Helen, the novelist

Chapter I

Under persistent requisitions from her uncle, Helen had had to determine to break off her engagement with the Rathbones. The house selected by Mr. Williams in the wide and healthful enclosed road joining Bayswater and Kensington — known to fame chiefly as containing the residence of a celebrated novelist, erected by himself — required, as the Australian thought, all sorts of sanitary improvements, and some extension in the stabling, so that it did not seem likely he would enter before Michaelmas at the earliest. He had never mentioned anything more about the hotel, VOL. II. b but he ignored Wilkinson Road by never coming near it, though he wrote frequent short and peremptory notes about his wishes. There was thus a respite from immediate change, which suited the Clares well enough, enabling the mother to recover command over her nerves and the daughter to sever herself gently and naturally from the Rathbone contract.

In June, however, Mr. Williams intimated that his relations must be ready to accompany him to Folkestone in the be ginning of July, and from thence they would return to take possession of the new house in the autumn. Helen therefore arranged that Margaret's midsummer holi days should form the close of their con nexion. The girl was one calculated to awaken interest from her marked self-con centration, though not, perhaps, equally awakening affection. It is sometimes almost as anxious a business to guess what those who are so guided from within will turn out, as to prognosticate the future of such as are easily led into temptation. Helen had never encouraged her to comment on Julia's marriage, but of her own accord she indicated disapprobation, giving as her reason that it was not spontaneous.

Lady Clementina, according to her, had made Lord Gilbert marry, and papa had made J ulia marry. It was chess -marriage ; the players, not the pieces, were interested. The last day, the last hour of lessons came, and Helen felt wretched at giving up what had so long been her constant occupation. She dreaded parting with her pupil. That youthful person had, however, made up her mind entirely how it should be. She had secretly worked a purse. When the time for Helen to leave arrived, Margaret came hurriedly up, put the purse in a little parcel on the table, threw her arms round her governess and kissed her, and, getting the words out quite distinctly, "I am very very sorry you are going!" rushed from the room, to be recalled no more. Hidden up in some garret she wept b2 HELEN, THE NOVELIST. her private tears, deeming— too precociously, of course, for her years— that one's sorrows are one's own concern; come down, however, again she would not.

But Helen was not to depart thus. Mr. Rathbone had taken leave before he went to the Courts very warmly and nicely, and Mrs. Rathbone had said farewell after luncheon with as much cordiality as she ever showed. Lady Gilbert, Helen had heard, was in town, but they had never met. The governess, in despair of seeing more of her young friend, was collecting her things for a start when the schoolroom door opened and Julia entered. She was beautifully dressed, and looked very hand some. It was not in her nature to be affected in her manner by her position, but there was, for a time, a little stiffness with Helen, arising, doubtless, from that hostility which a woman going down rather in moral character feels towards another who is pur suing the calm, pure, useful tenour of her way. But there was something loveable in Helen's simplicity, and it soon worked its spell.

She told so naturally what had befallen her, how altered her circumstances were, and said with such obvious sincerity that, though it was of course very pleasant being better off, there were some circumstances of freedom connected with the old life she was giving up which she could not relinquish without regret. Helen had never mentioned to Julia her attachment to Arthur Geneste, but she had often dwelt on the friendly relations existing between Madame Geneste and her son and their little household ; and so Julia asked, quite simply, " And what has become of the young painter and his mother — the musician ? " This was almost too much for Helen. She had received the fatal letter. Arthur's marriage had not been put in the London papers, and Helen was out of the way of seeing Indian ones, and the letter was the first announcement of the fact.

She had had to bear her disappointment entirely by7 herself. Of course, she told HELEN, THE NOVELIST. her mother of the marriage, but when Mrs. Clare, looking very hurt and angry, began to inveigh against Arthur's want of open ness, and to declare that he had behaved very badly, Helen entreated her not to allude to the subject again, and fled from the room. Those who have tried it know what it is to go on with ordinary tasks and to feel that cheerfulness is looked for — when a sustaining thought, which has been to life what oil is to a lamp, is dead. The external life remains the same ; the duties, the converse, the amusements or distrac tions ; but the private moments of self commune — the delicious dreams flowing through the silence, — the holy hush of seclusion, — are ended. Alas ! even the prayers seem bitter, helpless cries, forlorn Kyrie eleisons, instead of those sustaining interviews, if the word may be used, which breathed peace into the soul.

So when Julia put a direct question about the Genestes to Helen, the latter felt her pulses stop, knew that she was growing white, and, when she spoke, seemed to hear her own voice at a distance. " They are both in India, pursuing their professions." She did not mention the marriage ; there was no reason for her to do so. The charm of Helen's transparent cha racter told on Julia. She became quite the girl of old. Helen felt no difficulty in saying, " I hope you are happy, dearest ! " " I do not know," replied Julia, " it seems all a whirl, a sustained excitement. Of course, there is a great deal of pleasure, but there is, too, a sense of heartlessness, and sometimes I feel as ii I could not be in harmony with my surroundings unless I am heartless myself. Can you imagine this ? Oh, Helen ! " she cried, with a look of real distress on her face, "is it well to have dreamed of higher things; to have just realised that there might be such a love as would absorb all one's being, and fill one's whole life with its light ?

" ' It is well," said Helen. " Poor Harry ! " sighed Julia ; " that man really loved me, Helen. Ah, dear girl, I cannot tell you what the sound of his voice, his approaching step, the joyous gift of his presence, were to me. I was never the least a humbug, at any rate I do not think I was, and therefore I did not pretend to enter intelligently into his views and schemes, though I was proud he should have them. But the man himself ? We all get glimpses every now and then of the inner selves of others. A look, a gesture, a word betrays irritation, vanity, fickleness, or what not. And I declare to you, Helen, whenever I got such a side-glance into Harry's character, I found a person utterly regardless of himself, and thinking curiously and subtly of my happiness. How could I help loving such a man ?

And oh, Helen, it was all a mirage, a fatal phantom vision in the desert, to appear no more ! " The girl could not restrain herself, and threw her arms round Helen's neck, sobbino- * O like a child ; and Helen, only too glad of an excuse, wept too. And then they parted, for Helen was afraid Julia would make herself ill ; and so, pacifying her as well as she could, she said good-bye, and ran down stairs. As she closed the door, a mail phaeton with a splendid pair of iron-greys came rapidly up, and was arrested with great precision at the curb-stone. The driver was a large, fair, young man, with thick auburn hair. He was dressed in the latest mode, and behind him, in the back seat, stood up Lord Gilbert Vandeleur. The latter immediately recognised Helen, for he had a talent in that direction, called her Miss Clare, and asked if Lady Gilbert were in the house.

Assured that she was, he asked her to do him the great favour of touching the bell. She rang, and, as the door was opened almost immediately, she heard Lord Gilbert say, as she was making off, " Mention in the drawing-room that Sir Eric Campbell's carriage is here."

Chapter II

Arthur Geneste had written his first letter to Helen very soon after his marriage, and in all the excitement of a new experience of life ; and it seemed easy to him then to ignore the fact that he had ever felt a tenderer feeling for Helen than that of a long-tried brother. The season had passed on to the end of June. Petros and Arthur had taken a little house together at Mussoorie. Madame Geneste was at the hotel, organising concerts and taking a leading part in all musical projects and events. Her Italians were with her, and Malagavazzo growing in importance as a business man. Constant rain made it depressing; the downfall was much less at Dehra, and Mrs. Petros and Stephanie thought they would like to go down there for a week or so. Petros stayed up to look after patients. Arthur accompanied the ladies.

He was not yet quite up to taking care of his implements and materials in the overpowering damp, and was, in a measure, thrown out of work. The town was empty, the weather dis couraging, the ladies only moderately lively, and the artist, as his fellow craftsmen often do, got into low spirits. He was not easy that Helen should think of him as he felt pretty certain she must think. He had now time to ponder carefully over what had happened the day Helen left for the Continent. Her narrative of Julia's love-story had incidentally explained entirely who the man was he had seen in the Circus, and he (Arthur) was ashamed of himself when he remembered how precipitate he had been in changing his opinion of the girl he loved. He could plainly see now she had never swerved the least from her old true ways ; and he thought he could detect in her letter that the love he had once hoped she felt towards him she had really so felt.

He could not let the matter drop thus. To do him justice, he had no wish to fan the ashes into a flame again. He felt that his dream was past ; his condition was quite changed. He had his Stephanie, there was a new sort of life opening before him. He could watch over his mother. He did not at all want to shirk the duties the present imposed on him, but he had an irresistible desire to set himself right with Helen. He did not wish to be reckoned the unimpression able, common-place sort of person he feared she must suppose him to be. It has been said he had grown to associate the love of Helen with that kind of sacred feeling for his art which he was sure many of the old masters had experienced, and which he be lieved he must cherish if he was to do anything really great. His poor Chenier canvas came back to his mind with reproach ful vividness He was in a mood of aspiration saddened by regret, and it was an immense relief to him to put pen to paper.

One afternoon he recollected that the mail went out next day, and he determined to occupy it by fully explaining himself. He did not conceal from Helen how much he had loved her, told the whole story of what he had seen in the street and the inferences he had drawn from the occurrence, namely, not that she was in any way wanting in sincerity, but that he himself had been mistaken as to the return of his affection, and frankly7 confessed his belief that one of the great opportunities of his life had been lost through a misapprehension ; and lastly, men tioned that when her letter came which explained so much, and revived in him all the homage he had once felt, he was so far advanced in his engagement to Stephanie that withdrawal with honour was impossible. That now he did not wish in the least to disturb Helen's peace of mind, but he felt it was a satisfaction she would not deny him to explain himself, and to assure her, that, though his destiny compelled him to entreat friendship only where he had looked for a tenderer feeling, his heart had undergone no change but that which the restraint of circumstances dictated and required.

This letter was excessively welcome to Helen. The first one had thrown her back on her self ; she had been mistaken, she thought she had known her man and she had not done so. He was a dear nice fellow, but he was not the character she had taken him for. The second letter, though it really7 brought despair where the other had only brought disappointment, restored her love. She was too upright, too generous, to treat with any thing but scorn the idea of weaning Arthur from his obvious duties, or of saying anything which should tend to make his married life unhappy. But she had got her love again ; it was like the love of a dead person, a sort of death had completed it, there was nothing to hope from it, but apparently, also, nothing to fear. Now she could go on quietly ; suffering, but what of that ?

The image was restored to its shrine ; the ideal was given back to her, unmarred. It seemed nothing to her that Arthur should be married, that he should owe his constant affection to his wife ; he had loved her, Helen, as she had always thought and hoped he had, and he had not changed ! It was enough. The second letter came when she was at Folke stone with her mother and uncle, and she would get up before breakfast on the beau tiful mornings of later summer, and sit on the cliff side and look on the ever-varying colours of the sea, the white ships passing on their way, the distant outlines of Dungeness, and feel an ineffable delight in the prospect, because her own sensations, though tinged of course with melancholy, were full of quiet beliefs and confidences, and a far-off hope that all the passing shows of human existence might typify, after all, something that was stable and lasting.

She wrote back to Arthur that she had received his letter, and that she very glad to possess it; but that she was was sure he would see that the topics it touched upon must remain unalluded to between them again. This acknowledg ment was very short, and lent cover to a detailed letter to Stephanie, giving accounts of her own (Helen's) doings, in which she found, with delight, great facility of de scription. She offered, too, her assistance in choosing things, or doing any commissions, in England. By the time the Folkestone sojourn was over, that is, the commencement of October, the house in Palace Gardens was ready. Though Williams had said he should require female aid in furnishing his rooms, yet after the first opposition the mother and daughter had made about going to the hotel, he had not reverted to the subject.

He had put the house into the hands of the uphol sterers ; had let a Bond Street Jew choose him pictures, and the keeper of an old curiosity shop supply him with artistic objects. He was a man who never read anything but the newspapers, and an occasional report or pamphlet ; but there was a library in his new house, and he had directed a large book seller to furnish its shelves. However, everything was new and hand some — gorgeous rather than otherwise — and the comfort was undeniable. Helen was six or seven years old when her father died, and therefore she had distant recollections of wealthy life, to which her present circumstances seemed a return. And Mrs. Clare had no difficulty in resuming a style which had really been that of the best part of her days. Uncle Williams certainly meant to be kind, but from an overweaning idea of his own talents for organization, and a fear which seemed never to leave him lest the slightest en croachments should be made on his authority — he did not put Mrs. Clare and Helen at their ease.

He supplied money for their dress, and on a handsome scale ; but then he would fix no allowance, and only7 give cheques exactly when and in what proportion he chose. The faithful Hephzibah Tench VOL. II c begged so earnestly to accompany Mrs. Clare that Helen made a special request on the point to her uncle. He evidently did not like the proposition. " Who is to pay her wages ? " he asked. And, when Helen replied that he supplied money so handsomely for dress that she could easily dispense with a few articles and so raise a fund, then he got angry, and said Helen was not to fall back into paltry way7s, and what did it matter to him if he paid one or fifty Hephzibahs ? Only he thought she was a miserable workhouse object (which she was not in the least), and he begged he might never see her.

Helen, with her excellent sense, saw exactly how to act, and she replied quite cheerfully, " Mind you have her name properly registered amongst the other servants. I have promised her twelve pounds, and I will engage she does not get in your way." Williams did not object to being treated in this manner, and wrrote down Hephzibah for fourteen pounds. Her brother-in-law was not rude to Mrs. Clare, but he put her a good deal in the background; often speak ing of Helen as the lady of the house, and making allusions to everything around her being her own if she only chose that it should be so ; which the girl scarcely knew whether to take as mere fagon de parler, or as having a meaning connected with the future. Mr. Williams was great in horses : fond of the animal, and skilful both in riding and driving it, and was desirous that Helen should accompany him on horseback.

She was quite new to the business ; but with her light, active figure, and her calm, self collected temperament, she made an apt pupil. This cleverly-acquired accomplish ment pleased her uncle exceedingly ; and one day, after assisting her to mount, and standing back a little to admire her seat, he exclaimed quite abruptly, " Broughton can ride. O yes, he can do that. He does not care, perhaps, much about horses, but he c2 can sit on them. He's been trained, bless you, in the bush." About this same Broughton there seemed uncertainty . His father said from time to time it was necessary he should see the world; that his mind wanted expanding, and that the man he was travelling with was anxious the journey might be extended. They would go on to China from Frisco ; he might spend a y7ear in India ; do a little big shooting, visit the institutions, and see how the Government was managed.

Mr. Williams was very anxious to have his house filled with people, and as long as he gave good dinners and plenty of wine there was no difficulty about numbers, but he found he made no progress in what was called " society." This fact secretly chagrined him very considerably7, though be affected to be quite indifferent. " I am a plain-spoken colonial man, Helen," he would declare ; " and what I say to people who fight shy of coming near me is, ' You can stay away.' " Helen called occasionally on the Rath bones, and was glad to find Margaret had got a sensible woman as governess, whom she liked. She was nearly fifteen, and, to all intents and purposes, entirely grown up. One evening in the winter Helen had looked in at Portland Place. The short afternoon had completely closed in ; the rooms were lighted and tea brought.

Two or three other ladies were sitting and talking, and Mr. Rathbone came upstairs. Seeing Helen there he took an opportunity of drawing her aside into the back drawing-room, where there was a second fire. " I want to talk to you, Miss Clare," he said, " about our Julia. Do you ever hear from her ? " " I have written to her," replied Helen, " but, though she answered in the most friendly spirit, the letter only contained a few words. Writing was a nuisance, she remarked, but that if we could meet she would love to talk. She did not, however, fix any place where we could meet." " It is the same with us," complained Mr. Rathbone; " she hardly writes a word. And yet she and her husband are mostly in town. He does not care much for the country. I do not suppose he has the nerve for sports now.

We do not hear good accounts of his goings on. Gambling again, I fear, and far too much drinking. We want Julia to come and see us, but she always procrastinates, and if we propose visiting her there is generally an excuse popping up. Your influence over her has always been good, and if you were to urge her to keep up her intercourse with her relations and her old friends I think she would comply7. She lives too much, I fear, with a set who surround her husband ; and it is very bad for a woman to see so few of her own sex." " I should indeed delight to meet her," cried Helen ; "but it would not be alto gether easy to say anything direct about what society she should choose, because dear Julia was always independent. But one might, I dare say, hint something. I should take every care not to give offence."

"I am sure if any one could get in the word in season it is yourself," said Mr. Rathbone. "I see in the papers that the old Marquess is ailing, and if anything happened to him, Lord Gilbert would pro bably have a large sum of money at his disposal, and it would be a thousand pities if it were foolishly handled. Of course Julia has her settlement, but I fear an influx of cash would lead to extravagance, and extravagance with Lord Gilbert would mean dissipation. With, prudence on both their parts all would be enjoyable and nice. There are many advantages ; but the husband lacks self-control, and the wife is not choice enough about her companions." As Mr. Rathbone used the last word he looked earnestly and inquiringly at Helen, but she had heard nothing whatever, and so, if any allusion were meant, it was lost.

Shortly after this conversation Helen saw in The Times that the Marquess was dead, and, of course, under the circumstances, it seemed unlikely that she should soon fall in with Julia, who probably would omit the London season in consequence of the family mourning. The new life seemed to agree very fairly with old Mrs. Clare. her health and frame were frail, she was not subject to definite illness, and could sustain a tolerable degree of fatigue if her mind were at rest. And her mind was in a measure at rest, and would have been completely so had any prospect presented itself of Helen settling. But of this, at present, there was no sign. Mr. Williams did not seem at all desirous of inviting what are termed eligible people to his house ; and there was not one for whom Helen showed the least predilection.

She was perfectly open and friendly7 with all, but the idea of noticing any particular person with partiality had apparently not occurred to her. Still there was no imme diate cause for dwelling on the future, and Mrs. Clare endeavoured not to do so. The expressions her brother-in-law used about Helen, though ambiguous, seemed at any rate to indicate a promise of providing for her. Yet, though Mr. Williams had given them no reason for fearing that he would, out of mere caprice, recede from his expressed or implied engagements, it was quite evident that his kindness depended in a great measure on his will not being thwarted ; and what he would be or become, should he have set his heart on any scheme which Helen or herself could not consent to second, remained a matter of some doubt. However, at present skies were serene.

The immediate question of interest was the return of Broughton, and that was fixed for the autumn ; the month, indeed, not distinct as yet, but probably October. And now a lovely evening in the month of May arrived, and the three inmates of the new house were sitting after dinner in the back drawing-room, with open windows looking into a pretty garden, and that again bounded by the enclosure of Kensington Gardens. " It seems as like settled weather as one can expect in England," said Mr. Williams. "What do you say, Helen, to riding to see the chestnuts in Bushey Park, lunching at Hampton Court, and coming home in the cool evening, to-morrow ? " " I shall be delighted," answered Helen, "if mamma will spare me." "Eliza, of course, will drive out," remarked Mr. Williams, " pay visits or amuse herself in some way."

" I shall do very well," said Mrs. Clare. " When Helen is enjoying herself I am always happy." '■ Yes. but 1 say, visits and a novel or the magazines." " We shall see." The next day did not belie the promise of its vigil. It was cloudless ; and the air balmy and scented with blossoms. So, breakfast over, Mr. Williams and Helen started, and after a pleasant ride, which the warmth induced them to take leisurely, they reached a comfortable inn by the roadside. They ordered luncheon, and then got into a hired phaeton, and pottered about in Bushey Park, looking at the glorious avenues, now triumphant in their flowering and fragrant with delicate per fume. They had just returned, and Helen was sitting in the balcony of their room, and the cloth was spread for luncheon, when a horn was heard, and presently a drag drove up.

Julia Vandeleur was on the box, and the large, fair young man, whom Helen had heard called Sir Eric Campbell, was driving. The seats behind the box were occupied by a middle-aged lady and a girl sufficiently like her to be certainly her daughter, Lord Gilbert being between them. To Helen's eye he looked broken and ill, but was evidently amused by his companions, who were dressed in rather an outre style, the mother as much so as the daughter, and were talking and laughing loudly. Behind, another girl, a sister without doubt of the one forward, sat with a young officer, and the grooms. Julia and Lord Gilbert both looked up and bowed to Helen. The whole party were in high spirits, and, alighting, entered the inn. Helen knew that her uncle would wish to be introduced to Lord Gilbert if she at once said who the two were, and as she was not sure whether the proposition would be welcome, she thought if she associated her acquaintances with her former position of governess it would cure his aspirations.

"Who are they?" cried Mr. Williams, rather eagerly. " The lady on the box was one of my pupils when 1 went out as a daily governess. You know the Rathbones by name. I have often spoken about Julia — that was Julia." " She married rank, I think ? " said Williams. " Yes ; she is Lady Gilbert Vandeleur." " Ay> ay> you told me. Lord Dunstable's brother he is now." " Yes; the old Marquess is dead. You saw they were in mourning." Mr. Williams mused for a while, and then murmured : " Richard " (meaning Helen's father) " did make an infernal mess of it, certainly. It is a wonder you had not to go out as a charwoman." " Oh, never mind," cried Helen, blushing; "speak gently of his memory. If I had not knocked about a little I should not have had half such a gallery of portraits in my head." " What gallery of portraits ?

" " You must know, uncle, I am very much interested in human character ; I am not sure I could not describe it, conceive it, create it ; whatever word you like to use — and I have a great many types in my head — and these I call my gallery." " I don't care about that sort of thing," said Mr. Williams. "I wish they would bring luncheon. What a time they are ! " and he got up and rang the bell, pettishly. When luncheon was over, Mr. Williams went down to see how the horses had eaten their food, and whether they were comfortable. He really loved the animal and treated it like a friend. Then Helen walked down the passage, and looked out at the back, and found what she had hoped — that there was a garden. So she descended, and passing under a large bow window, the talking and laughing from which she set down to Julia's party, she wandered once or twice over the grass, and then withdrew into a pretty arbour.