The Girls of Feversham

Front matter

THE GIRLS OF FEVERSHAM. BT FLORENCE MARRYAT, (MRS. ROSS CHURCH), AUTHOR OE "NELLY BROOK E," & C, & C. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: EICHAED BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1869. The right of Translation is reserved. TO MRS. FREDERICK MARRYAT. My dearest Mother, I dedicate to you this little story ; the first perhaps, from my pen, in which not a line is to be found which can be called " sensational," and trust you will accept it with the love of your daughter. Florence Marryat Church. BRUSSELS, February, 1869.

Chapter I. The Squire's Family

Norfolk is not noted for its pretty features, yet, on the Saturday afternoon which commences this eventful history, the rays of the dying August sun could hardly have beamed upon a fairer picture than was presented by the house and grounds belonging to, and occupied by, Thomas Ripley, gentleman-farmer, and Squire of Feversham, in that county. The house itself, a square, old-fashioned structure of grey stone had but one merit, substantiality — and but one grace, the mel lowed hue of age. Yet what it lacked VOL. I. B artistically was scarcely apparent to the eye for the natural beauties by which it was surrounded. At this, the richest season of the year, wben Autumn was about to overturn her cornucopia on the earth, the front of Squire Ripley's house, saving its doors and windows, was almost hid from view.

On one side grew an enormous pear tree, climbing to the very eaves. About the stone porch was wreathed clematis, and above it appeared the crimson leaves of the Virginian creeper. A grape-vine, which should have confined its growth to the side of the building, had intruded both fruit and flowers on the front, whilst roses, York and Lancaster, peeped into the lower windows, and ivy with its shining dark berries, and glossy, close clinging leaves, filled up every vacant space. Immediately before the house lay a vast lawn, close-trimmed and circular ; at either side of which, beds of well-grown shrubs shut out the carriage-drive. There were no flowers upon this lawn, except such as grew on the edges of the beds, yet its expanse was by no means un broken. Three gigantic mulberry trees, the years of which we*e mythically many, were grouped at one corner ; an acacia, trained so that its branches might reach the ground, and form a leafy bower, stood in the centre, whilst various light trees, such as the beech, the willow, and the mountain ash, grew sufficiently near the confines of the grass to render it shady and attractive.

It was attractive, surveyed from any point of view, and rendered still more so by the traces of human occupancy which bestrewed it. Beneath the mulberry trees were two or three chairs ; a straw hat with fluttering blue ribbons, and a basket of knitting, overturned. At a little distance stood the croquet hoops and sticks, with the mallets lying here and there, and the gay balls speck ling the green sward; whilst further on, 'a couple of bows thrown carelessly upon B the ground, directed the attention to where the target, still bristling with half a dozen arrows, was erected. The front door stood wide open, disclosing a well sized hall within. On the steps, a cat was blinking in the sunshine ; dogs, large and small, lay panting on the heated gravel. Only one puppy, too young as yet to know the blessing of rest, thought it worth while to exert himself, and was busily em ployed destroying a mallet on the grass ; the drive was everywhere impressed with the marks of horses' hoofs, and the traces of carriage wheels.

There seemed no lack of life, either animal or vegetable, about Squire Ripley's house at Feversham. On either side of the porch were three long windows, opening upon banks of flowers. One set be longed to the drawing-room, the other to the dining-room ; in the latter apartment the table was now laid for tea. White and brown bread, fresh butter, thick cream, honey from the hive, and home-made preserves; together with pfled plates of apricots, nectarines and green gages, were all to be seen there. Of the luxuries which country life pro duces, there seemed to be no stint. The furniture of the room, too, though old fashioned, was substantial and in good repair. The Brussels carpet was more faded than worn, and a little French polish would have made the solid ma hogany chairs and table look fresh again.

Yet it seemed as though too inexperienced a housekeeper were at the head of affairs ; as though there were no one to whom it was a matter of interest to keep up the beauty as weU as the comfort of the es tablishment. And this was the case : Mrs. Ripley having now been dead for many years, and her place but inefficiently filled by her eldest daughter, Ursula. Ursula was sitting behind the tea-urn at the present moment. A girl with a sweet, serious face — too serious for one and-twenty — with dark brown hair, grey eyes, and a delicate nose and mouth, set in an olive complexion. In figure she was small and slender : an ordinary girl to strangers, an extraordinary girl to such as had sounded the depths of her character. Her sister Eleanor, her junior by two years, sat by her side. She was taller, larger, finer in every respect than Ursula, and she made much more of herself.

Whilst the elder sister was robed in a plain muslin belted at the waist, with her hair simply twisted into a thick plait and coiled round her shapely little head, the younger was attired in the heighth of the fashion, or according to. the rumours of the fashion which had penetrated to Feversham. Her hair, lighter by many shades than Ursula's, was worn in a large chignon on the top of her head, from which depended about two yards of narrow blue ribbon, a source of continual annoyance to poor Eleanor, from the capital oppor tunity it afforded her brother Corney to pretend to drive her in harness from behind. The train of her light dress was tumbled and soiled from having swept the shrubberies during a considerable part of the afternoon, and her flounced muslin petticoat had sustained a grievous rent from contact with the fruit bushes ; but that circumstance would certainly not have the power to shorten her next skirt by the quarter of an inch.

Eleanor Ripley was well acquainted with the saying, " il faut souffrir pour etre belle," and would, if necessary, have been a martyr in the same cause. The brother who was sufficiently unregenerate as to see neither use nor beauty in the ribbons pendant from her chignon, was lying on the ground by one of the open windows, face downwards, supporting himself on his elbows, and deeply engaged in reading. His name was Cornelius Ripley, and he came next to Eleanor, being seventeen years old. "Why doesn't Joseph ring the tea bell ?" demanded the younger sister in a captious voice. " What would be the use, since we are all here?" said Ursula, gently. " We are not all here," was the sharp reply, "papa and Henry are away, and so is Baby." " Papa and Henry are gone to Norwich and will not be home till late, and Baby is out riding somewhere.

We will not wait tea for her." "It's so irregular," grumbled Eleanor. " I do wish papa would consent to have late dinners like other people. Now, just look at that boy there ! did you ever see such a figure, and why doesn't he come to the table ? Corney !" Corney made no reply, his fingers were thrust into his ears, and his eyes were fixed upon the pages of a translation of Gil Bias. " Corney ! can't you see that tea is ready ?" reiterated his sister. " Ursula and I have been seated for some time. He does it on purpose, Ursula; he hears perfectly well what I say." Ursula made no reply ; she was busy with the cups and saucers and the tea pot. " Corney !"" repeated Eleanor, angrily, her voice rising to the occasion. " I'll take that book away if you don't attend when I speak to you. Tea is on the table.

I have told you so a thousand times already." " Botheration !" exclaimed the boy, starting to his feet with a face of annoyance, and flinging Gil Bias to the other end of the room, " why can't you leave a fellow when he is at peace ! Your tongue goes clack, clack, clack, from morning till night, and you won't stop it, even when your mouth's full." Eleanor, having just taken rather a large supply of bread and butter on her plate, felt this remark keenly. "Your rudeness is past all bearing," she said loftily, as she attempted to push her plate behind the shelter of the tea urn. " And so is your impertinence," he retorted. " You'd like to queen it over the whole house, Mrs. Eleanor, but it won't pay. You had better rest satisfied with looking after yourself, you' can do that pretty well. Oh, I say, Ursula !" he con tinued, with all a boy's delight at teasing, "just look what a lot of bread and butter she's crammed upon her plate, and she tells everyone her appetite's ' so poor,' and that she doesn't ' eat enough to feed a fly.' " Eleanor reddened at her brother's remark, and Ursula laying her hand upon his arm, said quietly, " Don't tease, Corney, there's a dear boy."

Corney was a good-natured young fellow, and did not seem to require much persuasion, for he changed the subject at once. "Where's Baby?" " Out on Dragon, somewhere. Papa gave her leave to ride him this afternoon, and I have not seen her since dinner." " Have you been up to the Manor ?" " No ! where's the use ?" " But they're back again." " Back again ? not the Pelhams ! oh, Corney, where did you hear it ?" Both sisters immediately became excited, and plied him with innumerable ques tions. Eleanor even forgot her ill-humour. " Have you seen them ? Did you meet Mary ? Has Lord Augmering come with them ? When did they arrive ? And what on earth made them choose to return on a Saturday ?" " You had better go up and ask Polly all about it," replied Corney, " for I know nothing but what I've told you."

"But, Corney, are you sure that it is true ?" exclaimed Ursula. " I did not think they would be home for another fortnight at least. Mary said nothing of it in her last letter to me." " I am sure that it is true," he replied, " because I saw them. I was standing by the Home Close, talking to Mr. Shawe, when the carriages passed. There was Mrs. Pelham and Polly, and a girl with fuzzy hafr in the first — " " That must be Miss Marsh, the Admiral's ward," interposed Eleanor, turning to her sister. "And the second was full of strange faces. I didn't look at them. Polly saw me, and kissed her hand. I don't think the others did." "And how was she looking?" asked Ursula, eagerly ; and then with a sigh of affection, " Dear Polly !" " I'm sure I can't tell you ; they were gone before I could look at them.

She had something blue upon her head, and that is all I know about it." "And why didn't you tell us before?" asked Eleanor, with a slight return of her former domineering manner. " I can't say. I was busy reading, and never thought of it. Besides, as you are so very clever, you might have found it out yourself." "Just like a boy!" remarked Eleanor, with a stinging emphasis on the term. " A girl would have had twice as much to tell about it. Didn't you even see Lord Augmering ?" " No ; I didn't even see Lord Augmer ing !" he replied, mimicking her tones. She tossed her head indignantly. " I'd rather have heard about him than any of the others. I am so anxious to see him. I wish we could go up to the Manor this evening." " Pray, don't think of such a thing," said Ursula, hastily. " They must have returned suddenly, or Mary would have written me word of their coming; and with so many guests in the house, they will be in the greatest confusion.

We must wait patiently, Eleanor, till we hear something further. We are sure to see Polly herself to-morrow. Here's Baby !" The sound of horses' feet cantering up the drive was now heard, and in another moment, the dogs were scattered far and wide, and a tall cob with a slight figure perched upon his back, was pulled up perilously close to the flower-beds beneath the window, whilst a clear, girlish voice rung out : " Ursula ! I've been for such a glorious ride ! nearly as far as Cromer, and — I hope papa isn't home," (bending from her saddle to peep into the room), " for Dragon's in such an awful heat. Have you done tea yet ? I'm so hungry." This was Alicia Ripley, the youngest of the family, whose pseudonym of " Baby " had never been usurped, because her poor mother had died in bringing her into the world.

Far and wide was she known as " Baby Ripley ;" even casual acquaint ances learned to speak of her by that title, although she was commencing in the pride of her sixteen years to take affront when not addressed by her proper name. She appeared to be a favourite with her brother and sisters, for all three faces lighted up at the sound of her voice. " We have nearly finished ; but we'll begin over again for you, Baby," shouted Corney, and, " Oh ! do make haste, we've got such news !" burst from the lips of Eleanor. But Ursula quietly rose from her seat and went to the front door to meet her sister, just as the girl had flung Tlie Squire's Family. 15 herself without aid from the back of her horse, and carelessly cast the reins to the groom in attendance. If Baby were the pet and plaything of the rest of her family, she was something more to Ursula — a charge which had de veloped into the nearest, almost the dearest thing she possessed in this world.

" Oh ! my child, how hot you are !" she exclaimed, with motherly interest, as Alicia lifted the riding-hat from her heated brow, and threw it on the hall-table. " You should have waited to go out till the sun set. Won't you change your habit before you take your tea ? I am afraid you will not get cool till you are rid of it." " Oh, no ; don't bother !" said the girl, as though impatient of her sister's care. " I shall do very well as I am, and I'm too tired to go up-stairs," and so they passed into the dining-room together. As she appeared there, in her dark, close-fitting habit, and with her uncovered head, Baby Ripley presented as pretty a living picture as it is possible to see. She was pink and white china, humanised ; an animated Dresden shepherdess in modern dress. Her hair, of a light sunny brown, was cut in a curly crop, a style which though it has now been handed over for the con sideration of a lower class, was fashionable amongst ladies a few years back, and be came the slight figure and piquante, dimpled face of this little lady exceedingly.

She appeared to resemble her sisters only so far as their best points were concerned ; yet, though she had Ursula's delicate features without her olive complexion, and Eleanor's rosy colouring without a suspicion of its coarsene'ss, the face of Alicia Ripley possessed a fault from which theirs were entirely free. Whatever feelings Ursula and Eleanor experienced, their eyes were earnest in expressing ; but those of the youngest sister, though clear and sparkling as crystal, were utterly shallow. They had life, but no soul; and a physiognomist would have said, and truly, that their Tlie Squire's Family. 17 owner's thoughts seldom strayed beyond the consideration of her pretty self. " Oh ! Baby, we have such news for you !" repeated Eleanor, as they were once more grouped around the tea table.

" Have you — what ?" demanded Alicia, whose likeness to a Dresden shepherdess, not extending to her powers of consump tion, was already busily employed. " By the-by, Ursula, I met James Wood, and he has got a brood of partridges for me, and he is going to bring them over to morrow or the next day. You'll have to get the ants for them, Corney !" "But the news, Baby ? You don't seem to care a bit about the news !" " You haven't told me what it is." " Guess ! do try and guess." " I can't — " then with a sudden gleam, " Mr. Shawe's going to be married." They all burst out laughing. " Why what on earth put that into your head ?" " I don't know, I thought it would do VOL. 1. C as well as anything else ; it's time he did, any way." " Well, it isn't that then, try again ; it's something much nearer home."

" Not papa, I hope — nor Henry — Oh ! say it isn't papa, I should hate it so," with a quick look of dismay, comic in its needlessness. Her brothers and sisters laughed again. " Oh ! Baby, Baby !" exclaimed Ursula, " can't you think of anything but mar riage. Can no news affect us except it concerns that?" "It's the ' whole duty of man' with Baby !" said Corney, pulling her on to his knee. " It's no such thing," she pouted, wrig gling off again, " however, you may as well tell me your stupid news, Eleanor, for I can't guess any more." " The Pelhams have come home." " No ! have they really ? Is Lord Aug mering with them ?" Lord Augmering appeared to be a subject of vital interest to all the female portion of the Squire's family. " How can we tell ? we've seen nothing and heard nothing, except that Corney saw them pass on their way to the Manor.

But Mary said in her last letter to Ursula, you know, that he was sure to return with them." " Oh, how jolly ! oh, what fun !" ex claimed Baby, clapping her hands. " I shall die of laughing to see them together. Do let us go up to the Manor, Ursula. I'll change my habit in ten minutes, and it is beautifully cool now. Let us all go up." She was dancing towards the door as she spoke ; but Ursula did not move. " No, Baby ! indeed it must not be ; Eleanor and I have already decided that it would be very inconsiderate to try and see Mary to-night." " But why ?" demanded Alicia, knitting her brows. " Because they have only just arrived, dear, and must be in great confusion. Mrs. Pelham and Mary will have quite c enough to do to look after their guests, and we should be in the way, and perhaps unwelcome."

" Polly is always glad to see me," pouted Baby, " and I want to see her so much." " You are sure to see her to-morrow, after church, and she certainly would not have time to talk to you to-night. I want to see her also, but I am obliged to be patient." " It's all nonsense about her not being able to speak to us," persisted the younger sister. " She said she had a present for my birthday, and it wouldn't take long just to give it me." " She will give it you as soon as it is unpacked, you may trust Polly for that. Come, Baby, be reasonable and finish your tea." " I don't want any more tea," she said sulkily. " Aren't you going to eat your nec tarines, or finish your bread and butter ?" "No, I've had enough!" was the curt rejoinder, and the speaker left the room. " Baby's put out," remarked Corney, as he picked up Gil Bias from the ground, and prepared to vault through the open window and over the flower-beds.

Ursula was locking away the tea and sugar. " Baby must learn not to let such trifles put her out," she answered gravely. " I really think it would be rude of us to intrude upou Mrs. Pelham to-night, and I am sure papa would not allow it, were he at home." " But what shall we do, Ursula ?" said Eleanor, rising from her seat, " shall we go for a ride ?" "I would have done so, willingly; but as Baby has been on horseback already, and I should not like to leave her in her present mood alone, suppose we drive instead, Eleanor. Let us take the pony chaise and go over to Horston, and try and get some more ' hart's-tongue' for the fernery." " All right, I'm quite agreeable. Ring the bell and order it, Ursula, and I'll tell Baby as I pass her room." Tlie Girls of Feversham. The sisters rode and drove as they pleased.

Each one had been placed in the saddle as soon as she could preserve her equilibrium, and at this period they were allowed unlimited use of their father's stables, which were generally well stocked with young horses, the marketable value of which was increased by his daughters' breaking in. When Ursula and Eleanor again met in the hall, a pretty low-built phaeton, capable of holding four persons, with a pair of spirited ponies attached to it, stood before the door, ready to receive them. " Where's Baby ?" asked the elder sister, as she selected her own driving whip from the stand in the hall. " Isn't she here ? I'm sure she went downstairs before me. Oh, there she is in the drawing-room. Baby, we're ready !" " Very well ! .good-bye !" " Aren't you coming with us ?" ex claimed Ursula with surprise, for Alicia was dressed for going out.

" No ! I can't, I'm tired." "But what will you do with yourself then ?" in a tone of affectionate sym pathy. " Sit in the garden and read, or, per haps, stroll out and see some of your old women. I can't go grubbing for ferns, I've had enough exercise for to day." " I'm so sorry," said Ursula, " I wouldn't have proposed driving, if I had thought you would be too tired to come." " But why not ? surely you can drive without me." " Of course we can, but it would have been pleasanter to go together. Shall I stay at home with you, Baby ?" " No," with supreme contempt, " what nonsense, Ursula ! as if I couldn't look after myself, I'm sure I have to do it often enough." Eleanor was already seated in the pony chaise, and impatient of the delay. " Oh ! do come, Ursula ! don't stop talking to that little plague.

If she wants to stay behind, let her. Dandy will have a fit if we don't start soon." Ursula jumped into the carriage beside her sister, and gathered up the reins. Alicia, who had accompanied her to the door, disappeared into the house. " Stop, Eleanor, do take the reins for a minute, I must say something to Baby," and Ursula was out of the phaeton again almost as soon as she had entered it. She found Alicia on the stair-case. " Baby ! you won't go up to the Manor to-night, will you ?" She looked straight at the girl with her honest grey eyes. Alicia reddened beneath her sister's gaze, but stared back in return. " What are you talking of ? As if I should. You think no one has any sense but yourself, Ursula." " No ! I don't, Baby, but a sudden fear struck me. We don't always see things in the same light you know ; and you are my naughty child at times, and a little bit wilful — just a wee bit — aren't you, now ?"

The affectionate, coaxings tones did not seem to have much effect upon their hearer. She answered indifferently. " Oh ! I daresay I am, or you think so, Ursula, which comes to much the same thing, but you really need not worry your self about me this evening,. I hate to have people always worrying and looking after me. You never seem to remember that I was sixteen last birth-day." " Which was a fortnight ago," laughed her sister. " Oh, yes, I do remember it, Baby; you take good care that I shall." " Because you bother me so," retorted Alicia. Ursula's brow clouded. Alicia was in a measure placed under her charge, but she had never permitted the yoke to press upon her. " Well ! I won't bother you any more then, give me a kiss to show you're not angry, and I'll go at once." Alicia advanced her dimpled cheek for her sister's benefit, aud then Ursula ran down the stairs again, and in another minute her voice was heard, desiring the groom to " give them their heads," and the wheels of the pony-chaise flew down the carriage-drive.

Chapter II. John Brown

Mr. Riplet's house had no name. He and his father, and his father's father before him, had dwelt beneath that roof and derived their living from the tillage of those acres, but neither of them had thought it worth his while to christen his abode. Eleanor Ripley, in her love for grandeur, had tried hard to induce her father to call his place by some of the high sounding names of modern estates ; but the idea of such an innovation had displeased him, and he had steadily refused her request. The house was familiar enough to the villagers under the designation of " up t' Squire's," and their perfect knowledge where to find him, was all sufficient for the furtherance of Mr. Ripley's business. He was a strange, incomprehensible sort of man. Not an unkind father to his children, but morose and reserved in disposition, taking little notice of what they did or said, and continually engaged in an inward conflict between his natural stinginess, and a desire to place his family on a par with those of the county gentle men.

He permitted his sons and daughters every indulgence which did not actually interfere with his purse or his own con venience; but he never went a step out of his way to give them pleasure. They had horses to ride and drive, because the stables were full, and the animals required constant exercise ; they had fruit and flowers in abundance, because the gardens produced almost spontaneously, and pluck as they would, the quantity was not missed from the overflowing market baskets ; but books or music, or anything which required actual silver counted from Mr. Ripley's John Brown. 29 purse, these young people were forced either to procure by stratagem, or to sigh for in vain. They had all the enjoyments of a country life, with plenty of liberty yet they did not feel free. They were somewhat afraid of their father ; even Henry, the eldest, who was a young man of five-and-twenty, and Mr. Ripley's con stant companion and adviser, was used to say that he and " the governor couldn't hit it off together, and never should."

The fact being that the man had not a soul above agriculture, and on some social points was obstinately bent on having his own way. He had sent his two eldest daughters to a school at Norwich for a few years, in order to get rid of the trouble of children at home with no one to look after them ; but on their return, he had declined to let Alicia share in the same advantages. What was the use of Ursula and Eleanor having been well educated, if they could not impart their learning to their younger sister. So that the " baby's" education had been conducted, with the aid of the "Guide to Knowledge" and " Magn all's Questions," by these two, consequently the less said about it the better. Mr. Ripley did not object to his girls' accepting such small invitations as were occasionally tendered them ; but he never went out himself, and he persistently re fused to permit them to assemble their friends at his house.

He said it was be cause his father and grandfather had never entertained before him, and therefore there could be no necessity for his doing to ; but in reality he was too selfish to upset his comfort for the sake of his children, and too stingy to incur the slight expense to which such entertainments might put him. Therefore, Ursula, who notwithstanding the inevitable deficiencies of youth and inexperience tried hard to supply the place of their dead mother to her sisters, had decided that since they were to give no parties, they must accept no invitations ; and, saving a quiet evening spent occa sionally at the Manor, the Miss Ripleys John Broion. 31 never appeared in society. They lived a careless, useless sort of life at home, full of restless activity for lack of solid occupation ; but mostly dull and unsatisfying.