Lionel Villiers; or, True and Steadfast, etc

Preface

. Your Royal Highness: — The Empress having done me the great honour of accepting the original MS. of this story, and expressing her satisfaction at your Royal Highness receiving the dedication, I beg to assure your Royal Highness of my extreme pleasure and gratitude for the great kindness shown me by your august mother, and to express my feeling of pleasure at your Royal Highness's accepting one of my earliest literary efforts. I have the honour to remain, Your Royal Highness's Most obedient and humble Servant, ADA FIELDER-KING. OR, TRUE AND STEADFAST.

Chapter I

" The warm sea laid his dimpled face With every white hair smoothed in place, As if against ihe land." Soxgs of the Sierras. " I have no mother, but I would like one so much, and I shall ask papa about it, perhaps he could get me one, and then I should be the same as you, Hubert," exclaimed a lovely fair-headed boy of about six years to his little companion, an equally handsome child, though, in contradistinc tion to his friend, he was very dark. Both boys were dressed as sailors, with " Es terel, R. Y. S." on their hats. They were stand ing on the pier at Ryde, eagerly watching a boat as it came off from a yacht. " Well ! I think I would ask him if he could buy you one," answered Hubert, reflectively, "for I heard mamma say the other day there is nothing now you cannot buy, even to eyes, noses, and ears !

She saw first-rate ears in Paris, and I saw noses at the Crystal Palace, so I don't see why mothers can't be bought. You know, Lionel, it's not, too, as if they were uncommon things, is it?" " What do you want to buy, Hubert ? " asked a fair, tall lady, in a sweet and gentle voice, putting her hand on her little son's shoulder. " Come and tell me what you and Lionel are so busily dis cussing." The boys looked up. " Oh ! mamma, Lionel is going to ask his papa if he can buy him a mother ; he does not like not having one," replied Hubert. " No, I don't," answered Lionel, quickly, as he looked up at Lady Moreton with his large blue eyes so truthful and fearless. " Do you think he can, Lady Moreton ? " Anxiously he awaited her reply, as she drew him towards her, and smiled as she kissed the peach like cheek, pushing back his golden curls.

What answer she might have made Lionel never knew, for at that moment a sailor, with " Esterel" on his hat and shirt, approached. " Here is Eldridge, papa's coxswain," explained the boy. The man smiled. " Sir Maurice has sent me for the ladies and young gentlemen. He was very sorry he could not come himself, but a gentleman had unexpectedly arrived, and prevents his leaving the yacht. He hoped your ladyship would excuse it." Lady Moreton rose and took the boy's hand, saying to her own Hubert — "Run round, darling, and tell your sisters; they are talking to somebody by those steps." The child ran off, and, bounding up to two pretty girls, exclaimed — " Hilda, you and Clare must come directly ; Sir Maurice has sent off the cutter, there's not a moment to be lost. Mother and Lionel are waiting.

Come along," — and he rushed off again. His pretty sisters, laughing at his impetuosity, followed him, and found their mother already seated with the two boys in the boat. "Do you wish to steer, sir?" asked the cox swain of Lionel. The boy answered in the affirmative, and the crew bending to their oars, the boat was at once on her way to the yacht. Lady Moreton looked grave and thoughtful. Little Lionel Villier's words to her own boy would keep recurring to her, and now and again she felt herself looking earnestly at her own girls, and wondering what could have made the child talk as he had done. A sweet and kindly woman was Lady Moreton. She had now been a widow for some years, Sir Hubert having died when their youngest boy was about two, leaving her with six children. The two eldest were the girls Hilda and Clare now with her, then came the present baronet, still at Eton ; another girl, Vere, in the schoolroom ; Victor, a boy of eleven, at school ; and Hubert, the pet of the house.

A clever woman, an admirable mother, was Lady Moreton, and so her husband realized, and wisely left her guardian of his children. She had very truly mourned Sir Hubert, but she felt past memories must not be allowed to interfere with present duties. She was full of deep sympathy for others, an invaluable friend to all who knew her ; no home or social duty was ever omitted by her, and her girls and boys had well profited by her judicious training. Sir Claude at sixteen was promising well, and bidding fair to by and by fill his father's place in the old home. Lady Moreton had a pretty place of her own in one of the most lovely parts of Sussex, and there they made their real home, all the children pre ferring it to the grand old feudal castle in the north, where Claude and his mother paid a yearly visit.

Hilda and Clare when we first met them are twenty and nineteen. Tall and graceful, and possessing great beauty, both very fair, and with the same charm of manner and bearing which so marked their mother, and the sweet temper which was a distinguishing mark of their race. Little Lionel Villiers suddenly fixed his eyes on Lady Moreton as the boat neared the Esterel — " Tell me, please, why do you never come and stay at my home, and bring Hubert to play with me ? I shall ask papa to take you there — but there he is ; and oh ! how jolly, it's Mr. Merivale, I am glad ! " The cutter ran alongside the yacht, and very soon the party were on board, very warmly wel comed by Sir Maurice Villiers. " Lady Moreton, I find you know my dear old friend, Mr. Merivale," he said. " Yes, in past years we often used to meet, and I am only too glad to renew the remembrance of those pleasant days," she answered, cordially.

"And which I am equally anxious to do, if this fellow will only give me breathing time," laughed Mr. Merivale, disengaging himself from little Lionel, who had been overjoyed at seeing his old friend. Sir Maurice looked round and smiled. This boy was his idol ; but father and son were very unlike. Sir Maurice was tall and dark, much bronzed from exposure to sun ; hair and moustache all dark, with large soft brown eyes which seemed to vouch for his sweetness of disposition. Little Lionel was very fair, with waving golden curls, and large brilliant azure eyes. He promised to be tall like his father, but surely those clearly defined blue veins in his forehead bespoke too much delicacy to be satisfactory. Father and boy were exactly alike in one thing — manner! Although so young, Lionel Villiers had all the baronet's courteous bearing, and noble, generous nature.

Everbody loved the little fellow. Sir Maurice looked about thirty, but now and again his face betrayed a look of thoughtful pre occupation, as if he had known sorrow, and perhaps life had brought trials to even prosperous Maurice Villiers. Hubert by this time had been conveyed to the further end of the yacht, and introduced to all the crew by his little host. Sir Maurice stood talking to Hilda and Clare, while Lady Moreton and Mr. Merivale were busily engaged in renewing their recollections. Suddenly a boat came quickly alongside, and a pleasant, good-tempered looking man sprung on deck. " My cousin, Colonel Villiers — Lady Moreton; and now, if you are sure you would like a sail, we had better get under way while the breeze is good," said Sir Maurice, and the white sails of the Esterel being unfurled, she was very soon making her way midst the gay flotilla lying in the Solent.

Her course lay under Osborne, and very full of harmony was the soft scene on that bright summer morning, " in the long ago." And now we ask the reader to go with us midst " the days which have gone by," and to take a glance at the past, a past which, as it affects some of our dramatis personœ, is bound up with the pre sent and future of our story.

Chapter II

" There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair .' " In a large room on the rez de chaussee of the Hotel Victoria at Mentone, a fair, pretty-looking girl is lying on the sofa by one of the open windows. It is a very lovely day, and the balmy air of the Mediterranean coming in wafts the curly hair of a little boy standing by the sofa. A gentleman sat smoking and reading on the balcony leading by some steps into the garden, the sweet smell of orange and lemon groves was plainly distinguishable, the roses and myrtles growing luxuriantly, and the atmosphere redolent of the sweet scent of the roses, violets, and stepha notis. It is Christmas day ! But a very different one, thinks Sir Maurice Villiers, to the Christmas of a year ago, and he sighs heavily as he drops his paper and turns and looks at his young wife.

Lady Villiers, gazing far away over the sea, watching the white sails of the boats as they skimmed over the deep azure waters, did not see the anxious look cast on her, but suddenly she moved her hand which had been toying with her boy's golden curls, and drew him quickly towards her. The child looked up from his game of soldiers, but, apparently struck by the earnest, almost passionately yearning expression of his young mother's beautiful face, he said nothing, only remained standing quietly by her side. A sharp look of agony crossed Sir Maurice's brow. For very long he had blinded himself to the fact of his young wife's danger, and when they had reached the Riviera in October, he had buoyed himself up with the belief that she would get quite well again. For the first month Lady Villiers had improved, and even the doctors looked more hopeful ; but alas ! it was a very shortlived improvement, and soon even Sir Maurice felt all hope was gone.

Nobody could look at Lady Villiers without seeing her days were numbered. Very sweet and fair she looked as she lay there in her transparent loveliness, and little Lionel was her exact image. Suddenly she called to her husband — " Maurice, could you come and lift me up, my pillows have slipped." He was by her side in a moment. Gently raising her in his arms, he re-arranged her cushions, and as he laid her back on them, he bent and kissed her, saying anxiously : " Are you very tired, my darling ? " " Not very tired, Maurice, only a little weaker ; don't look so sad, dear ; I wish you were not so miserable. Lionel, darling, now you may run off, it must be your tea time ; you and baby can come and say good-night." The boy kissed his mother, then glancing at his father, said, in tones of astonishment — " Papa is crying !

" " Run away now, my boy," said his mother, and the little man started to his nursery. Sir Maurice and Lady Villiers were left alone, but over some of life's scenes it is better to drop the curtain, and this is one. Sir Maurice Villiers looked years older since he ; 12 had left England ; the careless boyish look for which he had been celebrated had gone, and now he looked a grave, careworn man. " It is no good, Blanche, I cannot part with you, I cannot bear it, it is cruel to ask me to give you up," he cried, passionately. Lady Villiers played with his dark curls as he knelt by her side. She made no answer, she knew it was useless to try and stem his storm of grief. After a while she said, softly — " Maurice, darling, I wish you would ask Mr. Merivale to come over and see us. I should so like it.

Will you ? " " Oh, Blanche ! now I know you are feeling worse. I will telegraph for Merivale at once, and I know he will come. Fortunately now he is not in residence." Further words were stayed by a rap at the door, and a golden head appeared, followed by a nurse carrying a little girl of a year old. Sir Maurice walked across the room. Lionel ran up to his mother and showed her a boat. " Mamma, may I go out with you to-morrow and sail it ? " " Yes, dear, if I am not too tired," she replied, gently, and Lionel was quite satisfied. The nurse brought Irene to the sofa, and in a few minutes Wilson conveyed both children off to bed, bright and happy, with the glad innocence of childhood ! Little did they guess how few more good-night kisses would they receive from that gentle mother, how soon she would fade into but a memory !

To most of us, already world-worn and wearied with the heavy burden of life, to many to whom the journey seems utterly beyond any longer en durance, has not the longing for a return to the joyous days of childhood swept over us with a passionate force ? In one more week Canon Merivale had arrived at Mentone. He had not been prepared by Sir Maurice's letters for so marked a change in Lady Villiers ; she had indeed weakened painfully since she had left her home, and he felt the blow so long expected must soon fall in all its desolating force over the Villiers' happy home. He had watched over Maurice Villiers from a boy, and now he tried to soothe and calm him. When only ten years old Maurice had lost his father, and his mother was left alone with him and his only sister. Canon Merivale was their friend, their muchloved guardian and vicar.

The dowager Lady Villiers was often heard to say that she attributed all the good and noble characteristics which so marked both her children entirely to Mr. Meri vale's early influence over both. Their home was a very picturesque one in that most lovely home county in which lies the beauti ful district of the Thames valley. Sir Maurice's sister was some years younger than himself, and since his marriage, his mother and Veronica had lived principally in London and abroad. They were now making their way rapidly from Rome to the Riviera-, having been much alarmed at the accounts they had received from Mentone ; and Lady Villiers was anxious to be with her son in the terrible sorrow she felt would so soon fall on him. She was very fond of her daughter-in law, who, when her son married her, was an orphan — a ward in chancery — and a loving, gentle nature like Blanche Somerset's was sure to win all hearts.

Sir Maurice had loved her with all the passionate nature of a boy, and would have thought no sacrifice too great to have saved his darling's life. Blanche Villiers had judged wisely in sum moning Mr. Merivale to Mentone. She knew that nobody would help her husband as he would, and for herself there would be perfect rest in the mere fact of his presence. Canon Merivale was a very rare character, and a most uncommon type of clergyman. Under his influence differences of creed and doctrine seemed forgotten, one universal brotherhood, one perfect charity, alone being recognized. Schism and bitter divisions seemed unknown in his parish, and how many tottering on the border-land of unbelief had been recalled by him to find instead a calm and noble faith of unlimited extent, capable of satisfying even the loftiest intellect.

Seeing some point of good in every sect and party, Mr. Merivale had remained a " no party " man. Clever and accomplished in all ways, he pos sessed what is far better than mere intellect — one of the largest hearts, the readiest sympathy ! Sympathy, that most precious and invaluable gift, was open to all, regardless of community or station. And his deep knowledge of human nature, his unbounded kindness, won him the confidence of all from the highest to the lowest. The benign expression, the winning, courteous manner, the kindly words, carried rest and sunshine everywhere. Nobody who knew Mr. Meri vale could feel friendless or lonely. And as Maurice Villiers realized the awful desolation pending for him, he was thankful indeed that the unfailing friend and guardian of his boyhood had arrived in answer to his summons.

From day to day Blanche Villiers varied; some times it almost seemed as if there was an im provement, and once again Sir Maurice almost indulged in hope, and said, " Surely the doctors had been mistaken, they always croaked ! " Alas ! the others saw how treacherous was the improvement, and many felt grieved for the young, good-looking husband, who was so devoted to the gentle girl-wife, by whose invalid chair he might be seen day by day on the promenades or in the gardens of the hotel. Lady Villiers had given all directions respecting her children, and to Canon Merivale she had said far more than any of them then knew. February came, and she had had some unusually good days, and all felt cheered. She had been asleep one evening while the others were at dinner ,' suddenly she awoke and asked for Sir Maurice.

Her maid at once sent for him, and when the others a little later followed him they found her lying quiet and apparently dozing, holding her husband's hand. Suddenly she raised herself on her sofa. "Maurice, darling, hold me up to see the setting sun, it is perfectly glorious to-night." He did as she desired, and was struck by the far-away expression of her eyes, and their luminous brightness. It was a Mediterranean sunset, and that night specially beautiful. The others gathered round her, but all stood silent — a feeling of awe pervaded them. " A few more suns shall set O'er these dark hills of time, And we shall be where suns are not, A far serener clime," she murmured. Then fell back on Sir Maurice's arm. He laid her on her pillows, saying softly — " Are you very tired, Blanche, darling ? ' "Tired, dear; ah! yes, so tired," she whispered.

Not a sound seemed to penetrate the sudden silence which had fallen upon the room. After a little while Blanche roused herself again and spoke. ; 18 " Maurice, how dark it is ! Mr. Merivale came forward. He had heard the words, and knew the blow they had so long expected was coming at last. He glanced at the dowager Lady Villiers, and saw she too had heard Blanche's words. Maurice was kneeling by his wife's side, an agonized look on his face. Her hand rested on his head. "Kiss me, Maurice; you have made my life so happy. Good-bye, darling ! " She smiled at the others, held out her hand to Mr. Merivale, and giving one long sigh, all was over. The young, sweet spirit of Blanche Villiers had flown. Sir Maurice was crushed with sorrow. He left all arrangements to his mother and Mr. Merivale. Another week, and accompanied by his old friend, he had arrived at Raynham Vicarage — they would not let him go to his own lonely house — and the remains of his gentle wife were laid to rest in the calm, picturesque churchyard of the sweet, lovely little village of Raynham.

And Mr. Merivale performed the last sad service now, as a few short years before he had read another for Maurice Villiers and Blanche Somerset ! Kindly, sympathizing looks were turned on the young baronet, who looked so sadly changed in the months he had spent far from his home and people. Two more days, and he was again en route to the south. His mother and sister met him at Naples, with his children, and after a few weeks they left in his yacht for a lengthened cruise, and two years passed away ere he could make up his mind to face his lonely English home. Then one September day Sir Maurice, with his little boy and girl, arrived at Raynham Court. His mother and sister were delayed at German Baths, for they had intended accompanying him, as they could not bear the thought of how dreary his home-going would be, but the doctors detained Lady Villiers, and so the father and children were obliged to go alone.

And now three years have passed away since the February evening at Mentone, and Sir Maurice's grief,' which had been deep and bitter, had been soothed and calmed by the ever-merci ful Healer — time. Little Lionel had lost all recollection of his gentle mother, and Sir Maurice sighs as he thinks he and little Irene will never even be able to at all realize what they had lost ! And thus turning from the past to the present, we must once more take up our story on the deck of the Estcrel.

Chapter III

" All unknown the future lies, Let il rest ; God who veils it from our eyes, He knows best. Ask not what shall be to-morrow, But content ; Take the cup of joy or sorrow God has sent" A good breeze was blowing, and the Estercl was making her way speedily through the shim mering waters. Cowes was fast fading from view, luncheon was over, and the party were grouped together on the deck, under the shade of the friendly awning. Lionel Villiers and his little friend, having become tired of running about, had brought them selves to an anchorage amongst their elders, and Lionel, looking tired, had laid his golden head in a confiding way against Lady Moreton's knee. " You must not run about any more in the sun, Lionel," said his father, looking at him anxiously; "you are very pale, so keep quiet in the shade till you have had your tea."

Mr. Merivale glanced at the boy ; he saw how his likeness to his mother increased, and assuredly he had inherited all her delicate appearance. " Why, Lionel, my little man, you have even grown since you came to Ryde ; but you have not yet told me how Irene is." And the Canon smiled. " Very well, thank you. And now, Mr. Meri vale, I want to tell you about what I am going to ask papa. Hubert and I have talked about it a good deal, and I think j'ou will like the plan too." Lady Moreton remembered the child's words to her that morning on the pier. She felt certain as to the subject he was going to air so anxiously, and longed to stay his little tongue. She foresaw a most painfully awkward quart d'hcure for all. Luckily at that moment Sir Maurice was called away. Oh ! if he would only remain absent until the current of his son's thoughts could be changed.

Lionel proceeded to unfold his arrangement, and to confide his wishes to the vicar. Mr. Merivale smiled in spite of himself at his little godson's idea, and exchanged glances with Lady Moreton. Lionel continued — " You know I am very fond indeed of Wilson, and she is so kind, and never cross, but you see when Hubert has a cold and can't go out, he has so many people to tell him stories," — and the boy turned his large blue eyes on Lady Moreton. " But it is so dull for me, though Wilson does tell me some, too; but they are so sad, for they are about the mamma I used to have, who is gone to Heaven. I wish she hadn't, for I don't know what Heaven is like, so I can't tell what she does there." Lionel paused to take breath, and then con tinued — ■ " And since we came back home it has been worse, for Wilson takes us to the churchyard, and cries, because she says mamma is there, but that can't be true, for how can she be there if she is in Heaven ?

But I don't know ; I suppose she is there, because papa sometimes takes us there, and has flowers sent. But he is not like Wilson ; he never cries now, he only looks very grave and sad, and if I talk loud, or make holes in the grass near, he says, ' Hush ! ' Mr. Merivale, I always believe you ; where is mamma ? " The Canon had turned away. The boy's simple words— yet from their very simplicity so full of pathos — had much touched his kind heart. Lady Moreton's eyes were full of tears, as, putting her hand caressingly on the boy's curly head, she said, gently — " You must come and stay with me, dear boy, and I will tell you and Hubert stories, such as your own mother would have done." Lionel raised his head, and turning to Hilda Moreton, by whom he had been much attracted all day, said suddenly — " Can you tell stories ?

" She smiled. " Yes, I think I can. Hubert likes some I tell him." "Tell me one, please, only don't make the people die, as Wilson does ! " and Lionel looked entreatingly. She smiled, and began one which he evidently liked, for he appeared engrossed by it. Getting up at the conclusion, he put his arms round Hilda's neck and kissed her. " I do like you, and I shall tell papa he must tell 3'ou to be my new mamma at once, for you tell such beautiful stories." Hilda Moreton coloured crimson, and her mother looked very uncomfortable. Mr. Merivale and Colonel Villiers tried to dis tract Lionel, but, unfortunately at this moment, his father appeared, and, asking what his little son was so anxious about, the request was im mediately proffered by Master Lionel. Had an explosion of dynamite occurred it could not have been more startling than the effect pro duced by his words.

It was a fearful quart d'heure for all, save the author of it, and that little gentleman remained unconsciously happy. Fortunately, at that moment, the steward came up to announce tea. As they parted at Lady Moreton's door that evening, Sir Maurice said, quietly — " May I call on you to-morrow, at half-past eleven ? " Lady Moreton bowed assent, and, all saying good-bye, they separated.

Chapter IV

" O'er all the landscape far ana near, High ?ioon its glamour throws, Kind fancy calls my lost ones here, Fondjnemory backward goes" Rev. J. Troutbeck, M.A. That night Lady Moreton slept but little. She knew why Sir Maurice Villiers was coming to her by appointment. For some time she had not been blind to his evident admiration for her eldest daughter. It had begun some weeks before they came to Ryde. Early that year they had found him one of a large house-party with themselves in Norfolk. Lady Moreton had known Maurice Villiers as a boy, his mother and herself having been more than mere acquaintances, but owing to the Villiers TRUE AND STEADFAST. 27 constant and prolonged absences abroad they had lost sight of each other, and the last time she had seen Sir Maurice had been soon after his marriage with Blanche Somerset.

She knew he was a universally popular man, much thought of and respected in his own neighbourhood. She fully realized in the world's eyes Hilda would be deemed more than fortunate, that she herself would be ranked as a very successful mother. The Villiers' baronetcy was of an equally old date as their own; fortune, position, and a charming man withal ! What happier combination could the most exigeante parent demand ? Yet Lady Moreton hesitated. The offer would be a brilliant one, but one carrying with it unusual responsibility for any girl. She knew Hilda would be kind and good to Lionel and Irene, for her nature was singularly sweet and loving. She was confident she would be an admirable wife, but Lady Moreton knew Blanche Villiers had been no everyday character, therefore her successor would have a heavy ordeal to go through.

Lady Villiers' influence with her husband had been supreme ; would Hilda possess the same ? Poor Lady Moreton ! She harassed her brain with thought until she could decide on nothing She wished she, too, could consult Canon Merivale as the Villiers did on every occasion. There was nothing for it but for her to wait patiently until she had seen Sir Maurice, things would be easier after that. She fancied Hilda liked him ! Then her thoughts wandered back to the long ago, when good-looking Hubert Moreton had wooed and won herself. That morning at breakfast all doubts as to Hilda's feelings for Sir Maurice were banished. Claude came to his mother's aid in a most unex pected way, but peculiar to himself. He exclaimed at her tired appearance, adding, crossly — " That comes of your knocking about all day on board that Estcrel !