West Dene Manor, etc

Front matter

WEST DENE MANOR " She stood drinking in the beauty of the scene."—/. 20. WEST DENE MANOR 1IY J . A . OWEN iuihor nf " Ciirtdrhn.i: 1 "fores/. Field. /h^Fcf/." " TfiiGmfttrj Month by Month,' Editor of " On Si./ fry /A.'/.. 1 " Fur me tlits freshness fa the morning hours, 1-vir ii\K the water** clcai tranquillity , For me the soft decent of chcsihut llow:r The cushat's cry for gic. "The lovely laughter of the tfifntswayed wheat ; The. ea^y slope of ynnfler pastoral hill ; The sedgy brook whereby tht red kinc meet And wade and JHnk their fiH." ILLUSTRATED BY CAROLINE MANNING. LONDON JARROLD & SONS, to & n, WARWICK LANE, E.C [AH Rights A'cse>TcJ] 1S96 NEW 2/6 PRESENTATION BOOKS. Uniform with " The ' Honesty ' Dores." Crown Svo, Cloth Elegant. WEST DENE MANOR. By Mrs. J. A. Owen, Author of "Forest, Field, and Fell." ''The Country, Month by Month."

Illustrated by Caroline Manning. THE " HONESTY" DORES. By Selina Gave, Author of " Courage and Cowards," "Jack by the Hedge," "Dickie W'inton," " All's Well that Ends Well," &c. Illustrated by Caroline Manning. DON'T WORRY. By Rev. Frederick Hastings, Author of " Sundays about the World," " Back Streets and London Slums," &c. With numerous Illustrations. WILD KATHLEEN; or, Both Sides the Channel. By Grace Stebbing. Illustrated by Paul Hardy. "It is one of the best books of the season, and should be included in the list of all rewards," — Teacher's A id. JETHOU ; or, Crusoe Life in the Channel Islands. By E. R. Sufi-ling. Illustrated. " It is long since we have seen such an excellent claimant for the savour os boj s as ' Jethou.' " — Manchester Guardian. ELIAS TRUST'S BOYS. By Margaret Surrey.

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Chapter II Gathering Clouds

" So others shall Take patience, labour, to their heart and hand, From thy hand and thy heart, and thy brave cheer, And God's grace fructify through thee to all." BlESTl ELEN had waited until she was rgg | alone to read her brother's letter. msUbI She felt instinctively that there would be no good news in it, and she shrank from increasing in the least degree her mother's depression. So the evening was spent in discussing the invitations that had been received that after noon, and in making plans for their acceptance. Fay's high spirits were contagious, and the little party broke up for the night in a much more cheerful mood than they had been in during the day. Once in her own room, however, the gloomy thoughts that had been oppressing her lately returned to Helen in full force. It was one of those soft balmy nights so frequent in early summer.

All traces of the rain had disappeared, the sky was cloudless, and a brilliant moon was flooding the landscape in a haze of silver light. Through the open lattice was borne a delicious fragrance from the flowers in the garden below. Helen threw herself down in the low chair by the window, through which the moonlight streamed, casting quaint, grotesque shadows about the room, and throwing into strong relief her slender white-draped figure against the dark background. The beauty of the evening seemed to have little power to soothe her, sensitive though she usually was to such influences ; to-night she felt too sad to be moved by them. " How foolish of me," she thought, " to dread Ted's letter so. I don't suppose things are really worse than when he last wrote ; but it will be terrible," she murmured, " if we have to leave West Dene.

Oh, God ! anything but that," she said in a broken voice. Slowly she opened the letter, and began to read — " My dearest Nell," it ran, " I am in no mood WEST DENE MANOR. 14 for writing cheerfully to-night, and had half a mind not to write at all. It seems too bad to trouble you with my grievances, and yet it does help to have some one to whom to write about them. " Life in the office is more dull and intoler able than ever. I am heartily sick of it. You will probably blame me for losing heart, but I think you will agree that courage is impossible under the circumstances. If I saw that the work I am doing was leading to anything worth having, I would throw my whole heart into it, but the fact is, my life is just being wasted here. " I have laughed at myself often when re calling the day-dreams I had when I first entered the firm.

I was to make a fortune in a year, I believe. Well, I have had bitter experience since then. I have learnt how hard it is for a man without influence to get on in this world, even in this radical age. There are men in the office I work in who have grown grey in the service of the firm, and many of them have no better positions than I ; while to others — mere brainless boys — are given the most important posts, because, forsooth, they have rich fathers or uncles whom it would be impolitic to offend. Is it likely, then, that I, whose relatives fight shy of me because I am not ashamed to do honest work, can have any very brilliant prospect before me ? " I have given up all hope of saving West Dene. I have seen the lawyers again, but they can give me no help. Witherington was as cold as ice when I met him the other day — the way of the world, I suppose.

He fawned enough as long as he thought there was any thing to be got out of us. " Uncle Beauchamp refuses help. He says as I have lowered myself already so much as to go into trade, he really cannot see any reason for my wishing to retain a place whose owners had always hitherto been gentlemen. I felt inclined to write and ask him whether he considered it more gentlemanly to live in debt than to work for an honest living ; but I refrained. From our other relatives I can hope for nothing. I remember father used to say we were well off to have so few near relatives, but one feels now that one or two rich uncles would be useful, if only they were generously inclined. "I have written like this, dear Nell, because I wish you to see how small the chance is of saving West Dene. You must accustom mother 7F.£_Sr Z>_E_AŒ MANOR. to the thought of the change.

It will be terribly hard for her. I think now she scarcely realizes the state of affairs, and fancies some great piece of good luck will turn up to save us at the last moment ; but you must tell her that that is a very vain hope. To me the whole thing is like some hideous dream. To leave West Dene, that has been in the family for centuries ; to lose sight of it ; to think of others occupying it who have no interest in its associations ; and ourselves, to whom every stone is dear, shut out ; oh, the thought is unbearable ! I feel as if all hope would go out of life when we bid the old home farewell. But it is wrong to speak so ; we have still got each other, and this trial must serve to link us closer. I will try as you say, dear Nell, to think that all is ordered for the best. If I had your faith and sweet unselfish spirit, I should bear trouble better than I do.

Still, your very influence has made me better than I should otherwise have been. " God bless you, my dearest Nell. I have not heart for more to-night. " Your affectionate brother, "Edward Warham." Helen's tears were falling fast as she finished reading. " Poor darling Ted," she murmured. " Oh, if only I could help him ! " She rose and went to the window. Outside it was as clear as daylight. Beneath stretched the flower-garden — a mass of brilliant blooms ; beyond that, the lawn, bounded by woodland and shrubbery, sloped down to the river, which gleamed like a streak of silver in the distance, while a soft summer mist veiled the landscape beyond. It was a scene very familiar to Helen — one associated with her earliest childhood. Ever since she could remember, she had given it her last look before sleeping, and her first on rising in the morning.

She tried to picture to herself different surroundings, the life they would lead when West Dene was theirs no longer ; but memory was stronger than imagi nation, and the thousand and one associations, called up by the different familiar objects around her, brought back only memories of the happy past. She looked round the dim old room, with its dark panelled walls and lattice windows. In the moonlight, every object in it stood out in startling relief. Her thoughts flew back to the early days when it had served as nursery for Ted and herself. Little scenes she recalled of their childish games together ; their little c quarrels and differences, which, while they ruffled the surface, did not disturb the deep current of their love for each other, which had increased with each succeeding year. Vividly, as if it had only happened the day before, she recalled Ted's going to school, his sorrow at parting with her, tempered by boy like excitement at the thought of the new life before him.

She remembered her feeling of desolation ; how she had crept up to the nur sery, or schoolroom, as it was then called, and how the sight of the books and toys they had shared together only made her heart ache more than before ; how her mother had found her sitting there lonely and miserable, and had comforted her with a gentleness and tender ness that she had seldom shown her before, which filled her childish heart with loving gratitude. She recalled the thrill of joy she felt when, returning home shortly afterwards from a visit, her mother had brought her up to the old familiar room, transformed into a very bower of loveliness. Bright draperies relieved the gloom of the panelled walls, some favourite pictures were hung here and there ; prettily carved book-stands, arranged in different cor ners, held her most treasured books ; and in her favourite spot, by the south window, stood the daintiest of writing-tables, and the most comfortable of easy-chairs.

What pride she had taken in the room since then ! How everything which added to its quaint beauty was welcomed ; how she had loved to brighten the dark walls with flowers, varying the harmony of colouring from day to day. Somehow, the room seemed part of herself, associated with the happiest as well as the saddest time in her life, and she realized more fully than before what a blank would be left when it was no longer hers. Then her thoughts wandered to Ted sitting, perhaps, even then, disheartened and sorrowful in his lonely London lodging. She thought of his brave-hearted struggle against misfortune, and a deep yearning came over her to help him in some way. Her love for her brother was the strongest feeling in her nature. From their earliest years they had been devoted to each other, and the feeling had strengthened as they grew older.

What plans she had built for his future ! What day-dreams they had indulged in together of what his career was to be ; and now it seemed as if all their hopes were crushed ! " Oh, if there were only something I could do for him," she murmured. " His life must not, it shall not, be wasted like this ! " she exclaimed vehemently ; then, throwing herself on her knees, she prayed fervently that a way might be shown her in which she could be of some help to her brother in his trouble, but that if it were not God's will to answer her prayer in the way she wished, he would yet give them both strength to do their duty in the life that was ordered for them. She rose, feeling calmer and happier. She went and leant against the lattice window, and a wonderful feeling of peace stole over her heart as she stood drinking in the beauty of the scene.

The soft night air playing on her brow seemed to bring with it a message of comfort, and happier thoughts filled her heart. Lost in these, she did not notice a gentle tap on the door. It was opened gently, and there stood Fay in a white dressing-gown, looking like a ghost in the moonlight. Helen gave a sudden start. " I am so sorry to have frightened you, Nell, but really my patience wasn't equal to the task of standing outside your door in the cold until it should please your ladyship to bid me enter," she said, merrily, as she perched herself on the end of the sofa near Helen's chair. "W'hat have you been about ? Star-gazing, I suppose," she went on. "Well, the atmosphere is certainly favourable for it to-night. Nell, I do believe," she said, suddenly, " that you have been crying ! " In a moment she was at her cousin's side, the tone of light banter exchanged for one of tender, loving sympathy.

" Nell, darling, do tell me what is troubling you ? Is it these invitations ? You don't want to go to Redcourt ? or what is it ? How horridly selfish I am ! I never thought about your feelings in the matter a bit." " It isn't that," said Helen, in a choked voice. " We must leave West Dene, Fay ; Ted says there is no hope of saving it. Uncle Beau champ was our last chance, and he has failed us." She broke down, and hid her face in her hands. Fay did not attempt to comfort her, but let her tears have their way. " You may read Ted's letter, Fay dear," said Helen, drying her tears and striving to steady her voice. " My poor Nell, I am so sorry ! " Fay said, as she returned it. Both sat silent for some minutes : then Fay, seeing her cousin was calmer, said suddenly — " Nell, we must not give up all hope yet."

Helen shook her head. " I am afraid we must. You see what Ted says. Uncle Beau champ is the only relative we have who is in a position to help us, and he won't do it. Our other relatives are very few in number, and they are all poor." " Then we must bring pressure to bear on Uncle Beauchamp," said Fay. " What an old screw he must be ! " Helen smiled. " It is not so easy to do that as you think. From what I remember of him it is very unlikely that even you, my airy fairy Lilian, could influence him. Besides, the sum required is a large one, and, for all I know, he really may not be able to afford it ; he may not be so rich as we think." Fay meditated for some time. " How wretched it is that I have only three hundred pounds a year of my own," she said, at last ; " and even that I can't do what I like with, so I'm afraid I am of no use.

I know," she said, a bright thought striking her. " If we could get hold of any one who has some influence with the head of Ted's firm, that might be a help." " I don't think so, Fay dear. The sum of money wanted is large, and we have no security to offer for it. It is the sort of thing only a great and very generous friend or relative could do ; and as Uncle Beauchamp has failed us, our last chance is gone." " Well, Nell," said Fay, " I don't intend to despair about West Dene ; I feel confident something will turn up. Besides, you should make allowance for Ted's low spirits. Of course he takes a gloomy view of things, and he knows he may grumble because he has such a sweet, unselfish sister, who doesn't mind how miserable she is herself as long as she can be a comfort to others." " But just think, Fay, what a blow it will be to mother to leave this place," said Helen.

" But I feel sure we are not going to leave," said Fay, quickly. " I have a presentiment that all will yet come right ; so don't croak, you dear old raven," she said caressingly. " Fay, I must apply the same principle to you as you do to Ted. If I am not to be led away by his gloomy views, I must certainly beware of being carried in the opposite direction by your hopeful ones. You are a regular optimist, and no more to be relied on for an unbiassed view in the matter than a thorough-going pessimist." Fay laughed. " Perhaps I am," she said ; " but I'd rather take bright views of life than gloomy ones, because, you see, misfortune and trouble come to you unasked ; but happiness and pleasant things have generally to be looked for ; and you know ' who seeks finds.' ' There was another long pause in the conversation ; both girls were thinking busily.

Suddenly Fay looked up. " Nell, where do you think we should go if we had to leave West Dene ? " "To some little country village, I suppose, where we could bury ourselves from the world," replied Helen. " Mother would never like London after living here ; else London would be better, for then we might be near Ted, and I might find work that might possibly help us." " But aunty lived in London a great deal when she was first married, I thought," said Fay. " Yes ; but I think she got tired of it, and since she has been delicate she has preferred living here." "I always wonder," Fay went on, "how aunty, who loved gaiety so much, could give it up so suddenly, and be contented with such a very quiet life now." " Poor little mother, I do not think there was really much choice in the matter ! But there — we will not discuss that.

Dear father always said having to give up town enjoyments and gaieties was a blessing in disguise. My mother's health improved so much during the latter years of his life ; and Ted and I were stronger and happier for remaining here, and being more constantly under their eyes. You knew little of my father, Fay ; he took such a delight in training and educating us both." "You have been more fortunate than I, Helen. I never had much training ; that is perhaps why I am so wilful and pleasure loving." "You are a dear, bright companion to all of us. Doctor Gray told mother when you first came to us, that you reminded him of a wild pink hedge-rose." " Wild and full of thorns, eh, Nell ? " " No ; fresh and rosy and free, Fay. But go away to your bed now, dear, or you will lose your beauty sleep, and come down to morrow a white rose instead of a red."

Chapter III In

A WOODMAN'S COT. " Such was our friend, formed on the good old plan A true and brave and downright honest man." " We need some rugged, natural souls, Who will not trim to the prevailing fashion, Who must speak out their open thought In wholesome, honest passion." "ESFajF you please, Miss Helen," said §2! P3 Bryant, the cook, as her young B&aH mistress came in from a walk one evening, " Master Spence has just called, and he said, would you do him the great kindness to address a letter for him to his son as is gone out to settle in the west of America." Bryant was a good-hearted soul, born and bred in the neighbourhood, and interested in all her cottage neighbours' affairs. She was always IN A WOODMAN S COT. 27 ready and willing to make good broth for an invalid, and to make the best of all the scraps and ends.

To many a tramp — Bryant would have called them all " travellers " in the kindness of her heart — was a good bowl of soup given at the kitchen door, made from materials that a finer cook would have wasted. Her manners were rustic, but Helen liked her the better for that. " Did he leave the letter, Bryant ? " " No, miss ; he said he would call again a little later." " I'll run down to his cottage after tea," said Helen. She was in a restless, depressed mood, and was glad to have something to take her thoughts, even for a time, away from the one topic which was so continually absorbing them now. Her mother and Fay had driven down to Redminster that afternoon, and were spending the evening at the Rectory, so that they would not be home until nine or ten o'clock. " I'll just get your tea ready myself quickly, Miss Helen," said Bryant.

" Rhodes has gone out somewhere for the mistress." As she set the things on the table, she con tinued, " This is their first letter to him since he's been gone, Miss Helen, and his mother is anxious that it shall reach him safely — it's a tough job for them to write a letter ; and his sisters as is married has put some to it as well. The inside is all right, he says, but if you'd kindly write the address on it, he thinks it would reach him safer; and he said perhaps you'd be able to tell them when it would be likely to get there." Master Spence, as he was always called, was an old woodman who lived just within the great fir wood, about a quarter of a mile or so from West Dene. His cottage stood in a clearing among the trees, and a picturesque little place it looked, with its background of spruce, larch, and Scotch fir, its porch covered with roses and honeysuckle, and the bright old-fashioned flowers in the front garden, which were the pride of the old man and his wife.

Helen found him standing at his gate ; a notable figure, nearly seventy years of age, but holding himself as erect as any man of twenty seven, and over six feet in height. His dark grey eyes were bright and searching ; nothing escaped them — past master in all woodcraft was he. From his boyhood he had led a tem perate and regular life in the woodlands ; it had been early to bed and early to rise with him all his days. Time and life had used his wife gently, too ; they were a happy and well matched pair ; and as the old man's talk was full of a certain kind of quaint wisdom, and his spirit was devout and reverent, Helen used to like to call in and have a chat with him some times. The fir wood had once belonged to West Dene ; but that was many years ago. Since then the wood had twice changed hands ; each successive owner, however, retaining the services of honest John Spence, who was too valuable and trusty a servant to be dismissed.

For his part, he clung to the place which had been his home so long, and where all his children had been born, and where he and his wife had been very happy ; so, though the change of landlords was a sore grief to him, he bore it for the sake of keeping " the old place," as he called it. " He is the eldest, you know, Miss Helen, and he carries my name, you see," he remarked, whilst Helen addressed the letter. " Yes," she replied, " and he was like you — clever and industrious, too. I have always wondered that he needed to go to America." " Aye, he was all there about his work ; but he said things seemed altering somehow, and he couldn't fancy 'em. They are, too, some way or other ; we don't seem free to move about and do as we did in years gone by. 'Twas a terrible blow to mother when he left us ; we can't expect our sons and daughters to keep always with us — 'tis only nature they should have places of their own to bide in.

But," he went on, " it frets her to know he's in a strange land, divided from us by thousands o' miles of water ; and it hurts me too, to come home and see his chair empty, and never to hear his footsteps comin' up the garden path no more. He was a good lad, was John ; often when she and I are sitting quiet by the fire, I know as we're both thinkin' on him, though we say no word. There's the others left, and we've much to be thankful for ; but it's always hard to lose the eldest born." " I dare say it seems hard to you, too, having a new landlord. I hear he has made many alterations about the land." " Ay, that he has, Miss Helen ; things was different in old Squire Westlake's time ; and in your grandfather's, too," he added, "though its many a year since he was our landlord. They'd think o' them as had lived on their land round about for generations, many of 'em.

Squire Westlake, now, used to give away so many trees every winter. He'd call him as was head ofthe woodmen in, and he'd ask him 'bout all the families round ; how many there was in such a cottage, an' how many in such another, an' then he'd bid him go mark so many trees, each accordin' to the size of the family, an' have 'em cut down. An' the men they'd draw 'em down th' hill home, tip over shoulder ; an' there'd be firewood to last 'em the winter out. Now it's only on some o' the commons as they're allowed to cut down the dry brake for litter to the cattle, an' for the thatchin' o' the pigsties, and the coverin' in o' the vegetables. On the twenty-fifth o' August they begins on Graymore, an' they're at it early enough that morning. But some places they mayn't do even that. The old gentry that many o' the estates round here belonged to has died out, an' the properties fallen into the hands of other folk as is strange to the old ways and customs."

John waxed warm with his subject, and went on for some time. Helen was an indulgent listener. "The forest was, and is, free for all com moners to cut to a certain limit, both brake and firewood, and for horses and horned cattle to graze. But there's some as is not contented with their own, but must needs lay heads together to try to get what by rights belongs to us, and has done, from father to son, for generations. What has come of it ? Naught but a bad feeling towards the whole lot— root and branch. You'll excuse me getting a bit warm, Miss Helen; your family has always been kind and considerate to them as lived near them. You see, miss, folk come down here often with plenty of money, and the first thing they do is to set about changin' the place and the customs." "Oh, but Spence," said Helen, quickly, "it is just people like that, with plenty of capital, who are so needed in the country now.

Look at the improvements that have been made round here by people who have bought up the old estates ! It is they who help the churches, build the schools, and improve the cottages of their tenants. And think," she continued, " what freedom there is under the new system to what there was under the old. The small tenants were simply at the mercy of their squire ; and if he happened to be selfish and tyrannical, as was not unfrequently the case, think what their plight was." " Well, well, miss, it may be so. You should have a talk with my Tom ; he's all that way of thinking ; but mother and me likes the old ways best. The forest, at any rate," he went on, " has never been hurt nor disfigured by any of us ; no, never ! The more brake is cut — of course, only in the dead time of it — the better it comes up next season.