Margaret Chetwynd

Front matter

BY THE SAME AUTHOR. AILEEN FERRERS. A NOVEL. 2 Volumes, Crown Svo., Cloth. ' Her novel rises to a level far above that which cultivated women with a facile pen ordinarily attain when they set themselves to write a story. . . Its grammar is faultless, its style is pure, flowing, terse, and correct, there is not a line of sine writing from beginning to end, and there is a total absence of any thing like moralising, or the introduction of pretty ineffectual sermons. . . It is as a study of character, worked out in a manner that is free from almost all the usual faults of lady writers, that " Aileen Ferrers" merits a place apart from its innumerable rivals.' — Saturday Review. THROSTLETHWAITE. 3 Volumes, Crown Svo., Cloth, ' There is an idyllic calm pervading the story, which contrasts pleasantly with the sensationalism so much in fashion.' — Times. ' A novel of more than average merit.

It is to be highly praised for the moderation, the truly artistic moderation, with which both character and incident are handled.' — Spectator. * So good that we heartily recommend our readers to peruse it for them selves. ' — Standard. HENRY S. KING & CO.. LONDON. HY SUSAN MORLEY AUTHOR OF 'AILEEN FERRERS,' ' THROSTLETHWAITE,' ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. I. HENRY S. KING & CO., LONDON

Chapter I

£ k\w|gORBURY is a small town in one of r ]g\>|S the midland counties, important to the Jg-S^lg^j villages and country houses of the district immediately surrounding it, because of its market, its station, and its post-office, but otherwise remarkable only for dull insignificance. When the three o'clock train stopped there one Saturday afternoon in June a few years ago, there was the usual extra bustle of market-day traffic on the platform of the little station. The crowd was composed chiefly of departing country-people, but a few passengers alighted, one of whom was a young clergyman. He evidently did not expect anyone to be there to meet him ; but a young man who was waiting to go on westwards by the train went up to him immediately. VOL. I. A ' Mr. Prescott of Celdestone, sir, I think ? ' he said ; and the clergyman assenting, he added, ' Miss Chetwynd's coachman asked me to look out for you and to say that the dog-cart from the Manor is waiting for you.' It was spoken pleasantly and respectfully.

Mr. Prescott acknowledged the information with ready courtesy, and then, as the speaker was a stranger to him, was on the point of asking his name, when the passengers going on were called to take their seats, and the opportunity was lost. 'This is unexpected good luck, Jackson!' said Mr. Prescott cheerfully, a few moments later, as he took his seat in the dog-cart by the servant. 'All well at Celdestone, I hope ? ' 'All quite well, sir, thank you,' replied Jackson as he drove off. ' I knew you wouldn't be expecting me, so I asked Mr. Martin to look out for you and tell you as I was here.' ' What Martin is that ? Not one that I know, I think,' said Mr. Prescott rather sharply. ' It's young George Martin from Stoneham, sir ; him that's after Westfield Farm. He was over this morning to see Mr. Foster about it, and after that he was sent for to speak to the ladies, so we all think he's going to be the man to get it — and a good man too, from all I hear.' Mr. Prescott was silent, but Jackson, who never required much encouragement to talk, went on briskly. ' Miss Chetwynd sent out orders that I was to drive him in to meet this train, and Miss Margaret came round to the stables and said you would be coming by it most likely, and I was to wait and bring you back.

You'll not mind stopping a minute here and there, sir ? I've just a few errands to do in the town as we go through.' A long railway journey in the hottest hours of a brilliant day in June, does not, perhaps, naturally tend to improve a traveller's temper. Mr. Prescott made no comment on all Jackson's information, and gave no answer to his question ; but when almost immediately afterwards they stopped at the post office to ask for the letters which had come by the second post, he at once jumped impatiently down from the dog-cart, evidently by no means favourably disposed towards ' waiting a minute here and there ' in the course of a slow progress through Norbury. ' I'll walk on, Jackson,' he said ; ' you will overtake me on the way home, or if you don't, it does not matter.' Jackson touched his hat in silent assent, and then as he watched Mr. Prescott walk quicklv off, he observed with a wink to a friend who was lounging at the door of the post-office, ' Nice and cool he'll be when he gets home, if he walks that pace all the way to Celdestone just to get the black dog off hi. back!' ' What's up ? ' was the question in reply. 'There's no saying,' replied Jackson. 'He ain't a bad sort, but he's just blessed with one of them tempers that can't bear crossing.

He keeps it down wonderful, so as it gives nobody much bother but hisself, but there's a deal of steam to let off sometimes, and it seems to me it's on pretty strong just now ! ' Mr. Prescott meanwhile, hot, tired and irritated, walked on along the high road at a steady, rapid pace, which, considering the leisurely manner in which Jackson usually executed his errands in Norbury, left little apparent chance of his being overtaken before he had walked the four and a-half miles to Celdestone. It was a long, monotonous stretch of road through a country as devoid of beauty as any prosperous and purely agricultural country can be in the height of summer. Luxuriant flowery hedgerows, fine trees in full foliage, pastures filled with browsing cattle and sheep, meadows in the possession of troops of haymakers, and fields of wavy green corn, can never fail to provide sub jects of admiration and interest for anyone ready to admire ; but on this occasion Mr. Prescott walked straight on without looking round him, and saw nothing but the glaring line of dusty road and the whitened grass and hedges on either side of it.

About half-way to Celdestone he passed the double lodge and great gates of Ashworth, the seat of Lord Alresford, and paused for a moment to look through them. The soft green turf by the side of the smooth gravelled drive, and the deep shadows cast by the masses of wood across the long sweeping glades where the deer lay almost hidden in fern, were refreshing to the eye, and looked inviting ; but he would not yield to the temptation to go in and wait in the cool, pleasant shade until the dog-cart should pass the gates. Self-martyrdom of the most trivial and apparently useless description seems for some mysterious reason to commend itself to certain natures as a safety-valve for the irritation produced by the small trials of every-day life ; and on this principle Mr. Prescott trudged on indefatigably in the glare and heat and dust, although it was not of the slightest consequence to himself or anyone else whether he reached Celdestone at one hour rather than another.

He was returning from a few days' holiday, bringing back, he hoped, a fresh stock of patience and vigour with which to face and conquer various annoying obstacles in the management of his parish. Un fortunately, the first news which met him was to the effect that one of the largest farms on the Celdestone Manor estate was probably about to be let on lease to that one of the many applicants for it concerning whom he had expressed open and strong disapprobation. His protest was apparently to be quite disregarded, for he had little doubt that Jackson's surmise was well-founded, and under the influence of the irritation caused by what he had heard, he walked rapidly on, and was soon going down the last hill on his way home. On the opposite side of the hollow were the sloping, park-like, tree-studded ■ fields of Celdestone, beyond which were visible the gardens and shrub beries and conservatories of a well-placed and well cared-for country house.

Skirting these fields, the high road passed along the foot of a fine oldL avenue, which now only crossed the broad meadow between the house and the road, but had probably in former days been the entrance. Looking up this avenue towards the south front of the house, he could see that there was the usual summer afternoon encamp ment on the lawn. A few yards further on he turned to the right, up a shady lane which ran parallel to the avenue, and soon found himself at home. The entrance gates of the Manor were on one side of the lane and the Church and Rectory on the other, while the village lay a little beyond and was out of sight. There was a moment's hesitation of step on reaching the gates, as if Mr. Prescott were uncertain whether to turn in to the Manor or to the Rectory. The recollection that his journey and subsequent walk must have made him rather unfit to present himself to ladies decided the question and he disappeared into his own house.

Half an hour later he came out again. Glancing round him as he left the house, he perceived that some orders, given just before he went away, had not been attended to. ' Why is that ivy not down yet, Richard ? ' he said peremptorily to an old man at work in the garden. Richard slowly raised himself from his stooping position over a flower-bed, and looked at his master. ' Well, sir, I just happened to say to Miss Margaret after you was gone, that I must see and get the ivy pulled down afore you came back, and she did seem that put about to think of the wall being left bare, that I hadn't the heart to set to and do it.' Mr. Prescott's real theory as to the proper balance of power on most occasions in life, though possibly he would not have admitted it, was absolute authority on one side, and unquestioning obedience on the other.

The authority was of course to be wisely and kindly used, but it was never to be disputed. Richard's answer annoyed him, and he said sharply, ' You had my orders plain enough.' ' So I had, sir, surely : but I told Mr. Foster just how it was, and says he, " Well, Richard, it can't do no harm to wait till Mr. Prescott comes back and thinks it over again." And so there it be, sir. Second thoughts is often best, they say.' • Another time remember that I do not give an order until I know my own mind. It is nearly five now,' added Mr. Prescott, looking up at the church clock, 'too late to begin to-day, for you could not finish it this evening and I won't have the place in a litter all Sunday. Do it the first thing on Monday morning' ' I'll just call in for orders on Monday morning, then, sir. You'll be talking it over with the ladies to-morrow.' 'You have your orders,' replied Mr. Prescott, rather provoked by his obstinacy. ' Don't forget.' Old Richard was often very conveniently deaf. ' No, sir, I'll not forget.

I'll be sure to do nothing till I've been in for orders after you've seen Miss Margaret.' Mr. Prescott turned impatiently away and left the garden. He did not go across to the Manor, but went down the lane towards the village, and stopped at the school, which was very near the Rectory. It was Saturday afternoon, and no school was going on. The schoolmistress was busy in her own rooms, and after hearing a satisfactory report of all that had happened while he had been away, Mr. Prescott, seeing that his presence was rather inconvenient, turned to leave the cottage. With his hand on the door, he paused and said, ' I was forgetting to ask, Mrs. Williams, if the new surplices are ready for the boys for to-morrow ? Have the girls been able to finish them yet ? ' Mrs. Williams flushed a little and hesitated. ' Well, sir, I've really been so puzzled about the surplices, I've not known what to do.

Miss Margaret is so set against them, and against making the boys into a choir ; and if she doesn't lead the singing, the maids at the Manor won't any of them sing a note, and the chants and the hymns will never be fit to be heard. It seemed such a waste to get all the stuff for the surplices and then not use them, so I spoke to Mrs. Foster about it, and she thought it could do no harm to wait till you came back.' Mr. Prescott was visibly annoyed, but he saw that Mrs. Williams was in no way to blame, and he only said, 'You did quite right, but let the work be put in hand next week.' Mrs. Williams meekly retreated into her cottage, and Mr. Prescott walked on down the village, which lay on the slope of a hill, his quick, impatient step, and indeed his whole manner, showing that he was under the influence of what he himself considered as just and grave displeasure, though if Jackson had happened to see him he would probably have observed irreverently that 'the black dog was still on his back after all.' In truth, during his six-and-twenty years of life, Mr. Prescott had never been accustomed to the sort of opposition which now met him in such abundant measure, and he did not take kindly to it.

As a boy he had been unintentionally spoiled by a well meaning but injudicious mother, in whose sole charge he had been left by his father's early death. She had never corrected his faults, simply because she did not see them, and the same process had been carried on in later years by a wider circle, though in a different way. Maurice Prescott was tall and slight, with the bearing of a well-bred gentleman, equally free from the provoking effeminacy of some types in his profession, and from the obtrusive 'muscular Christianity' of others. His features were all good, his dark brown hair grew becomingly, and his eyes were decidedly handsome, so that his looks altogether were such as to justify ladies prone to clerical enthusiasms in an extravagant admiration for him, of which he had instinctively, and perhaps half-unconsciously, availed himself to ensure unquestioning submission to his guidance, though he was far too manly and sensible to have been spoiled by it in a more vulgar fashion, and had remained quite free from personal conceit and affectation.

He was refined and intelligent, and had even considerable power of mind, though it had been dwarfed in its growth by some defects of character which had been unfortunately fostered both by his domestic and his professional training. He was kind-hearted and unselfish, with strong feelings, which he tried in vain to ignore, but he had a naturally arrogant temper, and a great love of power. In many of the forms in which this temper showed itself, he had fully perceived it to be a serious evil, and had spared himself neither blame nor pains in the struggle to bring it under the most rigid self-control, but it had found a refuge in a sort of uncompromising despotism, which he failed to recognise as an error, and looked upon as only a justifiable and conscientious assertion of priestly authority.

He was extremely High Church by sincere con viction, as well as by natural temperament ; he was earnestly devoted to the duties of his profession, and thoroughly genuine in his endeavours to carry out in personal practice the ascetic theories he so zealously advocated ; and hitherto he had always found his claims to undisputed authority readily submitted to by most women with whom he had had much to do. He had inevitably often encount ered masculine views widely differing from his own, but grave discussion with thoughtful men did not irritate him (though by choice he generally associated with those whose sympathies were with him), while the trouble given by careless, scoffing boys, or by indifferent, impenetrable men of a lower and uneducated class, was a recognised difficulty in parochial work, which he had repeatedly shown himself capable of meeting in a manly and judicious spirit.

Contradiction and opposition were now, however, constantly presenting themselves in very different guise, and his equanimity was severely tried by finding himself thwarted at every moment by a girl of nineteen ! The usual sleepy peacefulness of Celdestone had lately been exchanged for a state of amicable civil war, the contending parties being the young, recently appointed Rector and the still younger Lady of the Manor. Both were wilful and uncompromising, as only youthful inexperience could excuse two sensible, well-endowed people for being ; and as they were cousins (though only in the second degree), and many years ago had often been childish companions, there was not even the formality of new acquaintance to be a restraint upon their powers of criticising and tormenting each other, and so render less difficult the task of those who were the natural advisers of both.

At the foot of the hill where the village ended, Mr. Prescott turned into a shrubbery and pleasure ground, laid out and kept up for the enjoyment of the cottagers. So early in the afternoon it was not likely that any one would be about, and he wished to think over some points of difference before going to the Manor and facing his lively antagonist there. When he reached his favourite seat by the pond he found it already occupied by Mr. Foster, an elderly man who for many years had been Miss Chetwynd's steward. Mr. Foster was a strong featured, shrewd look ing, blunt-mannered, north-country man, whose clear good sense, perfect integrity, and thorough practical knowledge of business, were invaluable qualifications for his office. One of the younger sons of an old fashioned Westmoreland ' statesman ' of good means, he was both by birth and education rather above his present position, though he made no pretence to being a gentleman.

About eighteen years previously, heavy and unexpected losses had obliged him to give up the large farm he held. An accident about the same time left him per manently rather lame and with health which must make really hard work either of body or mind impossible for a long time, yet remunerative em ployment was essential to enable him to provide for his wife and to educate their only child, a boy of nine years old. Mrs. Foster, who had been a governess, had held but one situation, which she had filled for ten years, leaving it not long before her own marriage, when Miss Chetwynd was eighteen. When the Fosters' misfortunes came, about twelve years afterwards, Miss Chetwynd had recently been left the sole guardian and trustee of her orphan niece, the baby heiress of Celdestone. She was a clever woman above thirty, but she was an invalid, and she felt that she needed better help in managing the property than could be expected from an ordinary bailiff.

She was rich and she was glad to secure the Fosters on her own account, as well as to help them in their need. She improved a house in the village into a comfortable home for them, and Mr. Foster became her agent, bailiff and general adviser, while his wife spent some hours daily at the Manor, at first acting only as a secretary and companion to her former pupil, but eventually becoming the daily governess of the little Margaret. Mt. Foster rose as Mr. Prescott came up, the two men exchanged a friendly greeting, and then sat down together. Mr. Foster showed his employment, a plan for the alteration of the shape of the piece of water and of the line of the walks round it. ' Miss Margaret wants the water narrowed all round the island, so as to leave a wider bit of grass between the walk and the pond.

She thinks it is dangerous for the children as it is, and she wants it done as soon as possible. It isn't easy to spare the labour from the farm just now, but I suppose I must manage it.' ' Miss Margaret seems to me to stand a chance of being pretty thoroughly spoiled among you ! ' replied Mr. Prescott promptly. ' From Miss Chet wynd downwards you are all doing your best in that way.' 'She's not spoiled,' answered Mr. Foster; 'just a trifle over indulged, it may be, but that's all right.' ' Right ? ' said Mr. Prescott. ' That is a strange theory from a man of your experience, Mr. Foster.' ' Well ! It's right, sir, because it's natural. I wouldn't defend real spoiling of any young thing, not a dog or a horse, much less a human being, for there's nothing much crueller you could do. But it would be more likely to spoil her and make her wilful if we were all to thwart her just for the sake of doing her good, when it's the natural thing to let her have her own way, and when every one of her fancies is sure to be something for other people's pleasure or advantage.' Mr. Prescott paused before answering, then he said, ' However that may be as to the perpetual trifles of daily life, I cannot but regret very much that Miss Chetwynd should allow the thoughtless fancies of so young a girl to influence her in really important matters, and I wish that you would have supported me in the endeavour to prevent it.' ' You mean about young Martin and Westfield Farm ? ' said Mr. Foster. ' Yes.

It is settled that he is to have it, and though I am sorry you are vexed about it, I think Miss Chetwynd is right to give it to him. As a matter of business there was not much to choose between him and one of the others who wanted it, and it was quite right that Miss Margaret's wish should weight the scale for him.' 'And because a girl of her age (a mere child) is interested in the love affairs of her maid, you think it right that she should be allowed to bring a man of young Martin's known opinions into the parish as one of its principal men, to do unlimited moral harm.' 'Well! Put in that way, I wouldn't commit myself to say it was!' replied Mr. Foster. 'But I don't go with you from the beginning of it, Mr. Prescott. George Martin has his faults and follies, like all young men with any life and stuff in them.

He's a more outspoken radical and freethinker than either you or I like, of course ; but he's not a man to do harm anywhere — that I'm sure of.' ' Such opinions as his must do harm,' replied Mr. Prescott decidedly ; ' and they are all the more dangerous when held by a man whose character otherwise stands high.' ' Not a bit of it ! ' said Mr. Foster. ' Take an old man's word for it, sir, that a high tone "of character never made anybody dangerous yet ! He's a good, honest, well - meaning fellow, and he'll not only make Miss Margaret a good tenant and little Esther a capital husband, but he'll help you in your work far more than many a man who differed from you much less, for he'll set a good example himself, and do his best to keep all his people steady and respectable.' 'Good as far as it goes, no doubt,' admitted Mr. Prescott rather reluctantly ; ' but superficial respect ability is not everything ; and though had he been already in the parish I should have been glad to rejoice in anything that lessened the evil, I am extremely sorry that Miss Chetwynd should deliberately bring him into it, merely because she cannot bear to disappoint Margaret in anything.

The power of decision in such a case ought to be treated as a grave responsibility.' Mr. Foster rose from his seat. ' Outward respect ability isn't everything, no doubt. No more is outward religion. They may both be shams. But when good conduct is thorough, and no fuss made about it, you'll not find the principles below it bad, though they may not have been run in your mould, any more than if religion (of what ever sort) is genuine, you will sind the conduct bad. You'll not get the effect without the cause, any more than the cause without the effect.' ' Personal respectability and good conduct are often a mere question of temperament,' replied Mr. Prescott, ' and mean nothing higher. Martin may be all that you say, and if he is, it is fortunate ; but such teaching as his must do great harm.' 'You needn't be afraid for the parish, sir, any more than I am afraid for the rent ! ' said Mr. Foster cheerfully. ' Esther Simmonds will fetch him to church at first, for she'll want to come her self to show her bonnets and let us hear her voice, and so he'll get used to coming.

And when he has a large farm on his hands and a family to provide for, he'll have no time to talk nonsense at election meetings in Stoneham, or to get up freethinking VOL. I. B lectures for us here. He won't hurt us. I'm going up to the Manor now, to see Miss Margaret about this pond.' ' I will walk up with you. I must call there,' said Mr. Prescott. The two men were silent as they went up the village together, but when they had nearly reached the gates of the Manor, Mr. Foster spoke. ' Perhaps you think I am too blunt and free with you, Mr. Prescott, but I've known -you off and on from a boy, and old men take liberties when that is the case. I am sorry that this vexes you ; but I should like just to say one thing, if you will allow me. You call Miss Margaret a child, but next August twelvemonth she'll be of age, and able to decide all these things just as she pleases.

I cannot help thinking myself that Miss Chetwynd is wise in giving her a share in the management of things now, and so letting her make experiments and learn a little wisdom pretty safely. But even if you don't think so, I am sure you must see that very few things could do as much harm in the parish as discord between you and her that people could see. It will be fatal to your influence to begin by constantly opposing her, for everybody will take her side, if you once let it D£ seen that there are sides to take.'

Chapter II Fine

old cedar stood at the west end of the broad lawn which extended along the whole southern front of Celdestone Manor ; and in hot weather it was the custom of the house to make a summer drawing-room for the whole afternoon, in the wide strip of shade which its spreading branches cast on the soft, smooth, green turf. A square of Persian carpet was laid on the ground, and on it were placed one or two basket tables, a few low luxu rious-looking chairs, and a sofa. When Mr. Prescott had passed along the foot of the avenue, he had seen that these were occupied ; and from his knowledge of the family habits, he had no difficulty in guessing pretty correctly both of whom the party consisted, and what they were doing. Miss Chetwynd was lying on the sofa, the crutches which rested against the end of it, out of her way yet within easy reach of her hand, showing plainly enough that she was a prisoner to it for the greater part of her time.

For fully thirty years, ever since she was a girl of nineteen, Lucy Chetwynd had been unable to walk at all without crutches. Even with their aid she could manage only very short distances ; and she was seldom many hours without pain more or less severe. Yet few women lead as busy and useful a life as she had done ever since her brother's death, for her personal superintendence of the management of her niece's property and her knowledge of the tenants and cottagers had been as thorough as her loving care and training of the child herself. She could not ride, but she could drive, and where her carriage could not take her, an invalid donkey-chair could, so that she knew every corner of the estate under her charge as well as every person employed on it. In hot weather she was never equal to much exertion, and she was spending this afternoon quietly on her sofa under the cedar.

Books and newspapers lay on the table by her side, but she had been musing more than reading, though her two companions had been so much absorbed in their own occupations as not to have noticed that the magazine which she held in her hand was receiving no attention. Mrs. Foster, who for many years had played the harmonium in the church and managed the little village choir, was industriously writing out a new hymn tune and hoping to finish the necessary number of copies before it was time to leave off. ' Miss Margaret ' had discarded her chair as a seat, preferring apparently to use it as a table, for the book she was reading lay open on the cushion, while she herself was half lying on the ground. Her attitude, though childish, was not ungraceful, and she was surrounded by an almost embarras sing choice of employments.