Miss Tudor

Front matter

DY JOHN LE BRETON LONDON: JOHN MACQUEEN HASTINGS HOUSE, NORFOLK STREET, STRAND 1897 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED PRINTED BY KELLY AND CO. LIMITED, l82, 183 AND 184, HIGH HOLBORN, W.C, AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. CONTENTS. PAGE Part I. i A FRIEND L0VETH AT ALL TIMES, AND A BROTHER IS BORN FOR ADVERSITY. — Frirjeilis xvii. 17. Part II 57 THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID, Proverbs xxx. 19. Part III ... 123 THE SHAME OF MY FACE COVERETH ME. — Psalm xliv. 15, Part IV ... ... 179 HE THAT INCREASETH KNOWLEDGE, INCREASETH SORROW. — Ecclesiastes i, 18, Part V. ... ... ... 231 HIS BANNER OVER ME WAS LOVE. — The Song ot Solomon ii. 4. Part VI 291 THE ALMOND TREE SHALL FLOURISH, AND THE GRASS- HOPPER SHALL BE A BURDEN, AND DESIRE SHALL FAIL : BECAUSE MAN GOETH TO HIS LONG HOME, AND THE MOURNERS GO ABOUT THE STREETS. — Ecclesiastes xii. c.

Part I

A FRIEND LOVETH AT ALL TIMES, AND A BROTHER IS BORN FOR ADVERSITY. — Proverbs xvii. 17.

PART I

A darkened room in a suburban lodging-house with the golden July sunshine struggling vigorously to slant in through the crevices of the ill-fitting Venetians ; some half-dozen people, clad in black, the women in crape, the men in broad-cloth. An intermittent and hushed conversation, as though some one near was too ill to hear the sound of voices, and the atmosphere close, and teeming with restraint and artificiality. Edward Richardson, late a solicitor, and esquire by Act of Parliament, had just been taken to his final earthly resting-place, and the widow was presiding over the funeral feast of cake and wine. There was no will to be read, for the deceased had left nothing behind him, excepting a widow, and a couple of daughters. There were sad hearts in that dark, stuffy little room, but none sadder than that of Matthew Richardson, uncle to the deceased man, and the only wealthy relative he had possessed ; for it seemed to Uncle Matthew that the widow would inevitably look to him to make some provision for her, and for her younger and unmarried daughter, Bessie.

And he inwardly thanked Heaven that Hester, his elder niece, was married and settled, or the case might have been even worse for him. Edward Richardson had been a solicitor — one of those licensed thieves, who, protected by their power ful tribe, live by robbery and plunder, until one day 3 I* Society cries out so loudly that the tribe, like a pack of wolves rending a wounded brother, turn upon one culprit out of many and slaughter him. Then with the blood yet upon their jaws they rest and pose as sheep, and Society, having seen one victim sacrificed, allows the others of the pack to continue the pose, leaving them free to resume their ravages. The late Edward Richardson, Esq., thief by nature, and liar by profession, helped himself to funds belonging to a client, under such circumstances that even the law, ever-benevolent to such as he, could not protect him ; and he was struck off the rolls.

He struggled on for a time, trying to practise under cover of another solicitor's name, as hundreds of his kidney do, but unlike many of these, he failed to make a good income, and one day he blew his brains out. Hence the funeral, which, by the way, was what is termed a handsome one, and left the widow with only a few pounds in hand. The mourners sat round the table in that depressing little room, and glanced uneasily at each other ; some at least were anxious to be gone, but they felt that a word as to the future of the widow and the orphan was expected, and so they stayed, each hanging back from the task of beginning the distasteful subject. Uncle Matthew looked sourly upon his glass of sherry, and no wonder, for he had made his money in the wine-trade — and that sherry had come from the grocer's at the corner.

The widow was pressing her black-bordered hand kerchief to her eyes ; Hester Rivers, the married daughter, sat by her mother, mournful, yet not altogether unhappy in her grief, for the young woman was of a melancholy turn of mind, and was no stranger to the luxury of " a good cry." For all that her eyes were red and swollen with tears, there was no sympathy in her small, pale face, and on her lips there was an expression akin to that assumed by Uncle Matthew, and probably produced by the same harassing thought. Opposite, sat Bessie, younger daughter of the deceased, a lithe and well-made girl, much younger than her sister, with an oval, dimpled face, as fresh and fair as a child's ; her eyes, large, clear and dark and the red, curved mouth, so perfect in form and colour, made her almost beautiful.

Next to Bessie, and holding ber hand protectingly, was William Rivers, Hester's husband, a fine-looking young man of athletic build, who made a fairly good living out of a brewery at Grimsby. It did one good to look at his frank, open face, and honest looking blue eyes. " A typical young English gentle man," the Richardsons' friends had said, when he married Hester, " his very looks show him to be generous and open-hearted, a man to be trusted, and to be relied upon in all things." Hester was a lucky girl ; every one said so, and even her own relations thought so. And William's brotherly, comforting manner to Bessie, in her trouble, was a wholesome sight, and very characteristic of him. At last Uncle Matthew, realising that nothing was to be gained by delay, spoke — and spoke to the point.

" How are you going to keep your heads above water ? " he said, addressing the widow. She, poor woman, burst into tears. She was help less, she murmured between her sobs, she had no idea what was to be done. She relied upon Heaven. She relied upon everyone. Then Bessie spoke bravely. " I shall work for Mother and myself. I am very strong, Uncle." Uncle Matthew brightened up. " Yes, I know girls who can earn as much as .£100 a year," he said vaguely, but, at the same time endeavouring to extend to Bessie the strongest possible encouragement ; to be less vague, meant remem bering the apprenticeship first served by the girls of whom he spoke, and also the fact that such salaries are, for women, few and far between. William interfered at this point, breaking out im pulsively with, "Don't let the future worry you, Bessie !

Mrs. Richardson, don't think of it so sadly ; whilst I live, you and Bessie shall never want ! " And the young man's honest face glowed as every one looked at him. " God bless you, William ! " sobbed the widow, and Bessie gratefully pressed the strong hand that clasped hers. Uncle Matthew rose, and going across to William, held out his hand : " God bless you, my boy ! " he said. " I know you don't promise this because it is your duty as Mrs. Richardson's nearest relative, but because you are a thoroughly good fellow. When my time comes, you will find that your present kindness has not gone unrewarded, ' He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord.' Again I say, God bless you, my lad, and may you prosper as you deserve." Then turning to the widow, he said kindly, " Now, Rebecca, try and cheer up.

Each of us has a cross to bear, and it must be borne. Try and make the best of things, and — and — er — cheer up ! Good-bye, Bessie. William will look after you, and if you want any little thing, at any time, write to me." And bestowing a kiss upon Hester, Uncle Matthew departed, seeling more cheerful than he had done any time since the news of his nephew's death had reached him. No one spoke in that dim room, until the front door banged, and they knew Uncle Matthew was out of the house, and then Hester broke the silence. "Uncle Matthew spoke very nicely to William," she said, "but all the same, Bessie, it's perfectly absurd of him to say it is William's duty to help you and Mother. It's not his duty, because he has his wife and children to look after ; but Uncle is a bachelor, and rich, and really ought to help.

Oughtn't he, William ? " " I certainly think he might do something,dear,but he doesn't seem inclined to, so it's no use talking about it." " No, I suppose not. Well, we'll have to go now, Mother dear, I'm afraid, or we shall lose our train ; and William must get back to the brewery to-day And Bessie, here is an advertisement for a daily governess, that I cut out of the paper this morning. It's only twelve pounds a year salary, but it's better than nothing, isn't it? " " Thank you, Hester," said Bessie, " everything helps." And then Mr. and Mrs. Rivers went away, and the widow and the orphan were left alone to arrange their plans for the immediate future with as good courage as mi^ht be. Mrs. Richardson had seven pounds in hand, and a diamond ring which she managed to dispose of for twenty pounds.

Bessie answered the advertisement for a governess, so thoughtfully cut from the paper by Hester, at once, although her mother considered such a proceeding on the day of the funeral almost indecent ; but as Bessie managed to secure the place, the maternal criticism, though a trifle harsh, did not affect her much. The salary was certainly very small, but then the governess vvas only required during the morning hours, and Bessie hoped to get employment for the rest of the day, and thus increase her earnings. Within the week, the widow and her daughter had removed to a lodging-house in Bloomsbury, for Bessie's situation was in London, and it was imperative that she should live within walking distance of it. " He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord," Uncle Matthew had said to William Rivers, in reference to help promised to the widow and orphan ; and if the interest (as represented by possibilities in Uncle Matthew's will) vvas speculative, the loan itself did not carry much risk of loss.

Six months had passed since Mr. Richardson's death, and during that time, many affectionate letters had passed between Mrs. Rivers and her mother, but the promised help had not even been mentioned. The brewing trade vvas in a very bad way ; the hay crop had failed just when William, hoping to make a little extra money, had rented a couple of meadows. William had paid £20 for a dog, which had died on its arrival at the brewery ; he brought an action against the man who sold it to him, and won it, but, as the man was a bankrupt, there was not much gained over that ! It was very sad ! So many troubles to descend upon a young couple just beginning life. And all within the short space of six months ! It was Christmas Eve. There was a small fire of dull red cinders in the grate, which threw out but little warmth into the second-floor room at the back of the dingy lodging house in Bloomsbury.

On the table was a cheap lamp of an ugly yellowish-green tint, painted with purple flowers of exceedingly fanciful formation ; it gave a weak light, and a strong odour. Mrs. Richardson sat at the table, poring over the advertisement sheets of a daily paper. Bessie who had just come in, was kneeling before the fire, holding out her chilled hands to the warmth ; she still had on her out-door coat, and her hat, and her clothes, drenched with rain, steamed as the fire slowly dried them. For months she had trudged daily to her slavery through wind and rain, sleet and snow, starting early so as to be able to commence her duties by nine o'clock. At one o'clock, school was over, and the children went to dinner, whilst their governess, hungry and exhausted, started on her walk home. Bread, and tea, the latter stewed until the last particle of tannin was extracted from it, had been the daily fare of the widow and her daughter for some time now : their little store of money vvas nearly all gone, and that they still had a shelter, was due to the kindness of the landlady, for they had been unable to pay the last month's rent due for their one room.

But here was Christmas Eve, and something had come at last from the brewery at Grimsby. "Bessie dear," said Mrs. Richardson, looking at the kneeling figure by the fire, " a hamper has come ! I expect it is from William and dear Hester, but I wouldn't open it until you came in. It's there in the corner." Bessie was cold, wet, and hungry, and her heart was filled with a terrible dread of the suture. She was not interested in the hamper, but she roused herself to please her mother. " That's nice, Mother," she said, rising and taking off her coat and hat, " we'll open it now, shall we ? " The hamper was a large one, and was dragged forward with some difficulty ; Bessie's quick eye caught the legend " Carriage forward." "You had to pay on it then, Mother?" she asked. " How much ? " " Four shillings," said Mrs. Richardson, " I've only one left now !

But there's sure to be enough food in here to last us for a week ! " The lid of the hamper was raised and thrown back, and a top layer of straw disclosed ; the strong smell which had hovered round it when closed, now be came so pronounced that Bessie went and threw the window open. " I expect it's game, dear," said Mrs. Richardson brightly, " I'm so fond of game." Bessie wondered how they were going to cook game, with their small stock of coals, and tiny grate ; her mother pulled the straw away until a rabbit's head and long ears were disclosed. She dragged it out, and as she did so, the fur parted, and the head nearly came off Bessie ran to the window and opened it. " Throw it away, Mother, it's bad." " Why, Bessie ! It can't be bad ! William " " It is bad ! " interrupted Bessie. " Give it to me," and taking the long-deceased animal in a sheet of newspaper, she ran downstairs with it and begged the landlady to throw it away.

" I wonder it didn't run away of itself ! " remarked Mrs. Crosskey, the landlady, a motherly soul, who was fond of Bessie. Rumour said that Mrs. Crosskey had once been on the stage, perhaps in the ballet, but had retired with a fortune. Anyhow, she had once "kep' her carriage," she told Bessie, and no doubt she did, but she lost her large income the same year that a certain learned judge died ; how ever, by his will he had left her an annuity of fifty pounds for life, and the house in Great James Street, which proved him to have been of a more than ordinarily charitable disposition. Mrs. Crosskey had apparently lost all her photos of the late Cross key, for no one had ever seen a likeness of that gentleman ; but she had a wonderful collection of portraits of the late learned judge. Bessie ran upstairs again to see the rest of the con tents of the hamper, and found that her mother had piled them all on the floor.

There were some enormous potatoes, grown by William himself, and which had taken a prize at a local show; they were of great weight, and took up a good deal of room in the hamper. There were six mince pies in a cardboard box, a pound of butter, and half-a-pound of tea. There were two beet-roots, but one of them was bad. There were Christmas cards " From William and Hester to dearest Mother," and " From William and Hester to Bessie, wishing her a happy Christmas." The widow was in tears. Bessie's face flushed with anger, right up to the tips of her pretty little ears, and her hands clenched as she thought of the four shillings paid away for the carriage of the trash heaped on the floor. " Give me the shilling, Mother," she said ; " I must go and get something for us to eat to-morrow." Mrs. Richardson, still with her handkerchief to her eyes, brought the shilling out of her pocket, and handed it over.

"Don't cry, Mother. It isn't worth crying about ! " said Bessie as she went out. One hour passed, and then another, before Bessie toiled upstairs again ; she put down some bread upon the table, and then went over and sat down on the bed. She looked white and faint, as she sat there, and bit her lip as though striving to gain control over herself. " I spent the shilling in bread and cheese, Mother," she said in a choking sort of voice. " It's the best thing you could have done, dear," said the widow ; " now take off your out-door things, and have something to eat. Poor child, you must be famished. What is in that parcel, Bessie ? " Bessie took off her hat, and her mother started and stared at her. The masses of wavy golden hair, that had been knotted at the back of her shapely head when she went out, were gone.

The short curls and waves that clustered round her face made her look even younger than her eighteen years. " Yes, Mother, I've cut my hair off. I thought I should be able to sell it, but like a fool, I cut it off before I found out. I went into Mrs. Crosskey's room ; she was out, and I took her scissors and cut it off. None of the hairdressers round here would buy it, so I've made a guy of myself for nothing, and I've had to bring it back ! " And she threw the parcel on to a chair Mrs. Richardson began to cry again. " Mother, I really don't mind a bit ! Don't cry there's a dear ! Let's make the best of things. See, we've got nice fresh bread, and the bounty of Hester and William has supplied us with butter and tea, and six mince pies." " Oh ! Bessie, don't jeer at them like that ! I vvas afraid this dreadful life was making you hardened.

Though I must say I think your Uncle Matthew ought to do something for us ! " " Dear Mother, I don't know about being hardened, but I'm not quite so ready to take people at their own valuation, as I was a year ago. I see now what William's little game was, as clearly as possible ! He said that he'd help us, because he wanted to curry favour with Uncle, and get Hester mentioned in his will. He knew we'd never tell Uncle that we've had no help from them at all. And then they excuse themselves to us by writing rubbish about the failure of the haycrop, and bad trade, and dogs dying, and all that ! If trade's so bad, how does he come to be buying dogs at ? And if he found he couldn't help us, why didn't he write and tell Uncle so? Why, only last time I saw Uncle, he mumbled out something about ' William's a good fellow.

Great drag on a young couple ! ' Drag indeed ! It's bad enough to starve, but it's unbearable to have to starve at William's expense ! " " Oh, Bessie ! you don't know what you are saying ! " " Ah ! but I do ! Mean and stingy though Uncle is, for shame's sake he wouldn't let us starve if he knew it ! I'm convinced that he thinks William is making you a regular allowance. And that's what everyone else thinks too, and that's what Hester and William make them think ! " " Hush, Bessie ! Don't talk like that ! " "Very well. It's no use talking, I know, but it's just as well to see how we stand. There's a knock at the door. Come in." Mrs. Crosskey opened the door, and looked in. " There's a small 'amper come for you, ma'am," she said ; " Mary Ann's brought it up for you, and it's on the landing."

" Anything to pay, Mrs. Crosskey ? " asked Bessie, " if so, we won't take it in. As you see, we are supplied with Christmas fare." And she pointed to the big potatoes and the beet roots, which were still on the floor. Mrs. Crosskey looked at the monster potatoes, and the dejected-looking beet-roots, but made no remark. " No, there wasn't anything to pay," she said. " I just came up to say that if you wanted anything cooked to-morrow, Mrs. Richardson, I should be happy to have it done for you in the kitchen ; it'd save you a bit of trouble, p'r'aps." " Thank you very much, Mrs. Crosskey," said Mrs. Richardson, quietly ; " it's very kind of you indeed, but we are going to have a cold dinner." Bessie gave an hysterical giggle at this dignified reference to the bread and butter and mince pies, and her mother looked reproachfully at her.

" Don't refuse Mrs. Crosskey's offer yet, Mother," she said, getting up, " let's have a look at the other hamper first. Second thoughts are best. Let's hope they had a second thought at Grimsby. Bring it in, please, Mary Ann. Don't go, Mrs. Crosskey. Stop and see what our relations have sent us." Mrs. Richardson, with the contents of the first hamper still in front of her, did not approve of this invitation, but, as Mrs. Crosskey shut the door and came forward to the light, she saw that there was no help for it. The second hamper vvas much smaller than the first. Bessie cut the fastenings, and opened it, and lifted out a turkey, stuffed and trussed, a pudding, some sausages, and two bottles of wine. " Well that's nice, ain't it ? " said Mrs. Crosskey, encouragingly. " That's as nice a little turkey as ever I see.

Mary Ann shall cook it to a turn for you, ma'am." Bessie slammed down the lid of the hamper and clutched at the label. " Uncle's writing, of course," she said. " Good Gracious! Fancy thinking it came from anywhere else ! The wine will do you a heap of good, Mother ! " Mrs. Crosskey took the turkey and sausages down stairs, considerately promising to send Mary Ann up presently to " clear up the rubbish." "You see, Bessie," said Mrs. Richardson, as the door closed on the landlady, " you were quite wrong in saying all those cruel things about William and Hester just now. If Uncle Matthew had thought that they were helping us, he wouldn't have sent these things ! " "Well, Mother, that's the way you look at it. It only proves to me that my view was entirely right. Uncle thinks that William is providing us with neces saries, and that is why he sent us a few luxuries.

If he had known the real state of affairs he'd have sent money instead." Mrs. Richardson sighed, and changed the subject. " I wish you could get another place, Bessie ; that long walk every day, in all weathers, is wearing you out ! " " The place has given me up, Mother. I got my dismissal to-day, but not my month's salary. I'm to call for that next week. Considerate of the dear lady, wasn't it? She's going to send thc children to school after Christmas. It is so wretched to be poor," she went on bitterly, hardly so much speaking to her mother as to herself, " the pitfalls the poor fall into, the wealthy bridge with gold and walk safely across." " The poor have eyes, Bessie, and can see to avoid the pitfalls." "Yes, mother, but the poor are hungry, and the pitfalls are baited with bread ! Are we to starve ?

" " You must try and get another situation, Bessie ! " " Even if I could, what is twelve pounds a year ? " said the girl vehemently. " We can't live on that — we can't even starve on it ! And even twelve pounds is a high wage for an uncertificated governess. Some thing must be done, and done quickly. Mother, I've been having another talk with Mrs. Crosskey." " Now, Bessie, I know what that means ! She wants you to go on the stage. But I will never consent to it ! Never ! We may be poor, but that is no crime ! " " Haven't you learned better than that in the past six months, Mother ? I have ! To be poor is the worst of crimes ! " " Nonsense ! Well, anyhow, you can't go on the stage. You shall do nothing to disgrace the family ! " " The family have done nothing for us, Mother, and you ought to be convinced by now that we can't live on promises, however heartily they're made.

To go on as we're doing now, is to practically commit suicide by slow starvation. Besides, I don't see where the disgrace comes in. Surely a girl can earn as honest a living on the stage, as by being a governess ? " " Bessie," said the widow weakly, " you know what dreadful things are said of stage girls ! You know what is said of Mrs. Crosskey ! " " It doesn't seem to hurt her much, and she's a dear good old soul ! " " That's enough, Bessie. Your new ideas seem very strange to me. I will not listen to another word about Mrs. Crosskey." " Very well, Mother, but I want to tell you that I have decided to go on the stage ! " " Decided ! Without my consent ? Bessie ! " " Yes. The family have left me alone in the world, not only to earn my own living, but to look after you — and I'm going to do it!

" For the second time that evening, Mrs. Richardson burst into tears. "Bessie, you want to break my heart ! " she sobbed out miserably. " No, Mother dear, I want to save your life ; you are literally starving to death now ! It's no use our discussing it any more, for I've made up my mind that 17 it's the best thing for.both of us, and I'm going through with it. You ought to encourage me, Mother, instead of putting obstacles in my way ! " The widow had but little will-power, the girl had plenty ; and before long the elder woman was won round so far as to confess that " there seemed nothing else to do." Then Bessie went downstairs to report progress to Mrs. Crosskey. " Well, that's all right, my dear," said the genial landlady, smiling ; she was over fifty now, but anyone could see she had been very good-looking, and she, good soul, saw but little change in herself, and was pleased to receive compliments on her personal appearance still.

" I'll write to an old pal of mine, a dear boy, Mr. Lamb, the music-hall agent. I remember him, my dear, when he was glad to get a shop at thirty bob a week, and now look at him ! — why, he's worth thousands a year, and everybody as is anybody is on his books." " And will he be able to get me a situation — an engagement I mean — at once ! " " Of course he will ; he'd do anythink for me. Then too, look what a chance you've got — good figger, pretty face, and a voice a lot better than nine serios out of ten. We'll go and see him direckly the 'olidays is over." " I shall be glad when the time comes." " So shall I, my dear. I should like to see 'Arry Lamb again. The fun as we've had together in the old times, the supper parties, and the Sundays up the river, and the larks — there, my dear, I've half a mind to go on the stage again, on'y I promised a gentleman, as was a particular friend of mine, I wouldn't." "Mother was awfully shocked at the idea of my entering the profession.

She seems to think it isn't respectable." " Not respectable ! Why, I've had supper with Lords and Sirs and M.P.'s and swells, and they're glad to know yer. The purfesh not respectable? Why, look at them ! Look at them now ! Look at yer Marie Lewises and Bessie Bellhoods, look at the money they earn, more than when I vvas a girl, my dear. A hundred quid a week is nothing to them ; and they spend it too. Look at their swell houses and carriages, and then tell me if the purfesh ain't respectable." And Mrs. Crosskey talked herself quite out of breath in her indignant praise of the profession. There are people on this earth, and going to and fro upon it, who maintain that church-going, public alms giving, stiffness and stupidity, are the only visible and outward sign of true respectability ; others just as strongly hold the opinion that respectability is shown by diamonds, carriages and mansions.