Less Black than we're painted

Front matter

■ I LESS BLACK THAN WE'RE PAINTED NEW NOVELS. New Navel by the Authors of ' Ready-Money Mortiboy.' The Monks of Thelema. By Walter Besant and James Rice. 3 vols., crown 8vo. Mr. Wilkie Collins's New Novel. My Lady's Money. By Wilkie Collins, Author of 'The Woman in White.' 2 vols., 8vo. Illustrated. A New Writer. Our Lady of Tears. By Leith Derwent. 3 vols., crown 8vo. Dr. Eggleston's New Novel. Roxy : A Story of Western Life. By Edward Eggleston. 2 vols., crown 8vo. CHATTO 6- WINDUS, PICCADILLY. LESS BLACK THAN WE'RE PAINTED By JAMES PAYN AUTHOR OF "LOST SIR MASSINGBERD," "WHAT HE COST HER," "FALLEN FORTUNES," "BY PROXY," ETC. TN THREE VOLUMES.— VOL. IT. ?i 0 M D 0 11 CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1878 [ The Right of Translation is Reserved'] " After all, man is man ; he is not wicked, and he is not good ; by no means white as snow, but by no means black as coal ; black and white, piebald, striped, dubious."— Swinburne.

CONTENTS OF VOL. II. CHAP. PAGE I. OIL ON THE WATERS I II. STICKING TO IT 1 5 III. A MIND DISEASED 30 IV. TOBACCO AND A WIFE . . . . 42 V. THE RECTOR'S ARGUMENTS ... 63 VI. TWO WOMEN 96 VII. MR. PARKES' VIEWS . . . . 1 1 5 VIII. TEMPORISING I33 IX. ' TOMMY' GREENE AT DURNTON . . . 151 X. A FUTURE FATHER-IN-LAW . . .169 XI. THE INWARD STRUGGLE . . . .189 XII. MR. PARKES BECOMES IMPATIENT . . 203 XIII. ON THE 'SCREEN' . . . . .219 XIV. WIDOWED ...... 240 XV. LUCY GIVES UP HER LOVE . . . .256 XVI. THE SUBSTITUTE . . . . .271 THAN WERE PAINTED.

Chapter I. Oil On The Waters

Dick, blood was up, and he felt equal to anything ; but he had a little over-rated his moral courage. On his way downstairs he met Miss Latour, and the manner in which she had gathered up her skirts to avoid the contagion of his touch, and also cut him dead at the same moment, staggered him not a little. To venture into old Mr. Pole's sanctum, when he had got a fit of the gout upon him, was also no trifling under taking, even if he had been bound upon vol. ii. a more pleasant errand. That fine old English gentleman was not only 'greatly respected,' but (especially under the influ ence of his aristocratic malady) intensely feared. It was not necessary (and would have been very dangerous) to ' scratch ' him in order to find he was a Tartar ; and being well acquainted with this circumstance, it was with a somewhat faltering hand that Mr. Richard Talbot knocked at his host's study-door. ' Come in, and be d d to you !' was the invitation to his summons, and its tone was that of a ship-captain's in a gale of wind.

Why the private apartment of the pro prietor of Masham Manor was called a ' study,' is a question for etymologists. It had a little book-shelf, with the ' Sporting Calendar' arranged in rows and a back gammon board with ' Rapin's History' on the back of it ; so far and no further its connection with literature extended. On the walls hung a few illustrations of fox hunting, with some lines from Somerville's ' Chase ' beneath them, which it is probable he had never read ; and there ended art and poetry. Above the mantelpiece there were a fine collection of ' cups,' and one especial dogwhip, which its proprietor humorously (if somewhat sacrilegiously) termed ' Simon the Tanner.' Among these were arranged certain fox's brushes, with the date on which they had been obtained — mementos of the Squire's palmy days, when he could procure horses up to his weight.

The low-roofed room was other wise without ornament ; but it was sub stantially furnished and very snug, with an aroma of tobacco smoke about it not un pleasant to the majority of the Squire's friends, but with which the vassals of the estate too often learnt to associate the country gaol and its treadmill. For the Squire's study was also the court in which his after-dinner justice was administered to poachers and other rustic offenders. The present would not have been a good day for any culprit to have been brought before him, for he was sitting in his colossal 20 — arm-chair very uneasily, and with his foot swaddled in flannel, supported on a gout rest of red baize. In his hand was ' Tom and Bob's Life in London,' a work in which he took an unwearied interest, and in the perusal of which he hated to be interrupted.

Some people, especially the ladies, called him a ■ naughty man,5 and in accordance with that theory of his character pictured him in his solitude perusing French novels of an immoral tendency ; but this was mere scandal. Mr. Pole had never learned French. ' Well, Master Dick, and what is your business ?' inquired the old gentleman with undisguised irritation. ' I am very sorry to disturb you,' said the young gentleman gently ; ' but something has happened to-day at once so serious and distressing ' ' Not to the Aylesbury ducks!' exclaimed the other in a tone like the roar of a lioness who beheld her cubs in danger; 'you don't mean to say the cook has kept them a day too long ?' ' Not that I am aware of,' replied Richard. ' The matter I came to speak of is a per sonal one, and concerns myself only.' ' All right,' returned the old gentleman with a sigh of relief ; ' why the deuce did you put me out by looking so miserable ?

I thought something had happened of con sequence.' ' It concerns, however, my own honour, and the relation in which I stand to you and yours, Mr. Pole,' observed Dick, with grave asperity. ' Very good : just squeeze that lemon, and open some soda-water, will you ?' Dick obeyed, without protest, except what was conveyed by the expression of his face; it was impossible to begin discussing a delicate point of conduct, while engaged in opening a bottle of soda-water, so he did that first. ' We had a picnic on Swanborough Hill to-day, sir, as you are probably aware.' ' Of course I am ; precious set of fools you were, in my opinion, when you could have had your meals comfortably cooked at home — just move my leg-rest half an inch nearer the fire. Steady. That's right.' ' Sir, a very painful circumstance took place at that picnic.

A young lady in whom I feel the warmest interest met me on the hill by appointment.' ' Did she ? Well, 'pon my life, you're beginning early.' ' But, sir, I am here to explain matters and excuse myself,' ' Excuse yourself ! Then she was not good-looking, I suppose. Well, at your age I was not particular myself — just put that bit of flannel — gingerly — over my foot, will you ? It must be near dinner-time. You were saying something about a girl, but she was not pretty. That is like Tom and Bob here without the illustrations ; it interests nobody.' ' But, sir, this young lady is very pretty. I never saw any one half so pretty, and she is also as good as gold.' ' What do you mean ? Has she got land in her own right ? Oh, I see ; you are referring to her moral qualities. Well, you met this pretty girl, who has moral qualities, by appointment on Swanborough, Hill — and kissed her.' ' Well, yes, sir, I did kiss her,' admitted Dick. ' It was on the top of the hill ' ' That was very wrong,' interrupted the old gentleman. ' There is a place in the gully, called the Lovers' Walk, very much better fitted for that operation.' ' I know, sir,' said Dick naively. ' But I was wishing her good-bye ; and there was nothing within sight but the camera ob scura ?' ' Well, go on.

You are coming to some thing interesting at last, I hope. You took her into the camera obscura ?' ' No, sir ; indeed I did not. But, un happily, Miss Pole was there already.' ' The devil she was. Who with ?' roared the old gentleman. 'Well, sir, with Miss Latour and Miss Meredith, and others. And unfortunately, though I could not see them, they could see me! ' What, on that little white table ? They saw you billing and cooing — you and the young woman — oh, dear — pat me on the back, you scoundrel.' The old gentle man's huge frame shook with laughter, and he was purple in the face — ' saw you billing and cooing. Oh, dear ; and Miss Latour too. It must have been quite a revelation to her. It is the best thing I have heard these many days.' ' But, sir, they are very angry, and Miss Latour especially.

The ladies consider that they have been insulted.' ' And so they have, sir,' broke in Mr. Pole, suddenly awaking to his responsi bilities; 'of course they have been insulted. How dare you insult the ladies of my family by courting this brazen-faced crea ture under their very eyes ? If I wasn't stuck to my chair by this confounded gout — damme, I'll send for Henry to bring a horsewhip,' and he laid his hand upon the bell. ' One moment, Mr. Pole, before you disgrace me — and yourself — before all the world,' cried Richard desperately. ' This brazen-faced creature, as you call her, is as honest a girl as breathes. I have known her all my life, and am engaged to be mar ried to her. Nobody knows it but your self; but I feel it due to you and the ladies to confess as much.' ' Engaged to be married !

You ? En gaged to your grandmother! Why, you're only just out of the nursery. Who's the girl ?' ' Her name is Lindon, sir.' ' Lindon, Lindon ; I never heard of it. Where does she live ? Who is her father ?' ' Her father is dead, sir. She lives in our parish. Her mother was my foster mother.' ' What, the woman that married that infernal poacher whom your father made his gamekeeper ? Then I must say he's properly served for it. So you are going to marry your father's gamekeeper's step daughter. You'll find that is among the " forbidden degrees," my young friend.' ' I dare say there will be objections, sir,' said Richard firmly ; * but I mean to do it' ' Do you, begad. ? Just ring that bell, will you ? If you move a step I'll throw my crutch at you. John, send Mr. Henry here.' ' It is none of Henry's business, sir,' pleaded Dick. ' Certainly not ; but it's my business.

I have not forgotten that I was your father's friend till he ratted from the cause of good fellowship and took up with his blessed " isms." You shall not disgrace him by running away with a poacher's daughter from my house. If he has any sense left in him, he will send you out of the country till your step-father elect is hung.' ' That would make no difference to me', said Richard stolidly. * I dare say not. If that girl were here I'd send her to gaol for an attempt at kidnapping. Henry, here's Dick Talbot engaged to be married !' The young man, who had hastened to obey his grandfather's summons, expecting to find that some catastrophe had hap pened, stared inquiringly from one to the other. ' What Mr. Pole says is quite true,' said Dick with dignity. ' The young lady I met on the hill is my affianced bride.' Here the old gentleman began to shake again. ' What !' said Henry, 'you are going to marry the girl with the peacock's feather in her hat ?' 'It was not a peacock's feather,' answered Richard angrily, ' and even if it was, that is no business of yours.

I have made this explanation for your sister's sake and for that of the other ladies. The matter is sufficiently painful to me as it is, without its subjecting me and the girl I love to insult.' ' I sincerely beg your pardon, Talbot,' cried Henry Pole ; ' but ' Here he caught sight of his grandfather's face, and its expression was too much for him. They roared together like an old lion and a young one over some dainty morsel. ' I will not stay another hour under this roof,' cried Richard, turning majestically towards the door. ' Don't let him go alone,' spluttered the old gentleman. ' Get the dog-cart out, and drive him over to Durnton yourself, Henry. Never lose sight of him till you see him safe at the Tower. I'll write by post to his father.' ' I will not run away,' said Richard quietly. ' I am willing enough to go home.' This seemed, in _Gt, to poor Dick the best thing to be done.

To stop at Masham, exposed to the ridicule of his young friends, was impossible : and it was better that his father should learn his views from his own lips than from Mr. Pole's version of them. He went up to his room at once and locked himself in, to pack his port manteau ; he would not even speak to his friend Greene. While the dog-cart was being got ready, Henry Pole waited in the hall ; through which presently sailed Miss Latour, in still majestic fashion, like a swan who has been ruffled by intrusion and can't forget it. ' So Mr. Talbot is going, I'm truly pleased to hear.' ' Yes, he's going ; but you're all of you quite wrong about him, and you, Miss Latour, in particular.' ' What do you mean ? It is a matter on which, unfortunately, there can be no mistake.' ' I beg your pardon. It was only yesterday that you said he was not a marrying man.' ' Why, you don't mean to say that ' Yes ; he's engaged to the young lady with the eagle's plume — I mean with the bird of paradise feather.' ' Engaged !

That boy engaged !' ' Hush, here he comes.' Miss Latour had been bound for the housekeeper's room, but she tacked at once, and sailed off to the ladies' boudoir. No engagement had ever caused such excitement at Masham Hall since the news had come of the battle of Waterloo. The THAN WE'RE PALNTED. 14 ladies were at once reassured and horrified. In one sense, they had made a great fuss about nothing : though in another, the ' nothing ' assumed gigantic proportions. Mr. Greene stuck loyally to his friend : ' I was quite sure,' he said, ' that Talbot could have done nothing unbecoming a gentle man.' ' And yet,' said Miss Latour, ' appear ances, you will allow, were much against the young man ; we could not have done otherwise than exhibit our marked disap probation.' ' I suppose not,' said Mr. Greene, ' though it was like sending a fire-engine to put out an aurora borealis.'

Chapter II Sticking To It

It was not, as we know, the first time, nor yet the second, that Mr. Richard Talbot had come home in disgrace, when he drove up to the Tower with Henry Pole by his side, like a criminal in charge of a detective ; and yet he felt less apprehension about the consequences of his misconduct on this occasion than he had ever done before. Hitherto, he had not been able to persuade even himself that he had been undeserving of punishment ; whereas he was now fortified by a sense of innocence. He was like a spendthrift, who has for once lent a guinea to some honest fellow, and finds himself in the proud position of a creditor. He had done nothing, as he kept repeating to himself, that he had need to be ashamed of; and moreover (and this, above all, gave him strength and con fidence), what he had done he meant to stick to.

Henry Pole, though he hated ' rows,' had good-naturedly offered to stay the night at the Tower, and ' see Dick through' the interview with his father; but the young gentleman had declined his services, so his friend just dropped him at the hall door, and then turned his horse's head to wards home again. ' Why should I be afraid of the governor ?' was Dick's reflection ; ' this row must have come sooner or later, and why not at once. Wild horses shall never tear me from Lucy's arms.' ' Perhaps he secretly imagined that he would be likely to get there all the earlier if there should be a really serious quarrel. If he was kicked out of house and home, for example, it would be only natural that he should repair to Ford's Alley. He did not, however, believe that matters would proceed to that extremity, and had some private doubts, even if they did, whether Miss Lindon would be ready upon the instant to link her fortunes with his own under such disadvantageous circumstances.

He felt secure of her affection, but was also aware that she was no slave of im pulse, but had behind her an indomitable will and — that teak which makes the iron target so impregnable — a prudent disposi tion. Though her motto with respect to him was always ' I love you,' it had been ever supplemented with ' Watch and wait.' She trusted to time (and to herself) to help them, and would be strongly averse he knew to any coup de main. In the dis cussion that was about to ensue, Mr. Talbot the elder little guessed how his own argu ments were strengthened by the views of the very young lady who was the object of his hostiliity. ' Your father is in the library, Mr. Richard,' said Rawden, in answer to Dick's inquiry. VOL. II. ' Alone ?' 'Well, sir, he has only Mr. Freeman with him.' Mr. Rawden could scarcely believe his ears, but if he did not hear his young master exclaim, ' D Mr. Freeman,' as he ran in, he was the victim of an acoustic delusion.

The sentiment was incredible, but the expression remained distinct upon his tym panum. If the porter of the Vatican had let in one of the Pope's nephews, and heard him say ' D the Pope,' his position would have been exactly analo gous to that of Mr. Rawden. His ex clamation of ' Well, I never !' however inaccurate grammatically, was strictly true. For although Mr. Freeman condemned other people in futuro both on Sundays and week days, and that with no uncertain voice, no one in Durnton, and far less at the Tower, had ever ventured to thus anathematise Mr. Freeman. Disgusted as Dick was not to find his father alone, he could not keep him in ignorance of his arrival, and having once resolved to make a clean breast of it, he doubtless felt that the sooner it was done the better, and therefore pushed on into the library.

His father, as usual, had a huge tome of divinity in his hand, to some passage in which he was directing the Rector's attention. He looked up, ag grieved at the interruption. ' What, Richard ! — back so soon ?' he said. It was not a gracious speech ; but the manner of his reception seemed to make what the young man had to tell more easy for him ; a tone of tenderness would have gone far to melt his resolution. ' Yes, sir, I am come back.' ' Tired of Masham already, eh ?' said the Rector, kindly. ' That is scarcely compli mentary to the young ladies.' ' Mr. Pole has sent me home, father,' stammered Dick. ' Not in disgrace, Richard, I hope, again ?' ' No, sir ; I have done nothing to be 21 — ashamed of— only— only— I am engaged to be married.' ' To be what ?' inquired Mr. Talbot, dropping his book upon the floor with a crash. ' He said to be married,' said the Rector. ' Well, he's very young, of course, but I must say my wife foresaw it.

" You may depend upon it," she said, " that Richard will make a match of it with Margaret Pole." ' ' It is not Margaret Pole at all,' observed the young man with irritation ; ' it's Lucy Lindon.' The Rector thought to himself, ' My wife said he would do that too ;' but this time he did not claim credit for her sagacity; he only murmured, ' Then Dorothy was right after all.' ' And who on earth is Lucy Lindon ?' inquired Mr. Talbot. Dick did not reply, but fixed his eyes stolidly upon the carpet. He had over rated his courage. 1 1 am afraid,' said the Rector, answering for him, ' that the young person of whom Richard speaks is Mrs. Parkes' daughter.' ' I know no one called Parkes except my gamekeeper and his wife,' observed Mr. Talbot, coldly. There was a very unpleasant silence. ' Am I to understand,' continued Mr. Talbot, more icily than before, ' that the object of your proposed engagement, Richard, is my gamekeeper's daughter ?' ' It is his step-daughter, sir,' exclaimed Dick, with desperation ; he had never com prehended the difficulties of his position until now ; the unwonted silence of the Rector quite as much as the austere tones of his father, brought home to him the magnitude of his offence against society. ' She is quite different from George, sir,' he urged, ' and not of his blood.

She is a well-conducted and excellent young woman. (He did not dare to say ' young lady ;' and yet he felt that he was only giving the sort of good character that would be looked for in a housemaid — one that by no means fitted the bride-elect of the heir of Talbot Tower.) ' She is also very accomplished, sir, as my Aunt Edith will bear witness.' ' Your Aunt Edith ?' put in his father quickly, at the same time shooting a mean ing glance at the Rector. ' It is she who is at the bottom of this, then ?' ' No, sir ; it is not that. Only she knows about her talents, and has given her a situation in the choir of St. Ethelburga's.' ' What do you think of that ?' inquired Mr. Talbot of the Rector. Mr. Freeman shook his head and groaned ; ' It is all bad,' was what his face said, ' but this is the worst part of it.' Poor Richard, though such a castaway, had a heart not without gratitude. ' Indeed, sir, it is not Aunt Edith's fault — if fault there be,' he said. ' It is all my own doing.

She has given me no encou ragement in the matter ; she has even kept Lucy in London, and given her employ ment, solely, as I believe, to keep her out of my way.' Mr. Talbot smiled a bitter smile. ' First PALNTED. 23 my father and then my son,' he said, as though talking to himself. Mr. Freeman nodded in adhesion. ' That is characteristic of the Jesuit sys tem,' said he. ' They will pursue their ends even to the third and fourth genera tion.' ' I don't know what you mean,' said Dick, who dimly recognised in the last remark a quotation from the Scriptures, and felt that things were growing more serious every moment. ' I have loved Lucy ever since she was a child, and she has loved me, and of late I have felt that I cannot live without her, and — and — she cannot live without me.' ' And upon what means do you propose to live together ?' inquired Mr. Talbot, cynically.

It was curious to see how the man of the world, which had been dead in him for so many years, had become suddenly resuscitated. ' I suppose, however, your Aunt Edith has promised to see to that.' ' No, sir, she has promised nothing. Indeed, she knows nothing of— of our engagement.' ' Supposing, for argument's sake, that is true, I ask again, how do you propose to live ?' Dick had about thirty shillings in his pocket ; a handsome watch (thanks to we know whom); a gold pencil-case (which, however, dropped its leads) ; and a clasp knife. Lucy would have two hundred pounds when she came of age, but that would not be for some years to come. These were their wretched assets. ' Well, sir, I ventured to hope that in course of time — I don't say at once ' (this with the air of one who is prepared for compromise, ready to meet the other of the high contracting parties half-way), ' that we should secure your consent to our union.' ' Did you, or did you not, rather, specu late upon gaining my forgiveness after you had disgraced yourself ?' Here the Rector whispered something in the speaker's ear. ' I say, sir, did you not, in your ignorance and presumption, think of making this girl PAINTED. 25 your wife clandestinely, being unaware that it is not permitted for a boy and girl, with out the consent of their parents, to get married in this country ?' ' Or in any other,' put in the Rector hastily, who thought, perhaps, he saw a nqjion of crossing the Channel in Dick's despairing eyes. ' I was quite aware, sir, of the difficulties of my position,' said Dick (to whom, how ever, to say the truth, this legal objection had not before occurred), ' and had no in tention such as you ascribe to me.

I should not, I admit, have spoken to you of the matter for some time to come, but that I met Lucy at Swanborough to-day, and — and — by some who happened to witness that meeting my conduct was misconstrued; then Mr. Pole said he would not be re sponsible for me, and sent me home.' ' Did you meet this young person at Swanborough by appointment ?' inquired Mr. Talbot. ' A very pertinent question,' murmured the Rector, nodding his head. ' His Dorothy herself,' he thought, 'could scarcely have put it better.' ' Yes, I did,' said Richard doggedly, gathering himself together for a final effort. The Rector's manner irritated him more than that of his father alarmed him ; he felt he was being treated as a child, arid anger gave the spur to his courage. ' I mean to marry her, sir ; I have passed my word to do so ; neither to-day nor to morrow perhaps, but some day.

If you set your face against us, so much the worse for us ; but that will make no difference as to the final result.' ' That is your ultimatum, is it ?' inquired Mr. Talbot scornfully. ' It is what I wish to say, sir— though I hope without offence to you.' ' And it is all you have to say ? I don't mean to say that it is not quite enough, but you may possibly have something else to add — to fix the amount of your own allow ance, for example.' ' I have nothing else to add, sir,' said Dick, scarlet with rage and shame. PALNTED. 27 ' Then you had better go to bed. I will speak to you in the morning, when you are sober.' Richard knew that his father did not mean that he was drunk, but only that when morning came he might take a less unreasonable view of matters. He felt that he had gained nothing while he had covered himself with ridicule.

The retreat which he had meditated if the worst came to the worst (as it had come), namely, that idea of marrying Lucy straight off, and trusting to the chapter of accidents, was no longer open to him ; he could not marry, it seemed, till he came of age, without his father's consent. Such was the oppressive and tyrannical condition of the British law. It was almost a comfort to him that his father appeared really angry ; that at least gave a seriousness to his own intentions. Whereas he had a horrible suspicion that the Rector had been once or twice upon the verge of an explosion of mirth. He felt certain that in the smoking-room at Masham he was at that moment affording immense amusement. He called to mind how old Mr. Pole had roared at his honest frankness, and how his grandson had joined in that indecent exhibition of mirth.

Even Greene had not stuck by him as the claims of friendship demanded, notwithstanding also his own considerate behaviour to that gentleman in the affair of Miss Meredith, which really had been something to laugh at. He had not looked for much sympathy, but it was hard lines, indeed, that his honourable intentions towards a virtuous young woman should have made him a public laughing-stock. If his father had disinherited him upon the spot, and turned him out of house and home, it would have almost seemed preferable to his present position. He threw open the window of his room, and gazed out into the summer night. Nature at least saw nothing ridiculous in the condition of his affairs, but was looking serenely calm and still. Afar off, above the last trees of the avenue, towered the old ruin, hallowed by his first kiss of love.