A Lucky Young Woman, etc

Front matter

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Chapter I

Sir Hugo Conyers, the sixth baronet, ought to have been a very rich man. He ought to have been— so he would tell you at Boodle's, as he sat in the window to put himself en evidence for the afternoon, before making his way to some cheap restaurant for his dinner— worth at least fifty thousand a year. The Conyers estates were in North Wales, and would no doubt have brought in Sir Hugo the amount he named had they been unencumbered. But Sir Hugo's father had been extravagant before him. We need not tell the old story of cards and racing and heavy betting. When Sir Hugo succeeded to the title every acre that could be sold had gone, and he himself had joined with his father in so heavily encumbering what remained, that his income consisted of some few hundreds a year, which were paid him quarterly by the trustees of his mother's marriage settlement, and which he could not hossibly anticipate or get into his hands in any way.

No tolicitor in London would advance him a farthing upon spe security of a property mortgaged up to the hilt, and within two years after he succeeded his father the mort gagees foreclosed, and Conyers Castle passed into the hands of a rich iron-master and quarry-owner. There remained for Sir Hugo the modest income we have already mentioned. Upon this he somehow just con trived to exist. He was at the time this story commences some fifty-five years of age, and had been a widower for ten years. The chief remaining trouble of his life — for he had grown callous, and some men who knew him went so far as to say shameless, about things that usually trouble or ought to trouble a gentleman if he have them, such as his tradesmen's accounts and his debts of honour — was his daughter Marcia, who was now nineteen.

In the first place, Sir Hugo did not care for his daughter in the least. She was an annoyance to him, and in an indolent, selfish kind of way he disliked her on that account. He would sometimes, indeed, as he drank his glass of spirits and water in his bedroom before retiring for the A Luckt Young Woman. 8 night, frame a more or less definite wish, which went rather bevond the mere expression of a regret that she had ever "been born. But apparently these paternal hopes were not likely to be realized. Marcia was, as an English girl of her age ought to be, the picture of health, and Sir Hugo used to finish his brandy and water and go to bed. thinking over what might have been if things had gone differently— a course of meditation in which men who have recklessly and wantonly thrown away their chances and wasted their lives are very apt to indulge, usually attributing the blame to their own bad luck, or to a shameful absence of any proper sense of duty on the part of their friends and relations.

Marcia's mother when she became Lady Conyers had immense expectations. Her father was one of those great monied men who have become more and more a power in a state since we were wicked enough to repeal the Corn Laws, and to other things equally calculated to destroy our old titled and landed families. When Mr. Sandarson's daughter married Sir Hugo he paid his son-in-law's debts without any inquiry further than as to their amount, and he also was liberal as a rich father-in-law ought to be in the way of an annual allowance ; but with all the instincts of a man of business, he refused to make any settlement upon his daughter, contenting himself with the remark that his name was sufficiently well known in the City; that when he promised to pay so much a year he could pay it, and that when he died he should not forget his only daughter.

As for his capital, he said he wanted it in his business, where it could make fifteen per cent safely, instead of being tied up at three and a half. This was frank enough, and Sir Hugo was more than contented at the time with the three thousand a year which her father's solicitors transmitted punctually to Lady Conyers, and with the certain prospect, as every one then supposed, that the old gentleman would die worth a sum so large that even Sir Hugo himself began to wonder at the possibilities of enjoyment that would be opened to him when his wife should succeed to her share of it. Meantime he reflected he could always get a little extra ready money out of his father-in-law at a pinch. The pinches were frequent, and the old man, to do him justice, did not grumble at them more than was necessary and reasonable, especially when his daughter acted as mediator and peace maker.

Commercial fortunes, however, are even more uncertain than are landed estates, and bankruptcy may come upon the one as suddenly ■ and to the outer world as unexpectedly as a suit for foreclosure upon the other. The City one morning was struck with something like panic to hear that the great house of Sandarson had suspended paymont, involving with it in its fall — so the rumour went— one or two large houses as well, and possibly even the bank which had been honoured with its account. The rumour was correct except as regarded the bank, which had for some time past looked suspiciously at the paper of Sandarson and Company, and had at last flatly refused to discount that commodity at all without a margin so considerable that the refusal amounted virtually to a direct denial of what is known as ordinary mercantile credit.

Mr. Sandarson himself must have foreseen the crash for some time, and he did not survive it many months. Kindly people said he died of a broken heart. Those who suffered by his fall were less charitable, and declared that for years he had known what was coming, and instead of facing his difficulties, had to brace himself up from day to day with champagne and ultimately with brandy. It matters little what people say of a man after he has failed in business, and nothing what they say of him when he is dead. Mr. Sandarson died before the full extent of his liabilities was known. There was great sympathy felt for Sir Hugo in the sacred precincts of Boodle's. Men of the fashionable world know, as a rule, that their most intimate friends are selfish and heartless. Very few if any of the members of Boodle's had the slightest regard or even respect for Sir Hugo Conyers, but the heartlessness of his father-in-law, in ha^ ng the presumption to fail for a sum of which even a small slice would have made most of them happy, wounded their moral susceptibilities very painfully.

"A man in business," profoundly observed an old gentle man, who, having spent his wife's fortune and bis own, was now just able to keep his name on the books of the Club and pay his Club accounts and debts of honour by directing and promoting Joint Stock Companies, "a man of business has no business to fail. I consider Sandarson far worse than a defaulter. A horse may break its leg, or you may have a run of luck against you at piquet— even witli the best play— but for a business man to fail is inexcusable. It shows that he does not understand what ought to be an absolute certainty." In this opinion the bulk of the company seemed to con cur. Some of them, indeed, openly avowed a strong opinion that Sir Hugo had been robbed by his father-in-law, while those who best knew the baronet himself discussed the interesting question how he would take it.

Sir Hugo took it as might have been expected from a gentleman with his wide knowledge of the world and pecu liarly philosophic temperament. He became so careful over whist and ecarte, and so successful when he took the trouble to form an opinion on the merits of a horse, that many of his old friends began to fight shy of him. The limits of even the oldest friendship are apt to become strained when the luck invariably falls to Damon and not to Pythias. And then, too, men who gamble even within their means are apt to be unreasonable, and to say nasty things of those to whom they habitually lose. So although Sir Hugo kept his name on the books of Boodle's, he gave up frequenting the card-room of that establishment, and contented himself with the bow window in the afternoon, where ha would sit pretending to read the paper until his dinner-hour, when he would descend the steps with an air so self-possessed that the oldest loungers in Clubland could hardly have made a guess at his destination and its object.

All these things make a man bitter in proportion to his selfishness. It galled Hugo Conyers to move about like one of Homer's ghosts in the world to which he had once belonged and to be denied its pleasures. To him the delights of Clubland were real and tangible — among the few things worth living for. He had just that amount of good taste which thoroughly selfish men about town acquire. He liked Boodle's because it was old and select. He could appreciate its cookery and the vintages in its wine list. The butler respected his opinion and the chef valued his commend ation. And Mr. Gainer himself would have allowed him much of that latitude which prevailed in the old days of the "account per contra at Brooks's," rather than see his name disappear from the list of members. We need only add what the reader will probably have guessed for himself, that from the time of Mr. Sandarson's failure Sir Hugo persistently ill-treated his wife.

When a British workman is out of employment, and cannot enjoy his usual allowance of beer and tobacco, he is apt to be indignant with his wife because she cannot set forth the dinner-table in its accustomed manner, and to evince his displeasure in a practical form by beating her. Sir Hugo Conyers could not beat his wife, but studied neglect and bitter words can be made more cruel than any blows ; and of these Lady Conyers had more than even those who knew her husband and his disposition most thoroughly could ever have guessed. She lingered on for several years as only a woman can. She had hard work in their little house in Sloane Street to make both ends meet, and to keep her husband from open outbreaks of temper, but she toiled bravely. While Sir Hugo was at Boodle's, or in the Park, or looking in at Tattersall's. of which he still continued a member, she would occupy herself with that domestic drudgery which is often an anodyne to women.

They kept but one maid in these days of famine, so Lady Conyers herself did much of the work of the house ; and there was always her child, little Marcia. Marcia and her mother dined at one, and if the little girl had acquitted herself creditably in the morning over her spelling, she would be allowed to go out with her mother in the afternoon and look at the shops, or walk in the park. Marcia's life was happy enough, for she was too young to understand or even guess at the things that had hap pened. She used to like to walk out with her mother or to sit with her at home. Poor Lady Conyers, who was devoted to the child, used to play the piano to her, and show her how to dress and undress her favourite doll, and to read stories to her and tell her fairy tales. An only child will usually either turn out very well or very ill, and the happiest children are those who have brothers and sisters.

Marcia showed signs of turning out well. She was obedient, docile, quickwitted, and extremely affectionate. It is impossible to expect more from a child of seven. It is very seldom that you get as much. When they told her that her mother had gone away and was an angel in Heaven, — this was told her by the hospital nurse and by the servant, Heaven not lying within the range of Sir Hugo's ideas, — she had no more than a child's notion of what had really happened, and of all that she had lost. She suffered as children of her age do suffer when they lose a mother who has brought them up herself, and she for a long time refused comfort. The daily governess, who was engaged until, as Sir Hugo feelingly remarked, things had got into shape, did some thing to brighten the child's life. She was a German frdulein of the pleasantest type - and the Germans are kindly to children, and show their kindness for them in a practical way that children appreciate.

German nursery tales and German toys are marvels not to be approached in their kind, and for a little girl left in the world without mother, brothers and sisters, or even playfellows, a kind-hearted German governess comes as a Providence that is sorely needed. Fraulein Dietz was a kindly, simple, busy, cheerful little body, and soon had entirely won Marcia's heart. She showed her pupil pictures of all kinds, and told her what they re presented when the letterpress offered difficulties. She began to teach her the piano, and gave her some idea of how she would have to play it when her hands were larger ; and she also taught her to chatter fluently in German, and to pick her way through easy French lesson books. A Lucky Youjs'g Woman. 12 I believe, indeed I am sure, that German governesses, like German professors, are the best of their kind.

Teaching with them is not a means of livelihood so much as a pursuit which they thoroughly enjoy, and they make it their business to teach systematically and soundly. Nor do I agree with those who accuse them of faults of temper. On the contrary, I have always found the Teutonic temper to be fond of authority, but at the same time patient, gentle, and capable of great affection. Marcia was a pupil whom, as a famous Head Master once observed, it paid you to teach. She was also a child whom it was difficult not to love, so that when the first storm of her grief had calmed her days passed brightly and pleasantly with the warm-hearted, motherly Fraulein. They were the happiest days she was to know for many years to come. Sir Hugo, finding that Fraulein Dietz was able to man age his little daughter so admirably, came to the conclusion that it would be wise on his part to retain her services altogether.

And although the salary he offered was by no means a tempting one, yet the Fraulein, having become devotedly attached to h6r little charge, was fain to accept it, and henceforward she resided altogether in the house. The Fraulein and Marcia had many little pleasures of their own, and many little household matters upon their hands that made time glide by hour after hour and week after week almost unheeded. Upon the Fraulein, indeed, it seemed as if time could not possibly have any effect unless it might be to turn absolutely white hair that here and there already showed a silvery glint. She was the typical German woman, differing as much from all ordinary notions we entertain as to what a German Fraulein who "bids fair to become an old maid may resemble, as does one of our own healthy English girls, whom you raay see any day where girls are to be found,— in the Park, or on the Brigh ton Parade, or at Scarborough, or where you please, — from the marvellous Mees Anglaise portrayed by Cham in Chari vari.

How Leech, who could draw an English girl as truly as Landseer could paint deer or hound, must have laughed as he turned over Charivari at his Club. Fraulein Dietz was short, of course, and also stout, with blue eyes and light hair, genuinely Teuton. Profane critics, who like the lean, colourless horrors sung by M. Rossetti, and painted by Mr. Burne Jones, would have considered Miss Dietz, to use a plain English word, podgy. But there was a depth of honesty and affection in her blue eyes, and her heart was as simple as a child's and as tender as that of a mother. And qualities such as these will go far to counterbalance a carriage that is not altogether Parisian, and a Teutonic homeliness such as is sometimes supposed by people who know everything to indicate want of educa tion, or, as it pleases them to call it, culture.

Such, to sketch her briefly, was Fraulein Dietz, Marcia's second mother and constant companion. And it must be added, that the Fraulein had many other most estimable virtues. She was cheerful, industrious, bright, full of life, extremely affectionate, and absolutely devoid of selfishness. It was little wonder that Marcia should love Fraulein Dietz, and that when Sir Hugo thought it time that the governess should return to Germany or seek out some other engagement, Marcia should be able to point out that the Fraulein was, in fact, house-keeper rather than ex governess, and that it would be a very false economy in deed to lose her services, even although she herself was nineteen. " You see, papa," urged Marcia, " the Fraulein has taught me as much as she can make me learn ; buth she will never teach me to manage a house, or to keep the servants in order, or to look after those tiresome little bills which run away with more money than the big ones.

She has tried very hard to do so, I know; but she laughs at me, and declares it isn't in me. Why, papa, if the Fraulein went away the servants would do exactly as they pleased, tho tradesmen would cheat me shamefully, and our bills would be terrible." Sir Hugo saw the force of this, and ungraciously gave his consent to the Fraulein's remaining. Whereat, I grieve to say, for the credit of Marcia's veracity, that she and the Fraulein laughed very heartily in the evening over their little old-fashioned repast of tea, toast, and watercress. On the other hand. Sir Hugo consoled himself with re flecting that the Fraulein's salary was small, that he need not trouble himself to pay it regularly, and that after all it was probably cheaper to let her stop. She cost little more than a servant, and no doubt Marcia was right in contending that she saved that little two or three times over ; and with these calculations Sir Hugo consoled himself as he sat in his easy chair at Boodle's, remembering dimly and wistfully how he had always wished to live, and pon dering gloomily upon the shabby way in which fortune had treated him.

"It is always so, sir," he said to himself. "It is only the snobs who have a chance in these days, even in the service; fellows who can live and dress themselves on a hundred a year." Which course of reflection led him to the conclusion that the country was going to the devil, and that he could not do better than fortify himself with a stiff glass of brandy and water.

Chapter II

Sir Hugo was, as I have said, fifty-five years of age. He did not attempt to conceal this fact, as it stood on record in Burke and Debrett. You must not contradict things that are written in the book of Jasher, or when your back is turned, some young gentleman may despatch the smoking room waiter for the awkward record and turn you into ridicule. So Sir Hugo never alluded to his age, but car ried it pleasantly and, indeed, almost defiantly. And to do him justice, he was very well preserved. Time does not tell upon men who are idle and self indulgent, unless they also have a bad constitution or lead a vicious life. Now Sir Hugo's constitution was apparently excellent. His teeth were sound, and his digestion unim paired. He walked erectly, and had never been troubled with gout even in its premonitory form of indigestion.

He was constitutionally lazy. He had never cared much even when young for tramping the stubbles or keeping well in the first flight; but during the few years that he was in the Guards he used to be considered a smart officer, and he still retained the dignity of his old military bearing without its stiffness. Sir Hugo could not afford a valet, but he did not need one ; and as you saw him make his way along Piccadilly and down St. James's Street, you would think, not knowing at whom you were looking, what a fine, gallant, upright English gentleman he was. And indeed a man can preserve himself wonderfully if he avoids vulgar vices, such as indulgence in early drinks, or in the still more fatal habit of eating more than he requires ; if he keeps regular hours ; and if, to use a comprehensive phrase, he takes care of himself.

Now Sir Hugo took care of himself without being aware that he did so, and consequently his years sat graciously on him. Above all, he never troubled himself with thinking— a bad habit, tending greatly to shorten our enjoyment of the little span of life which the fates allow us. It has been maliciously said, probably by some ill-educated and ill-mannered nonconformist, that deans live to an immense age, because they have a certain income, nothing to do for it, and a thoroughly comfortable deanery in which to do that nothing in a manner that becomes the environ ment and is worthy of it. Sir Hugo, had he gone into the Church instead of into the Guards, would certainly have become a dean. And it is almost equally certain that in these later and vexatious days of ours, he would have refused a bishopric.

And herein he would have been wise Indeed, I, for my own humble part, would far sooner be Dean of Westminster than Archbishop of York, or even Canterbury. It is difficult to describe Marcia Conyers. She was tail and upright like her father, with a head such as the old masters loved to paint, well poised upon a neck worthy of its burden. Her features were Roman rather than Greek, and her thick soft hair was of that deep black which, as the light glints upon it, seems to take a bluish tinge. Her eyes were of a colour that is rare— a deep iron brown, like that (if the comparison may be permitted) of a thoroughly tempered gunbarrel, and as fearless and resolute as those of a hawk. Her gait was not that now considered fashionable, nor was it that which the drill-master some times contrives to impart to tall young ladies as a last boarding-school touch.

Perhaps I may best describe her by saying that the more plainly she dressed, the more likely would she be to strike your attention. She was, indeed, as Tennyson has it in his vision of fair women— " A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair." It need only be added that she had admirably good taste and a faultless eye for colour, and that, as it can hardly be said she went into society, she dressed to please herself. Now as Hugo Conyers was one day walking leisurely up Piccadilly, he saw on the other side of the way, under the blank wall of Devonshire House, two ladies going in the direction of Knightsbridge, who were in fact his own daughter and Fraulein Dietz. It may seem odd that a man should not recognize his own daughter on the other side of the street, but as a matter of fact, Sir Hugo did not at first recognize Marcia.

Being too well-bred a gentleman to stare at a lady, he might have passed on with some vague wishes that he was still young and could begin life again, had not Marcia stopped and looked at him across the road. An uneasy suspicion at once flashed through his mind that she might want half-a-sovereign for further purchases, so he waved his hand with an air of dignified affection that spoke volumes. "Do not trouble to cross the road, my sweet child," that wave said; "I require nothing. God bless you. I am proud of you. You amply repay many years of toil and anxiety and self-denial." It was the gesture of a man who, like Lord Beaconsfield's Duke in Lothair, thanks Providence devoutly that his children are not un worthy of him. But as he made his way down St. James Street towards Boodle's, other ideas came crowding into his head; and when he reached that club, and had ensconced himself in a comfortable arm-chair, he began to think so very seriously that many of the men in the room inclined to the opinion he must have lost money, while those who knew better favoured the idea that he had come into money, and was perhaps a little bewildered by it.

It was late enough in the year for a fire, and Sir Hugo sat before the fire and meditated. He also did what for him was an unusual thing; for when he had apparently finished his meditations he repaired to the coffee-room, where he very slowly and sedately, as becomes a gentleman of his age and position, recruited himself with a brown bread biscuit and two or three glasses of Madeira. Madeira was a wine he rarely touched, but on this occasion he felt a stimulant necessary, so he took his Madeira slowly, and, as it were, medicinally. When it was finished he repaired to the writing-room, and there, after making a careful draft with alterations, copied and despatched the following letter : - "Dear Lady St. Austell, "I am going to presume upon our long friendship to ask a favour so slight that you need no more hesitate at its refusal than I at the suggestion.

"I know that at this time of the year your house is always full, but if you could make room for my daughter Marcia for a few days, I should be glad if you would let me send her. "She has not lately been looking well. Of course she pretends that there is nothing the matter with her, but I believe the truth to be that the dear child fancies I prefer Town myself even at this time of year, and is unwilling to leave me. ' "The air of Oakshire would, I am sure, brace her won derfully. As she has never had a maid of her own she will, of course, not bring one with her, but will not encroach upon the time of yours. " You will find her greatly grown. Indeed I sometimes fear she has a little outgrown her strength. "About yourself, who have the gift of perpetual youth, I need hardly ask. And as I read in last Saturday's Field a full account of the day in your coverts, I know that bt.