Young Mrs. Staples

Chapter I

Let me close my eyes and bring back the place and the scene. Afternoon in the spring-time, away in the " East Wood " at Evelyn Royal, down in the Dell— John Bunyan's Dell, the moss green, the birds twittering, the air laden with fragrance, white and pink may, peach lilacs and golden labur nums in big, heavy clusters light up with lovely colours the sylvan shade. Through the rich, black earth peep the primroses and pretty wood-hyacinths, tall, waving grasses lend a soft obscurity, the violets are out, and the long, trailing suckers of the wild straw berry, dressed here and there with tender, palest green, creep along the ground in an inquisitive, inquiring way, in and out, in and out and all round about. Every young flower and tree and twig was i i. eager, pushing, filled with fresh sap, throbbing, pulsating.

The whole world seemed instinct with life and mysterious vibration. The zephyrs chased each other with soft sighs through the half-fledged, budding bushes, whispering the secrets of southern lands, the tall, supple trees bowed their heads to listen, the leaves hearing trembled, rustled in audible amazement, and the bright-eyed squirrel, discussing his last and most delicious nut, getting a great fright (at the discover)7 of such purely state affairs), dropped that winterhoarded delicacy, and with a tremendous whisk and flourish of his big, brown, bushy tail, disappeared. The earth was full of those eluding voices that give to nature so much music, the song of the spring, of youth, of hope, the drone and hum of the busy insects, the buzzing of their shining, jewelled, gauzy wings, and down into the dell streamed, with arrogant assertion, a broad band of misty, yellow light, full of ever-restless dancing motes, millions, trillions, motes of gold, bur nished gold, striving, ever striving onwards, onwards, upwards, striving to reach to, and mingle with the bright, though declining, sun.

Presently the ray slanted, touching with radiance the head of a young girl, half hidden in the arms of a man. " Well, it's good-bye, your Royal Highness, Queen of the dusky fairies, tawny Titania, farewell ! ' Good-bye, darling,' as Paolo Tosti has it, ' Good-bye for ever ! ' " The speaker was an ardent lover, punctua ting every sentence with a kiss. The girl threw her arms round his neck passionately and lifted up her face. " Oh, Ross, dear Ross, I cannot let you go, I cannot live without you." " Well, then, come, oh, maiden fair, come, oh, sweetheart mine, come with me over the sea," and he kissed her pretty ear. " I dare not— I—" " Nanny," rang out loud and clear, a young, but rather shrewdish voice. The man hurriedly removed the clinging arms, and going swiftly, silently, up the grassy side of the dell, vanished.

The girl gave a sharp, impatient turn, and threw herself on the mossy7 ground. " Nan — Nan-nie ! " It began on the tonic, touched the dominant, and finished on the octave. " Nan — Nan-nie ! Oh, there you are ! " and down through the trees peeped an elfish, childish face. Two skinny, young hands were put up to a rather large mouth, and the voice called through them in a loud whisper, " Old 3 B Mills, says, when you've quite done with the ' Neotropical Vegetation,' she'll take it, if you please." " Bosh ! " says the girl, " there it is," throwing it. The messenger tore down the path, double quick time. " Oh, what a jolly lark," says the imp, jumping with glee. " Why, you've been crying. I'll tell old Mills, and she'll tell mother and — " " Oh, you will, will you," says Nannie, sitting up. " Come here."

The unsuspecting infant travelled gaily towards the avenger, who, with malicious swiftness, caught her, first by the pinafore, then by the hair. " How dare you say, Old Mills ! Miss Mills, and I've not been crying, and take that, and that, and that ! " and she slapped the bare, skinny arms viciously, then thrust her away with such violence that the child, crashing backwards, fell full length into a wilderness of nettles. Now, Elsie's sartorial style was English, very early English. She wore frocks more than short, open-work socks and shoes and straps, and when she fell the nettles had it all their own way. Picking herself up quickly, and covering the smarting arms with her pinafore, she stood over Nannie, white, shaking with passion. " Beast ! " she hissed through her small sharp teeth, " you have been crying, and I will tell old Mills, and " she went on rapidly — breathlessly, " Nurse told Bessie you ' was the Devil's own,' and Bessie said, 'yes, you was a regular oner,' and she see you in the copse with that artist chap, and you had a black woman for a grandmother, and you were sure to come to a bad end, and I'll tell old Mills that — now then !

" Nannie made one grab, but the imp with a fiendish "Yah, I'll tell— I'll tell— I'll tell," fled up the path, and fell into the arms of a boy about twelve. " Of course you'll tell, you tow-headed skunk ! " said he, shaking her till her teeth chattered, and her breath came in little jerky gasps. " Lemme go," she panted, and spit in his face. "Tell tale tit ! (shake) yer tongue shall be slit (shake). You dare tell of Nannie," here he lowered his voice to a blood-curdling whis per, " and I'll dip you — into the Black Pool — at night — when its dark — once (shake) twice (shake) three (terrific sustained final effort) times. There, stop snivelling — where's the ' Vegetation ' ? Hand it over. Old Mills is in a devil of a wax." And off he flew, flourishing the book to the lovely refrain of " Tell tale tit — yer tongue shall be slit."

And Elsie, after throwing a nice sharp flint at his head which being cast with truly feminine precision, went right over her own, realized that justice is unequally distributed in this world, and sitting down in the grass, looked at her legs all white and blistered with nettle stings, and lifted up her voice and howled with an exceeding great howl, and brought on old Mills' nervous sick headache. b

Chapter II

Antoinette, or Nannette, or Nannie Evelyn, was a darling to look at or to lead, but a devil to drive. This was not her fault, it was her inheritance. She was pretty, more than pretty, beautiful, a real brunette with black, shining hair, thick black brows above large expressive brown eyes, and a creamy colourless complexion. The mouth was small — not too small, the lips scarlet, the teeth white, pearly and even — so even — like peas in a pod. Her height was medium, her figure slight, graceful, undulating and corsetless. Her hands and feet were finely modelled and small. She looked what she was, the descendant of a line of semi tropical loveliness. Unfortunately, respect ability (so essential now-a-days) was not the strong point of her immediate progenitors, but one cannot have everything. Her grandmother, the lady alluded to by Bessie, the under-housemaid, was a Spanish Creole of New Orleans, whose circumstances in con tradistinction to her virtue were not easy.

Her grandfather was an Anglo-Saxon from out the Rio Grande way, whose eyes, morals, language and blood were of the bluest. Coming into the Crescent City for the " Mardi gras " and a good time, he saw Pepita, known to her own somewhat extensive and cosmo politan circle as 'Tita, posing in the flaring torchlight, and the procession. Tita did not wear much except her figure, which was superb and had many little fetching ways, some acquired devilries, some natural ones inherited from her father, a tenor chorus singer from La Belle France who never got his salary, and lost his voice but not his looks. The second row of the ballet worshipped him (when not more profitably engaged) but he had finesse and eventually developed into a most successful " Tamale seller." Tita's little ways and more than common beauty bewitched the wandering Saxon, and he swore with many and variegated oaths that he adored her, that for him she was the Queen of the World (a trifle florid, perhaps, but the lady liked it), and so she was, for at least three months, at the end of which period the lordly filibuster " vamoosed."

And when the woman came to her time the baby lived, but Tita cetat sixteen died, died bad friends with Holy Church too, died, poor child ! body and soul. She horrified dear deaf old Father St. Germain, for the only con solation she craved was a kiss from the lips of the man she loved. Not getting that, she turned her face to the wall and went out into the shadows alone, silent, impenitent, lost. All this quite broke up Cleopatra, the lady who dressed the ballet at the Opera House. Cleo was black, not " coloured," black as jet The aristocracy of colour is not confined to the Caucasian races. A real black man is proud of his blood and colour distinction. A " coloured pusson " is a compound, " white trash " in the black man's sight is bad, but " yaller trash " is damnation. Cleo was like ebony (when she came along a badly lighted corridor you could only see her teeth) and of a darkness that might be felt.

Spiteful female chattering " coloured society loafing in the hot sun on the Levee " asserted that it had been, often, and boldly declared its opinion that " dat ar Cleo went aroun' ". Now Cleo, who did not pose as a Diana but was a good woman, took the little forsaken ecru coloured orphan and from her own prodigal and black and shining breasts, gave the babe suck and let it live in her heart on equal terms with that Ace of Spades and uncertain of parentage piccaninny7, her own four weeks old Tony. They grew apace, these two, and toddled about, and sprawled their little naked bodies all over the stage. And during the " waits " at rehearsal, the ballet girls drove them round and up and down the " wings," harnessed with ropes of orange blossom and roses, faded glories, left from the previous nights' triumphs of the premiere danseuse.

Then one dreadful day in May, after the season was over, when it was getting warm, about 1050 in the shade, and most people cooked their eggs au naturelle, by simply placing them on the corrugated iron roof, Cleopatra's life, from the combined effects of green apples and fresh cucumbers, went out in four hours and one long shriek. Screaming and motherless Tony was gathered up and carried off by his fathers. But the whitey-brown, half-bred Espagnole cum Saxon " got left," was kicked about (metaphorically) from pillar to post, and lived on melon rinds — dusty and dis carded crackers, and other odds and ends. All day she basked in the hot sun, with the lazy and shining lizards, and at night slept on a bed made of old ballet skirts under the dressing-room table. The rats came out of their holes and looked at her with wide open, bright, astonished eyes.

The nocturnal beetles — as big as mice — stilled their scratchy feet, waved their long antennæ over her, as if in blessing, and the dreadful centipedes, with their hundred hooks, passed over and did no harm. In the autumn there came along a French opera-bouffe troupe, and the prima donna, falling in love with the pretty waif, swore she would adopt her and take her to Europe to be educated. But on arriving in New York, (after months of hard work and travel) she realized that practical philanthropy was a bore. Besides, Mdlle. Fifine found she could not give proper and undivided attention to Madame's pet dog (a recently acquired Chinese, hairless, and very rare one). Cet enfant distracted her. Under these exigeant circumstances, Madame made a present of the child to the manager of a variety show.

And " Toinette " (for so she was called), who could already kick up her tiny brown legs and sing a Boulevard chanson eccen trique, full of double entendre, went into the " dives " and " sing songs " and stood on a table, and did a little Creole dance, which from the entire absence of anything approach ing grace or decency, proved most entertaining to the audience. And life to this successful baby became one long dream of candy, pop-corn, and pea-nuts. Time went on and Toinette graduated with high honours at " Niblo's," where under the name of " La Mariposa " (the butterfly) and the protection of a financial " Power," she appeared in the spectacle as " Eve." And true to the traditions, coming down from the originator of the part, played the mischief with the young Adams in the Parquet. And with the old ones too, for that matter.

She had a spicy speciality — no clothes to speak of — and sent all New York raving. One day there came along a young English man, who fell head over heels in love with her at first sight. He went one better than the Trans-Atlantic Johnnies, and asked her plump and plain to marry him, and she, poor blase woman of the world, aged sixteen, jumping at the chance of any change, nestled into the kindest bosom, and close to the noblest heart that ever beat. And for a whole year her life was a Paradise. They travelled all over Europe, avoiding only England, and then, at Rome, she repeated mamma's little coup in the maternal line. She gave to her husband a baby girl — and died, which, under the circumstances, was perhaps the most prudential course she could pursue. For there is no doubt her antecedents were not exactly the thing for the county families.

Not but what there were faults on both sides, for the local Jos kins said " Squire Evelyn's gram-mur wor a wicked old wumman." As a matter of fact she was rather in advance of her times, bought her own horseflesh, wore top boots and breeches under her habit — anybody who had once " put her up" would swear to that — and was always in " the first flight." The story -went that the Devil came one night while she was writing invitations for next Sunday's card party, and, giving an extra flourish to his tail, carried her off on the end of his three-pronged fork in a flame of " foire." The poor lady was certainly burnt to death, and the village could not resist throwing in his Satanic Majesty as an effective " property." The Squire brought his little baby home, and aster a bit, forgetting his Creole wife, married a respectable English gentlewoman, with drab hair, lots of money, and a hard and cruel mouth.

She bore him a boy, handsome and debon naire, and fair, like his father, then a girl, spiteful and drab like herself. And Squire Evelyn died and was buried with his fore fathers. And his wife reigned in his stead.

Chapter III

Evelyn was a village in the Midlands, three miles from a railway station and thirty miles from London. Evelyn Royal was a delightful two-storeyed old country house, quite square, built of white stone, battle mented and turreted, covered with ivy, and altogether quaint and out of the common. It stood in the midst of lovely gardens, on the level, with no steps or terraces. Entering by the centre door, formidable and heavy, made of black oak and studded with big iron bosses, one found oneself in what had been an immense hall, but what was now a billiard room. The four windows (diamond-paned) looking south, were recessed and fitted with nice comfortable settees, flirting corners, curtains, and cushions. The furniture in stamped leather bore the Evelyn cognizance. In the huge open fireplace, a fire of logs burned nearly all the year round.

On each side, in the chimney corner, was a broad oaken settle. There one could sit, toast one's toes, get smoke dried, and watch the game — all at the same time. Bending forward and looking up the wide chimney, out and beyond the grey smoke, one could see a streak of blue sky, or if at night, sometimes a twinkling star. When it rained the drops came down, and spit and spluttered on the red logs, making much steam and sus-sing. But the logs sent forth rays of startled white light to do battle with the intruder, and the rain ran away, ran down on the hearth, in tired, dirty tears, and was presently ignominiously absorbed into the housemaid's mop. From the billiard-room a door on the right led into the drawing-room, a lovely, large, reposeful room, with a painted ceiling — fat cupids in pale pink tints driving with pale blue ribbon reins doves in French grey ditto.

The walls were panelled in white and gold. The plate glass French windows — there were four, two to the south and two to the east — were hung with white and gold brocade. In the summer, with white frilled muslin and soft silk. The furniture was old-fashioned and comfortable ; nice wide sofas and low easy chairs, upholstered in yellow brocade. At the side of each window were huge Chinese vases of potpourri, filling the place with a somewhat musty environment which was considered quite the thing. There were curious and antique cabinets filled with old and choice Sevres, Wedgwood and Chelsea ware. On the broad mantel ugly little china dogs with large spots on most unlikely places, stood cheek by jowl with ivory miniatures or Bohemian and Venice glass. Over it was a huge oval mirror in white and gold, which, leaning forward at a becoming angle, displayed one's figure full length to the greatest advantage.

On the walls at equal distances were six small oval mirrors, with branches for wax candles. When they were all lighted, thirty-six candles, six to each mir ror. In the space between each two mirrors hung a Bartolozzi etching. The fireplace, lined and paved with white tiles, was furnished with antique brass dogs and hand-irons. At one side hung a curious pair of small brass bound bellows, at the other stood an open brass-work basket filled with carefully cut and fragrant pine logs. The carpet was thick, and soft, with a white ground, on which life like tiny rosebuds and forget-me-nots sprang up under one's feet. Broad-striped red and yellow sun blinds shaded the long windows, and through these the light and sun came, c YOUNG MRS. STAPLES filtered in soft and tender tones. Opposite the windows (and not too far from the fire in the winter) stood a magnificent Erard grand piano.

Opening from the billiard-room, on the left hand side, was the breakfast-room, a corner one, with four windows, two south, two west, and a double glass door opening out under the verandah into the garden. Next to this, looking west, the dining-room. Opposite, and next the drawing-room, was a broad oak staircase, with old oak balustrades, and lighted on the first landing with a stained glass window. There were two flights, up which, as the saying is, one might drive a coach and four. Next the staircase, looking east, was the library, study and business room of Mrs. Evelyn. The kitchens and outhouses were an ex tension of the north end of the house, from which another staircase led to the servants' rooms. Mrs. Evelyn's bed and dressing rooms were in the centre, over the billiard-room. and from her windows were delightful views of the level pastoral country.

Looking to the left, one could see the Evelyn Woods stretching far, far away, fading into the distance. To the right of Mrs. Evelyn's was Nannie's room, the French windows of which opened to the balcony and verandah, running along the west side of the house. To the left were the apartments of Miss Mills ; the schoolroom, the spare bed and sitting rooms, and Tom's and Elsie's. The garden was lovely ; a rose garden, hundreds of standards with half a dozen different roses on each stock ; creeping roses, red roses, pink roses, tea roses, white roses, blush roses, yellow roses, roses climbing over trellises and peeping through chinks, rose bushes, with clusters of bloom hanging in profuse and exquisite confusion, moss roses, cabbage roses, damask roses, tall roses, short roses, dwarf roses, China roses.

Never was seen so many roses. The air was heavy with their perfume. Come out of the sun, down the path to the right. This is the Wilderness ; a big clump of tall pine trees, growing so close together that their brown, rough sides scratch one's shoulders as you press through. It is always dark, and cool, and shadowy here. The ground is covered with cones and spines, and cocoa-nut fibre looking stuff, that falls from the trees. And as we walk, crushing them beneath our feet, they send up a delicious, C 2 YOUNG MRS. STAPLES sharp, acrid, pungent, piney, invigorating perfume. In the centre of the plantation is an open space, and a great heap of rose leaves, the faded, fallen beauties of the garden. Every morning they are gathered up and brought here to be presently laid in the sun and dried. Out through a little iron gate into the meadows the grass is deep, and thick, and green, and cool.

Why, one can smell the cows. And trotting close up, comes old Black Daisy. She stops and regards one with large, soft, serious, melting eyes, and rubs her wet nose (an extra wet nose) and soft velvety muzzle all over one's nice fresh muslin frock. " Get away, nasty thing ! No, no apple this morning ! " What a reproachful look ! She sniffs and sniffs, and breathes an audible and big, and damp, and warm, and balmy, and percussive sigh, right into one's face, then arranging her tail in a position at once perpendicular, defiant, uncomfortable, and unbecoming, kicks up her heels, lowers her head, " Moos," and gallops away in disgust.

Chapter IV

On the morning after the nettle episode, Mrs. Evelyn sat at the breakfast table, munching dry toast and reading a letter. The envelope lay beside her cup, and the post-mark was ' New Orleans." " Have had no success as yet, every trace of the people wanted is lost. You see it is so long ago — more than thirty years. But the case will be left in good hands, for I, myself, am coming home almost directly. When I think of the amount of business to be got through before the ' eventful ' da}-, I know the sooner I am at Staplestowe the better." Mrs. Evelyn gave the bell a sharp dab with the palm of her hand. " Tell Miss Evelyn if she does not come down at once the breakfast will be removed," said she, in her most acid tone. " Yes'm," replied the smart and chippy looking maid. Elsie was busy discussing the morning ■!0 meal, her mouth was covered with egg and a most wonderful giggling expression.

She sniffed and snorted joyously, like the Scriptural war-horse when he scented the battle afar off. And any curious person looking beneath the table would have seen her fidgeting one foot over the other in expectation. A book, " French conversation," was beside her plate. " What are you making those horrid noises for ? What's the matter ? " asked Mrs. Evelyn, turning on her sharply. " Nothing, ma," said Elsie, with a gulp, dropping her eyes, and nearly falling into her cup. " I hope you're getting on with your French. Where are you now ? " " Avez vous vu ma soeur ? " says Elsie, with a convulsion, and a great cloud of egg and bread crumbs and tea flew all over Mrs. Evelyn's inquiring face. " Dirty child ! leave the room directly ! " " Please'm," said Mary, " Miss Evelyn his hout." " Out ?

" " Yes'm, ever since six'm. Bessie says Miss Evelyn has been out hevery mornin' at six'm, for the last munth'm." " Indeed. Well, when she returns tell her to come to me in the morning-room." " Yus'm." " And Elsie— But Elsie had fled. Mrs. Evelyn, as previously intimated, was a drab lady. She had a drab complexion and drab hair (plenty of it), drab eyes, drab lashes, rather thick, drab brows, rather thicker, her lips were drab and thin, the upper lip long, offensively so, her mouth large and decided, the teeth white, strong, and even. She had very white hands, large, plump, and dimpled. They were always cold, and, like a stale fish, damp and flabby. Her hair, plainly braided in front, was knotted at the back, and her " Angot " cap was decorated with a drab bow. She wore a drab dress, simply made, but fitting to perfection, the figure was full, the prominent and well-shaped bust suggesting possibilities that did not seem to agree with these drab environments.

Mrs. Evelyn had been the heiress of a good deal of bourgeoise-made manufacturing money. Mr. Evelyn was physically a very handsome man. The heiress liked a physically hand some man. Though her colouring was neutral, her inclinations were not. So she came to Evelyn Royal, and many mortgages were lifted from the land. Mrs. Evelyn stood at the glass door, looking out into the garden, her eyes were on the roses, but her mind was on Nannie, and as she nervously tapped her white teeth with the perfectly kept nail of the dexter finger of the white and flabby and large right hand, a dead straight and deep line developed down the centre of the forehead. " That girl is up to some devilment, I know it— I—" There was a slight noise, and Mrs. Evelyn, turning, saw Nannie sitting at the table, eating. She had apparently been crying her eyes out, but her appetite was intact.

" Disgusting ! " said Nannie. " The tea's cold, I shall ring for some more." " I forbid it," her stepmother struck the table violently and the drab eyes began to darken. " How dare you behave like this ! " " Like what ? " answered Nannie, hotly and insolently. " Where have you been every morning for a month at six o'clock ? " The girl looked straight and defiantly at her attacker, then knocked off the top of a cold egg before she answered, slowly and impertinently, " Oh, out, you know, through the copse, down in the dell, and, oh, heaps of places. To the keepers, to see the young birds — Mrs. Brown, the keeper's wife, has the loveliest baby, dark and all woolly down its back, and its eyes are open, and it coos, and coos, and coos, and, I'm going to knit it a pair of wool shoes. And, that's about all, I think.

Of course, it's beastly damp, so early, but somehow, I can't lie in bed." During this scattered information Mrs. Evelyn had been, vulgarly speaking, " boil ing." " Well, understand me perfectly, you will do this no more." " No ? " said Nannie, who was getting on with her breakfast. " Why ? " " Why ? — because I will not have you gadding about all over the county at unseemly hours. I have no confidence in you, do you hear ? " Nannie nodded — her mouth was full. " I — know your stock ! " " Really," observed Nannie, with noncha lance, and peppering her egg. " Perhaps it would be better if you had a little more information as to your own." " Don't be impertinent," said Mrs. Evelyn, violently. " Behave yourself, if not for your own sake, for the sake of John Staples — he is coming home." There was a perceptible change in the girl's face.

The usual pale tint went paler. " When ? " asked she with indifference. " Almost immediately. And why have you been crying ? you are a perfect fright ! " " It does me good," was the reply. " I'm so happy, you know." " Well, I will not allow any more of these morning wanderings in the woods." " Why, what have I done ? " began the girl, stormily. "Nothing," said her stepmother, "that is nothing that I know of. But," she went on slowly, " you come of a bad lot, your low mother — " " Stop ! " thundered Nannie, and flying to her feet, stood glaring at Mrs. Evelyn like a young panther. " How dare you, you wicked woman. Oh, my mother ! my dear, darling, dead mother ! " Then she collapsed in a whirlwind of sobs, and cries, and storms, and tears. Down went her head on the table. " Oh, I'm so miserable, I wish I was dead, I will go away — away to Sheba — and as for John Staples — ," she stood up, and in her eyes was a red and angry light, " I hate him !

" And she swept out of the breakfast room with a portentous and Siddons-like air, knocking down a chair, and slamming the door behind her with noise and effect. This latter part of the outbreak astonished and scandalized Mrs. Evelyn very much indeed. For Miss Evelyn was engaged to be married to Captain John Staples, of the 4th Dragoon Guards, Lord of the Manor of Staplestowe, one of the oldest names in England, with lots of money, a house in town, and probably a box at the opera, with horses and carriages and family diamonds — hand some too — and worshipping the ground that Nannie walked on.