Werona: a romance of Australian domestic life

Front matter

WERONA WERONA % summit of Itusstraliaa §amntit %ih GRACE LANGFORD REMINGTON & CO, LIMITED LONDON & SYDNEY 1893 All rights reserved CONTENTS CHAP. PACE I. PRINCESS CHARMING, ... I II. WERONA, . . . .II III. DOPPIE GANN, . , . . l6 IV. THE HENHOUSE, ... 24 V. A SPRING IDYLL, 33 VI. MONKEYS' MISCHIEF, ... 44 VII. THE RETREAT, . . . 55 VIII. TALPAS THE TIGER TAMER, . . 63 IX. TO THE SPRINGS, ... 74 X. THE LAVRINGS, ... 86 XI. HEAD, HANDS, HEART, . . IOO XII. TOO BRIGHT TO LAST, . . I IO XIII. THE GRANITE HILL, . . 120 XIV. GRIEF IN THE HOUSE OF GANN, . I30 XV. ONE OF A RACE OF SAGES, . . 144 XVI. GRAND IMPERIAL BAZAAR, . . 1 CONTENTS VI CHAP. PAGE XVII. DIANA-LUNA, . . . 1 63 XVIII. VOICES — DIMLY HEARD, . . 1 78 XIX. BROKEN DREAMS, . . . 185 XX. WHAT THE SNOW BROUGHT, . 1 94 XXI. THE PAVILION, . . . 205 XXII.

WAS IT A VISION ? . . . 211 XXIII. A PARTING GIFT, . . . 219 XXIV. BROWN BOB'S VAGARIES, . . 23 1 XXV. A CASTLE IN SPAIN, . . . 238 XXVI. THE BLUE VAULT, . . . 250 XXVII. THE MERRY WAVE, . . . 258 XXVIII. GOLDEN CLOUDS, . . 267 XXIX. A CORONET IN FOGLAND, . . 272 XXX. THE ISLET, .... 277 XXXI. MRS PARKYNS' LUNCHEON PARTY, . 292 XXXII. LEFT ALONE, . . . 303 XXXIII. WATERS OF JOY, . . . 313 XXXIV. WHAT THE WORLD WAS SAYING, . 320 XXXV. FAME AT LAST, . . . 331 XXXVI. FAREWELL, . , . , WERONA

Chapter I Princess Charming

A FINE evening in the early spring. Outside the air was fresh and cool — the sky dotted with small fleecy clouds that gave promise of October showers before morning. The shrubberies on the lawn and the gum trees which fringed the garden rustled and murmured as each breath of the faint breeze passed through them. On the wide verandah the coloured lamps mingled their light with the moonbeams which pierced the small clouds. Inside all was brightness and light. A crowded room filled with men in evening dress and graceful female figures in toilettes of every colour and design. Elderly ladies in velvet and brocade lounged on the sofas or armchairs, middle-aged ladies resplendent in jet and lace talked to each other, grouped about the small tables, and pretty maidens in white or pink flitted about the room, attended by cavaliers who vied in gaining their favour.

The hostess, a tall lady in black satin was passing from one group to another, with a word to one, a A WERONA 2 smile for another, a request for music, or a compli mentary remark to another. At the end of the long room a stage was erected — filling the entire width of the apartment. The heavy green curtain was down concealing the scene which was in preparation within. A general babel of talk was in full swing. If we pass from group to group with the lady of the house we may catch a word here and there. A pompous old gentleman on the hearth rug was declaiming in a loud voice to anyone who would listen to him. ' The administration in high places is vile — canker worn — the country is going to the dogs — to the dogs — to the dogs.' This from a little lady in blue sitting on a sofa to her friend in black by her side — ' Look at the wrinkles under the arm — and five guineas the making alone — she shall never make another gown for me ! ' ' Fifty per cent, profit — What do you think of that for a bargain, sir ? ' a small, pale-faced man was saying.

This from a young gentleman of twelve summers to his chum. ' I say, when is this trash going to end — I want my supper.' ' A delightful trip — Italy and Switzerland and along the Riviera.' ' " Soup ! do you call that soup ? " I asked. " If you don't like it you may leave it, my dear." I gave her notice on the spot.' And now amidst the din and hubbub of small talk, a rumbling of wheels was heard outside, at the sound of which the hostess, followed by two little girls, hurried to the front door where a fly had stopped, from which a young man was alighting. ' Hal,' she exclaimed, ' you naughty boy — what has made you so late — you have nearly missed everything — the last scene is just beginning.' ' I missed the express, aunt,' he said, as he passed into the hall, ' and had to come by the slow train — then the long drive made a further delay.' ' Make haste, Hal,' she said, ' the last scene of our play is just beginning — it would be a pity to miss it. — Girls, get your cousin a glass of wine and a sand wich, and you, Hal, go into the drawing-room as you are — stand at the end of the room, where you will not be seen, and change your costume before supper. — We intend having some dancing afterwards.' Through the open door of the dining-room could be seen the supper-table, with a goodly show of poultry and creams, glass and silver, fruit and flowers.

He tossed off the prescribed glass of wine, then followed his aunt into the drawing-room, taking up his stand by the window at the end of the room, where he could see without being seen. The chairs were arranged in rows as at a public performance, and in the hands of the guests and on the tables fluttered small programmes. He took one up and hastily glanced over it. ' Princess Charming ' was the name of the little drama, and there was a short description of the scenes besides the dramatis personœ. His aunt, Mrs Rodney, in the meantime was mixing with her guests. ' My husband's nephew,' she explained, ' Hallam Rodney, the pleasantest young fellow in the world. He is not in orthodox evening attire — but that he will rectify soon. Such a pity he could not have come sooner. Indeed we counted on him to help in the preparations — even hoped he would have taken a part' He indeed quite justified the description given him by his uncle's wife. ' The pleasantest young fellow in the world.' He was of good height without being tall — broader than most young men born under a warmer sun than that of England.

He had bushy fair hair, blue eyes, and features that without being handsome were expressive of good nature and con- WERONA tentment with himself and all the world. Some of the younger ladies, sitting in the seats which faced the stage turned and cast glances of mingled curiosity and admiration at the unconscious young man, as he stood with his back to the window curtains. Suddenly the general chatter ceased, the curtain, to be quite correct did not rise, but parted in the middle, and disclosed a pretty scene. It was the terrace of a crenellated castle, overlooking a verdant plain through which a river flowed, and which was bounded by dis tant mountains. The painting was creditably exe cuted, and the effect was perfect as seen from the further end of the long apartment. On the stage was a group of ladies, knights and pages in mediæval costume.

To the right a king and queen in flowing velvet robes sat on gilded chairs, and a youth in a plain costume of brown serge, supposed to represent the attire of the lower class in the middle ages, stood before them as though imploring them to grant a request. A stout lady at the piano struck up a march with much precision of time and touch, while a flourish on the cornet-a-piston heralded the approach of the chief personage of the drama. It was the ' Princess. Charming ' herself, a slight fair girl, with sweet but almost infantile features, dressed in a rich bridal robe. She came forward, followed by a train of attendant maidens, passed before the gilded seats of the king and queen, and with a smile that seemed too genuine to have been mere effect of study, gave her hand to the youth in brown serge, a lad of sixteen, saying these words — ' To you I give my hand and heart, From trust and love may we ne'er part ; Let doubt and sorrow take their flight, And all our days be pure and bright.' Other doggerel rhymes followed, after which the bride princess and the lover of her choice with the attendant maidens marched in procession round the stage to the inspiriting strains from the piano.

The young man by the window glanced at the programme in his hand. ' Princess Charming,' he read, ' Miss Joyce Lavring.' ' Lavring — Lavring — ' he repeated, ' surely I know the name, there was a Miss Lavring who was spoken of as a beauty, but she must be older than this girl.' He then resumed his attention to the drama that was being acted on the little stage before him. A fairy in glistening white dress and holding a star-tipped wand was driving from the scene an evil looking little creature, with bat's wings and draped in black, supposed to be the bad genius of the play, who had followed close to the Princess and her lover, hindering their progress. The good fairy chased him as he threaded his way through the crowd. The little black creature turned at bay, flapped his wings, and uttering a vindictive howl, fled from the scene.

Hal Rodney watched their movements for a minute, but his attention was rivetted on the fair girl in bridal dress, who was now facing the audience with her hand in that of the youth in brown serge. When the curtain closed, it was as if darkness had fallen upon him. A tremendous clapping of hands followed the end of the scene, so prolonged that the curtain opened again upon the castle, the king and queen, their court, Princess Charming and her bridegroom, and her train of damsels and the good and wicked fairies. The heroine of the evening, at the call of her name, came forward, bowed shyly and beamed the sweetest of smiles upon the audience, while one of the little daughters of the hostess came forward and presented a large white bouquet, while smaller ones were showered upon her from all parts of the room.

The curtain closed once more. ' Is it not pretty, Hal,' said his aunt to him as she passed. ' Such a pity you missed the first scenes. WERONA The young people were weeks preparing; did not Joyce Lavring play her part well. Make haste, put yourself in proper attire, your portmanteau is taken to your room.' He found his way through a maze of passages to the room assigned to him, returning in as short a time as he could manage to the drawing-room in proper evening ' get up.' The performers were assembling, he had hardly been a minute in the room when his aunt came up to him. ' Hal, I must introduce you to Joyce Lavring,' she led him up to a very young girl in a pink frock and flowing fair hair, whom, in spite of altered costume, he recognised as Princess Charming. ' Mr Hallam Rodney — Miss Joyce Lavring.

Hal, take her into supper, after which we will have some dancing.' They went together into the dining-room. As they passed under the threshold ' Princess Charming ' was greeted by a young man who had entered the room before them. He was one of those whose faces although handsome in feature and correct in form — reflect a disagreeable impression when seen closely. He was most carefully got up with some pretensions to ' masherism ' as far as costume was concerned, but his ungloved hands showed proofs of manual work and rough usage. All the time the little drama was being acted he had stood by the side of the stage, casting critical glances, and taking no care to conceal by supercilious turns of lip and brow that his criticisms were adverse. However, these had not extended to the prima donna of the evening.

No one had given more ostentatious applause to her than he had. ' Brava ! Brava ! ' he had cried, vociferously, as he also had set his hands to work to second the efforts of his voice. ' Good evening, Miss Joyce Lavring,' he said, presenting his hand. The girl looked at him, she was puzzled, not knowing at first, who it might be. ' Oh, Mr Dreak,' she cried at last, 'you really look so different in evening dress. I did not know you at first' He looked annoyed, and was going to answer, when Hal Rodney and his partner passed on to the further end of the room. Joyce was left on the sofa while Hal went to find refreshment for her. The young people had little opportunity to say much to each other during supper, having graver charges to occupy them than mere trivial talk. The ladies, having been attended to first, soon left the dining-room.

One of the larger rooms at the rear of the house had been cleared, the carpet taken up and the floor prepared for dancing. Hal Rodney, in spite of having had nothing since midday at the ' Federal ' in Melbourne, hurried over his supper in order to secure Joyce Lavring, the heroine of the evening, before she had filled her programme. He was lucky enough to find her in the dancing room before her card had been touched, and put his name down for two dances, not too soon, for as each of the young men entered the room, they made their way at once to the girl, who found herself the centre of a small crowd. As for the other young ladies in the room, they had to take what chance they could for partners. Miss Tipnutt who had been to school at Berlin, Miss Cooper, whose dress had cost twenty pounds, and Miss Jones who was considered a beauty — they might wait and wish, but Joyce Lavring had first pick of the young men.

The stout lady who presided at the piano now began to play and soon ' Princess Charming ' and ' the pleasantest young fellow in the world ' were revolving round the room together, with that mixture of langour and energy that constitutes the modern valse. Her fair hair fell over her neck and swept his shoulders, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkling at the delight of WERONA dancing as a grown up young lady for the first time in her life, and with such a partner as Hal Rodney. That valse done, another partner claimed her, then two more declared her name on their cards ; while the pretenders waxed strong on their claims, Hal Rodney led her away for another dance to the discomfiture of the disputants. But there was one malcontent who could not con ceal his chagrin at finding all hopes of gaining Joyce Lavring as a partner at an end.

It was the young man she had addressed as * Mr Dreak.' Yet no one was to blame but himself, for he had remained so long in the dining-room that her card was filled before he had entered the dancing-room. ' Champagne ! ' he had been heard to exclaim in a voice not intended for a stage whisper. ' This stuff is some vile compound of gooseberry juice and sugar — or worse ! ' ' the wine nowadays,' began a voice in expostu lation — ' Oh, yes,' here a scornful laugh. ' Don't I know the tricks of these wine merchant fellows — don't talk to me. However, as there is nothing better — this must do.' To judge from his behaviour it did do. One, two, three glasses of the sparkling liquid he poured out, and they rapidly disappeared down his throat, and yet he lingered until he was almost the last in the dining-room.

Then he suddenly recalled to mind the lady of the evening whom he had intended honouring with his attentions. ' Impudent puppy,' muttered one of the young men who had overheard him ; ' who is he ? ' ' I don't know,' was the reply, ' he has not been in the neighbourhood long. He calls himself a farmer, but he does not look like one.' Mr Dreak passed on to the dancing-room. He made his way at once to Joyce Lavring, expecting her to be only too ready to put his name down for one or more dances, but he was too late. Her card was filled from end to end. Vexed and baffled he returned to the drawing-room, where he passed the remainder of the evening with the chaperons and elderly spinsters. At the end of the verandah a small space had been partitioned off by curtains and tapestries, forming a recess, in which a divan and table made a pleasant retreat, and exactly adapted for a tete-a-tete.

Small palms in a jardiniere stood at one corner, and a crimson glow was shed from a lamp which hung from the roof. Hal Rodney and Joyce Lavring soon found out this retreat, and to the despair of a young man with large black eyes, to whom Joyce had pro mised that dance, remained hidden there until the evening wore away. Here she sat with her hands clasping her crossed knees, the image of youthful innocence and grace. Hal Rodney observed the tender lines of the well-shaped features over which the crimson light shed a glow, features moulded not only with delicacy but with some degree of precision of outline. ' I was not nervous at all,' she said, speaking of the play, 'after the first scene. I had been rehearsing the part so often, and Miss Coxpenny — she is my governess — helped me. You saw her in the corner of the drawing-room, dressed in black.

I am sup posed to be studying with her, but she let me off to learn my part of Princess Charming. I practised before the large looking-glass in our lobby at Werona. Miss Coxpenny showed me what to do. Sometimes she was Princess Charming — sometimes the young man who marries her, or the king or queen — just to practise me in my part — before the big glass. So I found it as easy as possible when I came to rehearse. The bridal dress is Mrs Gann's — she is just my size — and she lent it to me' ' And does Miss Coxpenny live with you ? ' asked Hal Rodney with curiosity. WERONA ' Only while papa and Pauline are away — Pauline is my sister. They are at Sydney, and Miss Cox penny is taking care of the house at Werona and teaching me, but she is very good, and lets me off. She is very clever and has matriculated, and could wear a cap and gown if she choose, but she is too sensible.

Pauline is older than I am. She and papa are always together.' ' Surely we are engaged for the last valse,' said Hal starting up. T think I hear it beginning.' They left their retreat and returned to the dancing room for the last dance. It was a long one as it was the last one, and as they floated round the room, they were unconscious of the malignant glare from a pair of eyes that were following them. It was from Mr Dreak, who had been thwarted in his endeavours to gain Joyce as a partner, and was grudging Hal Rodney the good fortune that had favoured him. At last the dance came to an end, the guests dis persed, and Joyce Lavring, with her long cloak thrown over her, waited in the hall until they were ready to start. They had said good-night to Mrs Rodney, and Hal was pressing forward to lead Joyce to the door, when Mr Dreak, who had been watching his oppor tunity, came up rudely and uninvited, seized her arm and escorted her to the carriage.

However, Hal came up and walked by her side. ' Werona is only two miles from here,' she said as she took her seat. ' Mrs Rodney often comes over to call on Pauline, or Pauline goes to her.' She gave the last adieu to Hal Rodney with a wave of her hand as they drove off, and were soon hidden by the moonlit gum trees.

Chapter II Werona

Werona, the home of which Joyce Lavring had spoken to Hal Rodney, was one of those comfortable roomy houses which look as if they had occupied the place where they stand for a hundred years. But a hundred, even fifty years before the beginning of our story the site had been the primeval bush, abounding in kangaroo, wallaby, opossum, the resort, some said the head-quarters, of a great aboriginal tribe, witness of strange rites, resounding with war cries, familiar with all practices peculiar to the native lords of the land. That some of the huge gum trees that reared their tall straight stems to the sky and bore their tufted foliage high above the younger denizens of the forest, had seen strange, hideous, even ghastly sights, was a matter not of conjecture but of certainty. The owner of the house, previous to Mr Lavring, the present possessor, had given it the name of Werona, a fancy name.

He had been told it was a native word, meaning ' to soften or subdue the spirit or the temper.' Mr Lavring had had the property for nearly six and-twenty years at the time this story begins. He had done much for the station and had added largely to the house when he had returned to England to WERONA bring out a young wife. It was a brick house, sur rounded on three sides by a wide verandah. The dining-room and the drawing-room, both large apartments, looked out with a western aspect, upon a well tended lawn of considerable dimensions, the south end of which was headed by a magnificent deodara, the foliage of which rippled and fell from the top boughs to the lower like a soft green fountain. Behind this was a small grove, in which firs, cypress and pittosporum mingled their shade, and through which ran a long straight walk.

The lawn before the drawing-room windows was arranged as a flower garden, and a jasmine covered arch was the crowning glory of this brilliant hued parterre. Inside the house was fitted up with every comfort, even luxury. The disadvantage of its being about fourteen miles from the nearest town was hardly felt. The sleeping apartments, with one exception, looked on the eastern lawn, of less pretensions than its rival before the windows of the sitting-rooms, and the two sides of the house were divided by a wide passage, finishing at the north end by a lobby into which many rooms opened, but which was of such size itself, and so lavished with curtains, screens, tables and lounge chairs, that it was often used as an extra sitting-room. Vases and brackets adorned every spare space on the walls, and a large mirror at the end reflected all the passage, and, through the open door, the shrubberies and trees beyond.

This lobby was cool in summer and warm in winter, and a great resort of the ladies of the house. It was here that Joyce Lavring had been prepared in her part of Princess Charming by her good-natured governess Miss Coxpenny. She had seen herself, her attitudes and her actions from head to foot in the great mirror at the end, and could see and hear her in structress helping — exemplifying — taking the other WERONA 13 parts till she herself had reached something like per fection in her own. It is sorrowful to relate that German and French history and science had been laid aside for this pur pose, but as Joyce was seventeen and had practically finished her education, no great harm was done. Miss Coxpenny knew that no questions would be asked, and that as long as the housekeeping books were correct, the pantry and linen press in order, Joyce looking well and neat in her dress, neither Mr Lavring nor Pauline, his eldest daughter, would make any complaint for what had taken place during their absence in Sydney.

A round of visits had taken them away, friends re visited after years of absence had kept them, and fresh sights of travel in mountain or river had re tained them much longer than they had first intended. Both Pauline and Joyce had been born in this house, and the latter with the exception of a year at a fashionable school in Melbourne and a short trip to the sea-side had never left the place. Her health had broken down with study at school, and when by the advice of the doctors, she was taken for a change to Lome, Miss Coxpenny, a clever, middle-aged spinster, had been intrusted with the care' of her, being responsible for her health, dress, education, morals, and manners. Into the motherly heart of this middle-aged maid, crept a deep love for the little white faced, fair-haired girl, that leaned upon her for support, in every walk of life, and many a wistful glance she cast upon her, wondering what might be the fate of this fragile flower, whose growth and culture depended on her care Joyce Lavring on her part was as fond of Miss Coxpenny as it is possible for a girl of seventeen to be of a plump unromantic little lady, who had earned for herself the ungrateful name of Bluestocking.

Joyce's own room was on the eastern side of the house, next to her sister's, but much smaller, and WERONA 14 opening into the decorated lobby before spoken of. The first faint rays of sunlight flickered on her blind, arid gave the hope, deep in all girls' hearts, of a happy day to come. The room was adorned with all the pretty nothings in which ladies of the period indulge their taste, and which tell of the loving remembrance of friends far and near. Nothings, which mean so much. On the wall painted tambourines, rolling pins with trifles suspended, fans, pictures of all sorts. There was a small book-shelf containing presents from friends and her own hardly earned prizes. A bright quilt made by herself of patchwork of memen toes in her short life hung over her little bed. It might be noticed, that not one thing in the room, so amply stocked in pretty trifles, gave testimony to the love or thoughtfulness of either father or sister.

On the morning following the theatricals, both Joyce and Miss Coxpenny came very late into the dining-room. The former was tired after the double excitement of having successfully played her part of Princess Charm ing, and of having been ' favourite girl,' at the first dance she had figured at as a grown-up young lady. She sauntered out in the garden, now fresh with all the spring flowers, and sprinkled with the raindrops of early October, for — ' October showers Bring forth November flowers.' Primroses, daffodils, jonquils were in bud, or bursting into bloom. A lilac on one side of the lawn was but half-clothed in verdure, and flowers giving promise only of the full tinted beauty which the warmer sun would ripen. A sound of wheels attracted her notice, and follow ing the narrow fir-edged walk, at the end of which a garden seat was placed, and from which a view down the road was commanded, she saw a handsome con veyance and pair of fine horses, containing two ladies, approaching at a rapid pace.

Who could they be? WERONA 15 She strained her eyes, mounted the seat to get a better view, and exclaimed gleefully — ' Doppie Gann, of course — Doppie with the nurse and baby ! ' She flew back through the fir-edged walk to the house, shouted at Miss Coxpenny's door — ' Doppie Gann with the baby and nurse — they have come to lunch.' And without waiting for any answer from within darted off to welcome her friend. A large double buggy — well appointed, and a pair of well groomed brown horses had stopped, just as she had reached the front door. Down fluttered first a bright little lady in the smartest of toilettes, then a young nurse with a bundle of cashmeres and lace, which represented the baby. Finally from behind was lifted down a large basket hencoop, containing a handsome speckled cock, and three hens of the same colour and kind.

What with the little lady, the baby, and the cocks and hens, Joyce was in a state of wild delight. She and the young matron were clasped in each other's arms in an ecstasy of joy. ' Joyce, darling girl ! ' cried Mrs Gann, known gener ally as ' Doppie,' ' you are the same as ever. I have brought you these,' pointing to the hencoop, 'you wanted some fowls of your own, so here they are, and the best of their kind. But now look at baby, Joyce, what do you think of her ? ' The hencoop was placed on the verandah for the present, while the party entered the house. Miss Coxpenny came to greet Mrs Gann, and led the way into the dining-room.