Dare Macdonald. A romance of the Riviera

Front matter

A Romance of the Riviera BY E. R. MACNICOL ALEXANDER GARDNER Ifublisber to $er Wajestjj tbe Queen PAISLEY; and 26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE, LONDON CONTENTS Page. Chapter I., - - - - - 9 Chapter II., - - - - 14 Chapter III., - - - 17 Chapter IV., - - - - 19 Chapter V., \ - ■ - - 25 Chapter V, j - - - - 35 Chapter VI., - - - - - 42 Chapter VII., ... - S3 Chapter VIII., - - - - - 62 Chapter IX., .... 65 Chapter X., - - - - 78 Chapter XL, - - - 82 Chapter XII., - - - - - 101 Chapter XIII., - - - - 108 Chapter XIV, - - - - - 114 Chapter XV, - - - - 125 Chapter XVI., - - - - - 134 Chapter XVIL, - - - 146 Chapter XVIIL, - - iS9 CONTENTS. 8 Page. Chapter XX., - - . - 180 Chapter XXI., - - - - T94 Chapter XXII., - - - - - 210 Chapter XXIII., - - - - 225 Chapter XXIV.,- - - - - 234 Chapter XXV, .... 240 Chapter XXVI., } - - - 247 Chapter XXVI., i - - - 259 Chapter XXVII., - - - - 277 Chapter XXVIII., - - - - 290 Chapter XXIX, - - -

Chapter I

" A A. 7"HAT a Paradise this would be for children ! " I said, speaking aloud a passing thought to my friend, Adela Gresham, a young American girl. " I wish there were some here," I added. AVe were seated in the balcony of my bedroom, in the Hotel " de la Baie desAnges"at Nice, — our view, a lovely garden, white sands, beyond which the blue Mediterranean lay dancing and glittering in the sunlight. There was a promenade between our garden and the sands, but the rose hedge and pepper trees intercepted our view, so that the garden seemed as if it joined the beach. There were many people in the hotel, but for the moment they were not visible. Nothing livelier in the shape of humanity was to be seen than a withered looking Frenchman walking up and down a path (with the exception of ourselves). Adela, who was all bright ness looked up from the book she was reading with a comical smile of surprise on her pretty piquant face, and replied — " I did think, Nora Ramsay, you were kind hearted and sensible.

Now I know the contrary ; for if there is anything in this world downright cruelty to animals, it is dragging children round in hotels." " I don't see that," I answered, quietly. " If you had done Europe before you were eight years old, as I did, you would understand how feelingly I speak, and what a valuable authority I am on the sub ject. No sooner had my childish heart attached itself to something — place or person — than off we started, where again everything was cold and strange. If I had not had my old black doll Zoe to comfort me and keep alive my natural affections, I know I should have grown up utterly heartless and indifferent to everything." " Zoe ought to have a medal from the Humane Society," I said, laughing, " for having saved you." " Mother and father," Adela continued, " were wholly engrossed with sight-seeing, and little guessed my weariness when they were always discussing churches, picture galleries, palaces, and museums.

I remember once lying awake nearly a whole night wondering what an ' interior ' meant, and wishing there were no such things. Only this morning, I said to mother — ' AA'hat a delicious time we are having here, and how glad I am Madame Renaud does not receive children.' She refused a family of five last week. You would have laughed, had you seen the parents' faces. I was in the little salon, and so had the full benefit of the interview. ' Our boys are very quiet,' said the mother. ' One can see,' said Madame, with her blandest smile, ' that they are les enfants charmants. I regret so much it is impossible to find them place ; all my rooms are full.' I thought of the room next ours," continued Adela, "and the two empty rooms upstairs that the Jenks have just vacated, and I inwardly rebuked Madame, but I blessed her, too, on our own account.

I was just a wee bit sorry for the father. He had evidently been greatly taken with ' la Baie des Anges,' especially the garden, and he seemed so crestfallen, and the mother looked quite mad — what you call cross — at him, as if it were all his fault. They were English, not Americans " (this with a merry twinkle in her eye. as if Americans would have behaved better). " All the same, Adela, I wish I were a child, and could rush about in this garden and on these sands in such glorious weather. Perhaps just to punish you for not seconding my wish, a whole nurseryful will arrive to day and take possession of the room next yours." " Oh, my ! " exclaimed Adela, using an inelegant ex pression to which she was too much addicted; "how cruel you are, Nora. I would rather see a troop of Red Indians."

" I know some people are expected," I replied. " Madame told me so this morning. She also said that sometimes at the end of the season she did not refuse children ; but just to keep your mind easy, I think they are to have the rooms next mine. I've been hearing no end of brushing and cleaning, and the French people who had the rooms left last night. Madame said the people whom she expected are friends of Sir Kenneth Murray, the white-haired old man you admired who left last week. He always spends some part of the winter here, and is a great favourite of Madame's. Perhaps the people she refused were quite unknown to her. She is, as you know, not the most consistent or impartial of women. And a week in April does make a difference in the demand for rooms. This is the ninth, is it not ?" I added.

" Oh, look ! " cried Adela, " there is the omnibus, and, horror of horrors ! a bath trunk on the top, which means children." "At least a child," said I, and we both laughed heartily. AVhile we were speaking the omnibus swept round the drive, and with much cracking of the whip (a sure sign of a freight within) stopped at the entrance hall. At once all was commotion and show of welcome, — Madame Renaud bowing and smiling, the head waiter speaking his best English, and many subordinates ready to seize wraps, bags, and umbrellas. AA'e watched breathlessly, for the arrival of the omni bus was always an event of intense interest. " English," said Adela, speaking low, for our balcony was very near them. " An Indian officer," said I, as the occupant nearest the door stepped out. A pith helmet, very straight back, brown face, and large grey moustache, was what impressed me with the idea.

" His wife," said Adela, as No. i handed out a delicate-looking lady ; and, as a small boy jumped out unaided and his hat fell off, " oh, my ! just look at the child, how homely he is, red hair and freckles." " Nay, Adela ; he is a dear little mite. He has a sweet, frank face, and just see how he is resisting Francois' attempts to take the bag from him." " Give the bag to the porter, Dare, and come with me,'' we heard the supposed Indian officer say. An amused, kind smile lit up his sunburnt face as he held out his hand to the child, who, with an answering smile (which made them strikingly alike), at once gave up the bag, took the proffered hand, and both disappeared from our view, following the lady into the hotel. "I like the look of them; don't you? "said Adela. " They are Scotch — at least, I am sure ' Monsieur le Mari ' is."

" How can you be sure, Adela, when' you have not even seen Scotland, although you've done Europe?" I ■3 said, smiling, but not quite liking the idea that my countrymen had some striking peculiarity, or head mark, by which she, with her very limited experience, could identify them. This was rather inconsistent of me, as it always gave me pride and pleasure when I myself was at once recognised as being Scotch. " Oh, my ! " said Adela, laughing ; " they are easily known. Those grave, reddish brown faces and kind blue eyes always belong to Scotchmen, not to speak of the dry, well-modulated voice — a specimen of which we have just heard — and the air of stiff politeness. You see," she added, " I did not imply anything very bad against them. I dare not in your presence, so you need not have looked so reprovingly at me, Nora Creina " (which was her pet name for me).

" I love them all for your sake. No doubt, often that cold, hard manner, which you know, dear, is rather chilling to strangers, may only be assumed, in case one should guess how very soft-hearted they are and how easily henpecked. Joking apart," she continued, with a bright smile and a far-away look in her eyes, " if I don't succeed in getting an American to my liking, perhaps I shall marry a Scotchman." " I wish you would," I replied, laughing, " and come to live beside us. I hope you will be severe on your own countrymen's imperfections, so that mine will have a chance. But how you do go on, Adela," I added ; " you say such funny things." " Then I must go off now," she replied, " for I have heaps to do ; but you will see I am right about the ' newcomes ' " (she always called the new arrivals " new comes " till we learned their names); "and oh, my!" she continued, with a shrug of her graceful shoulders, "that child!

Something tells me the reign of peace and pleasure is over. I'll have to amuse it, play with it, or pity it — everything, in fact, but whip it, which I hope its parents do regularly. Adieu, mon amie, till dinner," and she was gone.

Chapter II

AA7"E were only friends of a few months' standing, and yet I felt for Adela Gresham and her mother as much sincere affection as if I had known them all my life. They had been so kind to me in that foreign land, which, although familiar and well known to them, was all new to me, and seemed very unhomelike at first. But for their friendliness, it would have been dreary in deed, in spite of the brilliant sunshine. Adela, though careless in speech, and pleasure-loving, was singularly unselfish and dutiful in her devotion to her mother, who was delicate. She anticipated her slightest wish with bright cheerfulness, and never seemed to grudge giving up any enjoyment if she thought her mother needed her or would feel dull. A neglected cold was the enemy that had banished me for a winter from my northern home.

My own neglect, for I was lovingly cared for by our old Nurse Nannie, and knew well I was acting contrary to her training in sitting through a concert with wet feet, and saying nothing about certain disagreeable sensations in throat and chest the next day, so as to go to a ball in the evening. However, I was well punished, and Nannie never reproached me, but nursed me most tenderly through a severe illness. AA'hen our dear old doctor decided I was to go south for a winter, it was Nannie who brought me to Nice. My father, a very busy man, could not leave home, and I was motherless. AVe were a family of eight children, of whom I was the eldest. Our mother died at the birth of my youngest brother, six years before what I am now writing took place, when I was about fourteen years old. Nannie had been with us ever since my birth — she was my foster-mother.

Her story was a sad one, although I know of no one who is now more cheerful and contented than she. At times, too, she is full of quaint humour, and is never a kill-joy to children. She was the daughter of a farmer on my grandfather's pro perty in the AA'est Highlands of Scotland. It is an island separated from the mainland by a narrow sound. AVhen Nannie was eighteen she married Hector M'Kinnon, the ferryman's son, who was a fisherman, and my grand father gave them a cottage to live in. They always crossed to the mainland on Sundays to attend the Parish Church and spend the afternoon with Hector's people. One Sunday, a little more than a year after their wedd ing, when they were taking their little baby son to show him to his grandparents, a white squall capsized the boat and Hector and the baby were drowned.

Nannie was found on the beach unconscious but alive. A few days after, Hector's body was washed ashore, with his little son clasped in his arms. They were laid in the beautiful old burying-ground of our island. I remember, as children, on our arrival at Freiocheilan, our Highland home, it was always one of our first duties to slip out (while Nannie was unpacking our things) and gather flowers and heather to lay on Hector's and the baby's grave, so that Nannie, when she went, would find it beautiful and well cared for. I suppose it was our mother's idea, for I have no recollection who first suggested it. She was very fond of Nannie, and brought us up to show her every respect. It was well-placed confidence, and was repaid by untiring faithfulness to our interests, and by the carrying out as much as possible of our mother's wishes with regard to us.

Nannie had a strong decided character, was conscientious and affec tionate, and had a native dignity, born of self-respect, which very nearly resembles the grace of manner that culture gives. She never spoke roughly or badly, like the other servants. Her language was either soft, good English, with of course a Highland accent, or Gaelic, which we all understood. Her calm self-reliance proved invaluable when great sorrow came to us, and our mother, the one being with out whom it seemed impossible the household could go on, was taken. I can recall how, on the evening of the funeral day, when I had gone to my room with childish selfishness to indulge alone in unrestrained sorrow, with out a thought except of my own desolation, Nannie came and took me in her arms, as she had done when I was a little child.

" My lamb," she said, " you know how I grieve for you, for no one knows better than I how much you have lost, but there are other sorrowing hearts in this house as well as yours. You must think of them. Take some tea to your father, and wait with him till he has finished it, and please send Master Lorn to me. They are in the library." (Lorn was my eldest brother, a year younger than myself.) I did as Nannie told me, and from that moment began to realise the change in my position, and how responsible it was to be the eldest of such a large family. My mother had been an only child, so was my father, and thus I had no aunts to help with their counsels or sympathy. It was Nannie and I who had to keep the rudderless ships on the straight course, for my father, after his bereavement, was more than ever engrossed by his profession.

He was always kind and ready to listen to us when we referred to him, but we did not trouble him with household matters more than was absolutely necessary. And so the six years sped away till I was banished for a time from my home by my own heedless ness. The life at Nice was rather trying to Nannie, so as soon as I felt quite well, and sufficiently at home not to mind being left alone, which I did in about two months, I sent her home to the other bairns, who, as I considered, needed her more.

Chapter III

' I 'HE lady and gentleman whose arrival in the omnibus with the child had given Adela and me such amusement in the forenoon, sat opposite to us at table d'hote that evening, they having got the places left vacant by the Jenkses. They were pleasant and frank in manner, and proved to be a Colonel and Mrs. Mac- Donald on their way home from India to England after a prolonged stay there. Adela's surmise about their nationality was correct, they were Scotch, and. were interested to hear of the changes in Edinburgh and the Highlands since they had left their native land — indeed, before the evening was over, we were chatting away like old friends. Among other little mutual confidences, Mrs. MacDonald said — " AVe are rather in a dilemma about our little boy. I shall have to see about getting some one to take charge of him while we are here.

I had hoped some friends whom we expect shortly would have reached Nice before us, and secured a nurse for him before our arrival. AA'hen we were up country," she continued, " about three months before we left India, his ayah took ill, and we could not easily get another there, so we had to take charge of him ourselves, with the help of an old soldier. AA'e got on so well, and he gave us so little trouble, that when we got back to Calcutta, where, of course, we could easily have got an other ayah, we decided we should do without one and take him to England ourselves, trusting to get occasional help. AA'hen I brought our little girl home to England I had an ayah with us, and found her such a nuisance. I was delighted to think we could manage without one on the voyage, only I am afraid it has been sad spoiling for Dare," she added.

" Most likely Madame Renaud will know of some one," I suggested. "Yes," said Mrs. MacDonald; " I should think she must. I shall see about it to-morrow. I suppose it must be a French bonne, which will be rather a trial to Dare at first, as he won't understand her, but children very soon pick up a foreign language, and we expect our little girl soon. She has been in school in Paris since I left her there seven years ago, so she will be able to inter pret for Dare. Some friends are to bring her, I hope in a few days. AA'e are longing to see her," she added. "No doubt she will be much changed," I said, "and grown." " She was just five when I left her," Mrs. MacDonald replied. " How old is Dare ? " I asked. Something strangely interested me in the child. Whether it was that he had seemed an immediate fulfil ment of my idle wish or not, I do not know ; but I kept thinking of him and hoping he would be as happy as I had thought a child should be in such surroundings.

" He is nearly five," said Mrs. MacDonald, in answer to my question. " Small for his age, is he not ? " she added; "but he is very healthy." " He looks an intelligent little fellow," I said, "and manly for his age." " He has been so much with grown-up people, it has made him very self-possessed. I do hope I shall be able to get a bonne who can come at once. As we shall be so much occupied seeing friends, he cannot be with us." Just then Mrs. Gresham, Adela, and Colonel Mac- Donald, who had been walking in the verandah, came in, and conversation became general.

Chapter IV

' I 'HE next afternoon, Adela and I volunteered to take charge of Dare while his father and mother went to Nice bonne hunting. AVe took him to the sands, and had a merry time. In the forenoon we had purchased a spade and gaily-painted pail, which we presented to him. These gifts so won his heart that he seemed quite happy to be left with us, and he was so droll and old-fashioned he kept us in fits of laughter. Adela continually pro tested that she was being made a victim and a martyr, etc., etc., and that she had foreseen what our life would become when she first caught sight of the bath-trunk. All the same she devoted herself to the little fellow's amusement with great good humour. "Should you like some other little children to play with you ? " we asked him. " No," he replied. I don't know any.

I like father best, then mother and ladies." " Are you an Englishman ? " asked Adela. " No," he said ; "lama Highlander from India." "And an Irishman," said Adela, laughing. "Your sister is coming soon," I said. "Shall you be very glad to see her ? " " Yes," he replied, with a bright, sweet smile that lit up his little freckled face into beauty. " Father loves her, and says so must I. Her name is Mary. AA'hat is yours ? " he asked, turning to me. " Nora," I replied ; " and hers is Adela." " I wish you were my sisters," he said, in a dreamy voice. " Can you be if you like ? " " No," I answered ; " but we will be your friends. Come here," I added, " and give us each a kiss to seal the compact." He got up gravely from his sand heap and solemnly kissed us, repeating Nora and Adela half to himself, as ifto impress our names on his memory.

At five o'clock, Eugene, the hotel buttons, appeared to tell us that Dare's " souper " was " serve," so we took him into the salle a manger, where, up in the far corner, near one of the windows, a small table was set with bread and milk. AA'e decided to have our afternoon tea beside him, greatly to his delight, and Adela went for her mother, who had spent the afternoon writing in her room. AVe were scarcely seated at tea when Madame Renaud joined us, she having come in to the salle d manger to make her usual inspection of the table d'hote arrangements. " AA'hat an adorable enfant he is," said Madame, as she seated herself by me. " But you have no confiture. ' Mon Choux,' go bring some at once," she said to one of the waiters ; " de Saint James," she added. " AVhat does the lady mean by ' confiture ? ' " asked Dare.

" She means jam," I explained. " All little boys like jam." " And this is good, good," said Madame Renaud ; " de Saint James, mon petit, who is the best in France." " Thank you," said Dare, as she helped him largely ; and he murmured " San jam " to himself, pronouncing it exactly as Madame had done, and no doubt believing the " Saint " meant a kind of fruit. He ate very daintily, and attended to our wants with strict politeness — like a " vrai petit Monsieur," as Madame expressed it. " Let me help you," he would say, with a grave courtesy that was most amusing in such a little child. Most likely it was a copy of his father's manner, for one could see he was a mimic, as all children are more or less. " Is it not very kind of these demoiselles to play with a little stranger boy like you all the afternoon when they might have been at the concert?" said Madame Renaud.

" Yes," said Dare ; "they are very kind, and I love them." " It will be well when the bonne comes," said Madame, in an aside to us. "Is Captain Armstrong's dog 'Bonne' coming?" cried Dare, with wondering eyes. " I am so glad," and he clasped his tiny hands with joy. "No, dear," I said; "Madame Renaud does not mean that." " AVho is Captain Armstrong ? Tell us all about him and his dog," said Adela, by way of a diversion. " He was a friend of father's, and lived in the next compound. If you had been in India you would have seen him, and he brought ' Bonne ' to play with Dare — such a funny dog," he added, laughing at the recollection. " It sat with a pipe in its mouth and a cocked hat on. AA'hen it walked it looked like the picture of a lion, only it was black, and sometimes it walked on its hind legs like a monkey ; but tell Dare what ' bonne ' is coming," he added, earnestly.

" It is some one who is coming to take charge of you," said Adela — " to take you out, and dress you, and play with you on the sands." " Ah ! you mean an ayah," he said, in a disappointed tone of voice. " I don't want one. I like father and mother best. AA'hen we were up country my ayah took ill, then I had to sleep in a little room beside father's dressing-room, and now Dare doesn't want ayahs. In the morning, father comes and says, ' Turn out, little captain,' and I say, ' All right, Colonel," and then he gives me a ride on his shoulder till mother is ready to give me my bath. Then father dresses me and brushes my hair, and mother puts on my bow. You know," he added, " I have a fresh white suit every day before dinner, and then I put it on the next morning, and if father sees a speck of dust on it he says, ' This wont do, AA'innie (that mother's name, you know, but Dare must not call her that), and so mother gets me another.

I don't need an ayah ; they are no good except to make into elephants," he added, with a very decided expression on his face. AA'e laughed at the dear little fellow, but something told me poor little Dare's troubles would begin when the French bonne makes her appearance. She would not allow herself to be made into an elephant. Before we had finished tea, Colonel and Mrs. Mac- Donald arrived from Nice (the town — our hotel was in a suburb), looking very tired and dusky, so they were glad to join our tea party. After much hunting about, they had succeeded in getting a bonne whom they thought would suit very nicely, but unfortunately she could not come till the following Saturday, and this was only Tuesday. " I don't know how we shall manage," said Mrs. Mac- Donald, "for we have two dinner engagements and three luncheon parties this week.

Could you not let me have one of your maids for the time?" she said, turning to Madame Renaud. " If so, I shall feel greatly obliged." " Si, si, certainment," replied Madame Renaud. " I will give Euge'ne for the most of the day, and one of the maids can always go whenever you ring and do every thing you require." One of Madame's little peculiarities was always to agree with evident pleasure to anything she was asked, but whether the agreement was carried out to the letter as well as in the spirit was quite a different matter. " AA'e shall be glad to take care of Dare," exclaimed Adela and I, eagerly, smiling to each other as we expressed the same idea together. " You don't know how we have been amused by him," I added. " He is a dear little fellow, and reminds me so of my little brother Archie."

" Yes ; I like to be with Nora and Adela," said Dare, gravely. " Please, mother, don't get an ayah," he added. " AA'hy, Dare," said his father, " you must not call these ladies by their names. They are Miss Ramsay and Miss Gresham. I hope you are very grateful to them for their kindness to you, and have thanked them politely." The child flushed slightly, then looked up with a sweet, pathetic expression, and said — " No, father ; I forgot to say ' thank you, but I told them I loved them, and I tried not to give them trouble. They said I might call them Nora and Adela ; must I change it now? " he asked. " No, no," we exclaimed, and the Colonel smiled, so it was thus decided we were to be Nora and Adela to little Dare. " I see you have quite won his heart," said Mrs. MacDonald. " That ' love declaration ' is only made to very few and great favourites ; it means volumes in his limited language.

He would not acknowledge he loved anyone on board ship. Some ladies used to ask him regularly if he loved them, and he only replied, ' I will try,' so you are highly favoured." AA'e laughed, and got her to promise that she would let us know when we could be useful in the same way till the bonne's arrival. " I have told them all about Captain Armstrong's ' Bonne,' " said Dare. " AVhat a memory he has," said Mrs. MacDonald, turning to the Colonel. " It must be nearly two years since we saw Captain Armstrong." " May I come on your knee, father, and go to sleep ? " asked Dare. "You may come on my knee, little soldier," said the Colonel, " but you must not go to sleep yet. As soon as I have finished tea, I shall stow you away in your hammock before we dress for dinner. AVe are going out to-night, so I'm sorry," he added, turning to us, "we shall not have the pleasure of being your vis-a-vis at table d'hote."