A Girl of Yesterday

Front matter

NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES. A JUNE OF WEALTH. By Esme Stuart, Author of 'Married to Order,' 'Keatell of Greystone,' &c. 3 vols. HARLOWS IDEAL, and Other Stories. By Mrs. Forbesteb, Author of 'Viva,' 'Too Late Repented,' &c. One vol. fis. A PAINTER'S ROMANCE, and Other Stories. By Eleanor Holsies, Author of ' The Price of a Peart, ' &c. One volume, ''.s. ERICA'S HUSBAND. By Adeline Sergeant, Author of ' Caspar Brooke's Daughter,' ' Sir Anthony,' &c 2 vols. TREGARTHEN. By G. Norwat. 3 vols. LONDON: HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED. BY MRS. F. HAY NEWTON ' How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves By taking true for false, or false for true.' IN ONE VOLUME. LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1896. All rights reserved. Dedicated to the three for whose amusement this Story was written, and whose foolish partiality leads them to imagine it will amuse others also.

Part I. Chapter

I.— INTRODUCTORY. The Dalrymples of Drum were an ancient Scottish family of a good old-fashioned type. Drum was not a large property, but it was prettily situated on one of the small rivers, the banks and braes of which make picturesque, with an indescribably enthralling beauty of their own, the lovely districts of heathery mountain and wooded glen, through which they take their course. An antiquated grey castle was Drum, with funny little pepperpot turrets and moss-grown battlements ; outwardly somewhat damp and dreary looking, surrounded as it was with woods, and overhanging the ever rushing foaming water; inwardly eminently comfortable — according to antiquated notions of comfort, be it understood. There were no modern easy-chairs at Drum, no bits of embroidery hanging about ' artistically draped,' very few flowers, no palms, and, above all, no screens ; but there were good solid arm-chairs, stiff and high-backed like the sofas ; large tables, on which books were placed at deliberate intervals ; some good china, not set about, where any careless housemaid could get at and break it, but put away carefully and sensibly in glass-fronted cabinets ; and a very fair collection of old portraits on the walls.

The front door, a veiy solid oak one studded with huge iron nails, opened on a large hall or tribune, as it was called. This tribune ascended the entire height of the castle, and was completed by a glass roof, on which on wet days — B and they are not rare in that part of Scotland — the rain descended in noisy fury. Around this tribune were two galleries ; from off the first opened the drawing-rooms, two in number, the library and the dining-room ; from off the second the best bed-rooms or ' chambers of dais,' as they used to be called. From each side of these galleries there were passages, which led to other rooms of less importance. Alto gether the house was a commodious one, far more commodious than had been at all necessary for the family who occupied it in late years, but the estate was small and of little monetary value.

Nevertheless, the Dalrymples of Drum considered themselves of vast importance, not only to the county in which they lived, but to the kingdom of Scotland, perhaps even to Europe and the world at large. Living in a very small way, on a very small estate, in a very small corner of the universe, it was natural enough that it should be so. They were undoubtedly important to themselves, and mixed too little with other people to find out that their own estimate of themselves was not necessarily that of everyone else. At the time when this story commences, the Dalrymple family consisted of ' the laird himself,' as in his own little circle he was invariably designated ; his eldest daughter Cecilia, — Miss Dalrymple was the style and title by which, even in her own family, she was generally addressed, — and Miss Adamina, her younger sister.

It had been a sad blow to the laird that an over-ruling Providence had seen fit to deny him male issue, and great was his joy when, after twenty years of wedlock, his wife presented him with a son and heir. For at least ten years of that period Cecilia Dalrymple had been taught to con sider herself as heiress of Drum, and it cannot be said that she was slow to acquire the lesson. But, when a male heir was born, her natural common-sense and stern Scottish up bringing enabled her to show at least no outward sign of her inward disappointment ; for that she wTas not dis appointed would have been to acknowledge her wanting in YESTERDylY. 3 the first and foremost of Scottish virtues — self-esteem. Outwardly she bowed her head to the inevitable, and re ceived it in the spirit that so much is received by the stern Northerners. 'We maun submit,' is one of the phrases most common in their mouths.

Inwardly she was most firmly convinced — though of course she did not allow it even to herself in words — that Providence had made a mis take ; for she, Cecilia Dalrymple, was, more than any other human being, fitted to rule at Drum. And, as the event proved, perhaps she was not altogether wrong in thinking things might have gone more smoothly without the longed-for son. As James Patrick — christened in good Scotch fashion, firstly after his paternal and second ly after his maternal grandfather — grew up, he developed a character which could meet with nothing but disapproval from those among whom he was placed. His mother died while he was still an infant, and he was consequently deprived of the only gentle influence which might have guided and controlled him. Of a quick, im pulsive temper, and endowed by Nature with an extraordinary portion of both talent and good looks, as well as a most engaging manner, open-hearted, open-handed, easy going, and good-tempered, it was not to be wondered at that, as he grew up, he found but little to attract him at home, and much to entice and enchant him abroad.

Gradually less of his holidays at school and college were spent at Drum. Rumours of debts and difficulties came to his father's ears — wild companions, foolish escapades. No thing very serious, perhaps, but exaggerated, by one for whom such things had no attraction, from very ordinary mole-hills to very serious mountains. Letters were ex changed, angry and unreasonable on the one side, flippant and contemptuous on the other, and the breach between father and son grew wider. Miss Adamina — in the Dalrymple family no one was addressed by their name simply, it was ' the laird/ ' Miss B Dalrymple,' ' Miss Adamina,' ' Mr. James Patrick,' — Miss Adamina, then, to speak of her as she was always spoken of, worshipped her brother, and in her own fondly, foolish way, tried her best to keep the peace.

But what was her feeble little barrier of sisterly love against all the force of the laird's and Miss Dalrymple's righteous wrath? For Miss Dalrymple saw too clearly the mote in her brother's eye, and was convinced in her own mind that the only way to remove it was by pointing it out on every occasion, and calling it publicly and conscientiously by every opprobrious epithet which, unfortunately, it only too well deserved. No one can be astonished that, when, after several years of such family convulsions, a day at length arrived when the climax came in a family earthquake. It was brought about in this wise. In the course of his many wanderings and experiments on living without means — for, as it may well be imagined, the laird did not make his son a very generous allowance — Mr. James Patrick Dalrymple turned artist.

He had a good deal of talent, and the Bohemianism of the life and its sur roundings were intensely attractive to him. In the course of his searchings after the picturesque, he chanced to stay near the home of an old college friend, the younger son of an ancient but penniless house. And, as luck would have it, fell violently in love with that friend's sister. James Dalrymple's was not a nature to take this trying complaint lightly, and, unfortunately, the object of it was just as romantic and emotional as himself. Pretty Aileen Muir was not quite seventeen, when her lover, having secured her promise to love him for ever, went formally to demand her hand from her father. The Earl of Marshlands was by no means a harsh nor an unreasonable father, but, being him self unable to dower his daughter, he naturally looked for ward to her marrying a man who was able to support her in comfort, if not in luxury, and accordingly stated his views calmly, though kindly, to the enamoured suitor.

Anticipating no opposition, and overflowing with enthu siasm, young Dalrymple betook himself to his father, and boldly requested an allowance sufficient to support his wife in the station to which she had been accustomed ; but was met by a flat refusal. A violent scene ensued, when both father and son said things they had no right to say, and never would have said in cooler moments ; and James Patrick departed, shaking the dust of Drum from off his feet, and with the curse of his father embittering his soul. He returned to Marshlands, fully intending to part from his lady-love at once, and so behave in the only honourable and manly way which circumstances admitted of. But, alas ! for the weakness of human nature and the strength of woman's tears ! With Aileen clasped in his arms and her sweet face raised to his in mute appeal against so miserable a doom, the farewell words he had gone to say were never uttered.

After six agitating weeks of stolen interviews and romance, the foolish pair were privately married, and soon began to comprehend the unflinching meaning of the irre vocable words ' for better for worse.' Lord Marshland's anger against the man who had, as he thought, so basely misused his confidence, was both loud and deep, and he rushed into a correspondence with the Laird of Drum, which irretrievably widened the breach already made between the father and son. Infuriated by his son's conduct, and excited by all the circumstances connected with it, old Mr. Dalrymple's health gave way, and a stroke of apoplexy deprived him, at one blow, of both intellect and the power of motion, reducing him to a state of helpless dependence and imbecility. This occurred about a year after his son's marriage, and just at the time when poor little Lady Aileen, worn out by the poverty which she had thought so romantic in the abstract, and grieving at her banishment from the paternal home she loved so dearly, succumbed to a low fever after giving birth to a daughter.

His wife's death, which, with characteristic inconsequence, he attributed to the behaviour of his father, was a blow from which James Dalrymple never recovered. Far too proud to receive help from his father for himself, when that help had been denied to the woman he loved, he struggled on, living a desultory, Bohemian life amongst his brother artists, — men as impecunious as himself, — and making a precarious subsistence for himself and his child, by painting. As the little creature grew from babyhood to childhood, she became the pet and plaything of the atelier in Paris, of which her father was a member. From the time that she could walk alone she would escape from her French bonne. the only servant her father could afford to keep, and find her way to the great bare room, where she knew she was sure of a warm welcome from all, and where her baby ears became familiar with, and her baby accents learnt to imitate, the slang and unconventional talk of an artist's studio.

In this manner seven years slipped away, and then, one spring morn, little Marion, or May as she was familiarly called, found herself an orphan. The kind, indulgent, careless, good-natured father who, along with his brother artists, had spoilt, petted, and adored her all the seven years of her life, was dead. She was led in to see him by her special friend and playfellow. ' Dick,' and to hear his last words. They were broken and husky, as he struggled with the choking cough, which seemed to suffocate him ; but she heard them well, and never foro-ot them. She was to go to her aunts in Scotland. She was to be good and obedient to them — she was not to forget her stupid, loving old father Jim, but she was not to cry for him, he could not bear to see her cry — and she was to be a good girl for his sake, and try to be happy.

That was all ; and obedient to his last request, the little child, brought up among such curious surroundings, strove to strangle her A GIRL 01 YESTERDAY. 7 sobs and ' be happy.' A few days after she took leave of her friends, these kindly, careless, thoughtless young men, who, nevertheless, each and all of them, had a very soft place in his heart for bonny little May, while she in her turn looked upon every one of them as in some sort her pro perty, and had got into a fond, foolish habit of giving to each of them the title of ' father,' as well as to the one whom she styled, in her quaint childish language, her ' very own particular father, Jim.' And now this little being, brought up so differently and accustomed to such antagonistic surroundings, is to begin a totally new life, under utterly different auspices, at the old family mansion of Drum.

Awaiting her advent are ' the laird,' a poor paralytic old gentleman, who has become a mere nonentity in the house he was wont to rule so strictly ; Miss Dalrymple, on whom her father's mantle has fallen with all possible weight and dignity ; and Miss Adamina, whose gentle heart is fluttered at the thought of receiving ' poor James Patrick's ' little daughter, and who, if she dared, would say how happy the prospect makes her. But years of patiently-borne snub bing have reduced Miss Adamina to what her elder sister considers her ' proper place,' and she has not sufficient strength to make more than a feeble, unavailing protest, not indeed always that.

Chapter II

' I do not know why you should fidget about the room like that, Adamina ; I can't get my book read for your uneasy meanderings,' said Miss Dalrymple, raising her eyes from the large volume she was reading, and looking reproachfully over her spectacles at her sister. ' I am agitated to think poor James Patrick's daughter will be with us so soon,' was the reply, spoken in a tone half deprecatory, half defiant. ' My nerves seem all ajar.' ' Nerves ! Rubbish ! You just encourage yourself to be nervous with your ridiculous fads and fancies. Sit down to your book or your knitting, like a sensible woman, and be quiet. What good will it do James Patrick's daughter that you should fidget yourself into a fever, and disarrange all the furniture, I should like to know V Such an argument was unanswerable, especially when given with the scathing emphasis of Miss Dalrymple's tone and manner, and Miss Adamina sat down obediently, with the resigned air of one who, though not convinced, feels the force of adverse circumstances is against her.

Her face expressed a conviction that she could say a great deal if she chose, however, and accordingly in a few min utes the silence was again broken by her voice — a voice which, had it been contrasted with any other than that of her sister, would have sounded dictatorial enough. In this case it was simply aggressive and querulous. ' I cannot think, Cecilia, why you should object to my taking an interest in the arrival of our niece ; now poor James Patrick is dead and gone too, and she left to our care.' 'I do not object to your taking an interest in her arrival, Adamina, nor to anything else in reason; I only object to an aimless and objectless fussing, which can result in no advantage to any living creature, and is extremely worrying to me. I am trying to fix my mind on a work by Bowen, on the law of entail in the female line, and your eccentric gyrations were most distracting to me.' A deep sigh was Miss Adamina's only answer, and for some time silence again reigned, broken only by the click of her knitting-needles, which seemed, by their incessant mo tion, to give expression, to a certain extent, to their mistress's inward perturbation of spirit, and to vent a little of her pent-up irritation against the frigid calm of her elder sister.

The room in which the two ladies sat was as quaint and peculiar as they were themselves. It was styled, in the par lance of the house, ' the round room,' and was of an octagon shape. The walls, as well as the chairs and cushions, were entirely covered with needlework, representing various birds, flowers, and scenes from Scripture history, more or less crudely executed in coloured wools on canvas, in the now almost obsolete cross-stitch. All round the room, forming a species of frieze, was a scroll pattern of white lilies and crimson hollyhocks ; over the chimney-piece Joseph's brethren were represented, in gorgeous colours, grouped around a row of huge sacks, from one of which Pharaoh's servants, a bearded and helmeted band, appeared in the act of draw ing the gold cup, so cunningly hidden by the orders of Joseph the ruler, and flourishing it in the face of the unfortunate Benjamin ; from the background the heads of several camels peered knowingly, and seemed to mock the surprise so graphically depicted on the countenances of their human owners ; other groups portrayed the flight into Egypt, Re becca at the well, Moses in the bulrushes, etc. ; and the whole was interspersed by a brilliant army of apes and pea cocks, golden pheasants and bright-plumaged parrots, who, cunningly devised and fitted into their several places, formed an exceedingly original, if somewhat incongruous whole.

This room was the pride of the Misses Dalrymple, the apple of their eye. The greater part of the embroidery was the work of tlieir own hands, and not the less valued on that account. Its contemplation was a never-ending source of gratification to them. Even now a pleased smile illumines Miss Adamina's plump, good-natured face as she glances lovingly at the master-piece above the fire-place, and the annoyance caused by her sister's snubbing is forgotten, along with her admonitions to silence, as she contemplates the grotesque effects produced by the flickering firelight playing across the turbaned faces of Benjamin and his brethren. ' Certainly, Cecilia, you were singularly successful with Benjamin's nose,' she remarks, presently. 'It is really Roman. By the bye, poor James Patrick's daughter will be able to tell us whether the turbans are put on right, and if the colouring is what it ought to be.

I have always regretted that you did not make Simeon's turban green ; you know I always said green was the colour to my mind for a turban, and there is not one in that whole group.' She gave a regretful sigh, then added, ' And besides, I sometimes think it's not quite straight on his head.' ' What nonsense you are talking, Adamina !' exclaimed her sister, roused at length from her literary researches by the aspersions cast on Simeon's turban, and the suggestion that anyone should know more about turbans, or any other thing under heaven, than herself. ' How should James Patrick's child, a creature of eight, brought up in France, too, know anything about turbans, and why should you call Benjamin's nose Roman, when it is distinctly — and rightly — Jewish? And above all, what on earth do you mean about a green turban ?

Unless your mind is running on green being the colour of the Prophet, and that had nothing to do with the days of Pharaoh. I wish you would some times try to remember dates, and have a little common sense. As for anything being crooked, it's just the shadow from the fire, as any child might know, and you'd better ring for lights at once, and then you'll see I'm right.' Miss Adamina rose accordingly, and meekly rang the bell, but, as she re-seated herself, she could not refrain ("when had she ever been known to refrain ?) from putting in her feeble, useless protest. 'Poor James Patrick's child can only be seven now. Seven last 29th of May.' ' Eight or seven, seven or eight,' was the sharp rejoinder, ' all the same I believe her to be eight. Lights at once, Peter,' she added, as the old butler appeared at the door in answer to the bell. 'But, Cecilia,' persisted her sister, in a solemn voice, after carefully waiting to see the door close behind the de parting man-servant, ' the child could not be more than seven, for James Patrick's marriage only took place eight years ago this very day.' ' It may be so, Adamina, I have no wish to argue with you on that or any other subject.

James Patrick's marriage was a topic I never cared to discuss, and whether the child is seven or eight, she will be equally ignorant as to turbans or any other and more useful knowledge, I make no doubt, with such a mother and such an upbringing. How any Dalrymple could make up his mind to marry a useless, senseless, fine lady, and then be led by the nose ' ' Oh ! hush, Cecilia ! Remember they are both dead now, and ' But the entrance of the lamp interrupted the conclusion of the sentence — the lamp borne aloft by Peter, who threw open the door with an air of immense importance, and an nounced at the same moment in his loudest voice, ' Miss Dalrymple of Drum.' Both sisters started up. In the ears of the elder the words sounded most disagreeably. Ever since she could remember, she had been ' Miss Dalrymple of Drum,' and that the title should now be applied to another was very bitter to her.

There was a pause while the old butler stood aside, the old-fashioned moderator lamp, its glass globe guiltless of shade, held high in his hand, casting a full mellow light on the open doorway. A soft, sweet child's voice was heard to say in a very decided tone of command, but yet gently, ' Otez done mon manteau, Josephine, j'entrerai seule,' and in another moment ' poor James Patrick's child ' stood for the first time before her two paternal aunts. A tiny, dainty, fairy vision, with long bright curls hanging about her shoulders ; a small face, flushed with fatigue and excitement — perhaps with tears — and great wondering, blue eyes gazing questioningly on the new surroundings, which were to form her future home. She advanced into the room with a pretty air of confidence, and walking up to Miss Adamina, who happened to stand a little in front of her sister, said, ' How do you do ?

Are you the great Cecilia V Miss Adamina stared at the little creature in speechless astonishment, too much taken aback to attempt any answer, and the child's gaze turned questioningly from her, and fixed itself upon the elder lady. 'Ah ! no !' she went on, i you must be Aunt Dammy, and this is ' ' I am your Aunt Cecilia,' interposed that lady, recovering her presence of mind with an effort; 'and this,' she pro ceeded, with dignity, ' is your Aunt Adamina.' ' Ah ! yes, I understand,' replied her little niece, with perfectly unconscious self-possession ; ' but Father Jim always called you " the great Cecilia," or " the Pope," and Aunt Adamina " Aunt Dammy," so I did the same ; but I will call you anything you like, of course. Will you not kiss me, and love me. I am very tired and lonely.' The last words were spoken in the sweetest of persuasive tones, and the little face was raised with an expression of pathetic appeal.

It melted even the heart of the great Cecilia, who stooped down and imprinted a kiss on her little niece's cheek, smoothing back, as she did so, the tangle of curls which fell over her forehead. As for Miss Adamina, she took the little creature in her arms, and hu^ed her fondly, sobbing the while. Her embrace was returned with interest, as the child murmured in her ear, ' I know I shall love you, Father Jim always said I would, and he always knew.' She did not cry, but there was a pathetic little break in the expressive voice, and, as Miss Adamina set her down again, the blue eyes were full of unshed tears. ' And I will try to love you, too,' she added soon after, putting her little hand into that of her elder YESTERDaW. 13 aunt, and looking up in her face, ' for Father Jim said I must try to, and I will.' ' Who do you mean by Father Jim ?' asked her aunt, in her dry, harsh voice. ' I suppose you mean your own father ?

What makes you call him " Father Jim " ? It sounds perfectly senseless.' A puzzled look passed across the child's face, caused part ly by the question, partly by the tone in which it was spoken, a tone to which she, with all her apparently rough up bringing, was totally unaccustomed. ' Yes, I mean my own father,' she answered, gently slip ping her hand from the unresponsive clasp in which it was held. ' You see I had so many fathers, there had to be some distinction. There was Father Bill, and Father John, and Father Dick,' — a sort of sob caught her breath at the mention of the last name, — ' and ever so many others ; in fact, all the society. But Jim was, of course, my real father — my own dear, darling Jim.' The child had turned away, and was gazing into the fire, her lips quivered, and a great tear rolled down her cheek, but she brushed it away quickly with her little hand, and, before her aunts had had time to realise one phase of this extraordinary little being's nature, she had passed on to another.

Glancing up at the tapestry above her head, her attention was at once attracted by it. ' That man's face is all out of drawing,' she exclaimed, nodding towards Benjamin, ' the one they are giving the cup to, I mean. At least, I suppose they are giving it to him. Unless it is that he's ill, and there's medicine in it,' she added, a brilliant idea striking her to account for the con vulsive agony depicted on his face. ' Medicine !' exclaimed Miss Adamina, in a tone of horror, ' why, it's Benjamin.' ' Is it ? I did not know. But who was. Benjamin ? and did they want to poison him, those soldiers with the tins on YESTERD.iY. their heads, or what V and the child turned with eager interest towards her aunts. The look on the expressive little face changed to one of bewilderment, as she became aware of the surprise, almost horror, depicted on theirs. ' Poor little thing !

Do you mean to say you never heard tell of Joseph and his brethren ?' exclaimed Miss Adamina ; while Cecilia remarked, with severe decision, that the child was evidently 'little better than a heathen.' ' But I am asking you, I want to know,' protested their little niece, standing opposite them like a creature at bay, and trying to defend herself from both attacks at once. ' Father Ji — I mean my father,' bringing out the words with difficulty, yet determined to alter at once what had been objected to, ' my father always said that no one could do more than their best, and I could not expect to know everything all at once. As to a heathen,' she continued. glancing with a very decided expression of antagonism at her elder aunt, 'I know I am a heathen, and I glory in it. We were all heathens !' It was perhaps as well that at this moment a knock at the door, and the entrance of her bonne to take mademoiselle to bed, prevented further discussion.

The ' little heathen's ' manner changed with the rapidity which characterised her every action. She seemed to remember all at once that she was in a strange house, amongst unknown surroundings, and the recollection apparently brought her back to politeness and good manners. ' I will come immediately,' she said, addressing her maid in French, in the tone of well-bred authority which seemed natural to her ; ' will you please to wait for me outside.' Then, turning to her aunt, she continued, ' I beg your pardon for speaking so. It was rude. I ought to have remembered that of course you do not understand, as you are not a member of the society; but we really are all heathens. Good-night.' And raising herself on tiptoe, she imprinted a kiss on the forehead of the ' great Cecilia,' who was seated near her, and, with a much more demonstrative embrace to her no less bewildered ' Aunt Dammy,' Miss Dalrymple of Drum left the room.