Dr. Bruno's Wife. A Toronto society story

Front matter

A TORONTO SOCIETY STORY. BY Mrs. J. KERR LAWSON, AUTHOR OF "A VAIN SACRIFICE," "EUPHIE LVN, OR THE FISHERS OF OLD INWEERIE," ETC. ETC. LONDON : SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & COMPANY, Ltd, i893- EDINBURGH _ PRINTED BY SCOTT AND FERGUSON AND BURNESS AND COMPANY. CONTENTS. PAGE PROLOGUE, ....... I CHAP. I. ONE OF THE DIVIDENDS OF " THE GREAT EUREKA MINE SHARES (LIMITED)," . . . .II II. MEDICAL GENTLEMEN AND BENEVOLENT SOCIETY LADIES, 24 III. " HER MOOD WILL NEEDS BE PITIED," . . 29 IV. DR ARBUCKLE GETS A PAYING PATIENT. . . • 25 V. FREDDIE, YOUNG CANADA, . . . .42 VI. " I'M IN LOVE WITH A MAD WOMAN ! " . . 53 VII. WHAT IS IT TO LOVE? ..... 6l VIII. DR ARBUCKLE'S BOLD GAME, . . . . 70 IX. NATALIE'S RESOLUTION STRENGTHENED, . 80 X. MRS TRANENT'S DETERMINATION, . . .85 XI. AN OLD SWEETHEART TO THE FORE, . . 92 XII.

DURINGCOURTSHIP, . . • • .101 XIII. "THE LEAST OF THESE, MY BRETHREN." I06 XIV. "FREDDIE PUTS HIS FOOT IN IT," . . ■ 113 XV. MRS TRANENT CALLS ON MISS WYNGATE, 122 XVI. NATALIE SEES FOR HERSELF, . . ■ -13° XVII. AN AWFUL REVELATION, . . ■ • ■ '39 XVIII. " HER WORDS HAD OTHER ISSUE THAN SHE WILLED," . I48 VI Contents. CHAP. PAGE XIX 155 XX. HETTY'S TRUMP CARD FAILS TO WIN, . . . l6l XXI. THE CUP OF COLD WATER WHICH BROUGHT ITS REWARD, 171 XXII. . . .' . • . . . .179 XXIII. ........ 185 XXIV. AND LOVE IS LIBERAL AS THE SUMMER AIR, . . 192 XXV. DELIVERANCE, ...... I97 XXVI. AFTERGLOW, ...... 2>r Bruno's Wife.

Prologue

. THE whole town was in a panic, the streets all but deserted. Children had been suddenly hustled in doors and locked in, and scared faces were staring ap prehensively out of the windows. These saw a few men running wildly hither and thither, with fear in their looks and guns in their hands, ready cocked for firing at something they dreaded, yet looked for at every turn. At the gate of the Royal Arms, which stood back from the street, and was fronted by a fine carriage en trance, stood two young men, and the unusual sight of the frightened townsmen, thus armed hurrying past, at once roused their curiosity. "A mad dog!" was the hurried answer to their questions, as the men ran on. " By Jove!" simultaneously responded both, and turn ing they were about to enter the gate, when one suddenly uttered a cry of horror and fled into the hotel.

The other, a stalwart, dark-eyed youth of eighteen or twenty, turned pale as death ; but springing into the middle of the road, and stripping off his coat, he held it by the shoulders outspread before him, and stood with knitted brows and white, set lips, awaiting the onset of A a huge Newfoundland, that with gleaming eyes and frothing jaws came tearing on towards him. As the frantic animal dashed blindly upon him, in a twinkling, by a dexterous movement, he enveloped its head tightly in the coat, and bearing the struggling brute to the earth with sheer strength of wrist, held it down with his knees while desperately clutching its throat. The contest was frightful ; the animal with the strength of madness struggling to be free ; the young man, well nigh beaten at times, but with desperate energy still holding on, with unrelaxing, ever-tightening grip.

For a time the result seemed dubious. Shrieks from the terrified women in the hotel filled the air. Two men armed with pistols, came ostentatiously running" down to the rescue, but ere they reached the road the animal was stretched motionless, with the dusty, torn coat still wrapped about its head. " That was a brave deed," said one of the men. " We'll make sure he's dead, though," said the other, firing two shots through the coat into the animal's head. The young man rose slowly, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and walked gravely up to the hotel, where he was surrounded by the proprietor, g-uests, and servants, all loud in praise of his bravery. "What will you have, wine or brandy?" asked the proprietor. " Neither, thank you ; but I'll take a glass of water, if you please," replied he, somewhat faintly.

Instantly a pretty barmaid, who, with the others, had crowded to see the hero, darted off and returned with a glass of clear, cool water. He smiled as he took it from her hand, and said — " A close call, wasn't it, Hetty?" But she only smiled wanly. "It was brave! grand! wonderful!" chorused the crowd. "I beg to differ with you people. I think I must have been as mad as the poor dog. It was the instinct of self-preservation. I couldn't help myself — it was madness to attempt it. However, now it's over, I'm really glad the poor brute's out of his trouble." So said the young man, his strength and colour com ing back to him, and with a smile he ran upstairs to his room to remove the dust from his hands and face. Thither he was followed by his companion. " I say, old fellow, you are a brick!" cried he, admin istering a tremendous clap on the shoulder.

" Nonsense — I tell you it was a fooolish thing to do; I wouldn't do it again. Where were you?" " I ! I never halted till I got safe in doors. I thought sure you were behind me. I'm a kind of ashamed of myself now." "Well, you needn't. You were the more sensible of the two. It's no shame to run from a mad dog." ' ' Did you see how the pretty barmaid smiled on you when she gave you the water? I thought she was going to faint when she saw you first on top of the dog. I be lieve that girl is getting fond of you, Ned." " Nonsense! Why, you flirt with her more than I do, I'm sure." "Maybe so; that isn't the point. The fact is, Ned, that girl is getting downright daft about you." Ned Arbuckle was lathering his hands and wrists with soap while his friend talked, and for a moment or two he did not speak.

He looked grave and thoughtful. "I'd be mighty sorry if that was the case, for I'm sure I meant nothing but a little pleasant banter to while away the hours occasionally. Hetty is nice enough looking and all that ; but though she is but a barmaid, I wouldn't like to hurt her feelings in any way, I'm sure. But, pshaw! Frank — it's all nonsense." " It's all fact, I tell you," persisted his companion. "Well, then, it's got to be stopped, that's all. I'll be more careful for the future. Anyhow it is a little shabby of fellows to take advantage of a pretty girl's inferior situation to make love we do not feel, eh? And, of course, neither of us is going to marry a barmaid." " No — hardly," was the prompt reply. The two young men were students, college friends, who were spending their holidays in this picturesque little sea-bathing resort on the Clyde.

On first becom ing acquainted these two had found their circumstances to be singularly alike, both being orphans, having nei ther sister nor brother. Both were of respectable par entage, knew they must make each his own way in the world, having no more cash than would see them com fortably through college. Ned Arbuckle was slightly the better off, having literary abilities which found scope in occasional letters and articles to magazines, for which he was paid a fair price. His 7iom-de-guerre, X.Y. Z., had come to signify £ s. d. The unusual lack of home friends and relations had drawn the young men all the more closely together, and this summer Ned Arbuckle having netted considerably more than he had anticipated from his ready pen, insisted on spending it on a pleasant holiday in this sea-washed town, he bearing all the expense.

The protests of his friend were pooh-poohed away by the statement that he could soon grind out plenty more. His pen was like the magical mill which made the sea salt; he had only to say — "Pen, pen, grind away ; grind some cash for me, I pray," and straightway it would begin and scratch, scratch, scratch to the ex tent of from one to five gold guineas or so. Money, he declared, burnt a hole in his pocket, and the inward sat isfaction he felt in having his friend with him here, board ing at the hotel, made him feel he was the one to be most thankful. Perhaps it was this feeling which had that morning prompted him to buy a pretty, inexpensive little ring to bestow on Hetty, the handsome barmaid, with whom he had flirted very pleasantly for the past six weeks. It was in his pocket, but he did not like the idea of it now quite so well as he did when he had bought it a few hours back.

True, he had done a little flirting, but so had Ramsay, his friend, and all the other good looking fellows who occasionally lounged into the bar. They all admired Hetty. She had a pretty face, fine complexion, dark brown hair, sharp blue eyes, and a tall, slim, lissome figure to boot. But that she should have singled him out of all the crowd of her admirers as the one particular object of her regard was annoying. How ever — it would soon be over now — she should have the little keepsake since he had bought it, and to-morrow — to-morrow he should be gone, never to come back or see her face again. What harm ? He got a fine opportunity for saying good-bye, and presenting his souvenir. The evening was soft and clear, and the proprietor, who was a bachelor, with the boarders, had gone out for a quiet stroll, or a game of golf along the links, leaving the house to the care of the housekeeper and Hetty.

"Well, Hetty, at that novel yet?" said Ned, as he entered the bar, and caught her surreptitiously reading an old, worn novel. " I'm just near the end now ; I'll finish it before I sleep to-night," replied Hetty with a sudden blush. Ned Ar buckle had always been a marked favourite with her, but the day's adventure with the dog had deepened the impression he had made on her not very sensitive heart, and the barmaid was now as thoroughly in love with Ned Arbuckle as she was ever likely to be with any man. " I just ran in to say good-bye to you, Hetty. I'll be up and away before you are awake to-morrow morning." Hetty closed the ragged book quietly, but she had suddenly turned pale. " Oh! so soon?" ' ' Yes, my girlie ; but I don't want you to quite forget this pleasant summer, so I brought you a little souvenit — that means a keepsake, you know " — and Ned, who had not failed to note how pale the peachy cheeks had grown, began to fumble in all his pockets at once for the little box with the ring in it.

He was getting some what hot, and wishing it were well over. "Here she am!" he exclaimed, gaily, using bad grammar to cover any sign of confusion. " Hold your finger, Hetty — there, when you're an old married woman, with a flock of piccaninnies about you, look at that ring, and heave a sigh for yours truly." "It's a beautiful ring, and I'll wear it for your sake, but what kind of stone is that ? I must come out to the light." Did she want to see the stone better? or was it only the ruse of a coquette to get close up beside the giver of the ring ? who can tell ? Any way, she came outside the bar, and holding it up, admired and praised it. But the colour came not back to her cheeks, and there was a tender tremor of feeling in her voice when she spoke that touched the youth of nineteen. Ramsay was right — the poor girl was smitten ; he would be a fool indeed not to see that, or the expression of sadness and disappointment she tried to veil with smile and chatter.

" Well, I must be off. Good-bye, Hetty." "Good-bye, Mr Arbuckle, and thank you," she said, almost inaudibly, and Ned, thankful that it was over, bounded out upon the lawn. He was but nineteen, remember, so it is without a blush for him that we record the fact that, despite his thankfulness, there arose in his throat a lump that he had some difficulty in swallowing. "Good gracious! what am I to do?" he suddenly ex claimed, for he had just discovered that he had left his pocket-book on the bar counter. He could not proceed a step farther without it ; all the cash he possessed in the world was in it, having drawn it to be ready for his journey next morning. He hesitated a moment, then made a desperate rush back again, and leaped into the bar through the open window. The pocket-book was lying on the counter where he had left it.

At once he seized it, and was about to vanish by the way he came, when the sight of Hetty cowered up, with her face buried in her hands and sobbing bitterly, arrested him. "Why, Hetty! what's the matter, my girlie?" he said, touched by her genuine grief. But Hetty only sobbed the harder. "Come, girlie, don't take on so, don't be foolish. We must all part some day or other," he murmured, in a half-hearted kind of way. "Oh, I cannot help it — I cannot," she sobbed, rising and drying her eyes ; " I never cared before who came or went, it was always' the same, but you're so different someway. I — " and here she broke down and wept again — this time on his shoulder. For his heart was young and tender, and remorse for his thoughtlessness constrained him to put his arm about her waist. Then, to console the poor thing, he took her pretty dimpled chin between his finger and thumb, and kissed her quivering ruby lips.

That night the moon rose full and glorious, and Ar buckle and Ramsay lay talking before they went to sleep — Ned describing to his friend the bad quarter of an hour he had parting with the barmaid. "And don't you go flirting with her after I'm gone, Ramsay, or maybe she'll fall in love with you too," he wound up with late wisdom. " No danger. Where shall I write to you?" "Oh, to Poste-restante, Melbourne; but I'll write to you to Edinburgh — to be called for — from Port Said. I think I'll get ashore there for a few weeks. Well, good night, old fellow ; I won't wake you in the morning. Take care of yourself till I come back." " Good-night, and good luck, Ned. Bon voyage!" And they each turned over and went to sleep, little dreaming that this was an eternal farewell. Hetty, in her little bed in the servants' attic, lay toss sing sleeplessly.

"He loves me, he must have loved me, or how would he have given me such a beautiful ring? He loves me, and I'll maybe never see him again, and all because I'm a poor servant in a hotel — a barmaid. Oh, if I were only rich! if somebody would die and leave me a fortune. Ah, wouldn't I be happy — for I would give him it all, and we could be married," and so on, and so on, after the manner of girls, sighed poor Hetty to the moon, shining so grandly down upon the sea. Then she turned her face to the wall, and tried to sleep, in vain. "He loves me; surely he never would have kissed me if he didn't love me," she kept whisper ing to herself, till in her restlessness she rose and stood looking out at the window. "He gave me a keepsake, and I've nothing I can give him in return. Oh! what can I give him?" she whispered desperately, and then like a flash she remembered a little silver pencil-holder which she had found on the bar floor two years ago, and for which no owner had ever turned up.

She would give him that. Yes, she would slip down now, when the house was all as leep. She would open the young men's door, softly, and slip in and lay it on the toilet-table before the glass, where he could not miss seeing it. But what if she was caught? The thought made her gasp with terror, and she put her hand on her heart. But no! she should not be caught. She lit her candle, took out a bit of note paper out of the drawer, and writing upon it the words, " When this you see remember me," she wrapped the pencil-case in it, addressed it to Mr Edward Arbuckle, and slipping on a wrapper, came softly downstairs to No. 13. At the door she stood listening, but hearing no sound, she turned the handle softly, and peeped cau tiously in. The window blind was up, and the moon shone full upon the bed, and upon the two young men who lay calmly asleep.

Hetty paused a moment, and then with bare feet tiptoed noiselessly over the carpet to the toilet-table, and laid the pencil-case down in front of the glass, and as silently retreated. She was about to shut the door when a sudden flap of the bed clothes made her flee to the far end of the corridor, where, in a recess, she stood panting and pressing her hand hard over her heart. As she craned her neck to listen, she fancied she heard sounds as of someone in distress, and losing her fear of being caught in the greater dread of her lover being ill, she again tiptoed up to the door, and looking in, grew speechless, struck dumb with mortal fear. It was a full hour before she returned to her little bed in the attic, and though it was a soft, summer night, her teeth chattered in her head. She shivered and shook as in a fit of ague, the very blood in her young veins ran cold with horror.

She dressed herself with trembling hands, and, thinking her senses had surely deceived her, she glided fearfully down again and looked in. The two were now lying quietly on the bed — Ram say back in the shade ; Arbuckle's face turned to the light ; sleeping calmly.

Chapter I One Of The Dividends Of

' ' THE GREAT EUREKA MINE SHARES (LIMITED.)" ONE of the prettiest little residences on East Avenue, Toronto, Canada, was occupied by Mrs Colonel Wyngate and her only daughter, a young lady of nine teen. Mrs Wyngate was a petite elderly lady, a faded beauty, with a certain haughty dignity of manner, which com pelled attention and was considered proof of high breed ing. She had moved in a select society circle in the old land, but after the death of Colonel Wyngate, her con sequent inability to entertain as formerly had constrained well-informed friends to advise her to remove to Canada; where, they were told, a lady with a limited income could live without any appreciable difference of the style to which she had been accustomed, and without running the humbling risk of being considered a poor relation.

No doubt Mrs Wyngate's relations were entirely sin cere in their anxiety to ship her off to Canada. Their consciences were also at rest as to her future, for it was known that the late Colonel had left sufficient, with pru dent management, to provide not only a comfortable living, but also a certain amount of quiet, aristocratic style. Unfortunately, however, as Mrs Wyngate's friends probably foresaw, prudent management was out of the question, for the widow knew no more of the management of finance than a baby. To precipitate ill fortune, she in an evil hour had become acquainted with the Rev. Dr. Bruno, rector of a popular ladies' seminary, with whom she had placed her daughter some years ago on coming to the country. The reverend doctor was a fine, bland, gentlemanly man, of suave manner, and some what stately presence.

Not quite stately nor quite fine, but something suddenly stopping short of that, a man whom you at first sight distrusted, but who made you reproach yourself for it afterwards. Two years ago he had taken a run down to Colorado, and had returned thence the full-fledged and properly authorised agent of "The Great Eureka Mine," a wonderful find of silver ore which needed only capital to work it and make it an unparalleled success. Now, the good Doctor was neither an ill-meaning man nor a villain ; he was simply a man unable to re frain from dabbling in concerns about which he knew not enough. And, if the whole truth must be told, he was rather luxuriously inclined, was fond of popularity, and, besides, had on hand several pet educational and other schemes which he found he could not carry out without that power and influence which comes only through the possession of ample funds.

To do him justice, he had been extremely cautious in his acceptance of this agency. Not satisfied with black upon white proofs that this was a bona side concern, he at his own expense took a trip to Colorado in order to make sure, and had been made as certain as the most sumptuous American dinners could make him. He had even visited the mine in propria persond, and what more could he do? Of course he had to consider also that his profession as a minister of the denomination to which he belonged demanded nothing less than a renunciation of everything connected with mammon or money-making pure and simple ; above all, speculation. But then the Doc tor was a man of broad views, and held that denomina tional tests, though sworn to in good faith at the time of induction, were to be interpreted, not literally but liberally, even as certain scriptural maxims were inter preted in the spirit, not the letter of the text.

For himself, he could declare that no one who knew him could say that he loved money for its own sake. Not he. Dr Bruno felt that he could look the whole world in the face and defy it to say that he loved money as money. If he did undertake to float this very prom ising concern, it would only be because he saw in it abundant opportunities of doing good, of ultimately carrying out his schemes, and of finally proving to a sceptical age that it is possible to make the best of both worlds. One grand characteristic of Dr Bruno was that he never did things by halves. He was naturally of a sanguine speculative disposition, seeing the end of things clearly from the beginning, and allowing no possible contingency to arise and eclipse that view. He not only saw it himself, but he had the singular faculty of making others see it too, as distinctly as one sees a distant mountain top against the golden glow of sunset.

His position and character afforded him every advantage ; people could entrust their money where they had so successfully entrusted their daughters, and as soon as the delicately tinted, artistically got up pros pectuses were scattered abroad, money flowed in, and the shares went off like hot cakes. Mrs Wyngate thought it a charming idea; exceedingly good of the Doctor to mention the matter to her ; for although they had funds sufficient, still a little addition would not be undesirable. Accordingly she at once proposed to invest half her funds in "The Great Eureka Mine " Shares (Limited) ; but when the genial Doctor, with a happy smile of entire confidence, ex claimed — "My dear Mrs Wyngate, if it is good for half, how much better for the whole ; think of the dividends!" the lady at once assented, with a — "Why, of course, Doc tor! certainly!" and ventured her all.

The reverend gentleman's enthusiasm was infectious ; there was no resisting it or him, and Mrs Wyngate kept back barely enough for a year's necessities. No need for more, since the dividends would be in so soon. But the year had slipped by, and a few months be sides, and still no dividends. They were living in an expensively furnished house, paid for in advance, and rented for a year to come, but first one and then the other servant had to go. At last their impecuniosity could no longer be con cealed. Mrs Wyngate had sent for Dr Bruno, but he was away at Long Branch, and not at home even when there, so while the dividends lingered the bills steadily grew. Natalie, answeringthe door now to the °r0cer butcher, and baker, was of too transparent a nature not to betray in her face the doubts she felt as to the ulti mate payment of those bills they daily asked payment of ; and they, taking fright and smarting from past ex perience, concluded to stop supplies until some cash should be forthcoming.

To make matters worse for Natalie, she had, a few days ago, in the street cars, heard Dr. Bruno denounced in no measured terms by two business-like men sittingoppos ite her. Their words had struck her with mortal fear ; with an overwhelming certainty that they were ruined, left utterly penniless. As a girl at his school she had taken an unaccountable dislike to the kind Doctor, a dislike Mrs Wyngate had frequently scolded her for. With a palpitating heart she had answered the bell this forenoon, and returned to the parlour trembling. "The butcher is at the door, mamma." " Oh! Tell him to send up a small leg of lamb, with mint, some green peas, and some onions." " But, mamma, he has come with this bill, and he says he can send no more meat until it is paid." "Well then. Ah, let me see, how much is it?

Fif teen dollars and sixty cents. Oh, well, tell him I'll call and settle in a few days. I must write to Dr Bruno about these shares. He puts me off, and puts me off, but I must have money now." ' ' And here is the baker, too ; they both came together. The baker is very angry, and is standing in the kitchen waiting for his money." "The insolence of those tradespeople! They are positively insufferable. Go this instant, Natalie, and tell them they will both be paid in a few days." Natalie stood, hesitating, the slow blood mounting to her pale, spirituel face ; her soft dark eyes heavy and troubled. " What are you waiting for, child?" " Oh, mamma! I don't like to go and tell them that; they are so rough and rude these men." "Well, Natalie, whose fault was it? You would in sist on dispensing with the servant — now you must take the consequences."

And the lady, the little, thin, faded beauty, the erstwhile belle of Calcutta, drew a wrap about her and sat down to her desk to write, while her daughter, with slow, unwilling steps, went down into the kitchen. ' ' By the way, what shall we have then for dinner, Natalie? I feel as if I could take a cup of coffee now. Do get me a cup; there's a dear," said Mrs Wyngate, when Natalie, with tear-swollen eyes, re-entered the room. "There is no coffee, mamma!" was the meek answer. "No coffee! What is the reason of that? No coffee!" "The grocer has not sent what you ordered on Mori day, and this is Thursday." " And there is no wine either?" Natalie shook her head sadly. "I must say you are very careless, Natalie. When you undertook to do the servant's duties last week, I certainly expected you would have looked after things better.

You ought to have ordered in a fresh supply long before the other was done." " I did, mamma. I told you, and you 7'dered them, but they have not come," said Natalie, in a vexed tone. "Well, well, it can't be helped. I have written to Dr Bruno for some money at once. Meantime, see if you can't get just half a glass of wine out of the bottles — I do feel so faint." Mrs Wyngate really looked faint, but not more so than her daughter, who went as she was bidden. "There isn't any, mamma — not a drop. You got the last yesterday afternoon. There is some tea, but there is no sugar, nor any bread or butter." Mrs Wyngate turned and leant her head upon her delicate white hand. " It is a shame, a positive shame!" she exclaimed, the hot tears rising and filling her eyes. " I can't think why Dr Bruno should treat me so.

He promised that we should have dividends from the mine in less than a year, and yet there isn't a penny. This letter, however, will bring me something", for there is no doubt he is a gentleman." Natalie said nothing for a few minutes, but presently,' she rose and stood behind her mother, her tall, slight figure towering over the petite form in the chair. "Mamma, dear mamma, don't trust to Dr Bruno or anyone. I am afraid you will never see any of your money again. When I was coming up in the street car the other day, I heard two gentlemen discussing him in a most unfavourable manner, one of them threatening all sorts of vengeance on him for well-nigh ruining him." As she said this, she gradually stooped and laid her arms caressingly about her mother's neck. ' ' Natalie Wyngate ! how can you give ear to un worthy aspersions on the character of such a gentleman as Dr Bruno.