Roger Vanbrugh's Wife

Front matter

By Adeline Sergeant ; Author of "Jacobi's Wife," "Caspar Brooke's Daughter," "The Mistress of Quest," £. c. London Hutchinson & Co. 34 Paternoster Row, E.C. Mdcccxcvi. CONTENTS CHAP. PACE I. ON THE PIER .... I II. LANCELOT'S FATHER ... 9 III. THE GENERAL - - - - 1 8 IV. LADY ESLER'S REMONSTRANCE - - 28 V. A PAIR OF FRIENDS ... 38 VI. UNDER A CLOUD - - - - 47 VII. AT SCHOOL ----- 56 VIII. THE COLONEL'S STORY - - - 64 IX. THE MOTHER OF LANCELOT VANBRUGH - 74 X. A CHANGE OF FORTUNE ... 84 XI. A DREAM OF FIRST LOVE 92 XII. LANCELOT'S DECISION IOI XIII. VENETIA'S TRIUMPH 109 XIV, A SCHOOLGIRL'S LOVER - - - II 7 V vi CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XV. BY STEALTH - - - - I25 XVI. A STOLEN INTERVIEW - - - 134 XVII. A LOYAL HEART - - - - M2 XVIII. A PROMISE OF MARRIAGE - - ■ IS0 XIX. A STOLEN MARRIAGE - - - 1 59 XX.

HUSBAND AND WIFE - - - 169 XXI. AN ANXIOUS PARENT - - - 1 78 XXII. MISS JOYCE'S DESIRE - - - 186 XXIII. IN THE RAILWAY CARRIAGE - - -94 XXIV. CONSTANCE ----- 202 XXV. IN HONOUR BOUND - - - 209 XXVI. CONSPIRACY - 2l6 XXVII. DE MARSAC'S PLANS - - - 226 XXVIII. A MYSTERY OF DARKNESS - - - 233 XXIX. LADY ESLER'S RUBIES - - - 240 XXX. CROSS-EXAMINATION - - - 247 XXXI. THE SENTENCE - - - - 255 XXXII. MADELINE'S HOME - - - - 263 XXXIII. FAREWELL - - - - - 27 1 XXXIV. MADELINE'S FATHER - - - 279 XXXV. CONSTANCE'S MASTER - - - 289 XXXVI. OSCAR DESPARD'S CONFESSION - - CONTENTS.

Chapter I. On The Pier

" You wont do it, you say ? " " Father — father — -don't be angry; I can't." " Little ungrateful viper ! do what I tell you, or I'll make you repent it. You'll get nothing to eat for the rest of the day — do you hear? — and worse than that, if I hand you over to Mrs. Jelby." " Oh, please, don't do that, father ! I'll do anything else you like, but" — with a passionate sob — " I can't tell lies — even for you ! " The voice was that of a girl — a child, apparently ; and its accent of agonised appeal made the blood boil in the veins of a concealed listener to the colloquy. He had seen the pair go by a few minutes before : father and daughter, he had thought, and he had idly noted that the man bore a worn, dissipated aspect, and that the little girl was pretty; but he had not then bestowed much attention upon them.

They had been walking the pier, hand in hand, with a show of affection that was rather unusual in a public place. Now it seemed as if the affection had been assumed for the occasion only, and that it was succeeded in private by threats and reproaches on the one hand, and on the other by pitiful prayers and tears. A Lancelot Vanbrugh was only a lad of seventeen, but he had the spirit of a Don Quixote. He was always ready to expend himself in efforts for those who were unjustly treated ; and he therefore waxed more and more indignant as he heard the words and tones of the shabby man who had borne himself so affectionately to the child when he thought the eyes of the public were upon him. Lancelot was ensconced in a deep recess in the stonework near the end of the pier : he had been gazing out to sea when the father and daughter seated themselves on a wooden bench close beside him, not out of earshot although out of sight.

At first he had not noticed them : then the words of their conversation fell upon his ears, and his heart grew hot within him. The culminating point was reached at length. Just as he was wondering what he ought to do, whether to rise and go, or to discover himself to the speakers, his doubt was brought to an end by a wail of physical pain from the child. Lancelot could contain himself no longer. He started up, and by two .steps brought himself face to face with the shabby man, who was just in the act of giving the little girl's arm another violent twist, such as had elicited the cry. "Stop that. How dare you hurt the child ! " thundered Lance, scarcely knowing what he said. He was a handsome young fellow, looking older than his years, thanks to the faint line of moustache that began to show itself above the well-cut lips : fair rather than dark, he had the brilliant hazel eyes which were a heritage in his family, as well as the chestnut hair and refined features which belonged to his mother's side rather than to the Vanbrughs.

He was tall, well-knit, muscular, and there was a look of keen intelligence in his eyes and on his broad brow, which showed he had brain as well as muscle. Young as he was, he was more than a match for the man before whom he stood, whose age could not have been less than five and thirty, but who was sadly out of condition, probably more on account of his habits than because of his poverty. He had once been good-looking, and he had still to some extent the air of a gentleman. His clothes were very shabby, but they were well cut ; his long fair moustache had ON THE PIER. 3 an imposing twirl ; his hands were white and well-preserved. He was under the middle height, and stooped a little ; his features were regular, and would have been delicate but for the coarsening influences of a life which had begun to thicken the outlines and to blotch the smooth surface : his eyes were pale-blue, reddened at the rims, and somewhat shifty in expression.

He wore an Inverness cape, and a soft felt hat, rather wide in the brim ; there was a kind of theatrical picturesqueness about him, as if he were used to posing for effect. It was perhaps a weak face rather than a bad one ; but the weakness was painfully apparent. Lancelot looked at him with a scorn which had its effect. The man's cheek grew red : he cringed visibly as he met the boy's gaze : he loosened his hold on the child's arm, and tried to explain. " You are mistaken, young gentleman," he said, with a feeble attempt at dignity. "You are utterly mistaken. I was holding my little girl by the arm, and possibly I may have tightened my hold— not intentionally, no, not inten tionally, I assure you. Even if it were so — even if it were," waxing bolder as he saw that Lancelot was a little taken aback, " have I not a right, sir, to correct my own child ?

" " Not in that way. Not cruelly — and not when she was merely refusing to do what she thought wrong," said Lance, sturdily. " Oh, well, well ! a childish scruple — nothing that was of the slightest importance — " Then the child's voice made itself heard again. "You said it was important. You said that you would starve if I didn't do it, or kill yourself; and it's no use asking me, because I won't — I won't — I won't." "What does your father want you to do?" said Lancelot, quickly. He looked at the little girl, but could see little of her ex cept a mane of fair golden hair which hung in long waves over her shoulders, and a pair of pretty slender hands pressed to her face. Her hat and frock were of shabby black, and betrayed the signs of poverty more surely than even her father's faded garments.

At this question the man displayed uneasiness. " Madeline," he said, " I forbid you to answer remarks addressed to you by strangers. Get up at once, and come away with me. I bid you good-morning, sir. The matter ends here." " Excuse me," said Lancelot, firmly. " The matter does not end here. I know the sort of wrench you gave that child's arm just now ; I've seen it done at school. Her arm is black and blue by this time. I'm sure of that. What is to prevent me from giving you in charge for cruelty to her ? I believe you would get a month for it, and she would pro bably be looked after, and sent to school, instead of having nothing to eat all day, as I heard you say just now ; and handing her over to worse punishment from some Mrs. Jelby." There were not many boys of his age who would have been capable of this speech ; but, as it happened, Lancelot had some natural facility of tongue, and was, moreover, the relation of an eminent philanthropist, from whom he had caught up a little technical talk concerning various societies for the prevention of cruelty to children or animals.

He fired off his volley with considerable effect. The shabby man turned white and then green ; he rubbed his hands together, clasped them, and whined — "Sir, you would not do a poor man such an injury. [ assure you I am kindness itself to little Madeline— my dead wife's only child, sir, and the apple of my eye ! If I spoke sharply, it was but in a moment of irritation — you do not know what it is to have no food to eat, not a penny in your pocket, scarcely a roof over your head ! It is enough to make any man speak sharply," he said, wiping a tear out of his eye with a much-worn crimson silk handkerchief, " but my Maddy knows that I never meant to be unkind. Do you not, Maddy? Won't you speak a word for your father, dear child ? " Lancelot was hardly keen enough to distinguish the vindictiveness of tone that underlay the last few words.

He looked at Madeline, who slowly withdrew her hands from her face, and showed him one of the most pathetic little countenances that he had ever seen. In spite of the tears that she had shed, she was exceedingly pretty. Her face was pale and refined, with delicately cut features : the outlines of her cheek, the curves of her ON THE PIER. 5 grieving mouth, were peculiarly beautiful, although the beauty was of a kind which grows upon an observer, and is not always visible at first sight. Her eyes were of a violet grey, singularly pure in colouring, with long dark lashes, and of an exquisite expressiveness. But to Lancelot, who was not trained to an appreciation of feminine beauty, the chief thing remarkable in her face was its sweetness. There was sorrow, there was regret, but there was neither anger nor resentment.

She answered almost at once, in tones of peculiarly musical quality. " Oh, no, father did not mean to be unkind." Lancelot hesitated a moment, and would perhaps have passed on, had he not at this moment become conscious that the father was making some ugly contortions of face behind his back, evidently intended to express to Madeline his desire that she should defend him further. Madeline set her little mouth and was silent, and Lancelot, turning round hastily, gave the man a look which seemed to reduce him to submission. " I'll tell you what you can do," said the lad, sharply : " you can walk the length of the pier and back again, if you please, while I speak to your little girl. I shan't do her any harm," he added, with a short laugh, as he saw the doubting expression on the father's face ; " and I shall not do you any harm either : but I should like to have a word or two with her before I say good-bye."

The man stared, as if he did not understand this type of schoolboy. Lancelot had been used all his life to take a foremost place : he was the heir to a fine estate, the darling of his friends, the most popular boy at school, and he was accustomed to bear down opposition. It was all done en grand seigneur, but Lancelot Vanbrugh was a prince in his way. The man slunk off at last, and walked slowly up the pier. The child made a frightened movement, as if to join him ; but Lancelot laid his hand on her wrist in a very gentle manner, and held her back. Then he seated himself beside her, still holding her hand in his own. " Don't be frightened," he said, " I'll only keep you a few minutes. But I want you to tell me one or two things, if you will. Is that man your father ? " " Yes," she said, looking at him frankly out of the wonder ful violet eyes, while the tears still hung on the curling dark lashes.

" He is my father." " And your mother — " " Mother's dead," she answered, simply. And one of the tears rolled down her waxen cheek. " Oh — I'm sorry. My mother is dead, too," said Lance, as simply and seriously as she had spoken herself. " How old are you ? " " I am thirteen." "Thirteen ! I thought you were only about ten." "I look younger than I am, I know," said Madeline, hanging her head. "But I can't help it. And I think father likes me to look young. I did not mean," she said, rather tremulously, " to make you think him unkind. But I did not want to do — exactly — what he wished, and I was in a passion, and did not mind what I said." Lancelot did not quite know what to make of this remark, and, after a moment's pause, asked another question — some what diffidently this time. " Will you tell me your name ?

" " My name is Madeline Armstrong Despard. Father is called Oscar Despard." " Armstrong ? I know some people of that name. Have you any relations called Armstrong ? " "I don't think so. I don't think I have any relations called Armstrong. There is some one staying in the town of that name " — and her face fell — " but I don't think he is a relation." " I have not many relations either," said Lance, in momentary recurrence to his own position. " I have spent my holidays generally with an old great-uncle of mine ; but he is dead now, and I haven't seen my father for seven years. I shall see him to-day : I have come here to meet him." " Hasn't he been in England all that time ? " " No. He has been in India, but he's coming home. He is in the Service, you know — Colonel Vanbrugh of the — th. My name is Lancelot Vanbrugh."

" It is a pretty name," she said with interest. " It sounds like a name in a story-book. But Despard isn't ugly, is it ? And Oscar — I think Oscar is a very nice name. Oscar is ON THE PIER. 7 father's name ; and my little sister is Genevieve, only we always call her Jenny." " What is your father's profession ?" Lance asked, abruptly. A quick flush rose to her delicate face. " I don't think he has any profession," she said, meekly. " He doesn't do anything — much." " Where do you live, then ? " " We don't live anywhere very long. We were abroad all last year. I don't know why we came to England — I like France much better. We are in lodgings now, and I hate it." "Why?" " Mrs. Jelby," was Madeline's only reply. "And who is Mrs. Jelby?" " She's the landlady. She is always wanting some money from father, and he never has any.

And she is very cross to me, and when father is angry he sometimes says he will hand me over to her — to be her little servant, you know. And I should not like that ; besides I don't know what the children would do without me." "What children, dear?" " Father's children. He married again after my own mother died," said Madeline, in a melancholy tone. " And there are three children, and little Jenny isn't strong. Be sides, she's only five. I help to wash and dress them every day, because mamma is rather an invalid." " Poor little girl," murmured Lance. She seemed too fragile for such a sordid lot. He wished that he could help her in any effectual way. " And now tell me," he went on, in a coaxing tone, " what it was that made your father angry with you. What was it you would not do ? " Madeline suddenly sat erect, and her cheeks became crimson.

" I don't think I ought to say," she murmured. " Nonsense ; it is quite right for you to tell me. Then, perhaps, I shall be able to help him if he is in any want of help." " Oh ! could you ? " said the child, her eyes lighting up. " He wants help so much — poor father ! But I could not do quite what he asked me, you know, because I thought it wasn't true." "Tell me what it was, dear." " Don't you think he would be angry ? Well," said Madeline, with curious frankness, " you know he always wants money — he never has any money to spend, never at all — and he meant to ask an old gentleman for some — an old, old man that he used to know years ago, and who goes about in a bath-chair. And he wanted vie to ask him — that was all — nearly all." " Nearly all ? What did he want you to say ? " A pained look came into Madeline's eye.

" He didn't mean it — I am sure he didn't," she said, earnestly. " You won't be angry with him if I tell you ? Promise, please." She put her soft little hand into Lance's as she spoke ; and he, moved by the touch and by the request, gave the desired promise. " He wanted me to say," she went on, in a hushed tone, "that my step-mother was my own, my very own mother, who is dead, you know, and that she was very ill, and want ing money to pay the doctor. My step-mother is ill, and they do want money, of course ; but I did not want to say that she was my own mother, of course ! Father could not have meant it, could he ? " Lancelot was silent for a moment. The affair seemed rather incomprehensible to him. Was it possible that the child had mistaken the nature of her father's demand, and worked herself into an agony about nothing ? Or did any thing hinge on her being the daughter of the first wife, not of the second ? Surely somewhere there was a mystery.

Chapter II

Lancelot's father. " It seems a little odd," he remarked, judicially, after a time. Evidently there were more complications than even Madeline was aware of. "Yes, it does, doesn't it?" she said, naively. "And I love my own mother, although I don't remember her. But she is in heaven, and I won't say she is alive, when it is not the truth." "Who is the old gentleman you spoke of ? " said Lance. " He is a General Armstrong. But I don't think he is any relation of mine," she added, hastily, " although father says he was once a friend of our family — a friend of mother's, and that I was called after him." " Oh, I see," said Lance to himself. " The scoundrel meant to trade on the old acquaintance of his wife with this General Armstrong," which was rather an acute inference for a boy of his age to draw.

" It's an abominable shame." He felt that he did not quite know what to do next. He resolved that he would consult his father, and in the mean time take the child's address. Perhaps he could not have thought of a wiser plan." " Look here, little one, he said, after a rather long pause. " You were quite right not to go to General Armstrong — quite right not to beg of him, or to tell him what was not true ; but perhaps he knew your mother years ago, and would be glad to hear what has become of her little girl. If you could find that out, and then go to see him, and tell him — tell him whatever you like so long as it is true — wouldn't that be the best thing you could do ? " " How clever you are," said Madeline, her eyes shining. " Yes, perhaps I could do that ! " "And, now, will you tell me where you live?

I see your father coming : tell me quickly before he comes." Madeline cast a half-frightened glance at the shabby man's approaching figure, and hastily whispered the address in Lancelot's ear. And then Mr. Despard came up to them, and took off his hat with a satirical flourish, intended to express all the emotions at once. But Lancelot did not seem to see it : he was intent on noting Madeline's address on his clean white cuffs : it was the only substitute for a notebook that he had at hand. " I must go," he said, starting up. " It is nearly time for me to meet my father. The boat will be in presently." "A word with you, young sir," said Mr. Despard, majestically drawing him aside. " You see the trust I repose in you. You see — by my leaving you alone with my child — how little I had to conceal."

He kept a sharp eye on Lancelot's face as he spoke, and seemed to regulate the manner of his speech by its ex pression. " You can scarcely estimate what my troubles and sorrows have been," he said, solemnly. "A delicate wife, young children, no food in the cupboard, no money in the purse — is that not enough, sir, to drive a man to despair ? Is it not enough to tempt him to a subterfuge — to a temporary concealment of the truth? " " It is not enough," said Lance in a clear, high voice, "to justify you in trying to teach your tricks to your little daughter." " Ah, she has been giving you her version ! " and Mr. Despard's glance boded evil for the shrinking child upon the bench. " Poor misguided child ! she did not under stand — but I will say no more. I heartily trust, sir, that you may never know the straits to which I have been reduced, or feel the poverty which has made the misery of my career."

Lance was young and inexperienced. In spite of himself, he was impressed by the man's fluent speech and new dignity of bearing. He felt oddly confused. "I'm sorry if I've misjudged you," he said, "but your little girl seemed to be in great trouble, and— perhaps you wouldn't mind allowing me to give you something for her." It was said with the most engaging awkwardness, and Mr. Oscar Despard's blue eyes glistened as he saw the young fellow's hand plunging desperately in his pocket. "It isn't much," said Lancelot, as he found a sovereign at last and slipped it into Mr. Despard's only too-ready palm, " but it may at least save you from resorting to expedients which — which some people would call by very ugly names." He was rather proud of having achieved this speech, and his cheeks glowed from the effort.

"Sir, you have my heartfelt thanks. I cannot express my sense of your generosity, your noble kindness to one in affliction and persecution. You, at least, I see, understand the position — " " I'm afraid I must go," said Lance, hurriedly. " The young fool ! " ejaculated Madeline's father, with a malignant look of hatred at the lithe figure as it sped upon its way. " I wish I had the chance ofpaying you out for this. Well, my good and dutiful little daughter, will you now kindly come home with me ? " Madeline rose, trembling. She did not like the look in her father's eye ; but she accepted the hand which he blandly held out to her, and they went, linked in this way, along the pier, as if they were the most devoted father and daughter in the world. It was one of Despard's favourite modes of ingratiating himself with visitors at a seaside town.

He was seen day after day on the pier or in the town, always holding his pretty little girl by the hand, and bending upon her looks of protecting but melancholy love. Visitors would begin to inquire about him, to enter into conversation with Madeline, and in other ways to show interest, which Despard knew well how to turn to account. He often obtained a loan or a gift as the result of Madeline's beauty and his own show of fatherly affection. At last they stopped at a mean-looking house in a dull back street, where Despard dropped his daughter's hand and opened the door. Once inside the house, Madeline would willingly have escaped, but her father stopped her with an angry word. "I've something to say to you," he remarked, with an ominous scowl. " Come into the sitting-room : I don't want all the world to hear."

Madeline followed him into the sitting-room with a sinking heart. Her step-mother and the three children looked up in surprise at her appearance : it was very evident that she was shrinkingly afraid, and that her father was very angry. " What's the matter? " said Mrs. Despard, fretfully. " The matter is," said her husband, with his most tragic air, " that this child is an ungrateful little monster — a lying little vixen, who complains of me to the first passer-by. But I mean to teach her a lesson. I'm going to bring her to her knees once and for all. I'm going to thrash you, girl, with this riding-whip here, until you beg my pardon, and promise to do what I tell you for the future." " You may kill me if you like," said Madeline, turning very white, "but you shall not make me tell lies." And all his violence could not extract another word from her.

Meanwhile, after parting from Madeline and her father, Lancelot made the best of his way to the place whence he could best see the arrival of the Calais boat, and when the passengers were pouring across the gangway, his eyes travelled anxiously from one to the other in search of the father whom he had not seen for the last half-dozen years. That soldierly-looking bearded man ? no, he was too old ; and one with an equally military bearing and a bronze moustache, surely he was too young ? So Lance stood bewildered, and it was the younger of the two strangers who came up to him at last, and accosted him with a friendly smile. "You are Lancelot, I am sure : my boy," he said. And Lancelot wondered how he could have been doubtful even for a moment : the figure before him was so like that of a gallant cavalier whose portrait hung in the picture gallery at Aldersleigh, that he ought to have recognised it at once.

Roger Vanbrugh was a handsomer man than Lancelot would ever be, although Lancelot had a fair share of good looks.^ The Colonel's height, a certain grandeur of bearing, a deliberate coldness of manner, always gave weight to his personality ; whereas it was probable that Lance would even in much later years retain the touch of warmth and generous cordiality which made him lovable. The Colonel's dark eyes, long moustache, and bronzed, impassive face were very striking, and when a grave smile softened the stern features, his aspect was prepossessing. As an old soldier servant used to say of him, Colonel Vanbrugh was " a grand-looking man," and his son's heart went out to him at once. " I ought to have known you : you are so like the cavalier picture," said the boy. The Colonel turned to him, smiling.

" You have a quick eye : I have been told that before," he said. " It hangs where it did, I suppose?" "Yes, in the gallery, by the east window. But — what will you do now, father ? Will you go to the hotel and lunch ? " " Yes, I think so — and then we will make the best of our way home. It is years since I saw the old place, you know." Lance glowed with pleasure. If he had a passion, it was for the home of his father ; and it was eminently satisfactory to him to find his affection for it shared by the man who had for so long been the hero of all his boyish dreams. They were soon seated together at luncheon, and deep in conversation. Lance did a good deal of the talking, for it was noticeable that after a little time his father fell into a musing mood, and listened with a curiously abstracted air, as if his mind were full of something else.