My Lady Nobody. A novel

Front matter

H IRovel BY MAARTEN MAARTENS AUTHOR OF 'THE SIN OF JOOST AVELINGH,' 'GOD*S FOOL,' 'AN old maid's love' 'the greater glory' LONDON RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON fubltalms in (OrMnarg to Jjer Jrtajcsirj the CQuccn 1895 [All rights reserved] Bcukation. God's Angel of Hitman Love sat alone in the garden of lilies. Her arms hung list/ess among the blooms she had gathered into her lap. For her eyes — sole mirrors of the Inapproachable Presence — were gazing steadfastly down upon the darkness, deep down where the black bar of sorrow strikes across the wide radiance of eternity, down on the sin-laden star that still hastens athwart the shadow. A single teardrop stole out upon her check, and, falling, crept away into a milk-white chalice. Sud denly, with a movement of ineffable pity, she flung forth all the flowers upon her lap, into the world below.

Into my bosom, oh Beloved, is fallen the flower with the tear at its heart. Unto thee, oh fair among God's flowers, white among his angels, strong among his saints, unto thee, with the thorn in thy side, and the star on thy sorehead, unto thee do I dedicate this ray from a life of which thou art the light. CONTENTS.

Part I. Chapter Page

I. URSULA - - - - - - I II. THE DOMINF. - - - - - 7 III. HOME - - - - - - 12 IV. THE VAN HELMONTS - - - -22 V. LE PREMIER PAS— QUI CO0TF. - - 30 VI. UNCONSCIOUS RIVALS - - - 42 VII. HARRIET'S ROMANCE - - - - 54 VIII. THE TRYST - 66 IX. OTTO'S WOOING - - - - - 79 X. AN INDELIBLE STAIN - - - - 94 XI. ONE HOUR OF HAPPINESS - - - 106 XII. 'AN OLD MAID'S LOVE ' - - - 121 XIII. FOR LIFE OR DEATH - 136 XIV. A SATISFACTORY SETTLEMENT - - 147 XV. DONNA E MOBILE- - • - - 1 54 XVI. A FOOL AND HIS FOLLY - - - - 164

Part II. XVII

BROTHERLY HATE - - - 1 77 XVIII. THE DUTY OF THE PARENT - - - 1 85 XIX. FORFEITS ALL ROUND ... - - 196 XX. MYNHEER MOPIUSS PARTY - 208 XXI. BARON VAN HELMONT - - - - 221 XXII. GERARD'S SHARE - ... CONTENTS CHATTER PAGE XXIII. TOPSY REXELAER - - 245 XXIV. MASKS AND FACES - - 256 XXV. CORONETS AND CROSSES - 273 XXVI. FREULE LOUISA - - - 283 XXVII. PEACE AND GOODWILL - - - 293 XXVIII. THE SECOND MRS. MOPIUS - - 3<32 XXIX. THE BLOT ON THE SNOW - - - 307 XXX. CHRISTMAS EVE- - - - 316 XXXI. ' WHOSOEVER SHALL SMITE THEE - 325 XXXII. THE GREAT PEACE -- - - - 335

Part III. XXXIII

INTRIGUE ... - 348 XXXIV. THE NEW LIFE - - - 358 XXXV. 'MRS. GERARD'- - - 364 XXXVI. THE DEAD- AWAKE - - - 377 XXXVII. POLITICS ------ 384 XXXVIII. THE OLD BLOT - - - - 398 XXXIX. THE COUNSELLOR - - - 408 XL. THE NEW BAILIFF - - 416 XLI. THUNDER IN THE TROPICS - - 431 XLII. THE FINGER OF SCORN - 453 XLIII. ARRESTED - - - 462 XLIV. AFRAID ------ _j7g XLV. THE HOME-COMING OF THE HERO - - 487 XLVI. THE FATAL KNIFE - - - - 501 XLVU. TRIUMPHANT - - - - . j0- XLVIII. A WIFE FOR GERARD - - - - 5 '9 XLIX. FACE TO FACE WITH HERSELF - o MY LADY NOBODY

Part I. Chapter

I. URSULA. It was a white-hot July morning. Long ago the impatient earth had cast aside her thin veil of summer twilight ; already she lay, a Danae, in exultant swoon beneath the golden sun. Yet the bridegroom had barely leaped forth to the conquest ; his rath kisses were still drinking the pearly freshness from the dawn, while the loud birds filled the resonant heavens with the tumult of their bridal song. It was still so early, and already so immovably warm ; all wide earth and deep sky agasp in the naked blaze. Ursula drew forward her broad-brimmed straw hat, where she stood picking peas among the tall lines of pale-green, blossom-speckled tangle. ' Oof!' she said. Not as your burly farmer says it, but with the prettiest little high-pitched echo of the i louder note. And she buried her soft brown cheeks in the cool moisture of her half-filled basket.

Then she gravely resumed her work, and a great, big. booming bumble-bee, which had thought to play hide and seek with Ursula's nose, sailed away in disgust that on such a sun-soaked morning any of God's creatures should bend to toil in His sight. Ursula Rovers was not one of those who serve their Maker with dancing and a shout. Yet she sang to herself, very sedately, as she broke off each bursting pod, amid the fiercer jubilation of the passion-drunk blackbirds and finches : ' Stand then with girded loins, and see your lamps be burning ; What though the sun lie fair upon your paths to-day, Who reads the evening sky ? Who knows if winds be turning ? The night conies surely. Watch and pray !' The prim vegetable garden, with its ranks of gay salads and pompous cabbages, lay serenely roasting, as vegetable gardens delight to do, in unabated verdure.

About Ursula's corner the lattice-work of creepers put forth some faint attempt at a stunted shadow. Domine Rovers came down the walk, his coat-flaps brushing the currant-bushes. Who reads the evening sky ? Who knows if winds be turning ?' ' Ursula!' ' Yes, Captain.' ' Come in and shell your peas, whilst I recite you my sermon.' ' But I must pick them first, father !' URSULA 3 ' True. What I love best in you, Ursula, is that you are as logical as if you were not a woman.' The pastor drew nearer to the scaffolding of greenery, and strove vainly to shelter his tall figure in its shade. He was a spare, soldierly-looking man, with an honest complexion and silvery hair. You knew he had a very gentle countenance until you gave him cause to turn a wrathful look upon you. ' I might as well begin at once,' he said, and, proud though she was of her father's preaching, the girl's soul rose in momentary protest on behalf of the birds and flowers. ' I have chosen a text for to morrow, Ursula, which has troubled my thoughts all through the week.

All through the week, I couldn't understand it. And when I came to look it out, it wasn't there at all.' Ursula's dutiful lips said : ' I see.' ' I imagined the verse to be as follows : " Flee from youthful lusts that war against the soul." But I see the word used is " Abstain." I could not believe it of St. Peter that he would have instructed any man to run away in battle. You will find the " flee " in Timothy, my dear, but the connection is not the same.' Domine Rovers paused and stood tenderly watching his natty daughter in her cool print dress. Suddenly he burst out quite impetuously, ' Resist ! Resist ! That is the true Bible language. Resist the devil. Resist temptation. And so I shall tell them to-morrow morning. "Dearly beloved," I shall say, "life is a ' War,' cried Ursula, facing round.

A bold black bird had alighted on one of the stakes and sang loudly of peace and goodwill. 'Don't interrupt me, child '—the Domine's eyes grew vexed—' I know I have said it before ; they cannot hear the truth too often. Life is a battle, dearly beloved. Against the city of Mansoul all the powers of evil band themselves together. But in the vanguard march ever the lusts of the flesh. You cannot escape the conflict. And therefore' — the speaker lifted an energetic arm — ' remember what said the Corinthians — the grandsires of St. Paul's Corinthians — to the Spartans, their allies, " He that, for love of pleasure, shrinks from battle, will most swiftly be deprived of those very delights which caused him to abstain." My subject divides itself — Ursula, vou are not attending — into seven natural parts : the enemy, the weapons, the ' Nobody listened.

All God's creation, busy with its individual loves and pleasures, luxuriously lapped in the sensuous sunlight and rejoicing in universal allurement, was twittering and fluttering and blushing and blooming in clouds of perfume and pollen. The great All-father smiled down upon his manifold children — and shrivelled them up. Ursula was not listening. Her father was a dear, dear man, but she had heard it all so often before ! And fortune had pity upon her and upon the sleepily staring marigolds, and created a diversion ere the sermon was ten sentences old. Shrill shrieks of childish protest under punishment arose from beyond the garden-wall. The pastor of URSULA 5 an unruly flock immediately ran to peer over the bushes. And Ursula followed more slowly, flitting into the full morning glow-. Out on the gleaming high-road a peasant-woman was belabouring an eight-year-old urchin in a whirl wind of dust. ' I'll teach you to use bad words,' she was screaming. ' Damn me, I can't make out, for the life o' me, what taught the child to swear!' Ursula, leaning one round arm on the top of the garden-wall, turned spontaneously to her father, all her serious young face a swift ripple of fun, but the Domine counted not a pennyworth of humour among his many militant virtues.

He pressed his thin lips tight, under his Wellington nose. He was not going to reprove a mother in the presence of her son. ' Discipline first,' said the Domine. ' One thing I note gratefully, Ursula, that the wretched habit of swearing is now confined to the lower classes in this country. In my time even gentlemen would swear ' A dog-cart had turned the sharp angle at the back, where the road breaks off to the Manor-House. In the dust and the skirmish it pulled up with a jerk, and a clear voice was heard crying : ' Confound you ! Get out of the way, can't you ? Scuffling in the middle ofthe road !' The dog-cart was a very smart dog-cart, and the mare was a high-stepping mare. She fretted under the sudden restraint, amid an appetising jingle, and smell, and glitter of harness. There was not so much promiscuous dust but that the speaker could instantaneously perceive the two heads over the low brown wall.

He lifted his cap. ' Good morning, Domine ! Good morning, Ursula!' he said, with nonchalance. ' Awfully hot already, isn't it ?' The Domine raised a flashing eye. The woman and boy had slipped away. ' Gerard,' said the Domine, ' why do you swear at our people ? How often must I remind you of our joint responsibility ? We must lead them to what is right ; I by my precept, you by your example.' ' Oh, Domine, I'll exchange, if you're agreeable,' retorted the young man, with a quick smile. The Domine looked away. ' You are going to the station to fetch your brother, Gerard ?' interposed Ursula, carelessly cracking the pods in her basket. ' Yes, at your service,' replied the voung man, as he loosened the reins. ' How strange it will be for you to meet Mynheer Otto again after all these years !' Gerard turned quickly from his prancing steed. ' Are you going to call Otto " Mynheer " ?' he asked.

She blushed with annoyance, in an overflow of innocent confusion. ' Oh, very well,' he went on. ' Only, of course, you will have to call me Mynheer Gerard.' He raced off, laughing. ' I know you,' she stam mered ; but the words were lost in the dog-cart's departing rattle. She appealed to her father in THE DOMINE 7 dismay. 'Why, father,' she cried, 'I have known Gerard all my life!' Together they stood watching the dust-enfolded vehicle disappear into the far blue sunshine. Its occupant was young, light-hearted, and handsome. Evidently a cavalry officer : you could see that by the way in which his tweeds and he conjoined with out combining.

Chapter II. The Domine

' Let us go in to breakfast,' said the Domini. Father and daughter passed up between the stiff stalks of the gooseberry-bushes, among the sallow, swollen fruit. Both of them walked with a straight step, the figure erect, and a little self-reliant. The pastor fell back a few paces with meditative gaze. He was wont to rejoice tremulously in Ursula's physical health, in the easy carriage of the head, the light swing of the hips. He rejoiced in the clear brown of her complexion and the calm depth of her brave, brown eyes. No weak woman in blood or brain, this stately, strong -limbed maiden. He thanked God mournfully, ever reminiscent of the pervading sorrow of his life, the loss of the frail young creature who had dropped by the roadside well-nigh twenty years ago. It was that affliction which had made a cleric of Captain Roderick Rovers.

By nature he was a soldier, recklessly brave and almost devil-may-care. A man who thought straight, if not far, and struck straight, in the front. He had escaped from the inertia of our long Batavian peace to the red-hot tumult of Algerian desert war, and had come back, early bronzed and silvered, plus the Legion of Honour and minus an arm. He had married a pure white, clinging thing, like a lily, that twined every tendril round his sturdy support, and then dropped from the stem. She was a good woman. To him she had come as a revelation. ' I have fought the good fight,' she had whispered in dying. He, with the medals on his breast and the memory of not a few killed and wounded, could he have said as much face to face with death ? He began to comprehend something of that battle which is not to the strong.

On their wedding-day the bride had given her soldier-husband Bunyan's ' Holy War ' — a Dutch translation — substituting it on his table for the weather-beaten little ' Thucydides ' which had been his companion in all his campaigns. He had demanded back the Greek historian. He now took up the spiritual conflict, and fought the powers of darkness, as he had ever met an enemy, at arm's length. His mutilation having incapacitated him from active service, he took orders, henceforth to do battle with his country's inmost foes in the heart of every parishioner. The old militant spirit flamed in him still, and he led his slow flock like a regiment under the banner of the great Captain. On the high days of the Church he wore his Cross of the Legion in the pulpit. His clerical superiors had objected ; he THE DOMINE 9 dared them to object.

It was gained, he said, like your reverend titles, in honourable war. He had cherished the solitary treasure of his heart, but his care had been free from coddling; he had even combated the enervating influence of his sister in-law, who kept house for him. ' Coolness and cold water ' was one of his maxims in any sudden emer gency ; late into the autumn you could have seen the gaunt father and the little solemn-featured girl wending their way towards the river for a swim. The bathless villagers watched and wondered. They judged the good man to be a little daft, no doubt, but they loved his cheery helpfulness. Dozing on the battlefield, they caught, between two yawns, the stir of his reveille, and its clarion-note passed like a breeze through the foulness of their sleeping-ditch. Then they turned in the trenches and fell asleep again.

Ursula learned early that life was no dream-garden. ' Duty, like a stern preceptor,' often pushed himself unpleasantly to the fore in her young existence and extinguished the sunlight, provoking thunderstorms. Not that these were by any means the rule ; her father loved her too tenderly for that ; he kissed her leisurely upon the forehead. ' Be sober,' he said, ' be vigilant.' Her aunt gave her sweets. Yet Ursula, from a two-year-old baby, loved her father best. Even when, once, he chastised her be cause she had told a lie. ' Gerard will be late for the train,' said the pastor. ' Headlong, as usual. Either he will get there too late or he will drive too fast.' 'He will drive too fast,' replied Ursula quietly. 'Tell me, father, about this elder brother of his. How strange it will seem ! A new son at the House whom nobody knows.

I wish he were not coming.' ' I have told you before, Ursula, but women are so resolutely curious. A man's curiosity is impulse, a woman's is method. Besides, you remember him yourself ; he was here twelve years ago.' ' I don't remember much, only a quiet, kind-looking gentleman who seemed afraid of children. What had he been doing in Germany, Captain ?' ' Earning his daily bread, no more and no less.' ' And what has he been doing these twelve years in Java ?' ' Earning his daily bread, not less but no more.' ' I know,' mused Ursula, with feminine inconsistency. ' It seems so ridiculous, a Van Helmont earning his living.' But this was a red rag to a bull. ' It is never ridiculous!' cried the pastor. '"Give us this day our daily bread " ; that means : we would accept it, Lord, from no other hands than Thine !' ' As manna?' queried Ursula. ' No, child, as the harvest of toil.

By-the-by ' — the old man stood still on the verandah-steps, his limp sleeve hung against his long black coat — ' it is a strange coincidence, my preaching to-morrow's sermon, and Otto coming home to-day. The Sabbath before he first started for Germany I preached on resisting the devil.' Ursula smiled, a harmless little smile, all to herself. THE DOMIN£ 11 ' I remember it as if it were yesterday,' continued the Domine, thoughtfully watching a wheeling swallow. ' Do you know, Ursula, why Otto van Helmont went away ?' ' No,' she responded, quickly inquisitive. ' Tell me why.' ' I suppose you think it was some love story ?' ' No,' she said again. ' Why should I think ? I don't know.' * You are not like other girls, Ursula. Most women think everything is a love story. Come, let us go in.' ' But he is quite old now ?' she persisted, with her hand on his arm. ' He is what children call old.

I believe he is seventeen years older than Gerard. I have always liked Otto exceedingly, little as I know of him. He is a true, simple-hearted gentleman, is Otto.' ' I don't doubt it,' replied the girl, with a shade of petulance, ' but it will be so awkward, a stranger at the House !' ' I wish you would close the verandah - door, Roderigue,' said a querulous voice from inside. ' You are letting in all the heat.' The occupant of the room came forward, a little yellow lady, with red ringlets, in a red wrapper. This was Miss Mopius, the Domine's sister-in-law, and an invalid. ' I had kept down the temperature so beautifully,' she complained, during the performance of the usual perfunctory pecks. ' What's the use of my scolding the servant if she sees that you don't care ? Look at the thermometer, Ursula ; it was under 65°.' Ursula obediently reported that it was nownearing 6f. ' You see,' said Miss Mopius.

She said nothing else, but the words dragged down upon the little room a fearful weight of guilty silence, from which Ursula fled to wash her hands. As the girl was coming downstairs again, she heard the rumble of returning wheels. She could not resist a swift run to the verandah, where she had abandoned her basket. As she caught it up, the dog-cart came flying past. The two brothers were in it now. The elder turned sideways, started, hesitated, took off his hat. Ursula remained watching them, a symphony in yellow and brown, with the marigolds at her feet in a lake of golden orange, and the pink-tipped honeysuckle all around her, against the staring sun flowers loud and bold.

Chapter III. Home

' Who is that yellow frock among the yellow flowers ?' asked Otto van Helmont. ' But, of course, I can guess,' he added immediately. ' That was the parsonage we just passed. The " nut-brown maid " must be Ursula Rovers.' ' Ursula ? Was she there still ?' replied Gerard, flicking a fly from the horse's flank. ' She seems to live in the garden. Doesn't care tuppence about her complexion.' ' She is very remarkably beautiful.' HOME 13 ' Do you think so ? I never noticed. You see, I have known her all my life. She is just the parson's daughter. I suppose she reminds you of your own Javanese.' Otto flushed, and the two drove on, side by side, in silence. They were very unlike to look at ; there must have been, as Dominie Rovers had said, from fifteen to twenty years' interval between them. The young man was spruce and slender, carelessly elegant in appearance and attitude, the elder brother, the planter, sat square and stalwart, with ruddy skin and tawny beard.

He was coming home for rest, weary of the jaded splendour of the tropics ; as they drove on, he turned right and left, with eager, misty eyes. The salute of the passing peasants delighted him ; he watched, in quiet ecstasy, their long-drawn glances of inquiry or semi-acknowledgment. This was better than the humbly crouching savages under the cocoa trees. This was recognition : this was home. The avenue was home, the white house behind the trees was home, and the clasp of his mother's arms — no, that was home. Never mind,' for one* moment, the rest. ' You have gray hairs here and there, Otto,' said the Baroness van Helmont fondly. ' I never knew I was an old woman before.' Otto's father bent down quickly and kissed her slender hand. ' My dear, you will never grow old,' he said. ' You belong to the things of beauty, and you remember what the English poet said of them.' The little porcelain lady laughed among the laces of her morning-gown. ' Yes, but the French poet said just the reverse, and in matters of beauty the Frenchman is the better judge.' 'Well, let Otto be umpire.

He is best able to decide. Otto, do you find that your mother has grown a day older since you left ?' The old Baron looked towards his big son with what, on his easy features, was almost an anxious expression. ' Yes, she is older,' said Otto. The Baroness laughed again. ' My dear,' she said ; ' he is impossible as ever. Leave him. He, at least, has not changed.' Mynheer van Helmont dropped his eyelids with a quick movement of vexation, and walked from the room. V Mother and son were left together. They went into the Baroness's little turret-chamber, a rounded bonbonniere , all pale flowered silk and Dresden china, with a long window overlooking the park. ' Sit down, child,' said the Baroness. ' Are you glad to be home again ?' A lump in the strong man's throat prevented im mediate reply. Presently he took his mother's jewelled fingers in his own. ' And what have you been doing all this time ?' he said. ' Doing.

But, my dear, we have been living. What else should we do ? It is you who have shot the tigers. Nothing has happened here.' ' Grandpapa is dead,' said Otto meditatively. HOME 15 ' Ah yes, grandpapa is dead. That is very sad, but he had been childish for years. He lived upstairs in the blue-room and never came out of it. He did not know us. He used to mistake me for some horrid recollection of his youth, and call me Niniche. It was very embarrassing.' They were both silent. ' Your father said it was a great compliment,' added the Baroness gravely. ' And his pension ? What has become of that ? How did you manage ? I have often wanted to ask.' ' Well, of course, his pension went. Your father had always said it would make a tremendous differ ence. I cannot say I find it has.' ' But it must,' persisted Otto. ' Of course.

My dear boy, have you still your old liking for business ? I beg of you, do not begin talking of it just yet.' Otto smiled. ' Come, lean your head on my lap as you used to do. Wait a minute ; you will spoil my dress.' She spread out a flimsy bit of cambric which could have protected nothing, and sat softly stroking the dark hair from his face, as he lay on the rug. ' You have come back heart-whole ?' she said presently, but there was not much interrogation in her voice. ' Yes, mother." The tone excluded doubt ; not that anyone ever thought of doubting Otto. ' Gerard was always prophesying that you would bring back a " nut-brown " wife.' The words seemed to strike home strangely to Otto, like an echo. 'Gerard appears very lively,' he said. ' He always had exceedingly high spirits as a boy. But, of course, I hardly know him.' ' He is brightness itself,' said the Baroness. ' He is like a constant sunbeam.

Dear boy, I hope he will make an advantageous settlement. And you too, dear Otto, I wish you would marry and ' — her voice grew tremulous — ' stay at home.' ' But, mother, I must first find a wife.' He spread out his fingers contemplatively on the white plush beneath him, among the gold-embroidered lilies. ' That is a woman's work, not a man's. It is a mother's, and I could easily manage it. A man should find all his loves for himself, except the one he marries in the end.' ' But would you look for a consort, mother, or merely for a mule with money-bags ?' ' Otto, how rudely you put things ! Contact with black people has not improved you. I should look for an angel, worthy of my boy — an angel with golden wings." She paused, and played shyly with the velvet at her wrist. ' Indeed, I hope you will marry a little money,' she added, looking away. ' Your father expects it.

And, besides, you must.' He did not answer. ' Gerard is going to,' she added, blushing over the pink and white tints of her delicate cheek. ' He quite understands it is necessary. He is doing his best." 'How commendable!' cried Otto, sitting up. ' He deserves, indeed, that his gilt-feathered seraph should bear him to a matrimonial heaven.' The Baroness looked placidly alarmed. ' My HOME 17 dear,' she said, ' don't, I beg of you, go spoiling your brother. He takes a much simpler view of duty than you. You have always complicated existence, poor child. You were a steel-clanging knight, Otto, in search of ogres ; he is a troubadour under For tune's window. And he never plays out of tune.' And then again there was silence between them while she drew down his head once more. But their thoughts were conversing still. ' Marrying for money,' he continued at last, and his voice was black with scorn. ' Marrying money and marrying for money are two very different things,' rejoined the Baroness patiently. ' As you know.

I should not like Gerard to marry for money. Nor you. You never will. But you can do as your father did.' The turret-chamber was cool, yet the glowing sun from outside seemed to penetrate to the cheeks of both mother and son. ' My father is a lucky man,' said Otto. ' But supposing you had not turned out to be you ?' ' Then there would not have been money enough. As it is, we had a little love and a little money ; that is the best blend, on the whole, to commence house keeping with. Both, I suppose, should go on in creasing ; with us, only one has done that.' ' Nobody has ever missed the money,' interposed Otto, smiling pitifully down on the costly rag at his feet. * Ah, you say that ! But I have often regretted that mamma's fortune was not larger. Papa, you remember, had squandered his share.

Your poor father might have got many things he had set his heart upon, and which now he is compelled to go without.' ' Yes,' said Otto, ' the house would have been twice as full again.' ' Exactly. For instance, he has always longed, passionately, to possess a " Corot." He has never been able to procure one. There is a very good " Daubigny " in the small drawing-room. By-the bye, it is new ; you must go and have a look at it presently. But the poor man has never ventured to buy a " Corot." I cannot help feeling it is almost my fault. Certainly grandpapa's. Yet he was always so considerate to grandpapa after we took him to live with us, never reproaching him with a word.' Otto did not ask : ' What is a " Corot "?' He lav stroking his mother's hand. Presently he started to his feet and walked towards the window. 'How beautiful it is!' he cried, 'how lovely!