Under False Pretences. A novel

Front matter

H "Rovcl. BY ADELINE SERGEANT, >* — *v AUTHOR OF ''JACOBI'S WIFE," " DEVERIL'S DIAMOND," "NO SAINT," "ESTHER DEN'ISON," ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : WARD & DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1892. PRINTED BY KELLY AND CO. LIMITED, GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, TY.C. AND KINGSTON-ON-TBAMES. CONTENTS. — ♦• — CHAP. PAUE I. — Prologue to the Story ... 1 II. — By the Loch .... 21 III. — Hugo Luttrell .... 38 IV. — In the Twilight .... 55 V. — Hugo's Return .... 72 VI. — Mother and Son .... 85 VII.— Farewell 103 VIII. — In Gower Street . . . 117 IX. — Elizabeth's Wooing . . . 134 X. — Brother Dino .... 151 XI.— On a Mountain-Side . . . 168 XII. — The Heiress of Strathleckie . 181 XIII.— San Stefano 192 XIV. — The Prior's Opinion . . . 207 XV. — The Villa Venturi .... 218 XVI. — " Without a Reference " . .

Prologue

TO THE STORY.

IN TWO PARTS. I. It Avas in the year 1854 that an English gentleman named Edward Luttrell took up his abode in a white-Availed, green-shuttered A'illa on the slopes of the Avestern Apennines. He Avas accompanied by his wife (a Scotchwoman and an heiress), his son, a fine little feboAv of five years old, and a couple of Engbsh seiwants. The party had been travelling in Italy for some months, and it was the heat of the approaching summer, as well as the delicate state of health in Avhich Mrs. Luttreb found herself, that induced Mr. Luttreb to seek out some pleasant house amongst the hills where his wife and child might enjoy cool breezes and perfect repose. For he had lately had reason to be seriously concerned about Mrs. Luttrell's health. The husband and wife were as unlike each other as they web could be.

Edward vol. i. Luttrell was a broad - shouldered, genial, hearty man, warmly affectionate, hasty in word, generous in deed. Mrs. Luttrell was a woman of peculiarly cold manners ; but capable, as many members of her household knew, of violent fits of temper, and of im placable resentment. She was not an easy woman to get on with, and if her husband had not been a man of very sweet and pliable nature, he might not have lived Avith her on very peaceful terms. She had inherited a great Scotch estate from her father, and Edward Luttrell Avas almost entirely de pendent upon her ; but it Avas not a de pendence which seemed to gall him in the very least. Perhaps he Avould have been unreasonable if it had done so ; for his Avise, in spite of all her faults, was tenderly at tached to him, and never loved him better than when he asserted his authority over her and her possessions.

Mr. and Mrs. Luttrell had not been at their pretty white villa for more than two months when a second son was born to them. He was baptized almost immediately by an English clergyman then passing through the place, and received the name of Brian. He was a delicate-looking baby, but seemed likely to live and do well. Mrs. Luttrell's recovery was unusually rapid ; the soft

PROLOGUE.

. 3 Itaban air suited her constitution, and she declared her intention of nursing the child herself. Edward Luttreb was in high spirits. He had been decidedly nervous before the event took place, but now that it was safely over he Avas bke a boy in his joyous sense of security. He romped with his bttle son, he talked patois with the inhabitants of the neighbouring village of San Stefano, he gossiped Avith the monks of the Benedictine foundation, whose settlement occupied a delightful site on the hib -side, and no premonition of coming evil disturbed his heart. He thought himself the most fortunate of men. He adored his wife ; he worshipped the baby. His whole heart was bound up in his hand some little Dick, AA'ho, at five years old, was as nearly the image of his father as a child could be.

What had he left to wish for ? There had been a good deal of fever at San Stefano throughout the summer. When the bttle Brian was barely six weeks old, it became only too evident that Mrs. Luttreb Avas sickening of some illness — probably the fever that had caused so much mortality in the village. The baby was hastily taken away from her, and a nurse provided. This nurse was a healthy young woman with very thick, black eyebrows and a bright colour ; 1* handsome, perhaps, but not prepossessing. She was the wife of a gardener employed at the villa, and had been recommended by one of the Fathers at the monastery— a certain Padre Cristoforo, who seemed to know the history of every man, woman and child in San Stefano. She was the mother of twins, but this was a fact which the Luttrells did not knoAv.

This woman, Vincenza Vasari by name, Avas at first domiciled in the villa itself with her charge ; but as more dangerous symptoms declared themselves in Mrs. Luttrell's case, it Avas thought better that she should take the baby to her oavii home, AA'hich was a fairly clean and respectable cottage close to the gates of the villa. Here Mr. Luttrell could visit the child from time to time ; but as his Avife's illness became more serious he saw less and less of the baby, and left it more than ever to Vincenza's care. Vincenza's own children Avere with their grandmother at a hamlet three miles from San Stefano. The grandmother, generally knoAvn as old Assunta, used to bring one or another of them sometimes to see Vincenza. Perhaps they took the infection of feA'er in the course of these visits ; at any rate one of them Avas soon reported to be seriously ill, and Vincenza Avas cautioned against taking

PROLOGUE.

. 5 the Luttrells' baby into the village. It was the little Lippo Vasari who was ill ; his twin brother Dino AA-as reported perfectly well. Some days afterwards Mr. Luttreb, on calling at the cottage as usual, noticed that Vincenza's eyes were red, and her manners odd and abrupt. Old Assunta was there, with the baby upon her knee. Mr. Luttrell asked what was the matter. Vincenza turned away and burst into tears. " She has lost her babA*, signor," the old * 7 CD * woman explained. " The little one died last night at the A'iUage, and Vincenza could not see it. The doctor will teb you about it all," she said, nodding significantly, and lowering her voice. " He knows." Mr. Luttrell questioned the doctor, and received his assurance that Vincenza's child (one of the twins) had been kept strictly apart from the little Brian Luttreb ; and that there could be no danger of infection.

In AA'hich assurance the doctor was perfectly sincere, not knowing that Vincenza's habit had been to spend a portion of almost eA'ery evening at her mother's house, in order to see her own children, to whom, howeA'er, she did not seem to be passionately attached. It is to be noted that the Luttrells still learned nothing of the existence of the other baby ; they thought that all Vincenza's children were dead. Vincenza bad fancied that the English lady would be prejudiced against her if she kneAV that she was the mother of twins, and had left them both to old Assunta's care ; so, eA-en when Lippo Avas laid to rest in the churchyard at San Stefano, the little Dino was carefully kept in the back ground and not suffered to appear. Neither Mr. Luttreb nor Mrs. Luttrell (until long afterwards) knew that Vincenza had another child.

Tavo months passed before Mrs. Luttrell Avas sufficiently restored to health to be able to see her children. The day came at last AA'hen little Richard was summoned to her room to kiss a pale woman with great dark eyes, at whom he gazed solemnly, Avonder ingly, but Avith a profound coirviction that his OAvn mamma had gone away and left her place to be filled up by somebody else. In point of fact, Mrs. Luttrell's expression was curiously changed ; and the boy's instinct discovered the change at once. There was a restless, wandering look in her large, dark eyes which had never been visible in them be fore her blness, except in moments of strong excitement. She did not look like herself. "I want the baby," she said, when she had kissed little Richard and talked to him for a few moments. " Where is my baby ? "

PROLOGUE.

. 7 Mr. Luttreb came up to her side and answered her. " The baby is coming, Margaret ; Vincenza is bringing him." Then, after a pause — " Baby has been ib," he said. " You must be prepared to see a great change in him." She looked at him as if she did not under stand. " What change shall I see ? " she said. " Tell Vincenza to make haste, Edward. I must see my baby at once ; the doctor said I might see him to-day." " Don't excite yourself, Margaret ; I'll fetch them," said Mr. Luttrell easily. " Come along, Dick ; let us find Vincenza and little brother Brian." He quitted the room, with Dick at his heels. Mrs. Luttreb was left alone. But she had not long to wait. Vincenza entered, made a Ioav reverence, uttered two or three sentences of congratulation on the English signora's recovery, and then placed the baby on Mrs. Luttrell's lap.

What happened next nobody ever precisely knew. But in another moment Vincenza fled from the room, with her hands to her ears, and her face as white as death. " The signora is mad — mad ! " she gasped, as she met Mr. Luttrell in the corridor. " She does not know her own child ! She says that she Avib kill it ! I dare not go to her ; she says that her baby is dead, and that that one is mine ! Mine ! mine ! oh, holy Virgin in heaven! she savs that the child is mine ! " Wherewith Vincenza Avent into hysterics, and Mr. Luttrell strode hastily towards his Avife's room, from which the cries of a child could be heard. He found Mrs. Luttrell sitting with the baby on her knee, but although the poor little thing was screaming Avith all its might, she vouchsafed it no attention. " Tell Vincenza to take her wretched child away," she said.

" I want my OAvn. This is her child ; not mine." EdAvard Luttrell stood aghast. " Margaret, what do you mean ? " he ejacu lated. " Vincenza's child is dead. This is our little Brian. You are dreaming." He did not know AA'hether she understood him or not, but a wild light suddenly Hashed into her great, dark eyes. She dashed the child down upon the bed with the fury of a mad Avoman. " You are deceiving me," she cried ; " I know that my child is dead. Tell me the truth ; my child is dead ! " " No such thing, Margaret," cried Mr. Luttrell, almost angrily ; " how can you utter such folly ? "

PROLOGUE.

. 9 But his remonstrance passed unheeded. Mrs. Luttrell had sunk insensible to the floor ; and her swoon was followed by a long and serious relapse, during which it seemed very unlikely that she Avould eA'er aAvake again to consciousness. The crisis approached. She passed it safely, and recovered. Then came the tug of Avar. The little Brian was brought back to the house, with Vincenza as his nurse ; but Mrs. Luttrell refused to see him. Doctors declared her dislike of the child to be a form of mania ; her husband certainly believed it to be so. But the one fact remained. She would not acknowledge the chbd to be her OAvn, and she would not consent to its being brought up as Edward Luttrell's son. Nothing Avould convince her that her own baby still lived, or that this child was not the offspring of the Vasari household.

Mr. Luttrell expostulated, Vin cenza protested and shed floods of tears ; the doctor, the monks, the English nurse were all employed by turns in the endeavour to soften her heart ; but every effort was useless. Mrs. Luttrell declared that the baby which Vincenza had brought her was not her child, and that she should live and die in this conviction. Was she mad ? or was some wonderful instinct of mother's love at the bottom of this obstinate adherence to her opinion ? Mr. Luttrell honestly thought that she A\-as mad. And then, mild man as he Avas, he rose up and claimed his right as her husband to do Avhat he thought sit. He sent for his solicitor, a Mr. Colquhoun, through whom he Avent so far as to threaten his Avise with severe measures if she did not yield. He Avould not live Avith her, he said — or Mr. Colquhoun reported that he said— unless she chose to bury her foolish fancy in oblivion.

There was no doubt in his mind that the child Avas Brian Luttrell, not Lippo Vasari, Avhose name Avas recorded on a rough Avooden cross in the churchyard of San Stefano. And he insisted upon it that his wife should receive the child as her own. It Avas a long fight, but in the end Mrs. Luttrell had to yield. She dismissed Vincenza, and she returned to Scotland with the tAvo children. Her husband exacted from her a promise that she would never again speak of the wild suspicion that had entered her mind ; that, under no circumstances, Avould she eA-er let the poor little boy knoAv of the painful doubt that had been thrown on his identity. Mrs. Luttrell promised, and for three-and tAventy years she kept her Avord. Perhaps she would not have broken it then but for

PROLOGUE.

. 11 a certain great trouble which fell upon her, causing a temporary reA'ival of the strange madness which had led her to hate the child placed in her arms at San Stefano. It was not to be wondered at that EdAvard Luttrell made a faA'Ourite of his second son in after life. A sense of the injustice done him by his mother made the father especiaby tender to the little Brian ; he Avalked with him, talked Avith him, made a companion of him in every possible way. Mrs. Luttrell regained by degrees the cold composure of manner that had distinguished her in earlier life ; but she could not command herself so far as to make a shoAV of affection for her younger son. Brian was a very small boy indeed AAhen he found that out. " Mother doesn't lo\re me," he said once to his father, with grieving lips and tear-filled eyes ; " I Avonder why."

What could his father do but press him passionately to his broad breast and assure him in words of tenderest affection that he loA'ed his boy ; and that if Brian were good, and true, and brave, his mother would love him too! "I will be A'ery good then," said Brian, nestling close up to his father's shoulder — for he was a chbd with exceedingly Avinning Avays and a \Tery affectionate dis position — and putting one arm round Mr. Luttrell's neck. " But you knoAV she loves Richard always — even when he is naughty. And you loA'e me when I'm naughty too.' What could Mr. Luttrell say to that ? He died when Brian was fifteen years old ; and the last words upon his tongue were an entreaty that his wife would never tell the boy of the suspicion that had turned her love for him into bitterness. He died, and part of the sting of his death to Mrs. Luttrell lay in the fact that he died thinking her mad on that one point.

The doctors had called her conviction " a case of mania," and he had implicitly bebeA'ed them. But suppose she had not been mad all the time ! I!. In San Stefano life went on tranquilly from month to month and year to year. In 1867 Father Cristoforo, of the Monastery, looked scarcely older than when he picked out a nurse for the Luttrell family in 1854. He was a tall man, with a stooping gait and a prominent, sagacious chin, deep-set, medi tative, dark eyes, and a somewhat sine and subtle sort of smile which flickered for a moment at the corner of his thin - lipped mouth, and disappeared before you were fubv conscious of its presence. He was summoned

PROLOGUE.

. 13 one day from the monastery (Avhere he now filled the office of sub-prior) at the earnest request of an old Avoman aa'Iio lived in a neighbouring village. She had known him many years before, and thought that it Avould be easier to tell her story to him than to a complete stranger. He had received her communication, and stood by her pallet AA'ith evident concern and astonishment depicted upon his face. He held a paper in his hand, at which he glanced from time to time as the woman spoke. "It was not my doing," moaned the old crone. " It was my daughter's. I haA'e but told you what she said to me five years ago. She said that she did change the children ; it Avas Lippo, indeed, who died, but the child whom the English lady took to England with her was Vincenza's little Dino ; and the boy whom we knoAV as Dino is really the English child.

I know not whether it is true ! Santa Vergine ! Avhat more can I say ? " " Why did you not reveal the facts five years ago ? " said the Father, with some severity of tone. " I wib tell you, Reverend Father. Because Vincenza came to me next day and said that she had lied — that the child Dino was her own after all, and that she had only wanted to see how much I would believe. What was I to do ? 1 do not know AA'hich story to believe ; that is why I tell both stories to you before I die." " She denied it then next day ? " "Yes, Father; but ber husband believed it, as you will see by that paper. He AA-rote it down — he could write and read a little, which I could never do ; and he told me what he had written: — ' I, Giovanni Vasari, have heard my wife, Vincenza, say that she stole an English gentleman's child, and put her oavii child in its place.

I do not know Avhether this is true ; but I leave my written word that I was innocent of any such crime, and humbly pray to Heaven that she may be for given if she committed it.' Is that right, Reverend Father ? And then his name, and the day, and the year." " Quite right," said Father Cristoforo. " It was written just before Giovanni died. The matter cannot possibly be proved Avithout further testimony. Where is Vincenza ? " " Alas, Father, 1 do not know. Dead, I think, or she would have come back to me before now. I have not heard of her since she took a situation as maid to a lady in Turin four years ago." " Why have you told me so useless a story at all, then ? " said the Father, again AA-ith some sternness of voice and manner.

PROLOGUE.

. 15 ■" Evidently Vincenza was fond of romancing ; and, probably — probably " He did not finish his sentence, but he was thinking — " Probably the mad fancy of that English lady about her child — which I well remember — suggested the story to Vincenza as a means of "'ettin^ moneA'. I wish I had her CD CD •/ here." " I have told you the story, Reverend Father," said the old woman, Avhose voice was growing very weak, " because I know that I am dying, and that the boy will be left alone in the world, which is a sad fate for any boy, Father, whether he is Vincenza's child or the son of the English lady. He is a good lad, Reverend Father, strong, and obedient, and patient ; if the good Fathers would but take charge of him, and see that he is taught a trade, or put to some useful work ! He would be no burden to you, my poor little Dino !

" For a moment the monk's eyes flashed with a quick sire ; then he looked doAvn and stood perfectly still, with his hands folded and his head bent, A new idea had darted across his mind. Did the story that he had just heard offer him no opportunity of advancing the interests of his Order and of his Church ? He turned as if to ask another question, but he was too late. Old Assunta was fast falling into the stupor that is but the precursor of death. He called her attendant, and Avaited for a time to see Avhether consciousness was likely to return. But he waited in vain. Assunta said nothing more. The boy of whom she had spoken came and wept at her bedside, and Father Cristoforo observed him curiously. He was weU worthy of the monk's gaze. He was light and supple in figure, perfectly formed, with a clear brown skin and a face such as one sees in early Italian paintings of angelic singing-boys — a face Avith broad serious broAvs, soft OA'al cheeks, curved lips, and delightfully dimpled chin.

He had large, brown eyes and a mass of tangled, curling hair. The priest noted that his slender limbs were graceful as those of a young faAvn, that his hands and feet were smab and Avell shaped, and that his appearance betokened perfect health — a slight spareness and sharpness of outline being the only trace which poverty seemed to ha\'e left upon him. The sub-prior of San Stefano saw these things, and meditated upon certain possibili ties in the future. He went next day to old Assunta's funeral, and laid his hand on Dino's shoulder as the boy Avas turning disconsolately from his grandmother's graA'e. " My child," he said gently, " you are alone."

PROLOGUE.

. " Yes, Father," said Dino, with a stifled sob. " Will you come with me to the monastery ? I think we can find you a home. You have nowhere to go, poor child, and you will be weary and hungry before long. Wib you come ? " "There is nothing in the world that I should like so well ! " cried the boy, ardently. " Come then," said the Padre, with one of his subtle smiles. " We will go together." He held out his hand, in which Dino gladly laid his hot and trembling fingers. Then the O CD monk and the boy set out on the three miles' Avalk which lay between them and the monastery. On their arrival, Father Cristoforo left the boy in the cool cloisters Avhilst he sought the Prior — a dignitary AA'hose permission would be needed before Dino would be allowed to stay. There was a school in connection with the monastery, but it Avas devoted chiefly to the training of young priests, and it was not probable that a peasant like Dino Vasari would be admitted to the ranks of these budding ecclesiastics.

The Prior thought that old Assunta's grandchild would make a good helper for Giacomo, the dresser of the vines. " Does that not satisfy you ? " said Father Cristoforo, in a rather peculiar tone, when he VOL. i. had carried this proposal to Dino, and seen the boy's face suddenly fall, and his eyes fill with tears. " The Reverend Fathers are very good," said Dino, in a someAvhat embarrassed fashion, " and I avUI do all that I can to serve them, and, if I could also learn to read and write — and listen to the music in the chapel some times — I would work for them all the days of my life." Father Cristoforo smiled. " You shab have your wish, my child," he said kindly. " You shall go to the school — not to the vine-dresser's. You shab be our son noAv." But Dino looked up at him timidly. " And not the English lady's ?

" he said. " What do you know about an English lady, my son ? " " My grandmother talked to me of her. Is it true ? She said that I might turn out to be an Englishman after all. She said that Vincenza told her that I did not belong to her." " My child," said the monk, calmly but firmly, "put these thoughts away from your mind. They are idle and vain imaginations. Assunta kneAV nothing ; Vincenza did not always speak the truth. In any case, it is impossible to prove the truth of her story. It

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. 19 is a sin to let your mind dAvell on the im possible. Your name is Bernardino Vasari, and you are to be brought up in the monastery of San Stefano, by Avise and pious men. Is that not happiness enough for you ?" " Oh, yes, yes, indeed ; I Avish for nothing else," said Dino, throwing himself at Father Cristoforo's feet, and pressing his lips to the monk's gown, while the tears poured down his smooth olive cheeks. " Indeed I am not ungrateful, ReA'erend Father, and I Avill neA'er wish to be anything but what you want me to be." " Better so," soliloquised the Father, Avhen he had comforted Dino with kind Avords, and led him away to join the companions that would henceforth be his ; " better that he should not Avish to rise aboA'e the station in Avhich he has been brought up ! AVe shab never prove Vincenza's story.

If we could do that, we should be abundantly recompensed for training this lad in the doctrines of the Church — but it will never be. Unless, indeed, the Avoman Vincenza could be found and urged to confession. But that," said the monk, with a regretful sigh, " that is not likely to occur. And, therefore, the boy Avill be Dino Vasari, as far as I can see, to his life's end. And Vincenza's child is living in the midst of a rich English family under the name 2* of Brian Luttrell. I must not forget the name. In days to come, who knows whether the positions of these two boys may not be reversed ? " Thus mused Father Cristoforo, and then he smiled and shook his head. " Vincenza was always a liar," he said to himself. " It is the most unlikely thing in the world that her story should be true." (End of the Prologue).

Chapter II. By The Loch

" It is you avIio have been the thief then ? " The question Avas uttered in tones of A\*ither ing contempt. The criminal, standing before his judge, Avith doAvncast face and nervously twitching lingers, found not a word to reply. " Answer me," said Richard Luttrell im peratively. " Tell me the truth — or, by heaven, I'll thrash you within an inch of your life, and make you speak ! Did you, or did you not, take this money out of my strong box ? " " I meant to put it back," faltered the culprit. He was a slender lad of twenty, with the olive skin, the curling jet black hair, the liquid brown eyes, which marked his descent from a southern race. The face was one of singular beauty. The curved lips, the broad brow on which the dusky hair greAv* low, the oval cheek and rounded chin might Aveb have belonged to some Spanish beggar boy or Neapolitan fisher-lad.

They Avere of the subtly sensuous type, expressive of passion rather than of intellect or will. At present, with the usual rich, ripe colour vanished from cheek and lips, with eyes downcast, and trembling hands dropped to his sides, he was a picture of embodied shame and fear AA'hich his cousin and guardian, Richard Luttrell, regarded with unmitigated disgust. Luttrell himself was a man of very different fibre. Tall, strong, fiercely indignant, be towered over the youth as if he could wilhngly have smitten him to the earth. He Avas a fine-looking, broad-shouldered man of twenty-eight, with strongly-marked features, browned by exposure to the sun and AA'ind. The lower part of his face Avas almost hidden by a crisp chestnut beard and moustache, whilst his eyes AA'ere of the reddish hazel tint which often denotes heat of temper.

The fire which now shot from beneath the severely knitted brows might indeed have dismayed a person of stouter heart than Hugo Luttrell. The youth showed no signs of penitence ; he was thoroughly dismayed and alarmed by the position in which he found himself, but that was ab. The scene of their interview AA'as hardly in accordance with its painful character. The three men — for there was another whom Ave haA'e not attempted to describe — stood on the border of a small loch, the tranquil waters of which came lapping almost to their feet as they spoke together. The grassy shores Avere fringed with alder and rowan trees. Above the heads of the speakers AvaA'ed the branches of a great Scotch fir, the outpost and sentinel, as it were, of an army of its brethren, standing discreetly a few yards away from the banks of the loch.