Right and left : a novel

Front matter

RIGHT AND LEFT. A NOVEL. IN THEEE VOLUMES. By MRS. C. J. NEWBY, AUTHOR OF "MABEL," "SUNSHINE AND SHADOW," AND "MARGARET HAMILTON." VOL. II. gnnbsln : T. CATJTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 30, WELBECK STEEET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 1862. [Tlie right of Translation is Reserved.] CONTENTS OF VOL. II. Chapter Page I. The Making-up ■ . 1 II. Happy Partings 10 ill. The beautiful firmness of obstinacy .... 19 IV. An Idle Ride along a Pleasant Road ... 28 V. The Coming Bridal 36 VI. The Untried Armour 49 vil. Squire Meredith 55 vm. Last Hours of Widowhood 68 IX. The Bridal 75 x. The Trail of the Serpent 87 xi. The Stepmother enters her New Home ... 99 XII. The Lost Lamb 116 xin. Dawning Suspicion ... ... 131 xiv. An Ejectment under difficulties .... 144 xv. The Stepmother wins her way 155 xvi. The Dying Saint 170 xvii.

How it answers to do wrong 184 xvm. The Unsuccessful Negociation .... 202 xix. Good Influence at Work 211 XX. Taking a New Start 228 xxi. The Squire decides that Neighbours should be Neighbours 240 xxil. Golden Fancies 251 xxm. A Country Dinner Party, wherein Maud finds she has a bosom snake 258 What the Blackbird sang among the Beech trees . 275

Chapter I. The Making Up

The day upon which this little quarrel took place was the last of Lord Tavistock' s visit, as he had decided that day with Mr. Grey, for the wedding drew near, and he was anxious to leave their host at leisure to finish whatever arrangements still demanded his care. The invalid was ordered bracing air, and they meant to proceed at once to Brighton, where Lord Tavistock trusted his son's health would VOL. IT. B be completely re-established. Leaning over his sofa in the interval before dinner, when the ladies had retired to dress, he intimated this plan to his son, little doubting that he should receive his customary easy assent to anything he proposed. " Rather abrupt, Sir, is it not?" expostulated the younger man, with unusual energy, "after all the trouble they have taken on my account, to leave at a day's notice."

" Mr. Grey does not think so, I fancy," said his father, smiling. " You would not be guilty of the unpopular measure of delaying the in tended marriage, would you?" " No, certainly not, but I wish I had known that this afternoon." Lord Tavistock laid his hand upon his shoulder, affectionately. " All in good time, my dear boy • but not here, and now — it would seem like an act of enforced gratitude." His son coloured deeply at being so quickly understood, which his father perceiving, walked to the window to give him time ; he would not intrude upon his confidence for the world ; but after a short interval he returned and entered more fully into the details of the arrangements, asking gently if he preferred any other place to Brighton ? Would he like any part of the continent better? " No, certainly not," was the reply.

" After a little time, my lord, I suppose you will begin the restoration of the castle. I think you told me it was fully insured, and that your loss had been trifling." " As we are fond of building, our loss has been rather a gain, for the old house was con stantly needing repairs. When you are well enough to think about it, we will begin, and it will serve us for an object of interest for a long time to come." " That it will," said Lord Halifax, bright ening, " and we might see plans while we are at Brighton." " That will take time," said the elder man ; " our house must be unique. I will make it known, and offer a reward for a plan. I B should like it to be no imitation of the old house, but as we are forced to build, let it be a fair and beautiful specimen of the architecture, not of any past, but of the present century."

" Ah, truly," said Lord Halifax. " I often think we do not make enough of ourselves, for surely the Victorian style ought to exceed the Elizabethan." " Ours shall be a specimen of what we can do," said Lord Tavistock. " At all events, it shall be a specimen of the excellence of mo dern convenience and comfort, even if we fail in securing beauty, which, I hope, we shall not do. It will take some time to clear away the rubbish left by the fire, and I fear little can be done until the breaking up of next winter's frost, but we can make all our arrangements, so that materials may be ready for the work so soon as the spring com mences." " In the meanwhile," said his son, " I fear we must lose the hunting season here." EIGHT AND LEFT. Lord Tavistock suffered a half smile just to light up his face.

He well knew why he so pertinaciously held to that locality, and there fore did not suggest that they should accept the invitation which he had lately received from the Marquis of Allenby, to spend their Christmas in Yorkshire, and so replied, de murely : "If you prefer hunting in this neigh bourhood, we can turn the farm or the lodge into a temporary hunting box, with little trouble, and return here as soon as you feel well enough." " That will do admirably, my lord. You actually divine my wishes before I express them." " I hope you find mine as easy to read," said his father, smiling courteously. " Yes, my dear father, very often, but I fear I can seldom gratify them. Your wishes are always more difficult of accomplishment than mine; would that they were not." " When you are the centre of them, you would not have them less ambitious or less exacting."

The shadow fell upon the young man's face, the shadow which darkened his life. His father wished, he knew, to rouse him from what he believed to be simply indolence — he himself, perhaps, more rightly termed it his inability. The urgent cry of his heart seemed strug gling for utterance. Oh ! if he could but put aside this mistake, relieve himself from this perpetual expectation, which, he felt, would never be fulfilled, how happy they might yet be. But he felt so weak, that, instead of words, the tears sprang to his eyes, and his father hastened to change the subject, soothing his excited nerves, not by silence, which, at that moment, he could not have borne, but by wellchosen small talk, which was just in teresting enough to prevent his continuing to think. Presently Miss Miles came in with her sober dress and subtle smile, followed by Helen, shy and silent.

Then came Mr. Grey, courteous and in good spirits, accompanied by Herbert, inflated by a thoroughly successful day's shooting, to whom Lord Tavistock turned with the most courtly attention, listening without a smile to his boyish brag over his adventures. He rather liked what he termed a little honest self assertion • he knew that it is often successful, and often puts timid worth to the wall. And much as he admired talent and appreciated sense, perhaps he set a still higher value upon success. Lord Tavistock had been educated upon the world's wide platform. The last of the family group came Maud. She was more handsomely dressed than usual. A dark blue silk fell in rich folds round her tall and graceful figure, and gave an additional charm to her white neck and arms, bound as they were with necklace and heavy bracelets of gold.

Her rich dark hair was folded round her head with extra care and smoothness. She was truly dressed with exquisite skill, and looked more suited to a palace than to this, her comfortable, but old-fashioned home, so queen-like was her beauty, and so majestic her grace, that she seemed made and fitted to adorn any sphere to which she might aspire. Lord Halifax watched her entrance with ad miration, but with a vague apprehension that nature had drawn a broad line of demarcation between himself and this noble creature ; and that to call her wife, to be her master and her lord, was something to which he had no right to look. But as she came forward with more than her usual gaiety and brilliancy, he de tected with love's quick discernment what no one else saw — the trace of tears, and his heart leaped with a bound to meet this assurance of his happiness.

Unable to suppress his feel ing entirely, he rose from his sofa, and turn ing cheerfully to Mr. Grey, said " he would save him the trouble of sending up his dinner that day, and as it was to be the last, he would beg to be allowed to join them in the dining room," and waiting no further permission offered his arm to Maud, and led her away. The little air of triumph which he assumed so easily might in another man have been offen sive ; but it served only to give an exhilara tion to his usual languid manner, which made it more pleasing. He completely appropri ated Maud to himself, too, as if she were part and parcel of himself, although graciously allowing his father, who sat upon her right hand a share in their attention. But Maud was unusually silent and subdued, placid as the lake after the storm, but conscious still of the season of unrest through which it had passed.

The more he talked and jested, and when he chose he could do both well — the more timid and quiet she became. The whole nature within her was awaking to the impulse of a new life ; the bright and joyous girl had already taken upon her the fate of woman. B EIGHT AND LEFT.

Chapter II. Happy Paetings

The morrow came. Not sorrowfully, for those who parted felt that they would meet again, but with that cordiality which sets a seal to friendship, by its hearty approval of the past, and its anticipations of the future. Mrs. Phelps went early to London, with as much gratitude for the systematic kindness shown her as was compatible with her dignity, and later in the morning Lord Tavistock and his son also departed in their travelling carriage upon the same road, intending to sleep a night in Town on their way to Brighton. There was so much to be done in the next few days, that Maud could the more easily conceal how much she missed the constant companionship to which she had became ac customed. Housemaids, and char women, were set to scrub and sweep, and polish all over the house, and Maud, young in housekeeping, gave much personal superintendence, and was often a little over particular and whimsical, fulfilling the true old proverb, " That new brooms sweep clean."

Yet she was so good-natured, so cheerful, and yet so decisive, that she carried the will of the household with her. Never was such a bright and joyous preparation made for bridal by step-daughter yet. She would not be warned by Miss Miles's fore bodings, which now assumed the guise of flattery. " How much better it would be," sighed she, " if your poor papa could know what is best for him ; where could he get a better housekeeper than you, Maud, and what does he want more at his age ?" " A great deal, dear," laughed Maud, who, off her guard, as young, generous spirits are so apt to be, had fallen into her old habits of cordiality. "Who knows how soon my housekeeping fit might vanish, and if not, as I said once before, according to the laws of nature, the young birds might fly from their nests.

No, no ; I myself am in love with Mrs. Ayre, and give my hearty approval, and when you come to visit us, which I hope will be very often, you will see what capital friends we shall be." " Ah, we shall see what we shall see," said Miss Miles, unconvinced ; " but my beautiful Maud will never be much put upon, I daresay." " Trust me," cried Maud, blushing at the bold compliment. " I shall love her so very much, that were she the worst step-mother in the world, she would feel powerless to injure me," and Maud went off singing. "And what say you," said Miss Miles, turning darkly to Helen. " That I will never love her or speak to her, if I can help it." " That is right, my dear ; have a spirit of your own. Yours is the firmest character after all. I never could have thought Maud would be so flexible."

Hark ! in the distance still is Maud's voice, though the words are indistinct, waking the echoes in the old house with a youthful joy ousness, which even Lord Tavistock would have reluctantly condemned, as just a little too natural for civilized life. But it was a house-cleaning time, and dusters and brooms, flannels and scrubbing-brushes have turned civilization out of windows, therefore there is nothing to restrain that joyous burst of life, and hope, and happiness, welling up in that young bosom, untouched by sorrow, unbur dened by care. In one of the passages Mr. Grey meets her. " Well, singing bird, why are you so merry i "Is it not a time to be merry, Papa, when the bridal is so close at hand?" He drew her hand within his arm, and only released it when they stood in the sunshine in the garden.

Then he looked at the neat dress and little black apron which it had pleased her to assume, as superintendent of the house cleaning : " You know," he said, " how much I dis countenance pails and scrubbing brushes, but your bright face turns them into fairy imple ments." " Of course, of course," said Maud, half in clined to burst into song again, " for is it not a holiday." " Some, in their folly, would make it a very funereal one." " Yes," said Maud, still too happy to an swer very seriously ; "as you say, in their folly." " Because," added her father, " evils are so ready to come if we beckon them, waiting and watching for them." " But do you know," said Maud, " that I verily believe some people, like the witches, revel in ill-fortune, and flourish upon it ; as I have heard, some people eat brown paper and slate pencils, in preference to legitimate food."

" Whereas," said Mr. Grey, " the mind of man in its original state, must have been ever tuned to praise and rejoicing. I think when it is said that in Heaven the angels cease not night and day in their songs of praise, it means, figuratively, to express a state of perpetual cheerfulness and gratitude, continually char acterizing their feelings while performing all duties to which their superior intelligence would call them. When, therefore, we as siduously cultivate a cheerful and happy frame of mind, which is ready to forget the evil in contentment for the good, we are, in truth, endeavouring to assimilate our spirits to that of the angels, and are assuredly per forming our duty by thus, as it were, tuning our souls for heaven. In the Bible we find the most constant evidence of the marked dis pleasure testified by the Great Author of our being against a grumbling and distorted tone of mind, while that faith which overcomes all difficulty, and boldly counts upon victory — ■ though a miracle is necessary to achieve it — is ever pleasing to and blessed by Him."

Maud listened with that fond attention which always rewarded his more confidential addresses, for Mr. Grey was often shy of speaking from his heart as he was now doing. " How much more," he continued, " might we achieve, even in this world, if we possessed such a living and contented faith. Many a sin which stands like a mountain in our way might by us be cast down, while we might carry life and truth to many a heart as dead as the withered fig-tree." " And I," said Maud, seeing that his tone of enthusiasm had died away, and that he spoke no more, " would carry this living faith into domestic life, and make it the sunshine of every day existence; therefore it is that I am merry to-day, and determine that this bridal shall bring me happiness." "And you are victorious," said Mr. Grey, " over the disquietude which the anticipations of so great a change might cause ?"

" Xes, because I see good in everything which I have neither the right nor the power to control." " And you trust to my judgment ?" "A little," said she, teasingly, "but not altogether ; all men are apt to be deceived, and a clever man, Miss Miles says, more easily than any." " Many thanks to Miss Miles," he said, drily. "It is true enough," said Maud, shaking her beautiful head with a ludicrous solemnity. " There was Xantippe. Johnson was suc cessful ; but then think of Milton. Ah, papa, — better remain as you are." " And yet in spite of your solemn warning, you mean to make the best of it," said he, laughing. " Yes," said she, " because I am determined that she shall love us, which is a determination often very successful, and, second to the memory of my dear mother, I mean to love her. But hark ! what is that ? — a horse — yes, it is James come from the station with my new dress. Come in, papa, and you shall see me unpack it."

Chapter III. The Beautiful Firmness Of Obstinacy

The box uncovered, there lay the soft white Indian muslin, looking the very attire fitted for the occasion. Miss Miles had, with her superior knowledge, chosen and ordered it, having made a journey to London for the very purpose, so that she stood by meekly pro pitious. As Helen looked at the white robe her colour came and went. Did she envy this little indulgence of vanity permitted by duty, or did she already shudder at her own coming bridal, which yet she madly determined to ac complish. She had sullenly declined her EIGHT AND LEFT. share in her father's marriage, and here was the first outward evidence of the separate paths which she and Maud had chosen. Little did her father guess the significance of her refusal, or surmise that the next act of disobedience would for ever set his authority aside.

Perhaps he ought long ere this to have drawn her apart or introduced her to the solemn privacy of his library and there rea soned with her reason, mildly expostulated, and tenderly condemned, nor ceased until he had wholly won her, and happily perhaps, in combating the open error, have crushed the hidden sin. One of his heroes might have done it, or one of his model fathers, but Mr. Grey was not a model father. Extremely cor rect in his ideas of duty, his nerve and will often failed him in the performance of it, and it was more in consonance with his feelings as a man to receive with contempt this slight upon himself and his bride, rather than to as sume the father when he was about to enact the husband. Some have said that a good man's errors never in this world go unpun ished. It may be so.

It is very good that it should be so. Certain it is that this error, the last perhaps of a long list of similar ones, received its own punishment heavily enough. " Go, dear child," Mr. Grey had said to his eldest born and his favourite, " and let us see all this pretty vanity. Miss Miles will doubt less shew you how best to do justice to her taste." And Maud and Miss Miles bearing the finery between them left the room. Mr. Grey, in his heart sorely displeased, with Helen, sat down by the table. He would gladly have welcomed a request for forgiveness, but he would not ask for it. " My daughters are my friends," he said, to-day — as he had said so many times before, "and they may love me or not, as they please." Cold policy. And Helen stood still, looking sullenly at the empty box. It was not in the power even of sullenness to destroy the loveliness of that young face, the roundness of that soft cheek, the rich glossy sheen of that sunny hair, or the graceful outline of that childish figure, as she stood there, her heart full, but rebellious, weak perhaps at that moment, and possibly capable of being softened, yet not softened, and full of envy, anger, and pride.

There is an uncomfortable silence. — She says, " He is thinking of his new wife," and he says, " Silly girl she does not know what is good for her." Then Helen walks to the window and the sunshine streams in upon her young head and tinges her hair with golden lines, and makes her fair skin look more soft and tender. And the father glances at her young beauty, and remembers it so, long years to come — but now his heart is angry and sore. Presently Maud returns, and Miss Miles, forgetful of all her treachery, is really glad and smiling to shew her handiwork, for the dress is very pretty, and becomes Maud very well, and makes her look — not beautiful, for any thing does that — but what Miss Miles knows to be in the world almost more — decidedly fashionable and lady like. " Have I not cause to be proud of my pupil Sir," simpered this lady with affected meek ness.

"Would not Lady Mapleton regard her as the best certificate of merit I could offer." " Aye," said Mr. Grey, " she looks a good girl and does you credit." " You could have said that much," said Maud laughingly, "if I had been dressed in ' hodden grey an' a' that.' " "Not entirely," said Mr. Grey, speaking with a tone of considerable harshness, as he glanced with no kindly eye towards his youngest daughter. " I suppose, figuratively speaking, Helen is dressed in hodden grey — but for that very reason I do not call her a good girl." The quick blood rushed over Helen's cheek and brow, and the angry fire flashed from Helen's eye. Passion like his own, the parent's temper, rebellious in the child, almost choked down the words, which nothing but her habitual deference and fear prevented her uttering.

Her small hand, so beautiful that a sculptor might have coveted it for his model, was clenched, whilst her little foot moved restlessly, but she remained otherwise per fectly still and silent. Maud went up to her father, and passing her arm round his neck, whispered : " If there is anything to condemn in her, there can be nothing to praise in me." Tears were in her speaking eyes — entreaty in her whispered tones. " True," said her father, "true" — and stoop ing to kiss her, left the room. " Dear Helen," said Maud, moving in her new finery as if she were in the habit of wear ing it every day — " dear Helen, change your mind ; you see how your not going with us vexes papa, and let me order a dress like this for you ; it is not too late, Madame Bertaline takes so short a time when she is really pressed."

" Thank you, Maud, for wishing me to go, but I cannot, and, what is more, I will not welcome home this woman who is to take your place." Maud drew her hand back from Helen's arm ; she was shocked by her violence, but she presently added. " If you are thinking of me, it is kindly meant, but I do not need pity or partizanship, unless indeed it will help me in the effort to make my father's home com fortable to his wife. But I ask you— entreat you to change your mind. First impressions are always strong, and often lasting — why should you make her think unkindly of you, for her influence with papa, will, I hope, be very great." " But we are independent," cried Helen, hastily. " I know we are in point of fortune," said Maud, " of course, for papa told us so, but this can hardly affect his control of us, or our duty to him."

VOL. II. c " Not unless he casts it off as he is about to do." "Oh, Helen, you know better; you know it makes little or no difference." " Have I not had cause to feel that it does, even this very hour?" said Helen, bitterly. " Papa has a right to be angry with us if he pleases," said Maud, " and this right is not exercised for the first time. You are no stranger to his authority or to his anger. He is the same now as he always was. But do not let us argue — -I only beg you to come with me to the marriage — let me write and order your dress, there is no time to be lost — or let me write for the dress, and you can decide afterwards whether you will go or not." Helen smiled at her little casuistry — an old wintry smile which sat strangely on her young face. Miss Miles stood apart, regarding with her evil eye askance these two fair beino-s. No wrinkle sat on either brow, no line was marked by time on either face.

Both fair and beautiful to look upon — fresh from the hand of nature. Maud more intellectual and ma jestic. Helen more lovely and bewitching — rare images both of bodily excellence ; over both the fair smoothness and roundness of youth. Miss Miles is ready if need be, to second Helen's sullen resolution, yet, without new cause, she will not interfere. But her help is not required. Nothing is so firm as obstinacy, and Maud disappointed and unsuccessful goes away alone to take off her new dress. c

Chapter IV. An Idle Ride Along

A PLEASANT EOAD. Eveeything that could make the fine old mansion look well had been thought of and accomplished, and Maud could now anticipate her little holiday and treat with a satisfactory spirit. It had been arranged that Mr. Grey should take her the day before to Mr. Mere dith's, and leaving her there, sleep himself with Herbert at the little inn at the neighbour ing town. Maud was to stay a day or two, perhaps more, with Mrs. Meredith, to console her for the loss of her idolized sister. Miss Miles was to remain with Helen, for she had given up her purpose of lea ring when she found that her going was taken with indifference, though the reasons given for this change of action were not satisfactory. Maud however had secretly resolved that by some contrivance or other she should leave the house before the wedding party returned from their trip to the South, so that Helen might be left to form her own judgment of her father's wife, unbiassed by an opinion so openly ad verse.

Twenty miles of good road is little to accomplished equestrians, and Maud had per suaded her father and brother to ride to Wilton Lodge with her upon the appointed day. Considering that not one of the contents of her boxes might upon such an occasion bear crushing, she had settled that her luggage should go before her. The travelling carriage destined for the bridal pair was also to precede them, and put up at the town, so that the horses might have a good rest before the journey of the following day. Thus free from all petty responsibility, Mr. Grey and his two children started for Wilton Lodge. There was plenty of time before them, and to Maud the road was new. -It was a fine brown autumnal morning, strangely ex hilarating to these three happy beings. Her bert, at all times strongly influenced by Maud, although he delighted in arguing with her, had taken her side of the question, and was determined to welcome his father's wife with courtesy and kindness, the more, as in a long walk one day through the woods, Maud had represented to him how much power he had to annoy and trouble her, which acknow ledgment had satisfied his self-love and awakened his generosity.

He now therefore talked with his usual gusto and fire, mingling the frankness of the boy with the coming manliness of maturity very easily, though joined with a little too much self-assertion. Still this latter quality succeeded in waking his father's pride and his sister's respect, so that they rode on very amicably. Do what they would to be sentimental, which seemed the proper mood for the occasion, they could not help indulging in little witticisms, and laughing heartily over them when spoken. It is true the rich-wooded country displayed its varied hues of every shade, from yellow and crimson to dark brown, and the breezes sweeping up from the valleys brought with them the hollow, lulling murmur which is fancy's delight ; still they could not check their merriment to listen to its natural music.

The dancing leaves fell idly from the boughs, or rustled beneath their horses' feet ; the road-side stream, lately dry and silent, sprang now from the hills, and played its way with light ripples, adding the sweet sound of flow ing water. Yet no one moralized, unless it might be to quote some pleasant verse or ancient rhyme. The light-hearted mood in which they indulged was one which comes but seldom to grown men — never, except to those who love each other well, and under stand the lightest word or the slightest allusion, to whom the same old stories are familiar by long acquaintance, and in whom the same old jokes, pointless to all others, excite a smile. As they passed along the road, men, with bent backs, leaning over the listless work of breaking stones — work which has become symbolical of the extremest poverty in rural districts ; these men stood up and tried to straighten themselves, and watched them go by, and gathering from their faces, what per haps they had forgotten — a belief in the possibility of happiness, ever a cheering belief, moistened their hands after their rude fashion, and returned again to their monotonous labor.