Saint Ann's. A novel

Front matter

NEW LIBRARY NOVELS. JACK DOYLE S DAUGHTER. By R. E. Francillon. 3 vols. DOROTHY'S DOUBLE. By G. A. Henty. 3 vols. THE ONE TOO MANY. By E. Lynn Linton. Second Edition. 3 vols. A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. By L. T. Meade. 3 vols. IN DIREST PERIL. By David Christie Murray. 3 vols. SAINT ANNS. By W. E. Norris. 2 vols. CHRISTINA CHARD. By Mrs. Campbell Praed. 3 vols. A DOG AND HIS SHADOW. By R. E. Francillon. 1 vol. A PROTEGEE OF JACK HAMLIN'S, etc. By Bret Harte. 1 vol. THE KING'S ASSEGAI. By Bertram Mitford. i vol. THE QUEEN AGAINST OWEN. By Allen Upward. 1 vol. TWO OFFENDERS. By Ouida. i vol. London : CHATTO & WINDUS, 214 Piccadilly. £ Hovel BY W. E. N ORRIS AUTHOR of 'a bachelor's blunder,' 'my friend JIM,' 'thirldy hall, 'matrimony,' etc. IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I. UonOoii CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAPTER PAGE I. THE WANDERER'S RETURN - - - - 1 II.

THE CURIOUS COLONEL - - 24 III. THE PRETTY AND VIRTUOUS ONE - - - 41 IV. A RADICAL NOIILEMAN - - - - 62 V. MR. FOLEY IS MADE UNEASY* - - -79 VI. THE ARRIVAL OF THE IIAMEKSLEYS - 100 VII. LOLA'S CONQUI ST - - - - - 119 VIII. CRUEL SALLY CRIBBETS - - - - 141 IX. BHODA DISAPPOINTS SEVERAL PERSONS - - 159 X. SUMMARY PROCEEDINGS - - -178 XI. THE PRIVILEGES OF RELATIONSHIP - 198 XII. A CRISIS - - " SAINT AN N'S

Chapter I. The Wanderer's Return

The good folks of Bridstow had been roused to a sensation of languid curiosity on that fine May evening which, as they had been given to understand, was to witness the arrival of Mr. Foley and his son at St. Ann's. One advantage of living in the south west corner of Great Britain is that the emotions and sensations of all who reside there become of necessity more or less languid, the soft climate of that favoured region forbidding men and women to worry them selves overmuch about anything, and promoting a vol. i. philosophic spirit which is, happily, quite independent of any tedious system of philosophy. Yet language, to have any meaning at all, can only be employed in a relative sense, and it was, so to speak, exciting to hear that Mr. Foley was coming home at last. The event was one of no slight importance to the parish, as Mrs. Latimer, the Vicar's wife, very justly remarked.

True, Mr. Foley was not in himself so influential a personage as Lord Braunton, who owned nearly the whole country-side, nor would anybody have thought of comparing the modest property attached to St. Ann's with the wide acres that surrounded Braunton Towers ; still, St. Ann's might be said to dominate Bridstow, and the dwellers at St. Ann's were likely to be brought into far closer and more frequent intercourse with the villagers and the few families of neighbouring gentry than was Lord Braunton, whose duties or tastes involved prolonged periods of absence. So that one could not help wondering what sort of a man Mr. Foley was, and whether he and his son would be any improvement upon poor old Miss Lee, who had rented the house for upwards of a quarter of a century, and who now lay at rest in the parish churchyard, to the temporary — it was to be hoped only temporary — detriment of local charities.

That Mr. Foley should, by choice, have fixed his abode upon the Continent of Europe during all that long time was scarcely reassuring ; there must be some thing wrong, or, at all events, very odd, about an English gentleman who prefers other countries to his own. ' At the same time,' said worthy Mrs. Latimer, ' it is never too late to mend, and I suppose he means to stay at home now. Besides, he is said to be a very clever amateur artist — which may be some excuse. Though, for my own part, I doubt whether Italy or Switzerland, or any other foreign land, could beat the scenery of South Devon in fine weather. He ought to be well off, too ; for I have always heard that his uncle, old Mr. Sam Foley, whom he succeeded, was a rich man. I don't think I will mention the exact amount of poor dear Miss Lee's subscriptions to him, unless, of course, he should suggest giving a smaller sum.' A hasty, though eager, survey of him did not, it had to be confessed, convey the idea of open-handed benevolence.

A tall, spare, gray-bearded man, who walked with his head slightly bent, whose cheeks were deeply furrowed, and who looked decidedly cross — such was the report which scrupulous veracity com pelled Mrs. Latimer to make to the Vicar of the parish. Having had occasion to purchase a sixpenny magazine at the railway bookstall, she had chanced to be upon the platform when the London express came in, and had thus obtained the earliest possible oppor tunity of scrutinizing her husband's new parishioner. ' The son,' she continued, ' seemed to be really nice. Quite young ; tall and broad-shouldered, and, I should say, handsome ; but I got no more than a glimpse of his face, because they hurried away at once, leaving the servants to collect their luggage, and naturally I was more interested in his father than in him.

There were two servants, a valet and a footman in livery, which looks as if they were well-to-do. Only I am afraid, from his face, that old Mr. Foley isn't quite so sociably inclined as young Mr. Foley.' The two gentlemen whose respective characteristics were thus succinctly divined and defined did not notice the stout little lady on the platform. They had not supposed that their advent would be an affair of much consequence to the Vicar or to the Vicar's wife, or to anybody else in Bridstow. They had had a long journey ; they were tired and dusty and anxious to reach their destination, which one of them had never beheld before, while the other, who had seen it often enough in years gone by, was hoping, not without misgivings, that St. Ann's might not prove utterly uninhabitable. 'I didn't see my way to letting the house stand empty,' the latter remarked deprecatingly, as he and his son drove away in the open carriage which had been sent to meet them, ' and there seemed to be no chance of securing another tenant.

But how in the world you will manage to amuse yourself here, Arthur, I can't think.' Mrs. Latimer was mistaken in setting him down as cross ; he was not that ; only he was nervous and worried, as it was his nature to be. The younger man opened his lips to reply ; but apparently thought better of it, and waited a moment before he observed cheerfully, ' Well, it's an awfully pretty place, any how.' ' Yes, it's pretty. Unfortunately, you are no great lover of prettiness — in the form of landscape. A pretty landscape would scarcely suffice to make you enjoy existence, I mean.' The young man who had been addressed as Arthur laughed. ' Well, no,' he confessed ; ' I don't suppose it would. As far as that goes, it wouldn't suffice for you either, would it ?' ' Oh, I'm an old man,' Mr. Foley returned, with a shrug of his shoulders. ' What does it signify whether I enjoy existence or not?

St. Ann's is as good a place to die in as another. Better than another, indeed, seeing that it is nice and handy to the family vault.' He presented no appearance of being an immediate candidate for funeral obsequies, nor was he what, in these days of longevity, is accounted an old man ; although he might very well have passed for being nearer seventy than sixty. As a fact, he was but fifty-eight, and had always had fairly good health. For various reasons, good spirits had long ago ceased to be numbered amongst his privileges. The drive from the railway station, through the narrow streets of the little fishing-village, and up the steep hill near to the summit of which the old red house of St. Ann's is situated, did not occupy more than twenty minutes. A straight avenue, on either side of which well-grown ilexes and conifers raised then dark foliage against a pale blue sky, led by a gentle ascent from the lodge to a spacious flower garden, and so to the front-door.

Everything was neat, trim, and in perfect order; for Miss Lee had been an excellent tenant, and Mr. Foley had thought that he could not do better than retain the services of her faithful domestics, adding to their number a couple of his own. Only, when you hate a place, you are not made to like it any the more by finding that there is no excuse for reasonable complaint in its outward aspect. Such, at least, was the vexed inward reflection of the owner, as he stepped out of his carriage and acknowledged the respectful greetings of the servants, who had deemed it their duty to assemble in the hall. He had not told his son that he hated St. Ann's ; he had expressed his intention of residing there for the remainder of his days ; so that it would have been ridiculous and injudicious to begin by mentioning that he had a prejudice against his home.

Perhaps he entertained a secret hope that Arthur would hate the place too — in which event it might become incumbent upon him to quit it and seek once more the sunny Southern lands which he loved. But Arthur, who parted from him immediately after their entrance, and who presently set forth on a tour of inspection, did not think that he should hate the place at all. To be sure, this strongly-built, fresh-coloured young man, whose blue eyes looked out cheerfully upon a world with the sorrows and dis appointments of which he had as yet but a slight acquaintance, had not the remotest intention of spending the remainder of his days at St. Ann's ; and that made a difference. At the age of four-and twenty one likes very well to have a beautiful, peace ful, and commodious home, especially if there be partridge and pheasant shooting attached to it ; but neither for the sake of beauty, nor peace, nor shooting is one content to stay at home always.

Nor, of course, ought one to be so. At the age of fifty-eight, on the other hand, it may naturally be assumed that the advantages above enumerated possess a higher value ; and Arthur, as he stood, with his hands in his pockets, looking out across the sea, said to himself : ' I don't see why this shouldn't suit the governor. He has a taste for gardening, and he'll be able to potter about and sketch, and I dare say he'll get some of his friends down to stay with him. Oh, I should think it ought to do.' It would have done very well, no doubt, if it had not happened to be associated in Mr. Foley's mind with disagreeable memories ; for the house was a charming, old-fashioned, irregular building, over grown with creepers and climbing roses, and the prospect from the terrace was of a nature to please the artistic eye.

Three or four hundred feet beneath lay Bridstow, a picturesque jumble of whitewashed cottages, congregated round the tiny harbour, and straggling for a short distance up the hillside towards the gray church-tower ; to the eastward of the village, and following the curve of the bay, a row of more modern and more pretentious edifices, fronted by a dozen bathing-machines, gave evidence that even to this remote spot the inevitable seaside visitor of summer had begun to penetrate ; but beyond these, the far-stretching coast-line, with its red cliffs, its frequent identations, and its occasional patches of white sand, showed scarcely a sign of human habita tion, nor would anyone, surveying the hazy, blue distance, have guessed that he was gazing at the rim of an over-populated island. Inland was a wide expanse of moor, which was flecked with gold here and there by patches of the ever-blooming gorse, and which would be purple with heather by-and-by ; but the combes which sloped down from it towards the sea were thickly wooded.

One could guess that there were streams at the bottom of these deep clefts, and one might hope that there were trout in the streams. Arthur Foley made a mental note of them, and resolved to explore them. Meanwhile, the exploration of the garden, the shrubberies, and the stables gave him enough to do until it was time to go in and dress for dinner. That repast was served in a spacious dining-room, the furniture of which was solid and handsome, if not quite in accordance with modern ideas of beauty, and when dessert and privacy had been arrived at, Mr. Foley felt justified in pronouncing a moderate encomium upon the cook. ' That old Miss Lee,' he observed, ' evidently knew how to make herself comfortable. Of course, nobody in this country can really afford to keep a cook unless he has about £20,000 a year ; but one must be thankful for small mercies, and it is something to be able to count upon food which is not positively revolting.

I remember,' he added, after a pause and a long sigh, ' that my uncle used to have a cook whom I thought excellent at the time. But that was ages ago ; one had no palate in those days ! I don't think I have ever spoken much to you about my old uncle, or about how he came to make me his heir, have I ?' He had never spoken much to his son about any thing connected with their family affairs ; for he was a very reticent man, and, although he might have been called, and indeed was, even-tempered, he was neither sympathetic nor approachable. But Arthur had heard from other sources how old Sam Foley had had two nephews, and how, having quarrelled with the one whom he had been supposed to favour, he had bequeathed the whole of his fortune to the other. The young man therefore replied : ' No ; all I know about him is that he had an uncommonly pretty place, and that he had the good taste to leave it to you.

I suppose he was rather a queer old customer, wasn't he ?' ' Because he left me St. Ann's and the life-rent of a tolerably good fortune ? Well, I dare say many people thought so at the time ; I dare say my cousin, Robert Hamersley, thought so. In fact, if my memory does not deceive me, Robert Hamersley described him hi even less complimentary terms than those which you have used ; although, after all, I was his brother's son, and it is more usual for property to follow the male than the female line. Setting every other consideration aside, it seems to me that that should have had some weight with him.' 'Tell me about Robert Hamersley,' said Arthur, with increased interest and animation ; for his curiosity had often been excited upon the subject of a relative whom he had never seen, but whose name was familiar to him and to the rest of the British public as that of one of the most intrepid and adventurous travellers of the age. ' What did he do ?

Why was he cut off with a shilling ?' Mr. Foley frowned slightly and looked down at the table, drumming upon it with his long white fingers. ' I don't think,' he replied, ' that there is any need for us to go into that old story for the present. There was a scandal, and your great-uncle was displeased. I think he was right to be displeased, and I think he was right to disinherit Robert ; but you can easily understand that the fact of my having supplanted the man whom he had intended to make his heir has caused me occasional qualms of conscience, and — well, I suppose I may say that it has made me a little disinclined to revisit this place. An absurd feeling, no doubt ; still, not altogether an unnatural one.' There was a short interval of silence before Arthur remarked : ' He must be a plucky fellow.

That book of his about South America beats any sensational novel I ever read, and he did some wonderful things in Central Africa too. He must be more or less under a cloud, though, because no Government has ever done anything for him. I wonder why his services have never been recognised !' ' Whose — Robert's ?' asked Mr. Foley, rousing himself from a fit of abstraction. ' Oh, it isn't the habit of English Governments to recognise unofficial services. The Geographical Society and other public bodies have done what is usual in such cases, I believe. For the rest, I have heard that Robert Hamersley's methods of dealing with aboriginal populations have been such as might have been anticipated from his antecedents, and that may have stood hi the way of his receiving any appointment or honour. He is, as you say, courageous ; but he is also utterly unscrupulous — or was.

I have not followed his career very closely, so that I don't know whether there is any special reason for his having been ignored by the dispensers of patronage ; but if there be, it cannot be connected with the bygone scandal to which I referred just now, and which must have been forgotten by the few survivors amongst those who suspected its existence.' ' I suppose you and he are not upon speaking terms ?' said Arthur after another pause. ' I presume that we should speak if we met ; but we have not met for many years, and the chances are that we shall never meet again. If I know anything of him, it is in the last degree improbable that he has forgiven me, and it is likewise improbable that he would treat me uncivilly, should we come across one another, for he has remarkable powers of self command.

What made me think of him this evening was the sight of this place and the reminder that there is still a possibility of its passing into his hands. Only my life and yours stand between it and him now. Perhaps you are not aware that, in the event of my death and yours, without issue, St. Ann's, as well as the personal property of which I now enjoy the income, will revert to him, under my uncle's will.' Arthur had not been aware of that circumstance, and was momentarily startled by the announcement. At one time Mr. Hamersley's chances would have seemed very remote ; for Arthur had had three brothers. But a succession of calamities, which had been partly accountable for Mr. Foley's white hair and furrowed cheeks, had reduced the family to the two men who now sat facing one another ; and why should not Death, who had so often stood at their vol. 1. right hand, summon one or both of them away at any moment?

Unquestionably such an event might occur ; but what then ? A dying man, who leaves no children behind him, may surely afford to regard with indifference the ultimate disposition of property which has served its purpose, so far as he has been concerned. Arthur gave utterance to the last of a rapid series of reflections by saying : ' Well, does that so very much matter ?' ' It matters or it doesn't matter,' answered his father, with a slight shrug ; ' the significance or the insignificance of most things depends upon the point of view from which one surveys them, and your point of view can hardly be the same as mine. In the natural order of events you will survive me, and marry and have children ; but I have been taught by bitter experience that events don't always follow their natural course, and I have to take into account the possibility of my lagging on earth behind the last of my sons.

Even then, you will say, I should have every material comfort secured for me, and after me might come the deluge, for anything that I should need to care. Ah, well ! I am trying to make excuses for myself, and I see by your face that I am not meeting with much success. You want to leave me, and I don't wonder at it ; but perhaps it is not very wonderful, either, that I should want to keep you with me. At least it was not I who prevented you from carrying out your wish and entering the army.' Arthur looked down, colouring a little. Strictly speaking, it had not been his father who had prevented him from passing the necessary examina tions ; nevertheless, if his father had seen fit to allow him the educational advantages which most gentle men's sons enjoy, he might not have been found incapable at the crucial moment.

It had not been quite fair upon him to deny him the training of a public school, and although he had, after some hesitation and demur, been sent to Oxford, that concession had been of little service to him as regarded the profession upon which he had fixed his choice. The truth, of course, was that his father did not wish him to enter any profession ; and this was the more unreasonable, because his father and he had never been close or intimate companions. He did not, however, risk a renewal of former sterile and painful discussions by responding to Mr. Foley's indirect challenge ; he only remarked, with a laugh : ' I suppose I must make haste to marry and have a large family. Only it's rather desirable to be earn ing something in the shape of a livelihood before one makes an offer of one's hand and heart, isn't it?' ' There is no necessity for you to earn a livelihood,' returned Mr. Foley sharply. ' All that I have is yours ; you know that perfectly well.

My own wants are neither numerous nor expensive.' Arthur replied by an unintelligible murmur, and changed the subject. He did not in the least understand his father, to whom he was only attached by the ties of natural affection (if, indeed, there be such ties), and whom he did not believe to be attached in any other way to him. If the elder man was chiefly to blame — as he undoubtedly was — for this lack of comprehension and lack of love, it was likewise upon the elder man that the chief share of punish ment had fallen. In his desolation and bereavement, he had clung to the boy ; he had shrunk from parting with him ; he had been obdurate when he ought to have yielded, sometimes also he had yielded when it would have been better to be obdurate ; and he had never known how to express his feelings or to invite confidence.

Oddly enough, his impression was that he had been singularly unselfish. He had, to be sure, kept Arthur with him during the educational period, which had been spent abroad ; but for the last three years the young man had been free to visit his college friends in England, to remain away for months together — to please himself, in short. He was still free to please himself, and the means of so doing should always, within possible limits, be at his disposal ; surely it was not asking a great deal of him to require that he should not permanently desert an old man who had but him in the world, and who was not likely to trouble him very long. Before wishing his son good-night, Mr. Foley deemed it appropriate to remark : ' This is only an experiment, you know. We aren't absolutely compelled to live here ; though it would be convenient if you were to take a fancy to the place.' ' Oh, it will be all right, so far as I am concerned,' answered the young man lightly ; ' it isn't as if I should be always here.

The question is rather whether St. Ann's will suit you.' Mr. Foley made no rejoinder ; but, when he had reached his bedroom, he said to himself, with a sigh, ' I hardly know what to wish for. A pretty and virtuous young woman, residing in the neighbourhood, perhaps. Happily he is extremely susceptible, and that solution might do. Then I could refresh myself by a run abroad every now and then, and I suppose they wouldn't mind letting me have a corner of the house for a studio.'

Chapter II

the curious colonel. Mr. and Mrs. Latimer, as in duty bound, hastened to call upon their new parishioner, and were received in the drawing-room, which still retained something of the prim, old-maidenly atmosphere belonging to its late proprietress. The Vicar, a stout, elderly, rosy personage in a pepper-and-salt suit, contented himself with smiling amiably, and did not say much ; but the volubility of his spouse prevented the conversation from languishing for a moment. It was an immense relief to her mind, she began by saying, that St. Ann's was not to remain untenanted. Mr. Foley, she was sure, would understand that to a poor parish like Bridstow an absentee landlord made all the difference in the world, and dear Miss Lee had always been so very kind and generous. Having received a satisfactory answer to this delicate hint, she felt at liberty to turn from business to pleasure, of which she assured Mr. Foley and his son that quite as much was obtainable in the vicinity of Bridstow as hi other country neighbourhoods. 'If you care for sport,' she said, 'there is trout fishing and sea-fishing, besides the otter-hunting ; and, of course, you have shooting of your own, which has been carefully preserved during all these years, I believe.

As for society, we can't pretend to be exactly gay, but we are all very friendly together ; and when Lord Braunton and his mother come down they are most kind and hospitable. Then there is Colonel Meynell, who is a host in himself. Isn't Colonel Meynell a host in himself, Tom ?' The Vicar, on being thus appealed to, laughed and replied : ' Well, my dear, I don't think we must represent Meynell as a frequent host, in the social sense of the term.' ' Oh, he doesn't give dinner-parties, because he can't afford them, and because he can find a better use for his spare money — you know quite well, Tom, that that wasn't what I meant. But you must admit that he has been a perfect godsend to us, and, pre judiced against him as you used to be at first, I have often heard you yourself say that he is one in ten thousand.

Just imagine,' she continued, turning to Mr. Foley, ' a man who was in the Guards for years, and who is related to all sorts of grand people, coming down to establish himself in a quiet little fishing village and devoting the whole of his time and energies to good works! It sounds like a fairy-tale, doesn't it?' 'It sounds improbable,' assented Mr. Foley; 'but I think I have heard of similar cases before. One can never tell what form the malady will take, and I believe it sometimes does take that form — which is certainly preferable to debauchery. Who was the lady?' ' The lady ?' asked Mrs. Latimer, puzzled for a moment. And then, with a touch of displeasure : ' Oh, dear no ! you are quite mistaken ; there never was anything of that kind. To begin with, I am quite certain that no woman would ever have jilted Colonel Meynell ; added to which, he is neither a young man nor in the least a ladies' man ; you would know better than to say such things if you had met him.

How ever, you will meet him soon, I hope, and then you will understand — or, at least, you will see for yourself what he is. Understanding him is different. All I can tell you is that the fishermen simply adore him, and that he has persuaded some of our very worst characters to give up drink and come to church. I'm not answering for his strict orthodoxy ; I dare say he is rather too much of a latitudinarian, and, of course, with our large Dissenting population, it was natural enough for Tom to look askance at him, when he first came among us — now, you know you did look askance at him, Tom, and you needn't deny it — but what we can't help acknowledging is that he has succeeded where we failed, and as he comes to church himself, the fishermen come too. No doubt they would be Baptists or Wesleyans if he were a Baptist or a Wesleyan ; but that isn't the question.' ' And does this admirable gentleman live all by himself ?' inquired Mr. Foley, who had been valiantly swallowing down yawns during Mrs. Latimer's dis course, of which only a small portion has been recorded above. ' No ; he has a sister — or rather a half-sister — who keeps house for him in the most charming and romantic little cottage that you ever saw.