An Evil Reputation

Chapter I. The Squire's Tenants

On the rocky, storm-swept, north-east coast of Northum berland stands a house close to the cliffs which has an evil reputation. Yet there is nothing sinister, romantic, nor striking in its aspect. It is a modern house, built with white fire-bricks, and has large bay-windows looking toward the sea ; a flower-garden in front and around it, and at the back a small greenhouse and a stunted plantation. It was built on land purchased from Mr. Everard Selby, the owner of nearly all the property in the neighbourhood, who is commonly known in this part of the world as "the old squire." The plot of land on which it stands was bought by a lucky speculator in the first flush of his success, and he gave a good round sum to the squire to induce him to part with even a few acres of his ancestral estate. But the "good old gentlemanly vice" of avarice was one of Mr. Selby's failings, and he could not resist the money down, though the modern house, reared in the sight of his own old grey mansion, was an eye-sore and a constant vexa tion to him from the time it was built.

But scarcely had one winter's storm swept round the new white walls, and shaken the new window sashes, and broken the glass of the greenhouse, when a tragedy happened at North Hall — for so the speculator had christened the dwelling he had raised. Evil times had overtaken him as quickly as good fortune had come, and in a commercial crash the unhappy man found himself ruined. He had not courage to face the world in disaster after his brief and sudden wealth, and one bleak February night, when the sea came moaning and dashing against the cliffs below, the broken-spirited specu lator shot himself; and his wife heard the single death-cry above the din of the waters without. After this North Hall stood empty for some months. People, as a rule, do not care to go under the roof which has covered the last mortal anguish of a fellow-being.

But ere the summer waned, a young couple — a bridegroom and a bride — wandering together, hand in hand along the romantic sea-coast before the house, were struck by its appearance, and took it, believing no rift could come into their perfect happiness. They used to watch the fleet of herring boats from its windows together go out night after night from the neigh bouring fishing village to the deep sea, the stars twinkling overhead, and the fishermen's lights twinkling on board, until they vanished in the mist and darkness ; and the bridegroom told the bride that some night, for the love of adventure, he would sail too, and she was to watch the boat that bore her lover away from her. He went, and that August evening the sea lay like a sheet of glass, and the setting sun went down in a blaze of glory and golden light.

Then the fishing fleet left the little bay, their white sails filling in the light wind, and she watched the boat where he was gradually disappearing, and as she did so a chill crept over her, and she shuddered ; she knew not why. And she watched and watched through the long night hours, and as she did so, suddenly a flash rent the heavens, and a heavy peal of thunder burst upon her startled ear. A storm-cloud had risen in the darkness, the sky was alight with flame, the rain came dashing in torrents to the ground, and the wind began to moan, and the waves to roar, and the bride shuddered with fear, thinking of her dear one out at sea. And when the morning came, and the sun shone again over the now stormy ocean, " an exceeding bitter cry " went from the fishing village to the Hall. Some of the boats had returned, but two were lost amid the wild waste of water in the black midnight hours, and there was wailing and weeping in the humble homesteads for the bread-winners who would return no more.

But the bitterest wail rose from the girl-widow at North Hall. The boat in which the bridegroom had sailed had been swamped, and all on board had perished, and they say her shrieks and her agony were too pitiful even to speak of or listen to. And by and by her friends came and took her away with her broken heart, and North Hall was shut up, and it got an evil name, and people shook their heads and said misfortune haunted the house, and that no one would be rash enough to live there any more. It went into the market, and no one would buy it. But the old squire had cast a covetous eye on it, and used to go down every morning and stand looking at it, wondering how cheap he could get it, and at last he made a small offer for it — not a third of what the unfortunate speculator had paid him ; but the creditors of the ruined man were only too glad to accept it, and so the squire got back his land with the new house that had been so unluckily standing upon it all ready for a tenant.

Mr. Selby bought the sum ture at a valuation, and deteri* An Eiil Reputation. 4 mined to make money by his purchase. Not far distant from the squire's property at Yarbrough, a somewhat fashion able bathing-place had sprung up, and Mr. Selby determined to let North Hall furnished, and reckoned with pleasure the profit he would make, even at a low rental. He adver tised it in the local papers at five guineas a week, and wrote " To Let " across the windows, through which the luckless bride had gazed with her strained eyes into the darkling sea. But he never had a single application. The evil name the house had acquired prevented mothers with children who required sea air, or delicate invalids who required brac ing, from even thinking of it ; and Mr. Selby got a long bill for advertising, and began to be exceedingly fidgety about his new possession.- After it had stood unlet a whole year, he made up his mind to reduce his terms.

He applied to a house-agent, and said he would take three pounds a week, " though it's absurdly cheap," he added ; but the house-agent shook his head. " You see, sir," he said, " the place hasn't a very good name." " Not a good name !" echoed Mr. Selby irately. "What can they say against it? The air's good, the prospect splendid, and the house is tight and well-furnished through out. What can any one want more?" " Well, you know, that poor fellow shot himself there." " What the deuce has a fool shooting himself to do with letting the house?" cried Mr. Selby, working himself into a rage. "It's two years since he shot himself; besides, the house has been let since then." "Yes, to the poor young gentleman who was drowned," replied the house-agent quietly. " I remember the circumstances well, for it made a great talk at the time, and people said the house would not be let again in a hurry."

" People are idiots then ! Am I to be done out of my money by -an insane, superstitious prejudice? I know I would not object to live in it myself — utter folly, mere childish folly." " Well, I'll try what I can do, Mr. Selby, but your chance lies in some stranger coming to the place. There's no doubt the situation is fine, and the air bracing, and the house is a nice one to look at, so perhaps at three pounds, as the bathing season is coming on, we may be able to do some thing." But the bathing season came on and waned, and still the squire had no offer of a tenant for North Hall. It was not a quarter of a mile from his own place, and every day nearly he used to go and gaze disconsolately at the closed windows, and sigh impatiently to think how much he was losing every week it stood unlet.

September was drawing to a close, and already from the rough northern sea chill night mists blew inland, and the water sometimes looked dark and stormy, and broke with a sullen cadence on the great rocks below, telling with solemn warning of the wild storms to come. But these autumn days are beautiful on this coast, and when the sky is blue, to watch the long rolling green-blue waves break white-crested, and sweep up majestically against the brown sea-worn walls, which year after year defy their power, is worth a walk along the dangerous narrow path which runs here the whole length of the cliffs, close to the very verge of the sea. But Mr. Selby seldom looked at the waves except to groan inwardly when he saw they were getting more stormy, and recognised that his chance of a summer tenant was fast diminishing.

No one would come here in the winter, he thought, and what with the bad times and the expenses of his boy, who was a cavalry officer out in India, the squire grudged every penny he lost by his unlet house, and thought many a hard thing of the poor man whose mad act had given it an evil reputation. But his chance came at last. One bright autumn after noon Mr. Selby was standing, as at times he was wont to, thoughtfully before his empty mansion, when he saw a well appointed carriage approaching down the road, heading to North Hall, and as it neared the house, the carriage stopped, and a lady and a gentleman who were sitting in it kept looking at the house, and were evidently discussing it. The squire's heart began to beat faster with expectation. He had been leaning on the iron gate when he first espied the carriage, and presently a man who was seated by the driver dismounted, and, after touching his hat, addressed the squire — " Will monsieur be good enough to tell me," he said, with a slight foreign accent, but in excellent English, " if yonder house is the mansion to be let named North Hall ?

" " It is, sir," answered the squire ; " it is to be let, and is a most excellent house — no one who takes it will be disappointed." " Is monsieur then the owner ? " asked the man, while ever so faint a smile flickered round his lips. " I am, sir. I am Mr. Selby, of Yarbrough Hall, and this house was built on my property, and — fell into my hands." " Ah, then, would monsieur be good enough to speak to the lady and gentleman seated in yonder carriage? — they are on the look out for a mansion suitable to their require ments." " I shall have great pleasure in speaking to the lady and gentleman ; shall I do so now ? " " If monsieur will have the goodness." The squire accordingly approached the carriage, and politely raised his hat to the lady seated in it as he did so. " I have been requested to speak to you, madam," he said, "concerning this house."

The lady bowed, and the squire saw she was a beautiful woman, very richly dressed. She answered him in a low, sweetly-toned voice. "Perhaps you had better speak to this gentleman about it," she said. Upon this Mr. Selby turned to the gentleman, who was a man about thirty-five years of age, with a dark, striking countenance, and of a very gentlemanly appearance and address. " Is it to be let ? " he said briefly. " It is, sir, and as I have just been telling — the person who asked me to speak to you " " That is my French cook." " Then, as I have just been telling your French cook, it is a most excellent house, replete with every comfort ; and the lady, I am sure, will be pleased with it." And again the squire looked at the beautiful woman, for he was an old gentleman of taste, and liked a pretty face as well as his neighbours.

" It seems quiet about here," said the gentleman, looking around him. "This lady is delicate; we want a quiet place where the air is good." " Then this is the very place for you, sir. Please alight, and I shall have the pleasure of showing you and the lady over it. I happen to have the key in my pocket, by a fortunate chance." There were few days, indeed, that this fortunate chance did not occur. Mr. Selby generally went out armed with the house door-key of North Hall in his pocket, in the hitherto vain hope that he might require it. But everything comes to him who waits long enough, and Mr. Selby's turn of good luck, he thought, had come at last. " Allow me, madam," he said gallantly, assisting the young lady to alight, who looked at her companion as he did so with a little pensive smile.

The squire, indeed, was rather a remarkable looking person, though he had no idea that he was so. He was a little man, arrayed in a brown velveteen coat, and wore white gaiters, and a white straw hat, beneath which appeared an unmistakable brown wig, while his whiskers were perfectly white, and his features very ordinary. But this ugly little man had no small opinion of himself, and he had, moreover, a great admiration for what he called " fine women." His own wife, who had been dead for many years, had deservedly come under this description. She had been a stout, tall, good-looking woman, and her only child, the cavalry major out in India, was tall and good looking too. After her death the squire looked out for a housekeeper to superintend his household, and this time he chose a tall and good-looking woman too.

This lady, who was called Mrs. Jenkins, was the widow of one of the squire's tenant farmers, and from the day she entered Yarbrough Hall she had always intended to marry Mr. Selby. But the squire was as wary as the old pike in the pond at the foot of the garden, for which two generations of Selbys had fished in vain. He was always most affable and agree able to Mrs. Jenkins, except when her weekly bills ran too high, but in spite of his jokes she never got an inch further with him ; and though, with woman's wit, she tried to save every penny that she could in the household expenses knowing that this was the nearest way to his heart, the tough old heart held out still. But whether it was the knowledge of this lady's intentions or his own natural vanity, there is no doubt Mr. Selby was on very good terms with himself, and quite believed that the pretty woman he was soon proudly showing over his unlucky house would naturally regard him with favour.

"You see, madam," he said, acting as showman, "that the furniture is solid — really good — and I can answer for it being clean. Yes, my housekeeper, Mrs. Jenkins, who is a remarkably clean person, comes down here once a week with one of her under-housemaids, and the whole place is thoroughly dusted. You'll find no cobwebs, madam. Now, this is the drawing-room. I call this a very good room." The lady languidly assented, and went to one of the windows, and looked out on the wide blue sea beyond, crowned with its white crests. " Are you fond of a sea view, madam ? " asked the squire, following her. "Now, there's a splendid one." " I love the sea," she answered, and there was a far-away dreamy look in her large dark grey eyes as she spoke. She was certainly a beautiful woman this — tall, slender, and graceful, with low, broad brow, and dark eyebrows, and heavy dark lashes shading her grey eyes, until in some lights they seemed almost black.

Her complexion was pale, and her features singularly regular and delicate, but she did not look very happy. "What do you say to it, Isabel?" inquired the gentleman, now entering the drawing-room ; for while the squire and the lady had been inspecting the front of the house, the gentleman and his French cook had been going over the back of it, and had come to the conclusion that the place would suit them. " It will suit me very well," she replied indifferently. " Then I think it will do for us," said the gentleman. " So, perhaps, we can come to terms," he added, looking at Mr. Selby. "I shall have great pleasure in discussing them," he answered. " I think the agent said three pounds a week ? " asked the gentleman. " Guineas," blandly suggested the squire. " The agent said pounds ; but it's no matter."

After this the affair was soon settled. The gentleman agreed to take the house for a year at three guineas a week, and then quietly drew out his cheque-book. " I will draw you a cheque for the year's rent," he said, " on Barclay's Bank — that will be all right, I suppose ? I brought my cheque-book with me, as from what the agent said I thought the house would suit me, and I hate to be troubled with paying rent every three months." " A very agreeable way of doing business," said the squire, scarcely able to conceal his elation. Then the gentleman sat down and drew his cheque, and handed it to Mr. Selby. It was for the year's rent, and was signed "J. Winton Brooke." "Winton," repeated the squire, after he had read the signature. " Any relation of Sir John Winton ? I used to know him well." " I am no relation of Sir John Winton," answered Mr. Brooke coldly ; " but if you are interested in my pedigree, my father was a barrister in town, and my mother the daughter of a Dutch diamond merchant.

I conclude that information is enough ? " " Quite enough ! " cried the squire. " Most satisfactory, in fact. Well, Mr. Brooke, allow me to shake hands with you over our bargain ; and I heartily trust that you and this lady — Mrs. Brooke, I conclude ? — will like the house." " The lady is Mrs. Brooke," said Mr. Brooke ; " and now when can we bring our goods and chattels into the house ? " For a moment the squire hesitated. " Do you wish to see that the cheque is all right first ? " asked Mr. Brooke sarcastically. " Oh, dear, no, sir ! dear, no ! Let Monday — shall we say Thursday ? The brushed out and ready by then." me see — this is house will be all the cheque," said you'll find it all our new abode." "And you will have time to hear about Mr. Brooke, with a sneer. "Ah, well, right. On Thursday, then, we shall enter

Chapter II. Bad Neighbours

The squire felt as if he was treading on air as he walked home after letting his house. He was so elated that he forgot his usual prudence of demeanour, and hurried into his housekeeper's room to tell her the news. " I've done a good morning's work at any rate, Mrs. Jenkins — I've let North Hall." The widow rose, smiling and simpering. " I'm sure I hope you have got a satisfactory tenant, then, Mr. Selby ? " " Most satisfactory. He's a fine gentlemanly looking fellow, and the lady's the prettiest woman I've set eyes on this many a long year." Mrs. Jenkins' colour rose, and she ceased to simper. " I hope you've got good references ? " she inquired. "There is the reference — the best reference," said the squire, producing his cheque ; " a year's rent on one of the best banks in London; and besides," he added, "he told me all about his family ; it's a good family, and I know something about them."

Nevertheless (though the squire did not scruple thus to draw a little on his imagination) Mrs. Jenkins did not feel quite satisfied about the new tenants. No woman likes to be told of the charms of another woman, if she has any designs on the heart or the hand of the teller. She inquired regarding every particular, and when she heard of the French cook she thought it sounded " rather queer." "That's your country notions, my dear madam," said the squire ; " many of these swells never travel without their French cooks. I have no doubt they are rich people." Bad Neighbours. 13 But when his new tenants did arrive, Mr. Selby himself could not quite make them out. Huge boxes and packages were left at the Hall, but these mostly came when darkness had settled down over the house on the cliffs. Mr. Selby, indeed, one night — his curiosity excited by the odd stories his housekeeper carried to his ear — took a stroll after dinner past the gates of North Hall, and, to his sur prise, perceived Mr. Brooke himself, only assisted by the French cook, apparently carrying in a very heavy box which had just been left by the railway van.

Mr. Selby thought this odd, but still it might be all right. Some gentlemen have a fancy for felling trees, and so some may have a fancy for carrying in boxes, argued the squire; but he did not tell Mrs. Jenkins what he had seen, though that good lady was for ever talking about the new tenants. Pierre, the French cook, had strolled down to the fishing village one evening, and entered the little inn there, and inquired of the landlord if he knew of a good, stout young girl that would be willing to assist in the housework at North Hall. " I want a substantial maiden," said Pierre with a grin ; "one all arms and muscle; I do not want the brains ; I do all the brains." "Then do you only want one lass in that big place?" inquired the sturdy landlord. " One is too much," said Pierre with a shrug.

" I hate the petticoats ; they are always in the way ; but I must have a scrub." " A scrub " was accordingly provided for Monsieur Pierre, who chose a plain stout young woman, with a dull face, named Dorothy Johnson. But he offered Dorothy good wages, and Dorothy was soon installed at the Hall, and she had nothing to say against her situation when she visited her friends at the village. Monsieur Pierre, by her account, did everything that Mr. and Mrs. Brooke required but " scrub." He cooked, he groomed the horse, and he waited at table. Mrs. Brooke nearly always sat alone, Dorothy said, and was very quiet. She sometimes walked in the garden, but her favourite walk was the wild sea-coast, where she would wander day after day looking wistfully at the great mass of blue-green water that was for ever tumbling and tossing beneath the cliffs.

Sometimes Mr. Brooke went out with her, but not often. He drove her out sometimes, and on one occasion they passed Mr. Graham, the vicar of Yarbrough, who not unnaturally looked curiously at his new parishioners. The vicar had indeed been calling on his friend, the squire, that very day to make inquiries about them. This was some three weeks after the arrival of the Brookes at North Hall, and the squire was still full of satisfaction on the subject. "Charming people," he said, in answer to the vicar's questions. " I am going to make a formal call upon them to-morrow. I've not troubled them with my company yet, as I thought I would let them get thoroughly settled first." " And the lady ? " inquired the vicar. " Beautiful creature ! " said the squire jauntily. " Quite an addition to the neighbourhood."

" And — you know something of them, I suppose ? " "Oh, yes — father was an eminent barrister — very nice people indeed." " Very well, then ; my wife and I will call the day after to-morrow — as you are going to-morrow — we must not over whelm them at first, you know," added the vicar, with a smile. On the morrow, accordingly, the squire started to make his call of ceremony on his new tenants. He discarded the Bad Neighbours. 15 brown velveteen coat for the occasion, and wore a frock coat and a high hat. He brushed his brown wig into its most becoming curls, and nodded good-naturedly to his housekeeper, who met him in the hall as he was leaving. " You see, I've made myself quite smart to call upon the lady," he said facetiously. " You look very well," replied Mrs. Jenkins, with a sigh. " Then it's all right," said the squire, very well pleased, waving his hand; and so he went out, and ten minutes later he was ringing at the front door bell of North Hall.

It was promptly opened by Pierre, who wore a cook's white linen cap on his head. " Mrs. Brooke at home ? " inquired the squire. "Madame is out," said Pierre, with a little regretful shrug. " Mr. Brooke at home, then ? " " Monsieur is also abroad," replied Pierre, raising his hands with a gesture of despair. " Extremely sorry ; really very unfortunate — kindly give my compliments — Mr. Selby's compliments — to Mr. and Mrs. Brooke, and say how I regret that I have missed them, and I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of seeing them at Yarbrough Hall." Pierre made his best bow. He had black, humorous eyes, and a brown, swarthy skin, and a moustache of jetty black, except when the sun shone on it, and showed a peculiar purplish hue which pervaded it. "I shall not fail to deliver monsieur's message," he said, and Mr. Selby left the house door feeling very much dis appointed.

And the same ill-fortune attended the visit of the vicar. Pierre, with his white cap, again opened the door, and again, with sorrowful grimaces, declared that both madame and monsieur were abroad. And neither of these visits was returned. Both Mr. Selby and Mr. and Mrs. Graham had left cards, but no more notice was taken of them than if they had been waste paper. " It's extraordinary," said the vicar, speaking to Mr. Selby of his tenants, "and I don't like the looks of that French fellow ; he looks as if he were laughing in his sleeve." " Sly-looking dog enough," responded the squire. But the vicar thought he would try again. This time, however, he went with a little note, regretting that he had not yet had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of his new parishioners, and apologised for calling again so soon, giving as an excuse that he was endeavouring to raise a small sum to present prizes to the scholars at the village school, and that he thought it but right to give a gentleman of Mr. Brooke's position the opportunity of subscribing.

Once more Pierre and his white cap presented themselves in answer to the vicar's summons, and he expressed the deepest regret that madame and monsieur were again abroad. The vicar then left his note, and Pierre brought down an answer to this to the vicarage the same evening. Mr. Brooke presented his compliments to the vicar, and begged to enclose a cheque for ten pounds, to be given in the parish in whatever manner the vicar thought best. Mr. Brooke also thanked the vicar and Mrs. Graham for calling at North Hall, but regretted that neither his own health nor Mrs. Brooke's permitted them to pay visits. And to this rule they adhered. In vain did the vicar implore them to appear at the school feast, or the squire invite them to dine at the Hall. They declined all inter course with their neighbours, yet nothing worse could be said against them than this.

They paid their way — the universal Pierre going round to the tradespeople with whom they dealt, and settling everything once a week. Dorothy Johnson continued in their service, and excited envy in the Bad Neighbours. 17 bosoms of many of her female acquaintances in the fishing village by appearing in a handsome black silk gown, elaborately trimmed with lace and jet, which Dorothy informed her friends was one of her mistress's " cast-offs." "She dresses splendid," she said, "and has a sight of grand things, and she gave this gown to me." And so the weeks and months passed away, and gradually the gossip about the tenants at North Hall died out. October came, clothing the woods round Yarbrough Hall in russet, and blowing Mrs. Brooke's flower-beds into disorder, scattering in all directions the petals of the fast fading flowers.

Then gloomy November sped on, dank and grey under the Northumbrian skies, and the wind came whistling bleak and cold from the northern sea. But nearly every day a beautiful woman, wrapped in her sables, paced along the solitary path at the head of the cliffs. Sometimes she would meet the coastguard men, who would touch their hats to her, and sometimes she met the fisher-folk ; but she never spoke to any one, not even the children, and there was a look in her face as though her heart was ill at ease.