Mrs. Fenton. A sketch

Front matter

MRS FENTON At all Libraries, Booksellers and Bookstalls. New Book by the author of "Lady Baby," " Orthodox." " On the Way Through," etc., and joint author of " Reata," " The Waters of hercides." A QUEEN OF CURDS AND CREAM A NOVEL. By Dorothea Gerard. 3 Vole., Crown _8vo. Heady Shortly. ETELKk^l VOW. A NOVEL. By Dorothea Gerard. 1 Vol., Crown 8vo. Ready Shortly. Eden, Remington & Co., London and Sydney, fit. S.W. MES FENTON A SKETCH BY W. E. NORRIS - V' author of "mademoiselle de mersac" THIRD EDITION EDEN, REMINGTON & CO PUBLISHERS LONDON & SYDNEY, N.S.W. 1892 [All Rights Reserved']

Chapter I. In

the gloomy, spacious bedroom of a gloomy old house at Oxford an old man lay dying. There could be no doubt as to the fact that he was dying : that same morning the doctor had whispered to the housekeeper that it was now only a question of days, perhaps even of hours ; nor was he himself ignorant of his condition, for at the very beginning of his short, sharp illness he had observed that he would not get over it. Yet any one, looking at his hard, stern, handsome face, might have found it difficult to believe that he was really near his end. It betrayed few symp toms of suffering or exhaustion, and it was the face of a man who never gives in. Not by any means the typical British bulldog countenance, but rather one of a kind which is more commonly seen north than south of the Tweed. The high, I narrow forehead, the bushy white eyebrows, the thin lips, the long, square chin — all these made up a whole which, if not attractive, was at least free from any element of weakness.

His eyes — those terrible gray eyes with which, all his life long, he had been wont to stare down those who came into contact with him — were closed now ; but one could guess what they must be like, and perhaps it was not very strange that the posses sor of such a face should, at this hour of ex tremity, be utterly alone, save for the old housekeeper who was sitting by his bedside, and who glanced furtively at him from time to time, with out daring to ask whether he wanted anything. In fact, the Dean of St. Cyprian's, though a personage in the University and one whose name was tolerably well known outside University circles, by reason of his great reputation for scholarship and on account of certain learned works which he had published, was probably as friendless and lonely a man as could have been found in all England.

His near relations, it is true, were dead and gone; but if they had been still living it would have made no difference, for he had quarrelled with them all. He had quarrelled with his only brother; years ago he had quarrelled mortally and finally with his only child, who had run away from his house to marry her music master ; he had quarrelled— not finally, to be sure, because that would have been too inconvenient, still pretty sharply and continuously — with every dignitary in Oxford, except with the Master of All Saints ; and he would certainly have quarrelled with him too had it not been a thing beyond the power of human achievement to quarrel with dear old Dr. Drysdale. And so now he lay grimly and silently waiting for death, with only his housekeeper to bear him company ; and she scarcely counted.

It was evening — a bitter, stormy March even ing — and he had not addressed a word to her since midday, merely signing to her every now and again to give him a weak brandy-and-water or the beef-tea which the doctor had ordered. The poor woman had sat up with him for two nights and was almost worn out ; yet she did not venture to leave the room without permission or to suggest that one of the other servants might take her place for a time. She was wondering whether any very awful consequences would ensue if she were to indulge in forty winks, when a cautious tap summoned her to the door. There was a brief whispered consultation, and she returned to the bedside. "I beg your pardon, sir," said she, "Mr. Breffit have arrived." The Dean opened his eyes. " Let him come in, then," he answered, in a deep, husky voice.

Mr. Breffit, the lawyer, came in : a brisk, middle-aged man with a rosy face, made rosier than usual by the east wind. " Sorry to find you so poorly, Mr. Dean," he began in a cheerful voice ; but the old man stared at him, and the remarks which he had been about to make upon the inclemency of the weather remained unuttered. Mr. Breffit, like the rest of the world, was afraid of the Dean of St. Cyprian's. However, it does not do for a solicitor to look frightened ; so presently he resumed : "I have lost no time in obeying your summons, you see." "You would have neglected your duty if you had lost time," said the Dean ; " there is no time to be lost. Mrs. Simpson, you may leave us. I sent for you, Mr. Breffit, because I wish to make a fresh will. You will find writing materials on the table.

Sit down, if you please." Mr. Breffit had no very lengthy task to per form. Lawyers, as a rule, do not much relish drawing up the concise, intelligible testaments which are more in favour nowadays than they used to be ; but what are you to do when you have to deal with an opinionated and peremptory client, who knows his own mind and will tolerate no superfluous verbiage ? In less than a quarter of an hour the dying man had revoked all previous wills made by him (there had been a good many such), and had disposed of his realty and personalty after a fashion which seemed likely to be final. When the butler and the footman had been summoned to witness their master's signature, and when Mr. Breffit was once more left alone with his client, he lingered, as if he had some observation to make. "Well," said the Dean sharply, " what is it?

You think I have acted unfairly perhaps ? " " Oh, no," answered the lawyer ; " no, I don't know that anybody could call it exactly unfair — and, after all, it will come to the same thing. most likely. It isn't quite — quite what was ex pected, of course." " I am not answerable for anybody's expectations," said the old man, " nor can I pretend to sympathize with anybody's disappointment. Expectations are frequently unreasonable and, according to my experience, are seldom fulfilled. I may say that my own expectations have been strictly reasonable ; yet they have not been ful filled. However, I am not concerned to defend myself. If I were, I might, with some show of plausibility, claim to have done an act of tardy justice." The lawyer looked down and smiled slightly, but made no rejoinder. " Good-bye, Mr. Breffit," said the Dean presently ; " perhaps you will be so good as to touch the bell as you pass.

Thank you." The lawyer accepted his dismissal without a word, beyond a muttered " Good-bye, Mr. Dean." A living dog is better than a dead lion ; but the old lion was not dead yet, and while he still breathed he continued to inspire inferior beings with the awe which they had always felt for him. On the staircase Mr. Breffit recovered himself and laughed. " Tardy justice, indeed ! Well, if it's justice, it's certainly tardy ; but, taking every thing into consideration, it doesn't altogether realize my idea of justice. The chances are, how ever, that the woman died long ago. We should iiave heard of her before now if she had been alive, you may depend upon it." Then he be took himself to the oak-panelled dining-room and had a very good dinner, doing full justice to the Dean's old port, before he returned to London.

While the lawyer was thus fortifying himself against cold and fatigue, a visitor called to inquire, and, strange to say, this visitor was pre sently shown up into the Dean's bedroom. He was a tall, lean old man, with a stooping figure, a bald head, and a kindly, wrinkled face. " Well, Drysdale," said the Dean, as he entered, "so you have come to see the last of me." The Master of All Saints took his old friend's hand and looked down at him sadly. " I hope not, Musgrave," said he ; "I think not. It seems impossible that you should be taken before me — with your splendid constitution, too ! You have not to me at all the appearance of — of being in danger." " You would argue with a stone wall, Drys dale," returned the other. " I have no strength left for controversy, but in twenty-four hours or so you will have to admit yourself in the wrong.

Take a chair, Drysdale ; you are the last man whom I shall talk to in this world, and I don't suppose that I shall be able to talk to you very long." After a pause of a few seconds he resumed : " Do you remember my daughter Laura ? " " To be sure I do. Oh, yes, I remember her very well, poor child ! I'm glad you remember her too, Musgrave, and I only wish she could be with you now." " I have a tolerably good memory, and in any case I presume that few men can forget the existence of their children, although they may have good reasons for wishing to do so. I can not say that I share your wish to have Laura with me at the present moment. Considering that she has allowed twelve years to elapse with out troubling herself to communicate with me or to express one word of regret for the disgrace which she has brought upon me and upon her self, I am unable to feel that a meeting with her be agreeable or desirable.

However, I have just made a will in her favour, under which she will inherit all that I possess, with the exception of a sum of £10,000, which I have thought it right to bequeath to my nephew Frederick." "You don't say so!" exclaimed Dr. Drysdale. ■" Well, really you surprise me, Musgrave ! So Fred will only get £10,000; dear me! But have you — excuse my asking the question — any knowledge of your daughter's whereabouts? " " Not the slightest. As I tell you, she has never communicated with me, directly or indi rectly, since the day when she fled from my house with her blackguard of a music-master. In the letter which she left for me then she informed me that she proposed to sail for New Zealand. I do not know whether she carried out her intention or not ; I do not know whether she is living or dead.

If the latter, my property will go to the next of kin. I could think of no other satisfactory manner of disposing of it," added the Dean a little regretfully, meaning, per haps, that he could think of no other manner of disposing of it which would not be eminently satisfactory to somebody. " Ah ! " said his friend meditatively. And then : " Won't you have Fred telegraphed for, Musgrave ? " " Certainly not. I have no wish to see him, nor can I imagine that he has any wish to see me. He has thought fit to disobey and defy me, and he has deliberately refused to take up any career worthy of a gentleman." "Well — hardly that, has he, Musgrave? He has been called to the bar, has he not?" " Because I insisted upon it. I have led him to the water, but he has given me to understand that I cannot make him drink.

Instead of prac tising or qualifying himself for a legal appoint ment he is pleased to spend his time in writing plays. Plays ! " " Men have achieved distinction in that way before now," observed the Master of All Saints mildly. " Have they, indeed ? I was not aware of it." " Well, there was Shakespeare, you know." " Oh, if you are driven to resort to a reductio ad absurdum, there is an end of argument, of course. But indeed I have neither the wish nor the power to argue with you. I have more than done my duty to my nephew. In spite of his disobedience I have left him £10,000 to play the fool with ; added to which there is a strong prob ability of his coming into my entire fortune. Under the circumstances, he has perhaps no just ground for complaint if I decline to read his literary productions or to be annoyed by hearing him talk about them." ■ " I daresay he wouldn't talk about them," suggested the peacemaker ; for really it seemed a grievous thing that poor Musgrave should pass away without so much as a word of farewell to the nephew whom he had adopted and whom for sometime past he had treated as his heir.

True, there had of late been a coolness between them, amounting almost to a breach, and it appeared that Fred was to be punished by inheriting £10,000 instead of a considerable fortune; still it was undoubtedly the young man's duty to be with his uncle at the last, and he ought to be summoned. His uncle, however, did not seem to think so. " I don't want to hear him talk about that or any other subject," he declared. " I don't want to hear anybody talk — except, perhaps, you for a minute or two. I have heard enough of talk in my long life, and I am weary of it. I am going now to a land where talking is unknown. At least, that is the natural presumption, since talk ing presupposes a tongue and a tympanum, and I am about to lose mine." " When a man dies his spirit returns to God who gave it," said the Master of All Saints.

" I suppose so. But what that means I do not understand, nor do you, my friend." The Dean of St. Cyprian's had always been broad, not to say unorthodox, in his theological views. Many a bitter and heated argument had he had with other ecclesiastical dignitaries upon questions of dogma, but never a one with the Master of All Saints, whose habit it was to listen and shake his head, but to return no answer when attempts were made to draw him into such discussions. He made no answer now ; but pre sently he lowered himself stiffly on to his knees by the bedside and said an audible prayer for the dying man. It was a great liberty to take ; it was just the sort of thing that Musgrave would not like at all ; only, for all his mildness and meekness, he was not and never had been in the least afraid of Musgrave, which peculiarity of his was possibly one of the reasons why they had remained such good friends.

When he rose the old Dean smiled at him and held out his hand. "Good-bye, Drysdale," said he ; " thank you for coming." "I will come again to-morrow," said the other. " Ah — to-morrow ! I am not sure that you will find me here to-morrow. Still, if you are passing this way and care to look in — For to night, however, I must dismiss you ; I am fairly tired out." So the worthy Dr. Drysdale departed, and, instead of making straight for home, went to the nearest post-office, whence he despatched, upon his own responsibility, a telegram to Mr. Fred erick Musgrave in London. He might have spared himself the trouble ; for, as it chanced, Mr. Frederick Musgrave was, dining out when the telegram reached his rooms, nor did he receive it until past midnight, before which hour the Dean of St. Cyprian's was dead.

Chapter II. As

the pendulum of the clock swings to and fro, ticking off minutes and seconds from the limited period of time allotted to each of us as our share of sojourn upon the surface of this planet, the process of decay and renewal, which alone renders it inhabitable, goes on without interrup tion. Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born. We cannot be always mourning with those who mourn, or rejoicing with those who rejoice ; for, if we could, our lives would be spent in a per petual state of hysterics, which would altogether incapacitate us for the performance of our daily duties. Yet every now and then we receive a disagreeable shock when we find that we have unconsciously and in a figurative sense been danc ing over the graves of our friends, and it was cer tainly an unfortunate and incongruous circum stance that v/hile the Dean of St. Cyprian's was gasping his life out in his solitary room at Oxford, his nephew should have been enjoying himself very much at a cheery London dinner-party.

General Moore's dinners were always cheery, as indeed, for the matter of that, was General Moore himself. It is the right, not to say the duty, of a retired officer with an ample income, a handsome young wife, and a commodious mansion in South Kensington to be cheery. The General liked see ing his friends, of whom he had plenty, and his wife liked entertaining. Perhaps the skill and tact displayed in the selecting and assorting of the guests who assembled so constantly in the house in Cromwell Road should be credited rather to her than to him. She was his second wife and his junior by something more than twenty years, her step-daughter Susie being now eighteen. She had four small children of her own ; but that did not prevent her from being an excellent step-mother, as step-mothers go, and resolved to do her very best for Susie, who had made her formal entrance into society at the last Drawing-room.

That is to say, that whenever she issued invitations for a dinner party, she took care to consult Susie's interests by the inclusion of at least one eligible young man in the list. On this particular occasion she had two ; namely, Mr. Frederick Musgrave, and Captain Claughton of the 4th Life Guards, to both of whom had been assigned parts in the private theatricals which were to take place later in the evening. As for Captain Claughton, it was perhaps going a little bit too far to describe him as strictly eligible. He was well-bred, and by no means bad-looking ; he seemed to spend a good deal of money, and his father had a considerable property. But then he was not his father's eldest son ; and young fellows in the Household Brigade are only too apt to spend a good deal of money which they do not possess.

Mr. Musgrave, however, was certainly all right. It was well known that he would in due season inherit the fortune of his uncle, the Dean of St. Cyprian's, an old man in failing health, who, as Mrs. Moore had heard upon the best authority, had been economizing more than half of his income for many years past. Mr. Musgrave, therefore, might be encouraged with a clear conscience, and of late Mr. Musgrave had received as much encouragement as any young man could wish for. These theatricals, for instance, had been got up entirely by his wish and under his supervision. He knew something about theatrical matters, for he was the author of a little comedy which had been accepted by a London manager, and was even now being performed nightly; besides which he had, when at Oxford, been somewhat notorious as an amateur actor.

And so, in per mitting him to arrange this entertainment, and to instruct Susie in an art of which she had hither to been ignorant, one seemed, as it were, to be killing two birds with a single stone ; because, of course, one wishes one's entertainments to be suc cessful, almost as much as one wishes one's step daughter to be provided with a husband. Fred Musgrave fully intended the entertain ment to be successful ; perhaps, too, he intended to oblige his hostess in the other particular specified. At all events, he was beginning to think that he did ; and the somewhat forward behaviour of Captain Claughton made him think so still more. Trim, slim Captain Claughton, with his closely cut black hair, his slight moustache, his perfectly fitting clothes, and his eye-glass, assumed during dinner a certain air of confiden tial familiarity in talking to Miss Moore which struck the other young man as rather offensive.

As, however, the other young man was very good natured and easy-going, he did not lose his tem per, but only wondered whether Miss Moore really liked that sort of thing, and hoped she didn't, and was a little bit afraid that she did. It seemed quite possible that she might, nor was there any reason why she shouldn't ; for Claugh ton was a very pleasant-mannered fellow, and she had already seen enough of him to have discovered that his admiration was not given to every body. If he admired her, he paid her a compli ment which no doubt she deserved, but which she might nevertheless be pardoned for appre ciating. Susie Moore, though not likely to achieve re nown by reason of her beauty, had been pro nounced to be " decidedly upon the pretty side " by her step-mother. " She has points," that un biassed critic had declared.

" Of course, if you take her piecemeal, there isn't much to be said for her ; but she has a genuine complexion, and her hair and eyes are of a rather nice shade of brown, and the general effect is quite pleasing. Besides, she is as good as gold." The latter encomium may have been irrelevant, but it was true, and it certainly deserved to be reckoned among Susie's charms. One may ven ture to say, without fear of giving offence (because no young woman would think of applying the remark to anybody except her neighbours), that whatever may be the charms of debutantes of the present day, that is scarcely the one for which the majority of them are conspicuous, and per haps it was Susie's possession of it that had aroused the interest of Captain Claughton, who had dawdled through many London seasons.

Possibly also it may have been that which had attracted Fred Musgrave ; though he was a man of quite another type, and had had fewer oppor tunities of discovering its rarity. He himself might almost have been cited as coming under the same denomination. Notwith standing his twenty-seven years, he had remained to most intents and purposes a boy. He was liable to be carried away by occasional enthu siasms, such as his present craze for the drama ; he had a fine, healthy belief in his fellow-creatures, nearly all of whom he liked, and, having always been extremely popular, he had fallen in to the habit of taking his own way and expecting that other people would see the reasonableness of making their convenience suit his. Probably he would have been rather a spoiled boy but for the natural sweetness of his disposition, which had enabled him to keep upon tolerably good terms even with his crabbed and arbitrary old uncle.

In respect of personal appearance he had the ad vantage of Captain Claughton, being tall, broad shouldered, and handsome, with curly fair hair, blue eyes, and regular features. In a vague sort of way he was understood to be clever, though it cannot be said that he had as yet done much to earn that reputation, save by the production of the comedy above-mentioned. When one has such a number of things to make one happy, as health, strength, good looks, popularity, and a rich uncle, one must be abnormal indeed if one does not enjoy life, and Fred Mus grave enjoyed it thoroughly. He enjoyed Gene ral Moore's dinner, in spite of the slight dis turbance of equilibrium which had been alluded to ; he enjoyed making preparations for the play afterwards, and giving last instructions to Susie, whom he had been carefully drilling during the previous fortnight ; and most of all he enjoyed the play itself, which proved an unbroken triumph for him from beginning to end.

Captain Claugh ton, to be sure, had to figure in it as Susie's lover ; the exigencies of the piece demanded that. But Captain Claughton's histrionic abili ties were but slender, and though he got through his part respectably, he did not throw much animation into it or obtain much applause from his audience. Fred, on the other hand, was applauded loudly, and a great many flattering things were said both of and to him, after the conclusion of the performance, which was succeeded by what Mrs. Moore was pleased to call " a little impromptu dance." " Fine young fellow, that young Musgrave ! " one of her guests remarked to her as she stood in the doorway, smiling benignly upon the dancers ; " one doesn't often see such a happy combination of brains and physique. Pity he has no regular occupation."

" Well, perhaps," agreed Mrs. Moore indul gently ; " but he seems to be able to make plenty of occupations for himself, and he will never be under the necessity of working for his living. I suppose." Mrs. Moore's friend, who was a middle-aged gentleman of large experience, shook his head with a skeptical smile. " I understand that he is entirely dependent upon his uncle, Dean Mus grave, the most cantankerous, cross-grained old wretch in the three kingdoms. Suppose his uncle were to take it into his head to cut him off with a shilling to-morrow ! " " Oh, but he would never do such a wicked thing! " exclaimed Mrs. Moore, quite shocked. " There is no saying zvhat an old man may not do," returned the other impressively. " I myself had an uncle who married when he was nearer sev enty than sixty, and, if you'll believe me, that man had three children before he died.

Left the whole of his money among them too, though for years he had been in the habit of spending the greater part of every summer in our house and growling at the cook. Besides, hasn't old Mus grave got a prodigal son somewhere or other, whom he kicked out of doors in days gone by? " " Oh, no, I don't think so," answered Mrs. Moore ; " I never heard a word about his having had any children." " Well, I have. Upon second thoughts I'm not sure that it wasn't a prodigal daughter. Anyhow, there was somebody." Mrs. Moore made a mental note of the alleged circumstance. She did not know very much about Mr. Musgrave or his belongings, and perhaps it might become her duty to make inquiries. Meanwhile Fred, unconscious of the disagree able possibilities which were being forecast on his behalf, was dancing with pretty little Susie Moore, and it so chanced that when their waltz was over, and when he had led her into the apology for a conservatory which adjoined the ball-room, she began, in the innocence of her heart, to question him about his present manner of life and his plans for the future, of which she was even more ignorant than her mother.

Fred did not object to being questioned ; he had nothing to conceal, and he was pleased that Miss Moore should display any interest in his career. " My present ambition," he informed her, " is to develop into a dramatic author. That is avery respectable sort of ambition, it seems to me, though my uncle thinks differently." " Your uncle and you generally do think differently, don't you ? " asked the girl. " I should hardly say that ; we get on won derfully well, considering all things. As for our thinking alike, it is impossible to tell whether we do or not. because my uncle has a sort of mania for opposition. It would go to his heart to have to confess that he agreed with you upon any given subject. He disapproves strongly of my writing plays ; but that's a matter of course. I suppose he would disapprove of my accepting the office of Prime Minister, if it were offered to me."

" That must be rather disagreeable for you." "Oh, I'm accustomed to it, and I don't mind. It's only his way. Every now and then we have a quarrel — we are supposed to be in the midst of a quarrel at present — but it blows over after a bit, and we go on as before." " Does that mean that you always end by doing what you wish ? " " Well, pretty much ; but then I never wish to do what he has any business to dislike." " I should think he must have been very kind to you," observed Susie, after a moment of reflection ; " you seem to live only to amuse yourself." " Oh, Miss Moore, what a cruel thing to say ! I am sure I have every wish to lead a useful existence ; but I really don't see why I shouldn't amuse myself into the bargain. My amusements are quite healthy and innoeent. I play cricket ; I shoot a little, when I get the chance ; I hunt a little, if anybody is good enough to give me a mount ; and sometimes I take a part in private theatricals.