Annabel's Rival. A novel

Front matter

% lokl bt D 0 E A RUSSELL, AUTHOR OF " THE VICAB'S GOVEBNE33," ETC. ETC. " Pttno a^eno caro cuesta."— Spanish Proverb. IN THEEE VOLUMES. vol. n. LONDON : TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 1876. {Eight ofTrtniihiHijii rcttrteJ hy the Author.} LONDON : SAVILL, BDWAHDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, COVENT GARDEN. CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. CHAP. P_GE I. ROBERT VERE 1 II. AGAIN 24 III. GONE 35 IV. NEWS 48 V. THEIR SECOND BALL ... 57 VI. FADING AWAY 74 VII. THE VACANT CHAIR 106 vin. Bessie's letter 124 ix. sarah's letters 134 x. the wedding day 148 XI. DULL DAYS 161 XII. AUNT JEMIMA AND ROBERT 185 XIII. A PROPOSAL Contents. VI CHAP. ' PAGE XIV. A BRIDE 211 XV. OTHERS' BREAD 220 XVI. POOR AUNT JEMIMA ! 232 XVII. FRONT-STREET, SALLFORD 248 XVIII. A LAST WISH 262 XIX. NUMBER TWENTY-FIVE 276 XX. OLD FRIENDS

Chapter I. Robert Vere

p|J|OBERT VERE did not see any |j fiijf more of Annabel during his stay fsfe___-_-l in Sallford, after his interview with her on the Sunday morning, for he left the Rectory on the foUowing day. He did not, however, forget her, and on his return to town he caded on his old friend, Mrs. Wykeman, and spoke so warmly in praise of her beauty that that lady drew back rather alarmed. " I hear that her sister Sarah has been left a very large fortune," said the schoolmistress. " "Well, she needs it," answered Robert, VOL. II. smiling- ; " and I would rather work for my wife than get a fortune by her." " Your wife !" echoed Mrs. Wykeman, " why surely, Mr. Robert " " Why should I not have a wife as well as any one else?" answered Robert Vere, still smiling, and he looked into the school mistress's face as he spoke.

" Of course, if she were a suitable person," said Mrs. Wykeman. " A great fortune like Sarah Lee's indeed " And then she paused. " I should prefer sitting opposite to the cameo -like face of the fair one for the term of my natural life, I admit," said Robert. " Home, I think, should have something more attractive to enliven it than purchas able goods." " Do you admire Annabel so much ?" " I never admired any one so much. I saw her last Sunday in church, and a prettier little saint never said her innocent prayers." "And the other one?" " The other one is nowhere. If I do marry, I shad marry a woman whom I would like to be with." " But you don't think of this child, really?" " "I haven't proposed for her — I have seen her thrice," laughed Robert ; " but without jesting, I think her a lovely girl, and I shad be glad to meet her again."

" And you sometimes think of marrying, Mr. Robert?" "I think a man is happier and better married," answered Robert Vere. " I have always thought so." And he began walking slowly up and down the schoolmistress's drawing-room. Of what was he thinking ? Of a meeting that had happened yesterday — a meeting with his old love, Prances Barrington, now Lady Morgan, of Morgan, and of the strange emotion that had stirred in his heart at the sight of her well-remembered and beautiful face. He had a dull pain with it in his side even yet. The sharp pang that had darted there on first seeing her was gone, but a cold, weary feeling was left, and he had 1—3 been wondering again that morning if he could not learn to love some one else, and forget in a young wife's affection the fair woman who had spoilt his youth.

"They are ad married but you," said Mrs. Wykeman, interrupting his medita tions, and aduding to her old pupils. "Yes. I'm the old bachelor," answered Robert Vere, good-naturedly ; " ' Uncle Bobby,' as I overheard one of Hugh's young scamps call me the other day." " Your brother made a very prudent match," said Mrs. Wykeman, thoughtfully. " Very," answered Robert Vere, slightly sarcastically. " My right honourable sister in-law was a well-endowed bride." " Not handsome enough for you, I suppose, Mr. Robert?" " No ; I admire beauty. When I lose my head or my heart, Mrs. Wykeman, you may be sure it will be for a pair of beaux yeuæ." " Well, we shall see," laughed Mrs. Wyke man. And then Robert Vere bid her good by, and went away. " By-the-bye," he said, just as he was leaving, " the fair Annabel sent a message to you."

"Well, what was it?" "Her devoted love, I think — that of course you knew and understood ; but there was something else." "Will you tell it to me, then?" " That sbe wdl soon have the felicity of throwing herself into your maternal or scholastic arms. A certain Miss Ada Jer ningham — do you know her?" " Yes— go on." " Wed then, Miss Ada Jerningham is like me, and prefers beauty to money, and she has therefore invited the fair Annabel, and not the rich Sarah, to spend next season with her in town. It is ad settled, I believe, and as soon as Colonel Jerningham arrives from India, he is to take a house (so his daughter informed me, and that she would prefer it in Eaglestone-square) for the amusement and entertainment of these two young ladies." " And you wid visit them, I suppose ? Take care, Mr. Robert."

" I shall take care. And now, as I have told you all my news, I wid go away." And after a kindly shake of his hand, Robert Vere took his departure. What he had told Mrs. Wykeman about Ada Jerningham was quite true. The news of Mrs. Lee's strange will had reached Copely also in a few days, and the affectionate and warm-hearted Ada had started at once for Sadford to try to comfort her friend. She found, to her surprise, Annabel as lively and happy as usual. " It's a shameful will, I think," said Ada, "shameful!" " Poor grandma !" said Annabel. " Never mind, Ada, there are plenty of poor girls in the world as well as me." "And few so pretty," answered Ada. " Of course not," cried Annabel, with her bright, little laugh. " Poor papa tries to console me with enumerating my charms. But it's no good, Ada — most people like money better than " " I don't, then.

I like you, and I hate Sarah. You are to come to London with me, and I wouldn't have Sarah and all her money ; so you see." " Wed, you can label me ' penniless' when you introduce me into polite society, and you'U see the attentions I get. Really, do you know, Ada, people are different to me now." " Horrid wretches !" ' You're not though, and Aunt Jimmy and papa" — " and some one else, too," she thought fondly, and she pressed a heavy gold locket that had come from Colonel Fraser for her (at least it must have come from him, Annabel decided) as a New- Year's gift. He had not written with this love token, but Annabel knew that he must have sent it by a single word, for raised in pearls on one side of it was the pet name he often called her by — Li tile-belle, and she felt quite sure that no one else would have thought of that.

She did not know where to write and thank him for his gift, and she did not like to ask Ada Jerningham if she knew his address. By a sort of tacit agreement these two girls scarcely ever mentioned his name. It was from a feeling of shyness on both sides, and was the only subject on which they were not perfectly friendly and con fidential. But he would soon be back, thought Annabel, and she would thank him then. Soon, soon — yet weeks stole away, weeks and weeks, and he never came. Ada Jer ningham left Copely at the end of January, and went up to town with Mrs. Fraser to meet her father, who was then daily expected home, and still Annabel heard nothing of her lover. It had been arranged between the girls that Annabel was to go up to town at the end of February, and when she made this agreement she never doubted that Colonel Fraser would have returned to Copely before she left.

But February came, bleak and cold as January, and even Annabel grew anxious and uneasy. Still she never doubted him. He would come back, she was sure, quite sure, unchanged. Thus she prayed, and trusted, and hoped, believing that her prayers would be answered, and living for the bright future that would give her life to him. At home, somehow, many things seemed changed. They had removed to Red-house, which was one alteration ; and for another, Sarah was gradually taking the foremost place hi the house. This seemed almost to come of necessity. People came to ask her to subscribe to charities ; the Hon. and Rev. Mr. Vere, the Rector, and Lady Margaret, his wife, caded on her to consult her about soup kitchens, and other assistance to the poor, that old Mrs. Lee had given during her life-time.

Sarah gave to all these things on principle. She knew that they added to her importance in the town, and she liked to be im portant, and therefore paid for that luxury liberally. When they went to parties, too, Annabel noticed at once the difference of their recep tion. Formerly she was the one who was most gushingly received ; now, all eyes were fixed upon the heiress. Lovers also came fluttering about Sarah. There was a certain Captain Outhrie, an officer in an infantry regiment, and nephew of the Misses Percival, who came to spend his long leave with his old aunts in Sallford. People said, justly or unjustly, that he had come for the purpose of laying siege to Miss Sarah Lee, and Miss Sarah Lee herself did not seem averse to receive his attentions. She had made no offer of making any provision for Annabel, and on her father bluntly reminding her that it was her duty to do so, she answered as she had answered to Bessie — that she did not consider herself justified in altering the arrangements of her grandmother's will.

Bessie remained at Red-house by her own and Mr. Lee's and Annabel's wish, and nourished the most profound contempt and dislike for Sarah Lee. She had not kept her late mistress's last wishes a secret, and would shake her head, and prophesy in the kitchen, " that the money would never do Miss Sarah any good." "She'll be marrying some of them curates," Bessie would say, tossing her head with a sniff. " They're greedy enough, and she's greedy enough, and they'd make a good pair. Ay — if the poor mistress could only come out of her grave for an hour, I think she would give Miss Sarah a fine shake of the shoulders, and show her her place in pretty quick time." Bessie, in fact, could not forgive Sarah. She had always liked her the best of the two girls in their childhood and girlhood, because she " favoured the Procters," as she called it, in her looks, and she only the more bitterly resented, therefore, the injustice done to her old mistress's memory by Sarah keeping the entire fortune which was not intended for her.

Aunt Jimmy in her kindly fashion had spoken to Sarah also on the same subject ; representing to her that she was acting against the wishes of the dead by not at least providing for her sister. " How do I know," said Sarah in reply, her skin blushing the usual dusky blush, which with her was a sign of emotion, " that that horrid old woman Bessie has not made up this entire story for her own purposes ? No, aunt, grandmamma left me her money, and I intend to keep her money, and should not consider myself justified in any other course." After this nothing more could be said; The sisters themselves never mentioned it, but Annabel could not feel quite the same to Sarah as she had done before. Even when she was preparing for her visit to London, Sarah made no offer of any assis tance • and was exceedingly annoyed and jealous, in fact, that Annabel alone should have received this invitation.

" If Ada Jerningham had asked me now," she thought, " who knows who I might have married — even a title, perhaps ; but what chance have I here ?" Mr. Lee and Bessie, and Aunt Jimmy also, were very proud about this visit of Annabel's to London. Ada wrote to her friend to ted her of her dear papa's arrival ; to tell her of the beautiful house in Eagle stone-square that papa had taken for her ; to tell her of her birds and flowers ; but she said nothing about the Frasers, though Annabel knew that they lived in Eaglestone square also, and were therefore sure to be near and intimate neighbours. " But I shall see him when I go," thought Annabel, and she showed the greatest pos sible interest in preparing her dress and other necessaries for this important visit. Mr. Lee presented her with fifty pounds for that purpose, and with many smiles and a little good-natured blush, Aunt Jimmy, after fumbling in her pocket for a few minutes, drew out an envelope, and pushed it into Annabel's hand.

" There, my dear," she said, " you'll want a few nice handkerchiefs and other little things when you go among all these fine folks, so take that from your old aunt." When Annabel opened this envelope she found it contained four five-pound bank notes. Aunt Jimmy had to pinch herself to make this present, we may be sure, out of her small income; but she was pleased and proud to do it ; and Bessie also asked leave to go to Oldcastle for a day, and returned with a long linendraper's parcel under her arm, which she, too, placed in Annabel's hands. '•' There, my dear," she said, " God give you luck to wear it." And when Annabel unfastened this parcel, a brilliant green silk, hideous to behold, lay before her astonished eyes. " Oh, Bessie !" she said, " have you bought this for me ?" And she flung her arms round the old woman's stiff, thin neck, and gave her a hearty kiss.

" That I have, my dear," answered Bessie, returning it ; and she coloured all over her grey hard skin. No living thing had kissed her before for years, and she was touched and softened by that gentle act. " You go and get married to some fine gentleman in London, Miss Annabel," went on Bessie. " Show Miss Sarah that with all her money she can't beat you. You're a bonny lass, and when you're well dressed out, no one can tell what may happen." So with the good wishes of all the house hold except Sarah, Annabel started on her journey the second week in March. Her visit had been slightly delayed by some difficulty about Colonel Jerningham getting possession of the house in Eaglestone-square that he had taken, but at last Ada wrote that they were quite ready for her, and that she and " dear papa" would be waiting for Annabel at King's Cross on a certain day and by a certain train.

Annabel was glad to go — very glad, but she grew nervous as hours passed on and she drew nearer and nearer the place where she would once more meet him. She had grown a little anxious — just a little uneasy of late. " It was so long since she had seen him," she thought ; " two whole weary months," and she longed so much, oh, so very much, to see him again. It was about half-past eight o'clock at night when she reached the station, and as the train stopped, a tall, military-looking, grey -haired man, fodowed by a servant with one arm, approached the carriage, and after looking at Annabel for a moment, lifted his hat and addressed her. " I cannot be mistaken, I think," he said, with a smile, " you are my daughter Ada's friend, Miss Lee, are you not ?" " Yes," answered Annabel, with her shy, sweet blush ; " and you ?"

" I am Colonel Jerningham," answered the gentleman, handing her out of the carriage and offering her his arm. " Will you kindly ted my servant where to find your luggage ?" When the servant went to seek her trunks, Annabel turned once more to the Colonel. " And Ada," she said, " is she here ?' " No," answered Colonel Jerningham, " I would not allow her to come. She is far from strong, do you know I fear, Miss Lee, and I am often very uneasy about her." " She looks delicate, but I hope she is not," said Annabel. " She is delicate," replied Colonel Jer ningham, and an inexpressible look of sadness and anxiety stole over his face. "I am glad that you have come," he went on, " for I think that she ought to have some young companion always with her." "But she is such a gay, lively, little thing generally."

" Is she ? I have not thought that since I have been at home." When they arrived at the pretty house in Eaglestone-square, however, its young mistress looked gay and lively enough as she ran down the broad staircase and clasped her friend in her kind little arms. " You darling ! You have come," said Ada. " Oh ! how nice it is. Isn't it jolly, papa, to have her? Isn't this a lovely house, Annabel? And wait tid you see your room — your room always if you like, mind." It was an exceedingly pretty house, and Colonel Jerningham had spared neither money nor trouble in fitting it up for his " little girl." The bedroom that Ada had chosen for Annabel seemed all roses. Roses were on the wads, roses on the pretty, bright hangings, and roses on the carpet. " I chose everything," said Ada. " I told papa that you were a rosebud, and you see that everything is to match your com plexion."

At dinner, which was served shortly after her arrival, Annabel saw a little more of her host. Colonel Jerningham was a grave, grey-haired soldier, of perhaps fifty. Many years of his life had been spent in India, and his skin was bronzed and darkened by its tropical sun. His manner was courteous and gentle, though rather reserved, and he VOL. II. treated his young guest with deferential respect. An erect soldier servant stood behind him, and acted as butler; and everything on the table and about the house told, if not of wealth, certainly of ease of circumstances and great comfort. " So you know Colonel Martin Fraser, I hear, Miss Lee ?" said Colonel Jerningham, as dinner went on. " Yes," answered Annabel, and she blushed deeply ; and Ada blushed also. " He's an old friend of mine," continued the Colonel, " and we're neighbours in this square, so I often see him.

I told him that you were coming to-day, and asked him to dinner, but he was engaged somewhere. Do you know him well ?" "I met him in the North," answered Annabel. "I only knew him through Ada." " Well, you young ladies must take care of your hearts," laughed the Colonel, pleasantly. " Colonel Martin is considered a very dangerous man among the ladies, remember." " He is good-looking," said Annabel, much embarrassed. " Good-looking !" echoed Colonel Jer ningham ; " I wish he heard you. He's considered an Adonis. All the ladies raved about him in India. What do you say, my little Ada ?" And the Colonel turned to his daughter. "He has fine features," said Ada, and that was all. " What sort of a place is that of his down in the North ?" went on Colonel Jerning ham. " A lovely old place," answered Ada, " Trees that look as if they had grown there hundreds and hundreds of years, and such lovely china, and rooks cawing, and pictures, and everything."

" A nice jumble of a description, I must say," said Colonel Jerningham, smiling, and shaking his head fondly at his little girl, " for a young lady fresh from a fashionable London boarding-school." " Never mind about my descriptions," said Ada. " That reminds me, Annabel, we must go to see the Wykeman some of 2-2 these fine mornings ; and it reminds me also of something and somebody else." " And who is that?" asked Annabel. " No less a person," answered Ada, with her old saucy air, " than the Hon. Robert Vere. He did me the honour to pay me a visit here the other day, and after sitting five minutes without an air of interest, suddenly assumed one." " About what ?" inquired Annabel, laughing. " ' When do you expect your pretty friend ?' he said ; and when I informed him, he replied, ' Then I will give myself the pleasure of calling when she comes,' and as soon as possible afterwards took his leave."

" Oh ! Ada ! how can you talk such non sense ?" said Annabel. "Is he an admirer?" asked the courtly Colonel. " Well, Miss Lee cannot be sur prised at the effect of her own beauty." "I prepared papa for the rapper to be broken, and the bell cracked with the rush of billets-doux," said Ada. " Papa, don't you expect a dreadful life, having us both to look after?" " My dear, all I want is to see you well and happy," answered the Colonel, and his Uttle daughter went up to him, and put her arms round his neck, and after having care fidly raised his long grey moustache, so that it should not be in the way, gave him a very tender kiss. " Isn't he a dear old thing ?" she said to Annabel, stroking his bronzed cheek with her white little hand. " He's a Uttle brown though, isn't he? and a little grey, so, Annabel, we must have him powdered and dyed."

" Who is a Uttle teaze ?" said the Colonel, and he kissed his child's pretty hand. " I am !" said Ada. " Oh ! it's so nice to have him home again, Annabel. It's so nice to have a home !" "And nice to have a little daughter," said the Colonel, fondly, " even though my door has to be broken down, and my bed cracked with the arrival of love-letters and admirers, as you prophesy it wid be." Nothing, indeed, could exceed the affection of this grave soldier for his one Uttle girl. He had had other children, but they had died in infancy, and his fair young wife had sickened, and died also, leaving him this sole pledge of her tender affection. He had parted from her with the cruellest pangs wringing his brave heart, when he had sent her to England, and had ever looked for ward to the time when he could make a home for her; saving his income with such scrupulous care for the purpose, that it was said in India that he was the worst dressed and the worst mounted officer in the service.

He who had grudged himself a pair of new gloves, and who wore his uniform when it had become almost purple with age and use, cared nothing about spending twenty or thirty pounds on a dress for his little Ada. Her fingers, too, glittered with expensive diamond rings that he had brought over with him for her adorn ment, and she had only to ask for anything she wanted, and her father was but too glad to gratify her. It was a pretty sight to see them together, and to witness their mutual affection, but there was a shadow in the Colonel's happiness, that he never could quite drive away from his heart. This was the fragile look of deUcacy, which had positively shocked him when he first saw again the face of his " little girl." Ada had faded of late, and the tendency to consumption, inherited from her mother, was the skeleton in the closet, that the gallant Colonel locked away with sdent dread.

Everything that could make her life bright, therefore, he tried to obtain for her, and Ada tried for his sake who loved her so wed, to seem happy and bright, even while a hidden sorrow was consuming her young life away.

Chapter II. Again

IHEN Annabel awoke the next morning, amid her roses, her first thoughts were very bright. She was so near to him — in the same square. She would see him of course to-day, and Ada was so dear and kind, and Colonel Jerningham so nice, and everything seemed so happy and so glad. She rose, looking as fresh as the flowers by which she was surrounded ; rose, and peeped through the pretty, pink-lined cur tains, and wondered which was his house, which his room, and at what hour he would call to see her. Ada came down to breakfast, looking very delicate and pretty, in a white cashmere dressing-gown, lined and trimmed with the palest blue silk, while her dainty little feet Again 25 were clad in slippers of the same soft hue. Annabel went to the window as soon as the meal was over, and stood looking out into the square.

It is a pretty square, with verandas and balconies, which in the summer time are festooned by a bright green creeper, and filled with gay and fragrant flowers. The people who live here seem to pride themselves on the brilliancy of their floral decorations, and, as the season wore on, the Colonel's house looked the gayest and brightest of ad. Ada hung her balcony with baskets, and from the lowest to the highest window, bridiant flower borders ap peared. But it was too early in the year when Annabel first arrived to attempt out door adornments, and she had therefore to content herself with filling her rooms with the choicest and rarest blossoms that she could obtain. She loved flowers, ever tending them her self, and always persisting that she was certain that they felt. Her papa loved nothing better than to see her moving among these fair favourites, which were as fragile and delicate as herself, and her conservatory, which was built out of the back drawing-room, was a glowing mass of colour and beauty.

So Annabel went to the window, and stood there among Ada's flowers, " Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while," and as she did so a gentleman passed the window in the street below, and looked up and smiled as he went by. Annabel's heart gave a quicker throb, and a burning blush passed over her face as he did so. It was Colonel Martin Fraser ; but the next moment her colour died out, and her hands grew cold and chill, for instead of pausing at the house door as she expected, Colonel Martin Fraser passed quietly on. Annabel did not speak. She made no sign, but she turned a little faint, and for a moment or two a sort of fear and dread crept into her heart. Then it passed away. He would come back, she thought ; but she waited and loitered near the window all the morning, and he never came. In the afternoon they went to drive in the Park, and when they returned, the Again. 27 Colonel, who was watching for their arrival, for he thought that Ada had stayed out too long in the chill spring wind, came to the door to hand them out of the carriage.

" A friend of yours is coming to dinner to-day," he said to Annabel, as she crossed the haU, and when she looked at him inquiringly, he added, " Martin Fraser." Annabel went bounding upstairs after she had heard this. She was going to see him then — to see him so soon. You would have thought her a very vain little girl if you had seen her standing before her pink and lace-robed looking-glass that evening, as she donned the prettiest dress that she was the possessor of, and turned first one side of her face for inspection and then the other. She went and begged some roses of Ada, and that gentle child gave them to her friend with a sigh. She believed that Colonel Fraser loved Annabel, and she knew that her own hopes were gone and buried, but not the less did she still care for the hand some soldier.

What was there about this man that seemed to make him almost irresistible to women ? Singular beauty for one thing, for another a sort of deferential daringness in his manner to them which ever made him the master and not the slave. " No one has ever won his heart, I be lieve," one woman once said of him, who had only cared for him too well. " Has he a heart to win ?" her friend an swered, to whom this speech was made, and I think that Martin Fraser, up to this time of his life at least, might have put the same question to himself, and would have an swered it with a good-natured smile. But no one could doubt the kingliness of his personal presence. Other men dwarfed as it were, when the taU soldier entered the room, and stood among them looking so royal and so strong. So thought Annabel Lee, when he came that night into Colonel Jerningham's drawing-room; so thought Ada, and so had thought many and many a woman long before he and these two young girls had met.