenealy has shown that the art of writing lively fiction is not the least of her many accom plishments.

Moreover, she has achieved the rare distinction of producing a novel which is didactic and not dull. Miss Kenealy has a quick sense of humour, and a lively faculty of observation, and her style is vivid and effective.' THE HONOURABLE MRS SPOOR Crown Svo, cloth, 6s. Fourth Edition. Black and White—' Her latest novel has advanced her to the front rank of ladv novelists. muy .,.T1" WrCbwKfc-'Aefcwr story. The most powerful piece of work that Miss Kenealy has done. The Pall Mall Gazette—' This powerful story . . . brilliantly achieved Her style is, as always, graceful and easy, and her character sketches are excellent Mid humorous- Nl DI&BT, LOM & CO., Publishers, London. DIGBY'S POPULAR NOVEL SERIES Crown Svo, handsome cloth, price 2s. 6d. per Vol. Each Book contains about 320 pp., and is printed on superior paper from new type.

Chapter I Juanita

Oh life, how pleasant is thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, We wander there, we wander here, We eye the rose upon the briar, Unmindful that the thorn is near." Burns. "It is perfectly ridiculous that they called you Juanita," remarked Miss Walgrave, looking down reflectively at a slight, extremely attractive little figure, surmounted by a remarkably pretty and piquant face. " They could hardly have chosen a more unsuitable name for you if they had tried. I am sure that you must have had pale, wishy-washy coloured hair even when you were a baby, and that in those days you must have been so small that they could hardly see you." A "As it happens, I had no hair at all as a baby," replied Juanita Carrington. "At least, so I have been told."

"Well, it really could not have mattered much whether you had any hair or not, because your head must have been so small that they would have been obliged to put on glasses to see it. I wonder if they lost you very often in your infancy, Nita ? Even now it is difficult to see you unless you are quite near," returned Miss Walgrave, with a suppressed smile beam ing in her dark eyes, and all over her bright, pleasant face. Nita Carrington, who was attired in a riding skirt, a long, white linen coat and a sailor hat, and who was seated on a corn bin, with her neat little feet dangling in mid-air, leant forward and successfully coiled the lash of her hunting crop round Winifred Walgrave's ankles. "Poor dear! Is she jealous of the seven stone nothing, which a horse hardly knows he has upon his back ?

" she retorted, in a would-be sympathetic tone of voice. " Never mind, Winifred, you must try and keep up your spirits. It cannot be helped." Winifred, who was leaning against one of the partitions of the loose boxes on the opposite side of the passage which ran down the stables they were both in, caught the lash of her friend's Juanita 3 whip, just as it was in the act of being flicked at her feet a second time, and drew the whip out of Nita's hands. " No, it cannot be helped," she agreed, with resignation. ' ' Nor can it be helped that you are called Juanita ; but it is an unfortunate name for a little doll of a thing like you, all the same. Do you not think so, Dick ? " she added, turning her head as she did so in the direction of her brother, who had just stepped out of the box behind her, in which he had been tying up the horse that Nita Carrington had ridden over to Walgrave Castle.

" May I be informed what you are talking about ? " inquired that gentleman, answering his sister's question, hut looking at Nita with smiling eyes as he did so. '' Nita's name," replied Miss Walgrave. " Whether I am right or not I cannot say ; but I always pictured a Juanita as being tall and dark and stately. Anyway, it is a ridiculous name for Nita — is it not ? ' "I do not think so," said Dick Walgrave, quietly. " On the contrary, I particularly like it.' Unseen by him, his sister looked at Nita and made a faint little movement with her shoulders. As plainly as possible did it express the fact that she had been a fool to put such a question to a man who was himself a hopeless fool on the subject of Juanita, and everything belonging to her. Then she turned abruptly away and walked out of the stable.

"I wonder where all the grooms are?" she exclaimed as she entered the stable-yard. "None of them ever seem to be about the place when they are wanted." "I know where they are to-day," replied her brother, as Nita and he followed her. " They are exercising on the race-course. They could not get out this morning, the weather was so bad. I told Johnson that I wrould put up Nita's horse when she arrived." "That was very thoughtful of you," said Winifred, and in her eyes there was a little gleam of mischief as she said it. He made no reply. Perhaps he was aware of that little gleam of mischief which was lurking in her eyes, and perhaps it rather hurt him ; but that was not the reason of his silence ; he was merely silent because he was not a particularly good hand at making pretty speeches, and this was an occasion when, if he had spoken at all, he ought to have made one.

" Is Sir Henry going to shoot to-morrow or the next day ? " inquired Winifred, presently. " I particularly hope that it is to-morrow, because I want you to come over here on Juanita 5 Thursday. I have the Grays and Elliotsons coming for croquet, and you really must help me to entertain them." " Uncle Henry is shooting to-morrow," replied Nita. " And that reminds me, Dick, that he told me to be sure and tell you so. As to my helping you to entertain the Grays and Elliotsons, I shall be delighted to come, but I fear I am not a very good hand at entertaining people. Perhaps it will amuse them to give me a good beating at croquet, and they are sure to do that because I play so hopelessly." " I have seen people who played croquet better," agreed Winifred, " but on the other hand I must admit that you have a certain knack of amusing people, so it is a great relief that you can come.

I never have a single idea in my head when I find myself confronted by any member of the Elliotson family, and really the Grays paralyse me nearly equally." Nita laughed. " Poor dears ! what a mercy it is that they do not know your opinion of them. They do enjoy coming here so much. By-the-bye, may I bring a man with me, if he is a garden party kind of man, and Uncle Henry is bored with him ? We have him coming to stay at Betchley to-day." "What kind of a man is he ? " inquired Miss Walgrave. "By the suggestion that he may bore Sir Henry, I conclude that he is not a particular friend of yours." " I know nothing about him," replied Nita. ' ' I never saw him, even. He is in the — th Hussars, I believe, and Uncle Henry met him somewhere or other this summer and found that he knew some of his people.

I think he said he rather liked him, but I am not sure." It was quite evident by her tone of voice that she was not in the least interested in the subject she was discussing, and in a few seconds the conversation had turned into another channel, none of them dreaming how important a matter Lord Vanders's visit was going to prove. Juanita Carrington, who was an orphan, and who lived with her uncle, Sir Henry Carrington, at Betchley Park, had been dearest friends with Winifred Walgrave ever since she had arrived at Betchley, ten years before this story begins. She had then been seven years old, and an exceedingly pretty child. As well as being a pretty child, she had been, also, what many pretty children are not, who have arrived at that age, and wrho, perhaps partly because they are pretty, have been idol ised all their lives — she had been an exceedingly Juanita 7 nice child, possessing a frank, open disposition, an affectionate nature, and a temper which, if sometimes a little peppery, had never been known to sulk.

She was a clever child, too, and although an extremely bright and merry one, she was sufficiently old-fashioned to be companionable to her uncle's wife, who was a confirmed invalid, and to her uncle, who was as keen a sportsman, and as good-hearted and charming a man as ever lived. She had not been at Betchley long before it had almost been forgotten that she was not a daughter of the house, so dear and so indis pensable had she become to both Sir Henry and Lady Carrington. There was nothing which pleased Sir Henry better than the delight she took in the pony he gave her, or the manner in which she rode it, even when quite a little child. As to fear, Nita, as she was always called, did not know what it meant, and it was, in Sir Henry's opinion, one of the prettiest things in the world to see the way she sat in her saddle, as if to sit there was the most natural thing in the world.

She essentially had one of those seats which sit in their saddles and not on them. So much in hers did she sit, indeed, that both Sir Henry and his old stud groom had been heard to declare that it would have taken a very clever pony to get her out of it. And it is certain that by the time she was fourteen she could ride any horse in her uncle's stable ; and what was more, send it across country, whether it had any great liking for that occupation or had not. Hers had very soon become a well-known figure out with the Muddleton hounds ; and one of the first things which was pointed out to any stranger who appeared out with them, was Miss Carrington, who they were all immensely proud of, because she rode so marvellously straight and well across a country which showed the best of foxes and the best of sport, but which was certainly a stiff one, and needed a good horse and a good man, with his heart in the right place, upou his back.

But, perhaps, devoted as Sir Henry was to his little niece, his wife was even more so. To her, Nita's coming had meant much — a com plete invalid ever since an accident she had had a few years after the birth of her only child, a son. Lady Carrington had deeply regretted having no daughter ; and then Nita had appeared upon the scene, and had, ever since then, been everything to her that a daughter could have been, and a very great deal more than most daughters are. The child had been sympathetic Juanita 9 and unselfish, and the girl had grown up even more so. And then her bright face, her rippling laugh, her unfailing spirits, combined with the tenderest, most womanly little ways, had been more than anyone possessed of health and strength could imagine to the woman from whom in many respects the light of life had departed, and who was entirely dependent upon the society of the members of her own family, and a few, a very few, chosen friends.

She was not strong enough to bear the fatigue of seeing strangers, and even when they were in her own house, she was obliged to keep out of their way. Sometimes, when the sun was shining, and the air was very mild, she could get out in a bath-chair ; but not always even then. And when she did go out, Nita's little figure was nearly always to be seen hovering about near her, taking as deep an interest as the invalid herself did in the trees and shrubs and flowers that lady so dearly loved, and revelling in the beauty of the scenery and the sunshine just as greatly as did Lady Carrington ; who, like all people who have lost their health, without becoming peevish and ungrateful for the mercies which remain, are drawn nearer to those mercies than others are who have health and strength, and often, with those blessings, an unseeing, careless heart.

And this was Juanita, as we first see her at seventeen. A child who had alwrays been a woman at her heart, a woman who at heart was as yet a thorough child. And Winifred Walgrave had been her best friend, ever since she had been seven and Winifred had been twelve. In many ways the two girls were very different, but they were both lovers of a country life and a gallop across country, and they both had bright dis positions and kind hearts. As to Winifred's brother, he was four years older than Winifred, and he had left the army, at his father's wish, three years before we first see him. Since then he had looked after his father's vast property, and had hunted the hounds. Mr Walgrave had married rather late in life, and was no longer so young as he had once been, and although when Dick returned he was still the master of the Muddleton hounds, he no longer attempted to hunt them as he had formerly done.

As a matter of fact, he ought to have ceased to hunt some years before he did do so, and everyone in Mudshire had been glad when Dick had settled down at home and taken the hounds out of his father's hands. At least everybody had been glad, excepting Dick. Much as he liked hunting, and even hunting the hounds, he had considered it hard Juanita 11 luck that he had been obliged to give up his career in the army, almost before it had begun. He had been popular in his regiment, and had liked the life, and he had deeply regretted having to leave it. But he had done so without a word, when his father had expressed a wish that the thing should be done. And that was three years ago now, and Dick Walgrave had resigned himself thoroughly to the fact that he, like everyone else in the world, had a niche of his own in it, which it was his duty to fill.

His back fairly turned upon a profession he had liked, he had found that his duty was not uncongenial or unpleasant. He was interested in both the property and the hounds, and in very many ways life in Mudshire suited him extremely well. The fact that Walgrave Castle and Betchley Park were only two miles apart had soon become a fact of vital interest for young Walgrave, and although he knew quite well that Nita Carrington had never yet given a thought to either him or any other man, as he would have had her give a thought to him, he was hopeful that some day in the future he might be able to persuade her to make him the very happiest man in all the world. That is to say, sometimes he hoped it ; but there were many times when he did not, when he took himself sternly to task and told himself that it was altogether presumptuous of him to hope it, and that it was much too much to wish for.

He was the son of one of the richest men in the county, and the Walgraves of Walgrave Castle had been the Walgraves of Walgrave Castle a very long time before the Carringtons of Betchley had sprung up into existence. She was Sir Henry's niece, and unless Sir Henry, who had a son of his own, and was not by any means a rich man, left her something, Nita Carrington was absolutely penniless. But he loved her, and therefore he thought himself unworthy of her, and good fellow as he was, at that time when he was seven-and-twenty and she was seventeen, perhaps he was. But if Dick Walgrave was not worthy of her, it is certain no man was. For a better young fellow it would have been hard to find, if one had sought England from end to end. He was as honest and straightforward a young man as he could be, and kind-hearted, genial and open handed almost to a fault.

A manly man, and a man both men and women liked. There was no doubt that Sir Henry and Lady Carrington would have willingly trusted even their dearly-loved Nita to Dick Walgrave's care ; Juanita 13 not because he was so good a match from a worldly point of view, because neither Sir Henry nor his wife were worldly kind of people, but because he was so reliable and so charming a man. And he was a man with whom many women would have found it an easy matter to fall in love. His looks were in his favour, as was his pleasant smile, his courteous manner, his cheerful disposition and his kind, thoughtful heart. He was only not worthy of her because she was as yet a child, and so charming a child that it really seemed a thousand pities she could not go on being a child for ever. As she rode home from Walgrave that same afternoon the women looked out of their cottage windows as she passed, and the labouring men turned their heads to watch her on her way.

It was a sight that both men and women felt the better for having seen. With her bright smile and cheery word, one and all, they feel kindly towards Sir Henry's little niece. The wind met her as she cantered along, and she seemed to revel in it. There was a touch of extra carmine in her cheeks, an extra curl in her soft, wavy hair, and a light in her eyes which is only to be seen in the eyes of those who are young, happy and absolutely free from care. She was as yet a child— nothing less and nothing more.

Chapter II Lord Vanders

" A tone, a touch, A little look, may be so much." Owen Meredith. It was about half a mile from the Betchley Lodge gates on the Muddleton side of the park that Nita, trotting round a corner, came face to face with her uncle, who was driving his dog-cart back from Muddleton station, where he had himself gone to meet his friend, Lord Vanders. Nita had been right in her belief that Sir Henry had said that he liked the man — at least, he had liked what he had so far seen of him, which had not been much. As Nita had said, he had met him at a house in which they had both been staying that summer. They had spent a fortnight together there, fishing ; and perhaps the fact that they were both very keen fishermen had drawn them together more than they might have been drawn had they not shared in a mutual love of that sport.

It is true that Sir Henry knew some of Lord Yanders's people, but it is doubtful if that fact would have been a sufficient reason for Lord Vanders's appearance at Betchley had that been all. However, be that as it may, he was now seated by Sir Henry's side, and from that posi tion was bestowing a look of interest upon Sir Henry's niece. It was not very remarkable that he should do so. She was a young lady in whom very few men would have failed to take a certain amount of interest, and perhaps the thing that went furthest towards making her so especially interesting at that period of her existence, was the fact that she wras wholly unaware that she was very much more attractive, and a very great deal prettier, than the generality of her fellow kind. She was so pretty, so bright, so very natural !

There could be no doubt that the pleasant little smile she bestowed upon her uncle's guest when that gentleman introduced him to her, and the ready way in which she at once made a few little pleasant, friendly remarks, was the out come of an amiable disposition, and a wish to be on good terms with him and all man kind. No straining after effect, no self-conscious ness, no thought of self at all, only a wish to make him feel that he would be at home in Mudshire, although he was coming amongst strangers to a strange house. He told himself at once that she was charm ing, refreshing ; that her manner was even more attractive than her pretty, piquant face, and that the two things combined were irresistible. And so they were. And yet many people who knew Lord Vanders very much more intimately than Sir Henry Carrington did would have been surprised that that gentleman found anything attractive in a seventeen-year-old girl ; and even more sur prised still that he found her charming because she was spontaneously natural, and evidently had not the very remotest idea of how to flirt.

Because he was an extremely well-known man in society, and although no one could have exactly said how he had done it, he had succeeded in making himself considered one of the very smartest, most fastidious men in a set in it, which was composed of the very smartest of the smart. There was no doubt that he was a remarkably B good-looking man. His tall, well-made figure would have been noticeable anywhere ; his face was not only strictly handsome, but handsome in a good-looking way, which many strictly handsome faces are not ; and the pair of fine, expressive eyes which looked out of it had worked a considerable amount of damage amongst even nineteenth-century hearts. Some people said he knew it and found the thought of it very much to his liking. Whether those people were right or not it is hard to say.

It is never fair to take the opinion of a man's enemies on the subject of his merits ; and Lord Vanders was a man who had a good many enemies. It is possible that this was due to the fact that a great many people wished to be his friends, and he did not meet the advances of anybody whose acquaintanceship did not reflect a certain amount of glory upon himself even an eighth part of the way. He was very particular indeed on the subject of his friends, and no doubt he gave himself a great many airs. People said they were un necessary airs ; but there are two sides to every question, and after all, giving himself airs was Lord Vanders's social profession, by the means of which he enjoyed life to his own entire satisfaction, and practically lived. It was said that nothing under a duchess or an acknowledged beauty satisfied Lord Vanders, and it is certain that he was never seen in the society of anybody who was not a person of distinct social note.

And he was blamed for it, as such men are, by everybody, excepting these same well-known people of importance in the social world. But it must be remembered, on the other hand, that Lord Vanders had a perfect right to enjoy life after his own fashion, and that it amused and pleased him to be on a top rung of Society's ladder, and if he had not given himself those airs his enemies complained of, and won himself the reputation of being most exceedingly fastidious and particular, the well known somebodies would have taken next to no notice of Lord Vanders, in spite of his fine figure and his handsome face. It was a choice for him between being a nobody or a somebody, and he can hardly be called a fool for preferring to be a somebody. That he was a somebody in the sense thus implied, Sir Henry Carrington was unaware.

Sir Henry was one of those men who are miserable in London, and never go there unless they are obliged to pay a visit to their tailor or their lawyer. Lord Vanders was a keen lover of sport, as well as being a lover of society, and had thus often before won himself the liking of men who, in his other capacity, would not have cared for him at all. It was thus that he now found himself distinctly interested in a young lady upon whom, had he first met her there, he would not have bestowed a second glance at a social gathering in London, or at a ball. And yet he told himself that he would have singled her out anywhere in a crowd, that he had rarely, if ever, seen any woman with so charming a face or so attractive a manner. Be that as it may, she certainly had the advantage of being a new experience for Lord Vanders, who had made too much of a business of most of his older ones to find them quite satisfying or satisfactory.

" Your niece . " he remarked, in a questioning kind of tone to Sir Henry, as soon as they were driving on again, leaving Nita behind to walk her horse by a short cut across the park up to the house. " Yes," replied Sir Henry. " My poor brother Tom's little girl. He was killed at Tel-el-Kebir ; as fine a soldier and as good a chap as ever lived. She has been here ever since, and what Lady Carrington and I will do when she leaves us, I am sure I do not know." A momentary pause, then in a brisker, much more cheerful tone, — " However, there is no need for us to think about that yet, as you see she is only a child. That she was young, anybody could have seen quite easily, and Lord Vanders had seen it ; but until Sir Henry mentioned it, he had not remarked the fact that she was still a child. Even after it had been mentioned to him, he he was inclined to question that statement.

"Not out yet, I suppose?" he replied. " And if you do not want to part with her, Carrington, I should keep her safely in the schoolroom for some time to come." Sir Henry laughed. " Out ? " he returned, evidently amused. " Yes, I suppose she is out. She goes everywhere that I go ; but as a matter of fact she always has done so ; I cannot re member the time when she did not." " I thought as much," remarked Lord Vanders to himself. "Now I understand. Carrington's a real good fellow, and she has always been his companion. I could have sworn that that manner of hers had never been acquired boxed up in a schoolroom." And it was that manner of hers which had so especially captivated Lord Vanders. It was so natural, so sympathetic, and yet had such a quaint, airy little strain of humour in it. He knew instinctively that she was one of those rare people who enter even more thoroughly into the likes and dislikes and interests of other people than into their own, and that she added a charm to that charm which seldom is added to it — she was quick to see a joke.