The Berkshire Lady. A romance

Front matter

Jl flxmtance. BY KATHARINE S. MACQUOID, AUTHOR OF "PATTY," ETO. " Bachelors of every station, Mark this strange but true relation, Which to you in brief I bring : Never was a stranger thing." 01,1 BnUad. portion : MACMILLAN AND CO. 1879. [The right of Translation is reserved.'] CHAKLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. gl-e&icatei To "BACHELORS OF EVERY STATION," SPECIALLY TO THOSE "BELONGING TO THE LAW." NOTE. The sketch for this story originally ap peared in a magazine, under the name of " Mistress Frances Kendrick 's Romance," and as it pleased its readers, the writer has been tempted to extend it and to paint it into what she hopes is a more complete and finished picture. The chief incident is taken from an old ballad, written to commemorate an event that really occurred in the beginning of the last century. Stanley Place, Chelsea, July, 1879. CONTENTS. $art I.

Being at a noble wedding, Near the famous town of Reading, A young gentleman she saw Who belonged to the law. Old Ballad. B

Chapter I

in kino's bench walk. Fleet Street was as crowded as it seems to have been ever since it was made into a thoroughfare for vehicles, and on this keen clear winter's day the slippery state of the frozen ground, and the consequent confusion among the horses and their drivers, made the crossing just by Temple Bar no easy matter. A gentleman, young, handsome, and of b decided fashion, both in dress and bearing; threw back his head impatiently as, at last, he reached the new stone gateway of the Middle Temple, and, passing under the meek emblem carved with the date on the centre arch stone, he strode down the narrow lane of sombre houses, leaving Brick Court — 7 O not then immortalised — on his rip-ht, and turning to the left, through Pump Court, soon reached the Cloisters, not long before rebuilt, and, passing through them, without casting so much as a glance at the gray old church of the Templars on his left, he passed Lamb's Buildings, and emero-ed into the O 3 O peaceful precincts called King's Bench Walk, It looked so full of peace — a refreshing con= trast to the busy scene through which he had struggled — here was perfect silence, disturbed only by the congenial caw of the rooks or the footsteps of some denizen of the Temple, as he walked across the broad open space, taking the air, with eyes bent studiously on the ground.

Mr. Harcourt crossed this quiet Walk with out looking towards the river that bounded its farther end, the rippling water, golden just now, as the wintry sunshine gleamed thereon, and passing under the row of leafless trees, and over the irregularly-paved open space between their trunks and the houses, he stopped before one of these at the upper end of the Walk — a wide red-brick house with a high red-tiled roof, finished with a wooden cornice and brackets. The door way was quaint, circular-headed, with brick pilasters, and over it a brick pediment. The frieze beneath this was divided into four panels, on which inscriptions set forth how these houses, having been burned in 1677, had been rebuilt in 1678, some thirty years or so before. But Mr. Har court had been too often in King's Bench Walk, and was in too impatient a mood, to take note of anything which did not hinder his progress.

After passing into the small entrance where the names of the inhabitants were duly registered on both sides of the door way, he began to climb the narrow stairs two or three at a time ; but the square turns of the staircase so checked thismcthod, that he could not make speed enough, and when he reached the third flight he grew tired, and stopping to breathe, looked about him. " 'Fore George," he said, " I remember now, Child said his new rooms were on the fourth storey; egad, that don't seem as if fortune were smiling on the poor fellow. Well, here goes," and he hastened up the next flight, which was narrower and mustier even than the others had been. He had to knock twice before he got an answer ; but after the second knock a deep voice said, " Come in," and next minute the door was opened and Mr. Benjamin Child came forward with a smile on his lips to welcome his visitor.

His smile was yet more genial when he saw who it was — " I was just thinking of you, Harcourt, and your marriage. I was wondering when you meant to get the knot tied. I shan't see much of you after that I fancy." As he spoke the smile faded, and showed that the expression of his face was some what sad without it. It was a handsome face as far as mere beauty of feature went, but its expression was delightful — so frank and simple. It seemed wonderful to find a man looking so fresh and unsophisticated. in the middle of crowded busy London — a man too who was a member of the learned Society of the Inner Temple ; for spite of the cloud on his face it looked as if peace inhabited its possessor. There was that leisurely sweetness shining out of the clear dark eyes, which one would rather have expected to find in a country gentleman passing his days in the sunshine and freshness of outdoor life, than on the face of a struggling barrister who had a mere pittance to exist on.

The room into which he showed his friend told a story both of poverty and of refinement. There were few comforts ; but there was no squalor ; and one or two pictures, evidently family portraits, and a goodly store of books, ranged closely in narrow shelves along the walls, showed that the occupant had at least some taste and learning. O Harcourt flung; himself into one of the old horsehair chairs with a force that made its back creak. "Pah !" he cried, looking round, "this is no improvement on your old quarters, man. You are higher up, have lower ceilings, and less light, for the windows are plaguy small." Child laughed, and, walking to the window, he threw both lattices open. "Well," he said, "tastes differ. I get more air and of a better quality. If you look out here you will see the river, and beyond it the Surrey hills, and I get plenty of air from the garden there on the left ; so that I can at least fancy myself near green fields and shady lanes, and the trees in front give a pleasant shade in summer time."

He looked over his shoulder, but Harcourt sat still, yawning. " I care nothing for your fields and lanes and trees," he said, "unless they be the fields and lanes of London. I shall have the pastoral sort in plenty when I am a Benedict and pay visits at Arderne Park. Give me joy, Child, all's settled, I'm to be married next month, and I want you to be best man at the wedding. We are to be married at Arderne." " I ! " Mr. Child flushed with some embarrassment. " I'm not much used to gay doings, old friend ; you had better choose someone who'll do you more credit." " Do me more credit, Ben ! you know well enough you'll be the prettiest fellow in the assembly, and as to dancing — 'gad, I've seen you dance a minuet — a man with legs like yours should be glad of a chance of displaying 'em." Here he poked his cane into Child's ribs, and burst into a hearty laugh.

Mr. Child laughed too. " I like dancing well enough," he said ; "'tis not that daunts me. 'Tis the ladies, Harcourt. Frankly, I am not a man of fashion, and I'm not used to such grand folks ; the belles at Arderne Park will expect me to be more courtly. I've none of the winning ways and languid speeches that I believe are the mode with fine gentlemen." Harcourt laughed again. "You need not be bashful ; it will be a thoroughly country bred gathering — you and I will perhaps be the only beaux who will venture to attempt courtly dancing. The chief belles there will be the Misses Arderne and their cousin, the heiress of Calcot. The Misses Arderne have been to London, but their cousin, Mistress Frances Kendrick, I'm told, is a thorough hoyden. I fancy a jig or a country dance will be more to her taste.

She hates forms and ceremonies. I'm told she even quarrels with any man who ventures to pay her a compliment. She's a beauty, though, I can tell you, but as wild as a hawk. 'Gad, who knows but you may tame the beauty of Berkshire. Come, old fellow, it's a bargain then ; you'll come, won't you ? Shake hands upon it, for I am up to the ears in pre paration for this unlucky event. Had I known 'twould have cost such a world of trouble, I should have thought twice before I paid my addresses." " The prize would not be Avorth having if it cost no trouble," said Child, smiling. ' Yes, I'll come, and I thank you for askino me, when you must have so many other friends. "I'll try and not disgrace your preference. You'll not have much time for all you have to do, I suppose ? " " Faith, no ; and now I think of it, I have an appointment with my tailor.

Good-day, Ben." They shook hands, and Child went down stairs with his friend. Harcourt nodded carelessly, and went back towards the Strand, swinging his cane so as to take up a considerable share of the narrow walk. " Ben's a fool," he cried, " to be so little of a coxcomb ; with his face and figure he should carry all before him. The world always rates a man at the value he sets on himself. 'Tis true enough that if Algernon Topham had not broken his leg, I should never have invited Child ; but he's the best-looking fellow I know ; though he's so quiet, he looks like a duke, and he's a good dancer, and that is the sort of man to please Lady Arderne." Child stood looking after his friend with a smile. He was pleased that Mr. Harcourt should wish him to be at his marriage, but he was surprised that a man of such fashion should choose out a quiet recluse to stand by him on such an occasion.

"Reading," he said, "why I might pay the visit I have promised Lyndford ever since I left college. I would sooner stay at his house than at Arderne Park, if the distance is feasible." Then he remembered that Mr. Harcourt had given no practical details, and, going back to his rooms, he proceeded to write a letter to an old school friend, a lawyer, of Reading, telling him of his intention to fulfil his long-promised visit, and inquiring the distance between the town of Reading and Arderne Park. By the end of the week a reply reached him from lawyer Lyndford, written in a formal hand, but containing a hearty welcome. After expressing his pleasure at the pros pect of a visit from his old friend, Mr. Lyndford congratulated him on the distinction of being an invited guest to Arderne Park. "Lady Arderne," he wrote, "is a woman of quality in our county.

You will find at her house some of the best blood in Berkshire, and you will also see our fair young heiress, Mistress Frances Kendrick, whose face and shape match her fortune. She is not yet twenty years of age, but has had the control of her estates since her seventeenth birthday, according to the terms of her father's will. So that, as you may suppose, she is closely be sieged by all the likely bachelors of our county; but inclines, I am told, to none among them. She wdl be a rare prize to whomsoever among them obtains her at last." Child's lip curled in some contempt. " They seem all in the same story about this wench," he said ; " I expect, like all stories, there is another side to it ; the heiress has either a bad temper, or her beautv is less perfect than Harcourt and Lyndford represent it to be.

Mayhap her suitors are not rich enough to please her. Harcourt should be a judge of ladies, but what time or inclination can a staid middle aged lawyer have to study young women ? I'll wager this Mistress Frances is red haired or wall-eyed. Money goes as far as a cosmetic as silver does in the swallowing' of a pill — 'tis a marvellous disguiser ; but I am curious to ascertain the truth, and I shall ask Harcourt to present me to the heiress, so that I may judge for myself whether she is worth the fuss they make about her. Now to see how much I can afford to spend on a wedding suit." c

Chapter II

A meeting. She was dancing a minuet, and the slow measured steps showed to perfection the graceful lines of her tall figure, and its well developed symmetry. Now resting her weight on one shapely foot, her well-set head turned over her shoulder towards her partner as she pre pared to leave his side — her round white arm curved to wave him a farewell, the pose of her lovely figure was so perfect that a buzz of admiration circled the room. Her partner, a tall, well-built man, with a strikingly handsome face, performed his part skilfully, and it was remarked among the bystanders that the pair completely realised the meaning of the figure they had just executed, and that they seemed very loath to part. His eyes were riveted on his partner's beautiful face, framed by long golden curls, and guiltless of paint — for as the couple met again after this temporary separation, the delicate colour on the fair girl's cheeks was seen to deepen, and her blue eyes darkened with pleasure.

" She is beautiful — vastly beautiful — no other word can fitly praise her — eh ! why do you look so glum, Wilder ? " This was said with some impatience by the most fashionable among the men in a o-roup near the ball-room door, to the gentleman who stood nearest to him, Sir Henry Wilder. c Sir Henry did not look fashionable. He had rather the air of a student. He was dark and thin, with an intense expression of sadness in his dark eyes. " I never gainsaid it, Knollys," he answered ; " she is beautiful, graceful too, and every other charmingname you can find to give to her outside perfections, but that is all — she has nothing within. There it ends — she is cold-hearted as a stone." Sir Henry Wilder turned sharply away, as if the subj ect vexed him. Sir Charles Knollys laughed heartily — he had a pleasant laugh, which showed off his fine white teeth and made his companions feel at home with him, though at first his rich dress and extremely fashionable appearance, and his French bagwig, made some of his old country friends, in their long perukes, feel shy of him after his long absence from Berkshire.

" I," Sir Charles went on, " can only speak as I found — I sat next Mistress Frances Kendrick at dinner time, and I found her behaviour delightful ; but then " — he looked slyly at Wilder — "I am not enamoured of this too fair Frances." " No, no — oh no — egad, we all know the reason of that," lisped another of the group — a fair-haired, thick-lipped youth, who kept his eyes fixed on Mistress Frances with a stare of gaping admiration. Sir Charles frowned and turned his back on the youth, but he went on speaking to Wilder, who was again gazing at the dancers. Wilder's pale dark face looked yet more gloomy as he noticed the glow in the lady's eyes. " I can't understand you, 'fore George, I can't," Knollys went on ; " what has come to you all about this girl ? Years ago, before I went to Italy, when Frances Kendrick was still a child, she was the pet and darling of the county ; and now I come back and find her an orphan and a great heiress.

Is it true, Iwardby" — he looked at a grave middle-aged man who had just joined the group — " did your grandmother really leave your cousin Frances fifty thousand pounds, besides the Calcot estates, which come to her under her father's will 1 " Mr. Iwardby nodded. "By the Lord," said Knollys, "this should have made the girl far more interest ing, and yet all through this day, whenever her name comes up, I do not hear a good word said of her beyond her beauty. One says she is lovely, but a coquette ; another vows she is divine, but a heartless jilt ; and, according to Wilder, who is the most bitter among ye, she is as cold as a stone." He looked round the circle of faces — some of them vexed, others confused, but all ready to fulfil what he had said — to blame the fair dancer. " Wait till the end of the evening," lisped Sir Francis Englefield ; " you will see for yourself."

Knollys laughed again. " By the Lord Harry," he said, " what has the poor wench done to you all ? " Wilder turned away abruptly, and before either of the others could answer, Mr. Iwardby stepped forward. " Come with me, Knollys," he said, " I want to show you an antique in the other room. Lady Arderne tells me you are quite a connoisseur." He drew Sir Charles's arm through his, and they went into a large room close by. There was not much light, except near a blazing wood fire on the hearth. The sudden change of atmosphere from that of the heated ball-room was very j>erceptible — the more so from the want of human life. Only a few old ladies sat crouching over the fire, discussing the bride and the wedding 7 O O arrangements, and Mistress Frances Ken drick the heiress. Most of the elder guests were deep in play upstairs in the card-room at the top of the great oak staircase.

One of the dowagers looked inquisitively at the two gentlemen, and Mr. Iwardby, who recognised her as Lady Barbara Parry — a noted gossip of the neighbourhood — drew Knollys on to the farthest of the deeply recessed windows, shaded, but not closed up, by heavy crimson curtains. The moon shone brightly over Arderne Park, silvering a broad grassed glade beyond the stretch of lawn— silvering, too, the lofty rows of elms on each side the glade — which, from time im memorial, had made a silent unused avenue on this side of the house. The scene out side made a pleasant contrast to the glare and heat the two gentlemen had emitted. "Dancing began early to-day," Mr. Iwardby said, ' ' and I fancy the young folks will keep it up till cockcrow — these wedding parties are so pleasantly irregular. At one of her usual assemblies, Lady Arderne lights up all her rooms in a very brilliant fashion, but I suppose evening has crept on imper ceptibly — and the servants' being very busy — this delicious moonlight is spared to us."

" It is quite early still," Sir Charles said ; " but you did not bring me here to look at the moon, did you, Iwardby ? " "No." Iwardby looked over his shoulder towards the group of gossips beside the fire. " I wanted to speak to you about my cousin, Frances Kendrick. It would not do to pro voke a quarrel on her account to-night, with any of those foolish fellows ; but it chafed me to hear you repeat that nonsense. This is how the matter stands : Her father made a foolish will — left the girl her own mistress at seventeen, and gave her as guardian her 3 o o aunt, who had at the time four unmarried daughters. Well, the upshot is that Lady Arderne has left Frances to take care of herself, and that she prefers to keep her freedom. Englefield and all the rest have, one after another, solicited her in marriage, ' O 7 and she has refused them all; and yet my wife says the girl is very frank and noble-hearted, disdaining all coquetry.

I can't see why she should be made the subject of public blame. Why should she be forced to marry till she meets with the man of her choice ? " " Has she refused Wilder ? " Sir Charles Knollys asked. " Well — no ; she has a respect for him ; he is not a mercenary suitor; and as he seemingly has shown his devotion pretty plainly, she, in return, has shown him by her manner that she wishes to spare him the mortification of being refused. Hence his anger. He is very hard hit, poor fellow." " But, in the name of Avonder, A\-hat makes the girl so difficult to please ? There are some pretty fello\Ars among these suitors, and she is easy and pleasant enough in her talk. There's something more in this than you fancy, Iwardby. Are you sure there's no one in the background for AAdiom she has a liking ?

Who was she dancing with just now ? " " I have been asking " — Mr. Iwardby looked grave — " but I can only learn that his name is Mr. Child. He is a Londoner, I hear — an old friend of our bridegroom." " If so, as far as looks go, Harcourt is luckier in his choice of a friend than he has been in a bride. Molly Arderne is not a tempting morsel." Knollys laughed. " No wonder Lady Arderne looks bright to-night. She could never have expected such luck as to get a fresh young husband like Harcourt O JO for one of her freckled awkward squad ; but never mind the Ardernes, you set your wife to watch Mistress Frances ; I Avarrant she is no more of a stone than Wilder himself. Look at her eyes, man, and see hoAV they change AA'hile she talks ; by gad, I ought to knoAV something about women." He smiled and shoAved his teeth.

" I feel certain that Frances has no attachment," said Mr. Iwardby; "I agree with you she is not cold, but she is no ordinary girl sighing for lovers, and looking on marriage as the paramount business of life. Camilla thinks she is possessed Avith an intense love of freedom ; and havino- 7 O been made her own mistress so young, she is resolved to keep free as long as she can do so. She is not vain, poor child — I some times wish she Avere less wealthy, and then she would be left free to do as she pleases." Sir Charles smiled. "You're AATronothere," o 7 he said ; " her money is a protection. I am surprised, however, that she does not take pity on Wilder ; he seems a perfect Colin in his love. They would suit to a hair. She so bright and frank, and he deep and earnest and reserved ; 'pon honour I must see if I can forward the affair.

Though he is my cousin and I am his next of kin, I'll go and sing his praises to the heiress." Mr. Hvardby shook his head. " No match-making, Sir Charles ; leave that to the ladies. I believe in the old saying about marriages — those of men's contriving too often bring hell on earth." At this Sir Charles laughed so loudly that Lady Barbara, AA'hose long thin neck had for some time been craned in the direction of the speakers in the far-off window, now began to fan herself, and protesting that she felt "vastly hot," she rose from her seat and walked softly towards the speakers. "Well done, Iwardby," Sir Charles Avas saying, " I see you stick to your Old World notions ; you still belieA-e in turtle-dovery and all the billing-andcooing folly of a painted fan. You see you were married quite tAventy years ago, AAThen folks lived in Utopia ; all that sort of thing is out of date uoav, 'pon honour."

Mr. iAA-ardbyreddened and looked awkAvard. "You must excuse me, Sir Charles, I fancied I was on safe ground ; I heard that you yourself were about to make a marriage of inclination." Sir Charles bowed, but Lady Barbara had now reached the edge of the carpet, and the tapping of her heels on the highly polished floor gave warning of her near approach. He looked over his shoulder, and Avent on in a lower voice : " I am going to marry, and you have been correctly informed. Mistress Caroline Courtenay and I have a prodigious esteem — regard if you will — for one another. You look grave ; now Avhat more do you expect of me ? I imagine you do not think that I fell in love like a linendraper's apprentice, wrote doggerel verses to my mistress, or com mitted any such romantic folly; you have not so poor an opinion of me, I trust."

"You must pardon me," Iwardby smiled; "I confess I hoped your affections were really engaged, and my creed is that real love has a power of transformation." Sir Charles put his hand on his friend's shoulder, and gave him a smile full of com- 3 o placent pity. " See what it is to live in the country and grow rural," he said ; " the sort of pastime you call love in courtship is quite gone by, unless for men one never hears of, AArith a few hundreds a year and no expecta tions. 'Fore George, we manage matters more easily nowadays. My aunt, Lady Ombre, presented me to her ward, Mistress Caroline Courtenay, and told me the ladv was in every way qualified to be mistress of Beaumont. I, on my part, took the trouble to satisfy myself of the correctness of Lady Ombre's judgment. I saw Mistress Caroline at the play ; and then we met in the Mall and were presented to one another ; and in a few more meetings the thing Avas done, and thank Heaven will soon be over."

Here he stopped, pulled out a snuff-box set with emeralds round a porcelain plaque repre senting the Graces, tapped the lid, and presented the box to Iwardby. " My dear fellow," he said, when each had taken his respective pinch, "you must come and judge for yourself the sort of hostess Lady Knollys makes when we return from the Continent. Faith, I must see dear Paris and Versailles once more before I settle into harness. When you see her, I think your dictum will be non c e male ! as the Italians say. Now shall aatc go and have another look at Mistress Frances Kendrick ? " While they stood talking in the moon light the room had been lit up behind D them, and now, as they turned round, the sudden brilliancy roused up Sir Charles's boisterous gaiety. " 'Fore George, I must have a dance," he cried. He left Mr. Iwardby and hurried to the ball-room, intent on getting the promise of a dance from the much-sought-after heiress. o

Chapter III. The Conspiracy

Sir Charles stood Avatching her till his turn came to claim her hand. He thought her still more lovely as he gazed ; her face was full of expression, and this so frequently varied ! Fearless and frank A\dthout any bold or masculine quality, and there was besides a peculiar freshness of look about her, an original simplicity that made her irresistibly attractive to such a hackneyed man of fashion as Sir Charles Knollys. But now his turn has come and he claims his partner. He has seen that she can d dance well, and he also dances a minuet with Mistress Frances. They move grace fully, but there is not the universal buzz of admiration that followed her dance with the stranger. Mistress Frances looks as lovely as eATer, but her heart seems less in this dance than in the other. Perhaps the room is warmer, for the flush on her cheeks grows bright, and yet her eyes do not glow with her cheeks.

Sir Charles is fascinated. He cannot help, under the influence of her beauty, whispering some high-flown compliments. "What a thing it is, madam," he says, "to be queen of beauty and yet to have a heart insensible to love and pity. If I had not heard the moans of your slain and wounded, I should never have dreamed that so fair a form could hold so hard a heart." Frances looks at him gaily. "Are you employed as advocate, sir ? " she says. " Heaven forbid, unless in my own cause ; but in all seriousness, madam, I must take the privilege of old friendship, and inquire the meaning of the complaints which I hear preferred against you." " Do you really call yourself my friend 1 " Her eyes sparkle as she looks at him, and Sir Charles thinks her perfect, and he begins to Avish both his engagement and Mistress Courtenay blotted from existence.