David Broome, Artist

Front matter

DAVID BROOME; OR, OUT OF THE WORLD. NEW SIX-SHILLING NOVELS. That Villain, Romeo! By J- Fitzoerald Molloy, Author of ' What Hast Thou Done? ' etc. As in a Looking-Glass. By F. C. Philips. With a Frontispiece by Gordon* Browne. Coward and Coquette. By the Author of - The Parish of Hilby,' etc. Less than Kin. By J. E. Panton. Viva. By Mrs. Forrester, Author of ' My Lord and My Lady,' etc. The Prettiest Woman in Warsaw. By Mabel Collins. The Flower of DobrTi.^By'Mids Betham-Edwards. Pretty Miss Neville. By li. M. Croker, Author of ' Proper Pride.' Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker, Author of ' Pretty Miss Neville,' etc. Great Porter Square: A Mystery. By B. L. Farjeon. The House of White Shadows. By B. L. Farjeon. WARD & DOWNEY, PUBLISHERS, LONDON. "She does not," said Lilian hotly; "she wishes yoa reverses and misfortunes that would bring you and her nearer together."

P. 75. DAVID BEOOME; OR, OUT OF THFa WORLD. BY MRS. ROBERT O'REILLY, AUTHOR OF ~ ' "ll 'PHŒBE'S FORTUNES,' 'SUSSEX STORIES,' ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY F. BARNARD. BEhr CiJifinn. LONDON : WARD AND DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1886. [AU Rights Reserved.] CONTENTS. CHAPTER paoii I. STENHURST ...it.? II. WITHIN AND WITHOUT THE DOOR ... 14 III. UNDER THE STARS . . , , , 21 IV. ABIGAIL WOOD . . . , , , 26 V. A PATRON OF THE FINE ARTS . . . .32 VI. LETTICE ....... 41 VII. THE ROYAL CROWN . .... 49 VIIT. A CHANCE MEETING ..... 55 IX. PERPLEXITIES , , .... 64 X. CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE ■ .... 73 XI. AN ARTISTIC FETE ...... 82 XII. NORMAN DRAKE'S GUESTS .... 95 XIII. A SUNDAY AT STENHURST . , , .107 XIV. MRS. DRYSON . . , , , ,119 XV. UNDER THE BEECH TREES , . , .130 XVI. AT QUEEN'S GATE ...... 140 XVII.

DAVID'S FAMILIAR , . , . .154 XVIII. A FRIENBLY TALK ..... 164 XIX. A QUIET HOME ...»».. 172 XX. BACK AT STENHURST . i . : . 1S4 XXI. MRS. DRYSON TAKES A WALK .... 192 XXII. THE RAILWAY AND BICYCLE INN. . . . 199 XXIII. ABBY IS REMORSEFUL . . , , .210 VI CONTENTS. XXIV. SISTERLY REGARD ..,••• 220 XXV. THE POND IN THE WOOD ■ . » I 231 XXVI. LILIAN ....•■'> 237 XXVII. RETROSPECTIVE ..•__»• 247 XXVIII. IN THE PLATE-ROOM . . . « ,2.10 XXIX. MASTER FITZNORMAN . 206 XXX. COFFEE-ROOM COMPANY . . . . 270 XXXI. FRIENDS ALWAYS ..:..• 290 XXXII. MRS. DRYSON PUTS PRIDE IN HER POCKET _. . 296 XXXIII. PATIENCE TRIED ...... 302 XXXIV. WEARY DAYS .... J ; 308 XXXV. BLIND ........ 315 XXXVI. FOOTPRINTS ■ ■ ■ • . 316 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. " She does not,' said Lilian hotly; "she wishes you reverses and misfortunes that would bring you and her nearer together " . . .

Chapter II. Within And Without

TnE DOOR Within the house Rachel Broome waited for her son's coming. The evening meal was already set out upon the table near the open window, through which the subdued noises of the streets, quiet at all times, quieter than ever as evening fell, came iu pleasantly. Laughter of children at their play, hasty patter of small feet racing by, sober tread of townsfolk out for an evening walk, now and then — this last but rarely — thc rattle of wheels. Amidst these mingled sounds, however, Rachel was quick to hear the footfall of her son upon the threshold. Besides, she had news for him to-night, and had felt more than usually im patient for his return, though when they met, it was easy to see that this return was always the event of the day, to one of the two at least. " What is it, mother? what has happened?" asked David, pausing in the act of taking the seat prepared for him, and throwing round the room au inquiring glance, as though he was aware of some change since he had left it last.

" Why should you saucy anything at all has happened? " " I see it in your eyes, in the pretty colour in your cheek, that makes you look quite young to-night j I feel it in thc at mosphere," answered David laughing ; " and then things are always happening. In the first place, Lettice has been here." " Yes ■. Lettice brought the strawberries : but what of that ? You have often enough come home to find some pretty offering of hers making our table bright. Lettice is a good girl, David." " Did I ever say she was not ? am I likely to say it when she brings me fruit like this? But the influence here just now is not the influence of little Lettice. What is it, mother? " She told him then, the colour he had spoken of rising higher in the soft old cheek that time had dealt with so gently. " It is sold, David."

" I knew it ! " exclaimed the artist. " Oh, I don't mean I knew about the picture, only that something great had befallen us. The whole room is full of it, mother. But since it is sold, might one ask, where 1 " With an odd grimace the artist drew out his empty purse, and held it up before his mother's eyes. "Is that all you think of? — and I so proud and glad that fame should come at last ! You have waited patiently, dear." " One can afford to wait for fame ; for other necessaries, it is sometimes a little awkward to have to wait too long," said David. " How did you hear of this 1 " " So strangely ! " exclaimed his mother, though indeed there was nothing very strange in the recital she had to make, and her excitement over it was but the soft glow almost any pleasant incident brings into a quiet life.

" Tho purchaser himself came down by the evening train ; he is staying at the Crown, and in the course of conversation with Mason found out that thc artist whose work he had but this morning paid for lived in Stenhurst. He called here himself and brought his own news : you will get the tidings to-morrow by post. I said you should go and see him ; he is to stay some days at the Crown." " My patron : of course I will go and see him. What kind of man is he ? " " Dou't ask me that," said Rachel Broome smiling. " You know I never can describe people, or seize as you do upon their salient points ; it comes of not being an artist as you are your self. I can sketch neither with my hand nor my tongue. You have too often told me how vague aud shadowy are people I describe to you for me to try to give you any idea of your patron, as you call him."

" What brings him to Stenhurst? " " He comes for a few day's rest : he struck me as being a man tired out, and trying to escape from himself. Just imagine it ! he has forbidden his letters even to be forwarded — indeed, he says no one knows his address ; his design was to drop out of the world, as it were, for a few days. Not a happy man, I should say. There is a look of unrest about him that I fear even our quiet Stenhurst will not lull." " And you call that not describing a fellow ! " laughed David. " Oh, you will not know him by my description. To you he will appear a shrewd, worldly, business man. Indeed, I suspect that is what he really is. I hope a few days here may do him good ; since he has bought your picture we are bound to wish him well. We came here for a few days ourselves, David, and have stayed — how long .

" There was a sound of regret in her voice as she said the last words, but a regret, as it were, past and outlived, not one that had anything to do with thc present. " We have stayed here nine years," said the artist. "Along time to wait," she said — "long to you: to mu, whose waiting time has come altogether, this place is very dear. Often as I sit alone, when you are out, or in the studio at your work, I am grateful to you for the haven you have brought me to. Still for your sake — " " What about it, mother ? Life is but waiting for us all ; it is as well passed out of the world as iu it — better perhaps." " How often I have heard you say we are not out of the world, even here ! " " So my patron will find, though he try to lose himself more completely than even we did ; as for ourselves, are you not conscious to-night, mother, of a movement in the tide of life — a movement that has its rise far off, and yet which we feel here in this safe anchorage ?

" " Tell me your meaning David. You know I never myself feel these strange presentiments you are so fond of speaking about — one of which you professed to feel just now when you came home ; you know I do not understand them." " Or believe in them," put in the artist. "It is Norman Drake who has taken Lysden." Rachel Broome was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again there was a change in the gentle tones of her voice. " Lysden is that new white building looking so upstart and pretentious amongst the respectable and substantial houses of this neighbourhood, is it not , " " Precisely ; or to put it differently, Lysden is that splendid family mansion replete with every modern appliance of comfort aud good taste, and so admirably suited to the needs of a gentleman's family desiring to combine the seclusion of the country with the near vicinity of town — that, at least, is how Lysden figures ou the house agent's list."

" Such a name, too ! " " Nay, mother, there is nothing wrong with the name ; a corruption of Liliesden, ' the home of the Lilies ; ' surely you remember the water-lilies on the pond near the wood? To keep up the tradition, the bran-new garden should be stocked plentifully with roots of the tall white lily sacred to the Virgin. Let us hope some one may make the suggestion to — Lilian's husband." "A strange coincidence that the place should have that name," said Rachel Broome. There followed a somewhat lengthy silence, during which the mother's eyes rested with anxious scrutiny upon the face of her son, who, although fully aware of the fact, affected to be ignorant of it, and to be entirely engrossed in arranging and re arranging the tasteful gift of Lettice. Under the influence of memories recalled by the news David had imparted, angry feelings, which she had believed long ago laid to rest, awoke and stirred in the heart of Rachel.

It seemed but yesterday that her boy had won his first start in life by winning his way into the good graces of his great uncle, Reginald Drake, head of the long-established and well-known firm of tea-dealers. In the low room, growing rapidly more and more obscure, so that there was no longer any colour in Lettice Arnold's strawberries, and it had become impossible to see exactly what expression David's brow wore, there passed before his mother a succession of mental pictures, that were only the clearer and the more distinct because of the physical gloom. She saw Lilian at David's side — Lilian, the motherless child of Reginald Drake's old age, and as such, more tenderly beloved, even as Benjamin was by Jacob, than the children of his earlier married life. She saw, or seemed to see, her own fondest dream fulfilled — her son able to devote himself to his art with future independence secured to him, and a future of love and happiness awaiting him.

And then — did she regret it 1 dared she regret it even now 1 — she saw, or seemed to see, that other orphan nephew, who also had his own way to fight, and was fighting it with bitterness, and full of gloom and discontent at his own hard fortunes —she saw him found and brought home by David, his claim upon his uncle's kindness urged by David, his right even to a share of his uncle's wealth upheld by David. After that the pictures were sadly blurred and confused. How had it happened that the old man, meaning so honestly — they all knew that — to do his duty by both nephews, though esteem ing one— they all knew that also — so far above the other — how had it happened that the share in the business destined — as again they all knew — for Norman Drake, had been duly left to him, and to David — nothing?

Could it be that the old man, trusting Lilian fully, and fully believing that she and David were already one in heart, in dowering her munificently had thought to provide for both 1 And what lie had Lilian listened to that she had turned from gold to dross, and after her father's death the discovery was made that she and Norman Drake had been privately married for a week , There had been double-dealing and false play, Rachel Broomo was sure of that ; but if David held the clue to it he never spoke. It was only from the fact, significant enough in him, that no harsh word of his cousin, hardly ever any mention of him at all, passed David's lips, that his mother gathered that he knew who was his enemy, and to whom he owed the down fall of his fortunes and his wrecked hopes. Only, he had turned his back upon the world, that was all.

He knew, he said, of a quiet place, in a lovely neighbourhood, where he had once gone sketching, and which he had often promised himself to see again. Would his mother come there with him, and wait awhile? Thus it chanced they had gone to Stenhurst, and had waited there nine years — waited, David's mother scarcely knew for what ; whether for strength and courage to return, so that the old life might be renewed, or whether only for peace to return to a bruised heart, or simply for the tardy coming of fame, which might be sought as well at Stenhurst as elsewhere. The years had been years of hard work, for David's beloved art was the sole support of himself and his mother. But though it had sufficed for that, fame had proved coy : it was only in the spring of this year that a picture of David's had been accepted at the Academy, and was now sold for a larger sum than auy work of his had realised hitherto.

But, by degrees — and the mother's eyes filled with soft tears as she remembered it — something better than fame had beeu won. Love to all men seemed to have taken the place in David's life that the ono love of his youth had left vacant ; sympathy with all trouble had sprung from the soreness of his OT'T OF THE WORLD. 19 own heart ; clear understanding of the little worth of worldly wealth from his own poverty. Could she wish him other than he was, or, in the weak tenderness of human affection, dared she fancy a gentler discipline would have had on him an effect as marked . " You never told me how the purse came to be empty to night," said Rachel. " I met with an impostor," answered David, coolly. "And gave away your last shilling." "Naturally; since it was the last — itwas half-a-crown, by the way — you see it was hardly worth while to be prudent.

When one's purse is full, that is another matter. It behoves one then to be careful and consider how far money will go ; but the last coin being next door to nothing, and not able to go far at all, it is quite a relief to one's mind to get rid of it." " But why to an impostor ? " " She may not have been one ; judge for yourself. I would rather trust your judgment than my own, and we must decide to-night what best to do for her." The little history that David now entered upon was just one of those often exchanged between mother and son, and to which they were accustomed to give due consideration. As they dis cussed it together, the fading twilight passed away, but the stars came out ; it would be no darker for all the summer night than it was now. When the artist left the table, and stood at the open window, looking out upon the street, the wonderful starlight, which is like no other light, showed every object half veiled, yet distinct.

The dark shadow at his own door attracted the attention of David instantly. "Rely upon it she was no impostor," Rachel was saying. " I feel sure you will see her to-morrow, and that we shall hit upon the right way of befriending her." David, watching the figure that was crouching in the shadow of the projecting eaves, began to doubt whether he was ever destined to see again the woman he had met that afternoon. He held his peace, however, while his mother continued speaking of all that it might be possible to do for a poor thing whose husband was a convict, and who had manifested so laudable au anxiety as to the well-being of her boy. David pulled his moustache in a perplexed way he had when anything puzzled or annoyed him, but said never a word, so that his mother came OFT OF TnE WORLD. up behind him by-and-bye and asked what he was looking at that seemed to pre-occupy him so much.

" I have been followed home," he said then. "A stray dog? Poor creature! Let it in, David; somo thoughtless boy or other will find ancl torment it before morn ing." Rachel would not knowingly turn a stray dog from her door. " It is not a dog." There was a strange mixture of amuse ment and annoyance in the artist's voice. "What then?" " The child I told you of." He made room for his mother as he spoke, and they both looked down upon the small dark head, at rest now on the hard pillow of their doorstep. ' I told you she was an impostor," said David in a low voice, almost with the air of one who was pleased, rather than other wise, to prove himself in the right. For all answer his mother lead the way softly to the house door, and opened it as though her chief aim were to avoid noisily rousing the slumberer.

"Nothing so bad for a child as to be suddenly startled from sleep," she said, as they both bent over the little face and tried to read it by the starlight. The child — he might have been some seven or eight years old — appeared to be so tired out, that his heavy slumber was undisturbed by the slight sound of the opening door, and sleep had banished the too shrewd and cunning expression that David had disliked — or, even as the thought crossed his mind, had that weird look returned, so that the suspicion arose in the mind of the artist that this deep sleep was feigned? The curious twitch of the closed eyelids, and, as it were, the flicker of a mocking smile on the close lips, might, however, have been owing only to the wavering starlight that seems to reach the earth in such tremulous, quick-throbbing pulsations, that noth ing appears quite fixed and steady.

" I must go and look for the — impostor," David said. "To the Station Inn? That is too far," answered his mother. " We should lose no time, and the night — what a heavenly night it is ! " " Too far for the child, I mean," observed Rachel ; " lift him across the threshold, David ; if you do go, and I suppose you ought to do so, he must wait here till you come back. Poor little fellow ! How tired out he is ! Lift him in, David." " At your bidding, mother ; only, have you no doubts ? Remember Christabef s lovely lady : do you really insist that 'with might and main' I should lift up this 'weary weight over the threshold of the gate . ' " " Christabel ! What are you talking about? I think you arc bewitched, David." " Precisely what I am afraid of being," said the artist, as he raised the child in his arms, and setting him down inside, in lieu of outside the door, stepped out himself into the starlight.

Chapter III. Under Tue Stars

No person answering to the description given by David Broome had been heard of at the Station Inn. Thc last up-train — a slow one — had gone by, they said, an hour ago ; she might have travelled by it, or she might have tramped along the road on foot, and be many miles away by now. She might even be lurking in the neighbourhood still. No one could say what a woman such as she was would be up to — a woman capable of taking money for a night's lodging and never coming to spend it where she had been bidden to spend it. The people at the inn were so bitter against this wayfarer, and so convinced that she must be a very bad character indeed, that thc artist, he hardly knew why, said nothing of the child and gave no other reasons for his inquiries thau that thinking the woman to be in distress he had sought to relieve her ; she might have gone somewhere else to lodge, he suggested.

Well, she might have done that. There ivere one or two low places where a bed could be had cheaper than at the Railway and Bicycle Inn ; but they were not respectable places. The harsh tones followed David as he walked away upon the straight high-road. Stenhurst, tranquil and peaceful though it was, and never more Arcadian-looking than on this starlit summer's night, when the rural sights aud sounds that had made the place beautiful all day were now only whispered of by the soft air, laden with the scent of hay — Stenhurst, not being Arcadia, was under the guardianship of the rural police, and it was for the police-station that the artist now set his face. He had not far to go iu order to reach thc neat red-brick build ing, the lettering above the door clearly legible in the light of the gas-lamp hanging there ; and even that short walk was shortened by his meeting thc inspector himself upon the way.

David stood still as thc tall, perfectly erect figure came towards him. There were many bad characters about, the man said ; it behoved thc police to be especially careful at these seasons, when the country was overrrun with people seek ing work, overall with bad characters. " Must they all of necessity be bad? " asked the artist. " Best consider them so, sir. You will seldom be far wrong. We are too near London you see, Mr. Broome. Low people from Whitechapel, from. Westminster, from all such neighbour hoods, come down by road or rail. It is safest to look upon any one you meet in the long evenings at this time of year as a suspicious person." Hearing the errand that had brought the artist himsel" out at that time of night, the inspector was confirmed in this view of his, which appeared also to be in savour with the people of the Station Inn — the view that it was best and safest always to suspect.

" There, sir ! you see for yourself how it is, and what kind of folk roam about just now. There is a gang of them sleeping in Farmer Knight's barn — just yonder where the lane turns off from the highway. The woman you speak of may be amongst them. I wonder Knight chooses to employ such people ; but then he is short of hands at busy seasons. Higher wages for less labour than of old make many short of hands in these times." While the man spoke he led the way into the dark lane over arched by trees, and presently stood still before the large barn, and gave an authoritative rap upon its heavy doors. These being pushed open from within disclosed — by the light of the inspector's lantern, for none was allowed within the barn — the group of bad character's who had sought and found a night's shelter there.

Two women sat up in a heap of straw ; they appeared to have been talking together, and not yet to have settled down to rest. A man who had been fast asleep, rolled over to look at the intruders, and then turned back a^ain into his lair, swearing as he did so, but taking uo further notice of anything that went on. One or two urchins, tattered and torn enough, but full of life and spirits, were at play together in thc dark, which appeared to inconvenience them as little as it did the rats and mice which but lately had had the place to them selves. " Look here ! " cried one of thc boys ; " if it ain't a bobby, for all the world as if we was in Westmins ter still — a bobby and a lantern. Hi ! here's a lark ! Come, none of that now," he went on, holding up an arm as though to ward off somo threatened danger as the light flashed full in his face.

" I ain't done nothing, I ain't. You can't run me in, not when I ain't done nothing to be run in for. I know better than that." The policeman, who condescended to no reply, and had indeed condescended to no words at all, but stood quite silent in the door-way, only turned the light of tho lantern upon the two women and glauced at David. The artist shook his head. " She is not here ; I do not think she would be with people such as these." " They are all alike," said the policeman, shrugging his shoulders as he turned away, and the doors were instantly pulled to behind him ; " they are all alike. You see, sir, if you had given her nothing, but sent her sharply about her business, as it is always best to do, she never would have played you such a trick as this." " I plead guilty to selfishness in that," said David.

The inspector coughed : selfishness that went about giving away half-crowns was a new idea to him. " I did it merely to relieve myself from an uncomfortable sensation, you know," continued David, who had thought it best to relate all the circumstances to the police ; " and now, about the boy ? " " You will send him to the union, of course, Mr. Broome. One of the men shall step round your way and bring him to the station : we must keep him there till morning." " Time enough to-morrow. I'll answTer for the child to night," replied David, in whose ears the woman's voice seemed to sound just then. "He has learned nothing but evil all his days." A vivid recollection came over him, too, of how the woman herself had shown, more in manner than any words she used, such a quick perception of what he meant by merely a faint allusion to sacred things, that he could not believe thoughts upon such subjects to be utterly unknown to her; OUT OF THE WOULD. and the impression grew strong within him that there was sore trouble as well as wrong-doing in thc case.

Fur precaution's sake, the inspector said he would walk round by Lysden, and have an eye upon the place all night. The woman might, after all, bring some other bad character there with intent to commit a robbery. "Did she get inside thc house, sir? Did sho see auy of the servants, do you know? More robberies come about in that way than you would believe." " I do not seriously suspect her of intending any mischief at Lysden," said the artist, " though it may be as well you should keep your eyes open in that direction." " To be sure, sir, to be sure. It is best always to suspect every one ; " with which emphatic utterances the inspector strode away towards the police-station, and left David Broome to make the best of his way home again. Either because of the subject that engrossed his thoughts, or because of somo echo of the inspector's words that may have lingered in his brain, David Broome found himself in a strangely suspicious mood.

The Royal Crown was shut up for the night, but what was that figure that, as David drew near, slipped round the corner to the stable-yard, and was joined there by another figure, both standing motionless, as though, whatever they were about, their business would keep until there was no passer-by to notice it? David stood still also, and was ashamed of the momentary impulse that had made him do so, when a cheery voice, which he recognised as that of the lame ostler, called out " good-night," and remarked that he was taking a 'ate walk. A girl, her apron thrown over her head, came out from a cottage door a little wray down a narrow street to the right and went with hurried steps along the broad High Street before him, and again David wondered what she could be about. " It is best always to suspect every one," he found himself re peating as he quickened his own steps, and coming up with her, found her at the door where the blue-and-red light burning all night above the chemist's shop was suggestive enough of what her errand was.