Severed by a Ring. A novel

Front matter

SEVERED BY A RING. .a Jlourl. IN TWO VOLUMES. BY FRANCES GERALDINE SOUTHERN, AUTHOR OF "GWYNEDD." " Love rules the Court, the Camp, the Grove, And Men below aud Paints above. For Love is Heaven and Heaven is Love." —Scott. VOL. I. 2. on o on: REMINGTON AND CO., 5, Arundel Street, Strand, W.C. .877. CONTENTS A Room in Fulham. A Boudoir in Belgrave Square. Not Quite Unknown. A Woman with a Secret. A Soldier with a Cross. A Father or not a Father? Uncertain, coy, and hard to please A Homeless Infant. Put to the Test. Suspect still comes. Maiden Meditation — Fancy Free. The First Kiss. Dark and Ominous Words. An Unseen VV itch er. By the Lone Lake. A Midnight Reconciliation. Is the Moonlight. Love is Blind. A Stolen Meeting. Glad Ti di ngs. Expecting \n Emb vssage. Men were Deceivers Ever.

Chapter I

A ROOM IN FULHAM. " Wanted immediately, a respectable person as maid to a young lady. Must be a good hair dresser and have a knowledge of dressmaking. — Apply by letter, stating age, wages, etc., to Miss Danvers, No. , Belgrave Square." " Why shouldn't I apply for the place. I can do what is required, and more. Indeed Mrs. Power thought me very clever at my work, and she was most particular ; oh, what a fool I was to leave such a good home ! Ah, well, as I have made my bed so I must lie, I suppose. But, VOL. I. B dear, dear, this paper is already several days old, the situation must be filled by now, and I have lost a good chance, perhaps, through not going for this work before. Oh, what a weary world it is ! — all cloud and no sunshine — at least such has been my lot, though, I daresay, the lady who is advertising for a maid, and who lives in such a grand part, thinks life very pleasant and enjoyable, and scarcely knows what sorrow and poverty mean.

Perhaps if I could live with her I might find rest — oh, how sweet it sounds — rest after this eternal stitching, that barely brings me in enough to live upon. Yes, I am deter mined. I will do it — I won't lose any time ; I'll apply, but in person, and this very day, if possible, but — shall I be required to give a character from my late mistress? if so, can I get one? No! two years ago I might have, but not now, not now." Thus musing, a young woman pushed the torn paper from her and lay back in her wooden SEVERED by a ring. arm chair and gazed for several minutes at the black, dingy ceiling above her head, whilst tears rolled down her pale cheeks. She was quite youthful in appearance, tall, slim and delicate looking, with mournful eyes and pretty, wavy auburn hair. Her face was one that would be noticed for its sweetness and re finement, but across her square, low forehead ran deep lines of anxious care, which seemed strangely out of keeping with her juvenile countenance.

She had experienced early — that which must come to all sooner or later — sorrow. That was her portion, and she had to bear it alone, with no loving hand to lighten her cares or help her to support them. A year ago she had sought a home in a tiny room over a small grocer's shop in Fulham. At first the mistress of the house, by name Mrs. Bowen, had refused to take her in, judging by her appearance that she would be neither a lucra tive nor very creditable tenant. She was softhearted, however, and so the forlorn woman's entreaties had overweighed Mrs. Bowen 's scruples, and she had received her as a lodger, under the name of Mrs. Prince. Various doubts had arisen during the past year in Mrs. Bowen's mind concerning the former life of this mys terious woman, but she had been unable to find out anything, except that Anna Prince had once been maid to a Mrs. Power, a very rich lady, residing in Dublin.

Tbe cause of her leaving that place was, however involved in mystery, much to Mrs. Bowen's annoyance. Anna's musings were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, followed by the entrance of her landlady carrying a small jug of milk. Placing it on the table with a bang, she seated herself opposite Mrs. Prince, and asked anxiously, as she looked at the dirty and empty grate, " shall you be wanting any fire to-night? I suppose so, but I hope you don't forget that last week's coal is'nt paid for ? " "No," replied Anna, "I can do without fire for the weather is warmer now. I think I shall be able to pay your bill in a day or two, for I shall take this work to the shop soon, and then I shall have some money. By the bye, did the postman bring any letter for me ? " " Not likely or I should have brought it you before this ; did you expect a line from him, my dear."

" I don't know who you mean by him, and it's no business of yours who my letters are from." " No, to be sure, you're quite right there, but — ah, that's the bell, so I must go — good day." So saying, fat, uncouth Mrs. Bowen left the room, and went down to the shop, over which Anna lodged. The single apartment which constituted the lone woman's home, was dark and bare, a table, a chair, a stool and a camp-bedstead, formed the chief part of the furniture. Here and there the blank walls were enlivened by pictures from "The Graphic," " The Illustrated London News," etc., which she had collected when in Dublin. Thanks to Mrs. Bowen's influence, Anna Prince had obtained employment in needle-work, from various shops in the neighbourhood, but everyone can imagine how many thousand stitches the weary fingers must make to earn daily bread, and Anna had found it a hard struggle to live.

The past severe winter had tried her greatly, and a long, dangerous illness had exhausted the little money she had been able to save from her earn ings, so nothing but starvation stared her in the face. On returning this morning with fresh work from a shop, she had caught sight of the advertisement, with which this chapter commences, on the half-sheet of " The Times," in which the sewing had been wrapped, and she now made up her mind to go and see Miss Danvers. With this determination she took out her thin, black shawl and shabby chip bonnet, and was just arranging herself more carefully than usual before her glass, when a feeble cry came from the low bed in the corner ; it was an infant's cry, and at tbe sound, the mother forgot her toilet, her intended journey — everything — and clasping her baby in her arms, she seated herself on the straw mattress, and rocked the fretful child for more than an hour, whilst she sang snatches of the sweetest songs, sounds that were little in keeping with her miserable surroundings.

At length the tiny being fell asleep, so Anna wrapped it warm in their single blanket, and laid her boy upon the bed, and put on her bonnet to go out. What a sad young face it was that the cracked glass reflected for an instant, as she smoothed her glossy hair, before starting on what seemed a strangely hopeless errand. Casting a loving look towards the bed to see thut her baby was fast asleep, she crept noise lessly from the room down to the shop below, and accosted Mrs. Bowen, with — " I am going out for a few hours ; would you please to let your daughter look after baby, he is sleeping now, but I'm afraid he'll wake soon." " Yes, yes, Jane shall nurse him, so make your mind easy, and take care of yourself where ever you are going, for you are too pretty to tramp the streets alone." " Oh, no one will molest me.

Good-by, per haps I shall have some good news to tell you when I come back." With a nod and smile, Anna was gone, and Mrs. Bowen turned to her husband, saying — "Mark my words, she's had news of him; I saw it in her face." " I'll lay a wager that you're wrong, vise ; she's after more sewing — she can't have many friends, or they wouldn't leave her all a'.one here, and never come near her." " Well, anyhow, I hope the poor young th n^ will be as lucky as she thinks, for I'm uncom monly fond of her, poor dear." With which burst of feeling Mrs. Bowen sat down to cast up some accounts, and Mr. Bowen stood at the shop door in his large white apron, ready to welcome any purchaser that might come his way. Anna, meanwhile, sped on towards Belgrave Square, hoping, against hope, that she might be enabled to procure the situation of lady's maid, for which she was about to apply.

Visions of a comfortable home, good living, etc., rose before her, and, once again, her past life in Dublin flashed through her mind.. She saw herself as a young girl — disowned — uncared for — taken by a kind mistress and taught, tended, cared for, with few if any troubles, and then she saw a handsome, happy face bending over her, breath ing words of love, and, as the dear features came back to her memory, a stifled sob escaped her, but her face glowed with pleasure at the recollec tion, till the omnibus conductor's voice rudely broke the thread of her dream, and stepping out on to the platform — life — in its stern reality, came to her in its stead. Taking her way on foot to Belgrave Square, Anna planned all possible and impossible means of finding a home for her child,, with whom she knew she must part, if she were lucky enough to succeed in her errand.

The thought of that separation crushed her, but it was irrevocable, she must give up her child — his — the only re maining token of her short-lived joy. She wondered whether Mrs. Bowen would undertake the responsibility of her boy; she dared not build her hopes on this, for her landlady had little idea of the gentle care so young an infant needed, and was, besides, wholly bound up in her grocery stores. Where could she leave her child? How could she engage herself as maid to Miss Danvers, with a baby on her hands ? The advertisement, too, clearly said — " Wanted immediately" — the thing was impos sible — she must return to her wretched home ; these insurmountable obstacles had not occurred to her at first, she had been all eagerness to gain a living more easily than by plain sewing, and had forgotten to count the cost before setting off.

So she turned homewards, and walked a short distance back, when the remembrance of the misery that she had endured throughout the last year came so vividly to her mind, that again she turned, and this time set her face steadily towards Belgrave Square to meet her fate.

Chapter II

A BOUDOIR IN BELGRAVE SQUARE. "Madeleine, I'm going out for a short time; do you want anything ?" The speaker was a tall, pompous man, who had just entered his niece's boudoir, hat in hand, and stood waiting her reply. " No, thank you. Shall you be back to lunch ?" " Yes — at least — I can't tell — anyhow, don't wait for me, I'm going to call on Colquhoun. I hear he's in town — oh, don't forget to write to Lady Dugdale, and accept her invitation for the 30th." " Yes, I'll do so for you, but I would rather not go. I don't like Lady Dugdale; she is too patronising." " What nonsense, Madeleine ; I'm sure she's always most polite to us." " Oh, because you happen to be rich, but I'll go if you particularly want me to. I don't care much, one way or the other, and I fancy I am a match for her." " I think you would be for any one, and that reminds me that I must be off to look up Sir Gerald Colquhoun ; he's a rich baronet, my dear, with a famous rent roll ; he'd be a match for you, that I should be proud of."

" Thank you, uncle, for the hint. I shall, however, choose for myself, so don't set your heart on my marrying this or any other baronet until you know my feelings on the subject." " Feelings — sentimental humbug ! As you get older, you'll find it's best to have none ; at least, no tender ones; but I will leave you to answer the numerous letters that I see on your davenport. You seem to have a large correspon dence, by the by." " I have ; so shall be glad to be alone." " Good-by, then, for the present ; I shall be back for certain to take you in the Park." " Oh, don't trouble ; I can exist one day with out the Park." " Do as you please, then," said Mr. Brantley, as he left the room, and closing the door with a bang, at the sound of which, Madeleine Danvers gave a sigh of relief. She was an orphan, with a comfortable fortune of her own, inherited from her parents, and had, since she left school a year ago, resided with her mother's brother, Mr. Brantley.

Everything that wealth could procure was at her command, but still she was not contented. In the perpetual whirl of gaiety in which her days were spent she lacked something. Life with her seemed very pleasant, but so superficial — so empty — a round of balls, dinners, theatres, etc. ; and her soul craved for something nobler, higher ; some greater aim for which to live. She knew that her worldly-minded uncle was bent on her making a grand marriage, to add honour and eclat to his family, which had only lately risen to any importance in society. A few generations back, his people had been poor shop keepers in a small country town, but through industry ancl perseverance, had gradually risen to a higher grade, and Mr. Brantley, the head ofthe family, knew and felt that he stood on a lofty pedestal, as one of the richest stockbrokers.

No wonder, then, that as he walked forth this morning, his air was pompous, and his manner more condescending than usual to his poorer brethren. He had set off to call on a rich baronet with whom he was slightly acquainted, but whom he was resolved, if possible, to secure as a husband for his niece. Madeleine stood at the window till he was out of sight, then sat down in a large arm chair by the fire, with her lap full of unopened letters — answers to her advertisement. Crossing her daintily-shod feet on the marble fender, she read them one by one, dropping the unsuitable into the blaze. Three or four only remained, of the numerous applications, that seemed at all likely to suit, and these she tossed on to a table near, and closing her eyes, soon forgot about them. A smile now and then flitted over her face, as it lay on the satin cushion of her chair.

Was it a dream ? or did the remembrance of some youthful love steal over her imagination? Impossible to tell ; but whatever thoughts or visions filled her mind, they were most certainly bright ones. Life with her was only just beginning, and so far, had seemed pleasant. She had tasted its sweets in abundance — the bitters lay before her ! In happy ignorance of this, she slumbered on, until the clock on the mantlepiece striking twelve, awoke her. She rose from her resting place and sat down at her desk to write. Soon several letters lay ready addressed before her, ancl this duty clone, she took up a new novel, and leaning her head on her hand, read steadily for more than half-an-hour. It was a handsome, happy girl that the mirror on the wall reflected — classically shaped head, round which were coiled elaborate plaits of reddy golden hair, resting on a white, jewelled hand, and a small and graceful figure, clothed in a simple morning dress.

The eyes alone were hidden, for they were bent upon the absorbing book ; but as the door opened to admit a foot man, they too, were reflected in the glass — large and clear, of the softest brown, fringed by long, dark lashes. Madeleine turned half round on her chair as the servant approached to tell her that a young woman wished to see her. "Who is she, Fowler? Didn't you ask her name ?" vol. i. c " Yes, Miss ; but she declined to give any, merely asking me to tell you that she had come to offer herself as maid to you." " Oh, if that's all, you can tell her that I'm not at home ; I can't trouble to see her, she must write." The footman was just leaving the room, when Madeleine relenting, said — " Stay ; I think I may as well speak to her, perhaps she has come a long way ; show her up." The door closed, and Madeleine resumed her reading, but only for a few minutes, for soon the woman was ushered into her presence.

Madeleine, seated comfortably in her chair, leant back with her hands folded listlessly on her lap, whilst Anna Prince — for it was she — stood before her. " I hear you have come to apply for a maid's place," said Madeleine, at length. " Why did you not write, as directed?" " Because, ma'am, I only saw your advertise ment to-day, and I was afraid if I wrote that I might be too late to have a chance of getting it." " What can you do ? — have you been used to arrange hair well, are you a good dress-maker, have you been out before ?" " Yes, ma'am. My last mistress thought me very clever with my hands, and she was a very fashionable lady, and most particular." " Indeed ! and who may she have been, and why did she part with you 'when you gave her such satisfaction?" " She did not dismiss me, I left of my own accord, expecting to do better for myself, but I found out my mistake when too late.

The lady's name was Mrs. Power, and she lived in Dublin." " Can you give me her address ?" " No, ma'am, she's left that house I've heard lately, and gone lo India with her husband, who is in the army." a When did you leave her service ?" "A year and a half ago." " What have you been doing since then ?" A scarlet flush spread over Anna's face at these words, but she answered calmly — ■ " Earning my living by sewing." " Where have you been lodging ?" "At a grocer's shop in Fulham." " Fulham — oh, what a horrid part ! Why didn't you go out to service again ?" " I couldn't." " But why not ? I cannot engage you without knowing all about you." "I couldn't go because I was married." " Married ! Oh, then you won't do for me." As she said this, Madeleine laid her hand on the bell, but Anna stepped forward hastily, and, in a trembling tone, pleaded — " Don't send me away yet, ma'am, please listen to my story.

I am separated from my husband, but through no fault of mine, and I am left with a young child, a boy, alone in the world. I have worked night and day to support myself, but have been ill since my baby was born, and am without any money at present. I saw your notice in 'The Times' this morning, and, somehow, I felt that help was at hand, and that, perhaps, I might resume my old trade. Oh, ma'am, take pity on me ! give me a trial, you sliall never, never have cause to repent doing so." " But your child ? — what is to become of it ? I cannot possibly have it here." " Oh no, of course not ; I will arrange that." " Stop though ! How am I to know that your tale is true — that you are really a married woman. What is your husband's name ?" " That you must kindly excuse my telling, he wishes it kept a secret — but here is the warrant that my words are correct," and, drawing off her cotton glove, Anna Prince stretched out her thin hand to Madeleine, and on it shone a wedding ring.

" Yes, yes, my good woman, I see that, but it's easy to get a ring, and, slipping it on your finger, say you are married." " I'll wish you good morning then, ma'am, as you don't believe me," said Anna, as her eyes filled with indignant tears. " Don't be in a hurry," came from Madeleine, in slow, unconcerned tones, " it's ridiculous of you to get offended so soon. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but you must know that few people would credit your story at once ; however, I feel inclined to giye you a trial, if you can furnish me with one or two references. Where do your parents live ?" " I don't know who they are. I am a Found ling, and only left the Hospital to go to Mrs. Powers. There is but one person who would say a good word for me, and that is my lodging-housekeeper, Mrs. Bowen."

" Oh, I don't think that would be very valu able," said Madeleine, with a slight sneer ; "but tell me, is your husband living in London, and what is his trade." " He is not in trade, he is a gentleman, and was in Dublin when last I heard. I cannot tell you more." "Never mind ! I'll give you a month's trial, and we will settle about wages if you suit me ; but remember, your former life is to be kept a secret from your fellow servants, in order that my maid may be respected — for they might put false and disagreeable constructions on your words ancl actions." " But I cannot take off my ring, ma'am. I cannot pass as a single woman." " Ah, I forgot that — well, say as little as possible about yourself, and don't mention the child." " I will be very cautious." " What is your name, by the by. I quite forgot to ask."

" Anna." " But your surname ?" " I will, if you please, go by my maiden name •Prince." " As you choose, it's of no consequence to me ! I shall require you to enter on your duties in a week's time, my present maid leaves me then. So you must get rid of your child, or put it out to nurse, in fact, do something with it before you come." " Yes, ma'am, I will, and thank you very much for your kindness. You would, I am sure, feel repaid could you but realise the happiness that you have shed on my life. I will be here this day week, and God grant that you may never regret taking me into your service." " Thank you. Good morning." With a low curtsey, Anna Prince left the boudoir, and returned to Fulham.

Chapter III. Not Quite Unknown

Two o'clock had just struck when Mr. Brantley returned to luncheon. Seating himself opposite his niece, at table, he said — " I've seen Sir Gerard Colquhoun, and I find he's going to Lady Dugdale's ball. I shall ask him to dine with us this week, so that you may know him before the dance. He has promised to go with us, and it will look well to enter the ball-room with him, he is so known about town, and so sought after." " For my part I don't care for borrowed honour. I much prefer to be received on my own merit, and I think I'm pretty sure of a warm welcome, for Lady Dugdale, I fancy, imagines that I would gladly lay my small fortune down in return for the hand of her crazy younger son." "Indeed, she is mightily mistaken then. I expect you to do better than that, and, if you play your cards well, I'm sure you may."

" I wish you wouldn't talk of my marriage as ifit were a mere question of rank, or money. I shall never marry for anything but love." " Oh, my dear, every girl says that when she first comes out, but ninety-nine out of a hundred marry without it. Be quick and dress if you have finished, for I've ordered the carriage to be here in an hour's time to drive in the Park. We may see Sir Gerard there." " What an excitement. I shall be ready soon, but, oh, I am nearly tired out ; when shall we go down to the country ?" "Not yet — it's impossible — leave town the middle of May !— it can't be done; we must stay for six weeks more at least. Oh, have you engaged a fresh maid ? If not, I hope you'll do so before the 30th." " I have already done so — her name is Anna Prince." "Anna Prince '."exclaimed Mr. Brantley, with a start ; " where does she come from ?"

"From Fulham. Why does her name sur prise you ? Do you know anything of her ?" " My dear girl, what an absurd question to ask! How should I know your new maid? Is she young ?" " She is young, pretty and married." " Married ! — am I to have the husband as valet, then ?" " No, he won't trouble us. Prince comes this day week." " Oh, it's of no consequence to me," said Mr. Brantley, trying — but in vain — to appear un concerned. " I was simplyanxious that you should look your best at the ball." Madeleine here left him to prepare for her drive, and when, later on, she took her seat in the carriage beside her uncle, he might be for given for smiling so proudly on her, considering how remarkably well she was looking. They had driven slowly up and down Hyde Park for some time, when Mr. Brantley, catching sight of a long-looked-for figure riding in The Row, called Madeleine's attention to him, saying — "That's Sir Gerard — there — just opposite on the black horse — see, he is raising his hat."

" I don't admire him particularly ; I think that his companion is far better looking ; do you know who he is ?" " No, not in the least, but I've no doubt that he is some whipper snapper who is making up to Sir Gerard to serve his own ends." " What makes you think that ? I'm sure he looks as if he could hold his own against any body, without help from even Sir Gerard." " Ah, may be. I really didn't notice him. I don't take a fancy to every one I see." " A good thing you don't, for the liking, I fear, would seldom be mutual." " Madeleine, you forget that I am your uncle ; you are rather rude, I think." " Am I ?" As Mr. Brantley's carriage turned out of the Park, Sir Gerard rode out, too, and joined them, saying, as he did so — " What a charming afternoon it is, and how full the Park is ; did you get a good view of the Princess, Mr. Brantley ?"

"Yes, capital — but allow me to introduce you to my niece, Miss Danvers." Madeleine returned Sir Gerard's bow some what stiffly, and lay back in her barouche, apparently unmindful of all around ; but, as a young man joined the Baronet at a sharp trot, and she recognised his former companion, she turned to examine his features more closely, and acknowledged his salutation with the prettiest smile and blush. When they reached home Mr. Brantley pressed both gentlemen to come in, though he sincerely hoped that Captain O'Neil (for such was the name of Sir Gerard's friend) would decline to do so, but he was disappointed, for they both accepted his invitation, and stayed some time. Just before they left Mr. Brantley drew Sir Gerard aside to ask him if he would dine with them in a friendly way the next even ing, and go to the Opera.

"You are very kind, but I'm afraid that I can't do so, for Captain O'Neil is staying with me." )3 " I'm sure we shall be most pleased to see him, too, if he will accompany you," replied the wary stockbroker, in a plausible tone, as he turned towards the young officer, who was already deep in conversation with Madeleine, and said — " I have just been asking Sir Gerard to give us the pleasure of his company to dinner to morrow, and, as he tells me that you are his guest, I shall be charmed if you will also favour us with your society. I have a box at the Opera, and there is a good piece on now, as you doubt less know." " I shall be very pleased to avail myself of your kindness, for I have seen very little in town, as yet; I only came from Dublin yester day." " Then we shall hope to see you both at six, Sir Gerard," said Madeleine, as she shook hands with him.