A Wilful Young Woman

Front matter

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Chapter I

' STUARTS ' AND ITS MASTER. SHOWS HOW AN OLD BACHELOR MAY BECOME A NEW HUSBAND. It is many years now, though there are people living in the old West-country town who recollect it still, since the' time when a prominent figure in their midst was John Alwyn, magistrate, counsellor, counsel-man on matters domestic or civic to number less fellow-burghers; last representative of a legal firm, which through three generations had held honourable rank and foremost place in the society of Stillcote-Upton. He was a fine man, this lawyer, liberal-minded, trusted and trustworthy ; heartily respected by his wide circle of acquaintance, heartily liked by a smaller circle of intimates. That this need not have been small goes without saying, for not a house in Stillcote-Upton but would gladly have welcomed Mr. Alwyn for its guest — not a family but would have been de lighted to visit at his red-bricked dwelling, ' Stuarts,' as it had been named long ago, when for an hour it sheltered a royal fugitive from a fatal field ; but the burden of general visiting the master of this mansion had never cared to incur.

As a bachelor he had not been expected to entertain. There were dozens of ways by which he could requite such hospitality as he received of other folks. For the rest, he liked to keep his house as it had been in his father's time, handsome in all its equipments, un changed by fluctuating fashions, and to spend his evenings in the solitude — never wearisome— of a well-stocked library. But this rule of life knew one exception. Once every week post-prandial seclusion gave place to an arrangement, which might be called an institution. Every Wednesday the leather-covered table of the study retired to a bay-window ; four stands, residing elsetime up four comers, were brought forth and set before four chairs, which would be presently tenanted by the host and a trio as devoted to classical instrumentation as he himself.

For three hours these coadjutors would ply their bows, then would follow supper — plain, but excellent as epicure could wish ; and then, as the timepiece between the windows rang forth "Auld Lang Syne," and struck eleven, the party would break up. Second violin and 'cello — one the widower-rector of the chief church, St. Clement's, the other a physician of means and leisure — would go off towards the west end of the town, while the viola would turn down High Street to a more modest abode. Socially, he was somewhat less than the others ; by name Jacob Cheene, chief of the copying and "general drudgery" department in Mr. Alwyn's office — a man of great devotion to his employer, but of perhaps, except in one direction, no par ticular ability, since he gained no step in his employment from youth to age, save what iong service entitled him to.

People were amused at the lawyer's patronage of his subordin ate when it began years before,and thought he might have chosen, as sharer of his tastes and companion of his two daily walks, some one more suitable than an employe". But Mr. Alwyn had a habit of following his own prejudices, possibly other reasons for taking to Jacob Cheene over and above their mutual love of one harmonious mistress ; but, at any rate, his kindly notice of the quiet, shy man never slackened. By now the clerk's place in the quartet was as well established as his master's ; while year in and year out, as half-past nine chimed from St. Clement's, the lawyer would emerge from his door, bend his steps as far as Mr. Cheene's domicile ; then the two would return, reaching the office in variably at ten, reappearing to make precisely the same journey at four to the minute : shopkeepers, postmen, policemen would have felt any day begin awkwardly which had not brought the pair by to receive the well-differentiated bow and nod of greeting ; and if the custom ever evoked question, it was explained as " one of Mr. Alwyn's bachelor ways," with which, of course, no fault could possibly be found.

Indeed, no one found fault with any of the worthy gentleman's ways, except that they were bachelor ; and this fact had been a thorn in the flesh to the ladies of those parts for the last thirty years. That a man so eligible should have escaped the snares of matrimony laid incessantly with more or less craftiness in his path, was an enigma — a standing vexation to many a would-be matron ! But the gentleman was apparently invulnerable to female charms. "Confirmed old bachelor I " was the title freely applied to him ; and people were beginning to wonder who would be his heir, when he upset everybody's calculations in the most extraordinary manner. In plain English, he got married 'STUARTS' AND ITS MASTER 13 The precise steps of this rash act were as follows : It has been said Mr. Alwyn never entertained ; but one solemn festivity was the exception which proved this rule.

In early July, when the long rows of strawberry-bede in his big garden were in full luscious bearing, when, after much netting and tending, Bund, their guardian, would pronounce them fit, and bid his master " hev 'em eat 1 " then short-notice invitations went forth. Mr. Alwyn's four old servants woke into unusual activity : the large rooms were set in company order, brocaded curtains shaken out, dragon china brought forth, silver so polished that the tables looked like an entanglement of sunbeams ; and four or five score guests made the most of their host's rare hospi tality, ate his fruit, strolled about his broad paths flanked by syringa, guelder roses, and such out-of-date flower-belles, and wished their chance of such a treat came oftener. At one of these gatherings a stranger appeared.

" An old school-fellow of mine whom I'd not seen since she lost her hue band ; and she is only with me a short time, so I ventured to bring her," explained Mrs. Morton, wife of the musical doctor ; upon which Mrs. Villiers, a handsome woman of perhaps five and-thirty, made a graceful bow containing just enough timidity to be appealing, and " did so hope she was not intruding ! " and John Alwyn hastened to assure her he was only too much honoured, and — two years short of sixty though he might be — certain is it that for the first time his fancy was caught, the heart that had resisted maiden blandishment succumbed to the widow ! What the lady knew of him could not have been much, but she skilfully made the most of it that afternoon. " Had Mr. Alwyn always lived here ? " she asked. " Oh, what a pleasure to feel rooted to such a charming spot 1 '' looking round with dark, liquid eyes.

" She had to live in London. Ah" — with a shrug,— " the noise, the unrest, were frightful. But" — with a sigh — "she was doomed to it. Poor people had no choice. And were those trees actually planted when Mr. Alwyn was born ? '' as her host pointed out the beauties of ' Stuarts.' " Why, how fast they must have grown. To a smoke-dried mortal like her" — with a blush at the self-uttered slander, for her complexion was still brilliant — "the place seemed a paradise. But Mr. Alwyn was a very naughty man." " Why ? " " Why, because," indicating the groups upon the lawn, " among so many charming friends he had chosen no Eve 1" Perchance the bright audacity of the lady's manner took the lawyer a little off his head. He straightened himself up at that suggestion about Eve. He looked at his reflection in a concave mirror over the sideboard when he took his fair guest in for refreshment, and flattered himself his diminished figure had a juvenile air.

Mrs. Villiers was charmed with the cream, with the china, with everything ; the more she admired his possessions the more he admired her taste. She caught sight of musical paraphernalia in the library, and must needs inspect his Cremona. "The only instrument on earth worth studying I <S7te could only play upon those wretched pianos, and siug — a little. All 1 here was that delicious thing of Beethoven's. How she loved the 'motif.'" And with a voice rich and well-trained she sol-faed forth the melody. "But, oh, if Mr. Alwyn would play it ! Where were the rest of the quartet ? Not all here ! Ah I then she couldn't hear it, and she was so sorry I " But then and there her infatuated host remedied the disappointment. " If Mrs. Villiers, with Mr~. Morton, would dine with him, he and his fellow-performers would proudly do their best to please her."

And the following week positively witnessed a stately dinner in the fascinating lady's behalf, to the disgust of the old servants, who saw clearly the beginning of the end. And such it proved. It was only a few days after that evening that Stillcote-Upton was electrified by the news that Mr. Alwyn was to be married, and at once ! The widow may have felt that all delays are dangerous, and so prudently avoided any when once her suitor was fairly at her feet. A brother from the South of England appeared upon the scene to attend to the matter of settlements — "for, please, don't speak to me about them," begged the lady, " I'm such a baby about business i " but as her relative was quite the reverse, a very handsome arrangement was made for the bride-elect, whose first husband, from his Civil Service income, had left her but slenderly provided for.

Now twelve thousand pounds were to be hers and her one child's, Leonora Villiers, a little demoiselle of five ; the interest the mother's solely as an independent income. Six thousand more were placed with the same trustees as part por tion for any future offspring, the interest to be the wife's on y till any such came of age. Further fortune for the same would be provided by will. And these deeds were accomplished, the widow had returned to town, Mr. Alwyn had followed her, and the wedding was a fact before people had left off saying the whole report must be a hoax. But Mr. Alwyn was indisputably married ; and though there was not a soul but wished him personally well, equally was there no townsman but expressed his opinion, more or less bluntly, that there was no fool like an old one, and hoped that this autumnal wooing and wedding might not turn out a tremendous blunder.

It showed no signs of doing so at first. Bride and bridegroom returned from their honeymoon looking very handsome and very self-satisfied. Hospitality opened the doors of the old mansion oftener. For 'STUARTS' AND ITS MASTER. 15 a few weeks the lady's unvarying graciousness secured universal applause, and Stillcote-Upton considered the lawyer's venture a success. But gradually this feeling changed. As a matter of course old habits had to be discarded. There could be no morning traversing of High Street with Jacob Cheene for Mr. Alwyn, when the mistress of his table had hardly appeared for breakfast at the hour he had been wont to start, and afternoons had to be devoted to the strange arts of making and receiving calls. And the Wednesday evenings, which Mrs. Alwyn had smilingly declared "were never to be disturbed — oh, never 1'' made but a brief pretence of prolonging their existence.

They were attempted, but at the first the lady essayed an accompaniment on a fine "grand," purchased as soon as she came home, and the time got into perplexities, and an " allegro finale" stranded them all in despairing confusion, and the next week Mrs. Alwyn had a headache and kept her room. A dinner-party postponed the third. Then the clerical violin undertook evening services for a friend, the 'cello began to fancy the night air bad for his bronchitis (an ailment newly developed), and the viola saw his once greatest delight melting away with something of relief. The sensitiveness of his lowlier sphere had early discovered one quality of the bride which the whole town found out later on. The wife of the rich lawyer — his master — patronized her husband's clerk with a condescension that would have poisoned the greatest kindness upon earth.

And so the quartet broke up, " to meet by special arrangement as often as we can, you know," said the leader, ruefully; but the meetings somehow never arranged themselves that first winter, and by the second were still more impracticable. For by then Mrs. Ahvin, having inspected the society of StiII cote-Upton, had come to the conclusion that it was not worth her maintaining* an amiable front to please. So she took no pains to prolong her popularity ; had doubts as to whether the town suited her health, grew certain the south end did not, and between pretty persuasions and persistent complaints, in duced Mr. Alwyn to leave the old home, and rent three miles countryward a far more pretentious dwelling, known as Guyswick Hall. Here the lady soared into high society, and under his wife's rule, which he never combated, till it grew past his control, the lawyer had soon a marvellously fine establishment.

Each day a smart groom drove him to his office at the old deserted house (whose blank windows gazed at him so reproachfully, he knew no rest till he had settled a chief clerk in residence, much to Mrs. Alwyn's annoyance — ''As if we could not afford to let it stand empty 1 " she said), and every afternoon his wife's brougham, with or without herself, would fetch him out. Of his four old servants all were soon gone, to be replaced by double the number of new faces. Of his old friends he Bcarcely got a glimpse, except as business brought them together. So, change, grandeur, show of enjoyment, and much use of liches were imported into his life. Whether they brought much comfort or happiness was a point on which outsiders indulged in stronger opinions than he per mitted himself. But the second year of his married life brought one joy un questionable, to be wondered at, admired, gloried in — in other words, a little daughter.

Chapter II

life's FEBRUARY. Now the advent of this little one was regarded by the father and mother in very different lights. To Mrs. Alwyn it represented a certain amount of care ; a temporary check to her gay life ; and, gravest annoyance of all, a claimant to a third of her marriage-settlement, which she had hoped to keep intact in her own hands — an heiress probably to a much larger sum which otherwise might have become hers. So a dreadful disappointment the arrival of this small mortal was to the fashionable parent, who in some sort always seemed to bear her younger offspring a grudge for having presumed to enter into existence, and gave her only a chill affection, very different from the devotion lavished on Leonora, child of liar first more loveful marriage. Only in one respect did the mother treat her children alike — in their outward adornment.

The spending of money was a luxury she revelled in, and the baby's toilets matched her step sister's elaborate costumes, receiving more maternal attention than all other requirements put together. This done, Mrs. Alwyn felt that nothing more could be de manded of her, and troubled herself but little with the unwelcome presence of her last-born. Not eo the father. He, poor man, had found out well enough by now that he had made an irremediable blunder, but he bore hie disappointment with quiet stoicJBm, and the birth of his child seemed to him an absolute recompense for all domestic failures. She was to him the most marvellous creation upon earth. Early morning, late night, found him at the cradle-side of this dimpled miracle. A whole vista of joys opened with the first stammering of her baby-tongue, and his whole pang concerning LIFE'S FEBRUARY. 17 her was that life, which gave him this treasure so late, would be closing for him while her days were yet in their spring-time.

His friends of bachelor years might have inclined towards ridiculing the pride of this first-time father of three-score, but it was too genuine, and, counting the great gap of age between sire and child, too pathetic to be jested at. So Mr. Alwyn's baby-girl was accepted unreservedly by all who would stand well with her parent. Clients made a point of inquiring as to her progress : clerks were deepl}- interested when her little pearly bits of teeth came through, elated when she could run alone. Now and then the little maiden would be brought to ' Stuarts' and exhibited, first to Mrs. Greaves, the manager's wife, who, with many of her own, had still a etock of enthusiastic admiration for this one; then to the old gardener, who " blessed her pretty eyes, and never shouldn't have thowt to see sich a sight as she was— never 1 " and then to Jacob Cheene, for whose plain countenance the little one soon showed a discerning affection, and would close one of her small, soft hands round hie long forefinger, and so lead him about the place in a state of embarrassed pleasure, at which Mr. Alwyn would chuckle with amusement.

" Little Syd makes her choice early," he would say. " She is the only young Alwyn, and means to be true to old friends." " Ay, like her father," would Mr. Cheene answer, " as there'll be plenty to tell her, myself soonest if I live long enough." At which his employer would remonstrate with — "Chut, chut, Jacob, don't be personal ; you teach her her scales when she's big enough, that will be undertaking enough for you. I'll buy her a violin as soon as she can hold it, and we'll see if we can't play some trios to our satisfaction yet ! " And the two gray-haired men would laugh, leading small Sydney's uncertain steps along the lime-tree walk, little divining what chords their three lives would sound upon men's ears in the unknown by-and-by. Meantime, while Sydney — or, to give the full baptismal title, "Sydney Grey" — Alwyn was growing out of the vagueness of infancy, the home-life of Guyewick Hall altered for the worse.

Master and mistress were wide as the poles asunder.in their tastes. Practically, as well as metaphorically, Beethoven was shelved, and Offenbach ruled in his place. Mrs. Alwyn's brilliant dinners, or gay assemblies, were arranged without regard to her husband's engagements. Splendidly dressed, lavish at all points, clear now of the common professional set to which her marriage had first introduced her, the lady enjoyed life most thoroughly. Her ponies, her lace, her furs, and fifty other fancies, were food for gossip to half the country-side, and the only share her husband had in these increasing luxuries was to find the funds for their purchase. Over this part of the business he had demurred more than once, B the last time with serious vexation, and possibly this state of things troubled the lawyer more than he cared to confess, but it seems to Sydney that, just at this time when recollection of her father begins, he grew older and graver very fast indeed.

Other people were of the same opinion. "You're not looking yourself, Alwyn," the rector of St. Clement's said, advancing from his gate one morning as the lawyer drove by, Sydney perched by his side according to frequent custom. " I don't believe Guyswick suits you half as well as 'Stuarts.'" "Half! no, not a hundredth part," answered John Alwyn, hastily; "though," pulling himself up short, " the place is well enough. Why don't you come and see it oftener? " " Oh, you know," evasively returned the clergyman, " I'm busy. My boy is back from Oxford. I'm coaching him through the 'long.' But I do want a chat with you about"— dropping his voice — " that investment of mine. I'll come to your office this week, if it suits you." " Next will do better," said the lawyer, his forehead contracting, though he was not given to signs of impatience.

"Then next be it. And well, little maid," smiling at Sydney, " what do you mean by not being a boy, eh? A lad could have been helping his father, couldn't he ? " " So can a girl 1 So can I ; so I will ! " returned Sydney, her great eyes, sometimes hazel, sometimes blue, dilating with un childlike anxiety. (" Why did every one tell her father he looked ill?'') "Papa, may I stay with you to-day, and stamp your letters?" " Little goose," he answered, fondly. "We'll indulge in that treat soon, when we're not so full of work." " Nor cares," thought the rector, as they drove on. " It strikes me, John Alwyn, that marriage was about the worst venture of yo\w life ! " which was nearly, but not quite, the truth. Two scenes of the first summer registered in Sydney's memory are never to be effaced. One of a June evening, herself led to a dressing-room to say formal good-night to her mother, who is arrayed for some evening visit.

Her father stands by the window. "It is the third time," Mrs. Alwyn says, in tones of annoy ance, as the child enters, "I have accepted for you to the Wynnes, and you have always called off. It is ungracious and provoking. Lady Wynne always looks incredulous when I say you are unwell." "She need not to-night,'' returns Mr. Alwyn, wearily; " there will be no pretence about your apology for once." Mrs. Alwyn flashes at him a doubting glance. " If you are not well, why did you stay at your office so late ? " LIFE'S FEBRUARY, 19 " Expecting letters." "And never gave a thought to my convenience I You knew I should wait to see whether you were going with me." "I assured you I should not before I left this morning. They are out of our range. An evening there, now I'm harassed in all directions, would have crazed me."

His tone is so broken, that Sydney's eyes fill suddenly with tears as she steals to her father's elbow. But Mrs. Alwyn's pity is reserved for her own grievances. The Wynnes were particular as to the proprieties, and she was bent on dragging her husband to theii* dinner. "It is not agreeable to go alone. You really must exert yourself, Mr. Alwyn, and accompany me sometimes, or " " Or," he interrupted, looking with a faint gleam of his old admiration at his wife — "a splendid woman" some people yet called her — " or else you must stay at home with the old man you've tied yourself to ! Well, is that such a hard fate ? Helen " — he used the name so seldom, she started to hear it, and drew a little back as he advanced — " I'm worried now, and — and anxious. Could you not forego this dinner ? Could you not stay with me this evening ?

" She gathers up the train of her beautiful dress with a gesture of irritation. "You know the St. Heliers are to be there! " she says, with emphasis which seems to express that such society would draw her from any duty on earth ; " I am alive to the compliment of being asked to meet them, Mr. A'wyn, if you are not 1 Good night. And, Sydney," just stooping to let the child touch her cheek, " you may well be pale. You ought to be in bed ! " The carriage-wheels sound down the sweep and chestnut drive, and Sydney caresses her father's listless hand as he sighs heavily, and asks, " Shall we go, papa, to your dinner ? And need I go to bed ? " He wants no dinner, he says, and she may stay with him a little while ; so they descend to a small west-fronting room, sheltered from the setting sun by wide boughs of a glorious emerald-tinted beech.

The red light flickers through the leaves, and sets the shadows dancing on the walls. Chaffinches by dozens keep cheep-cheep che-e-ping outside. Sydney tells her father the doings of the day. Mr. Alwyn listens very silently, ready with a smile when Sydney looks at him, not smiling when released from her gaze. She sees his thoughts are far away, and presently ceases talking. The shadows are gone now. Twilight fills the room as Leonora's evening practice jingles on upstairs. The child is half asleep when the butler brings in a lamp and something in a pink envelope. B Sydney thinks she hae tired her father leaning so long upon his arm, for his hand trembles as he opens his missive. He puts her aside, kisses her slowly once — twice — and bids her go to bed. Then he comes for another good-night, with a bag in his hand, a coat upon his arm, and Sydney, in a spasm of wakefulness, stifles lamentations over his going a journey because he looks troubled, bids him be quick back, and follows, a little barefooted figure, to watch over the banisters for the last glimpse of him as he leaves in haste his splendid home at Guyswick.

Chapter III. The Shadow Of The Future

This is the other scene which will haunt Sydney to the end of time. A pretty hamlet at a little distance from Guyswick. An old church across a rustic road, near by the fruit-trees of a cottage garden. A sunny afternoon, with a great humming of bees and scent of wall-flowers in the air. The sound of a hoe at work not far off, and the crooning of some ditty by an old figure dressed in dark stuff, with snow-white cap and kerchief pinned in front, knitting under the shade of a laburnum. This is " Taffy," or " Mrs. Taverner " affectionately abbrevi ated, the nurse whose last official work was presiding over Sydney's earlieet daj's, and who now, with well-earned savings, takes the rest of threescore years and ten. Her home is with a daughter, once a servant at ' Stuarts,' whose husband married from hie post of second gardener there to the dignity of a cottage and " marketting " on his own account.

He is clerk of the church close by : a thrifty soul, plodding on, putting his few pounds by year after year against a rainy day, or maybe for a legacy to his good " missus," or a fortune for the lasses now in honest service. They are sterling people in their way, and the elder dame a prodigious favourite with her children, as she calls a goodly list, beginning with men long since out of their teens, ending with Sydney. Her duties with the brood whose first cries she hushed have not finished yet, as many of her grown-up babies testify, for hopes and fears, troubles and joys, find their way to Taffy's confidence often before the household they belong to half suspect them, and rarely a week goes by without bringing a visitor out of her old circle to Nurse's cottage. THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE. There Sydney is sometimes allowed a sojourn.