Northern Roses: a Yorkshire story

Chapter I. Hhhe

summer throughout which Robert Gray was so fully, and often so pleasantly occupied in making ready his future home, was not marked by any other very striking changes in that quiet neighbourhood. It had been expected that the Huntleys would return with the spring to occupy again their large and somewhat desolate-looking mansion. But Lady Huntley was reported to find a lengthened residence at Nice important to her health, and Sir James was easily satisfied with a few hasty visits to England, and now and then a very cursory survey of the premises which he professed to occupy in the VOL. II. B near neighbourhood of Applegarth and Whin field. " Nobody wanted them," old Molly said ; and perhaps the few servants remaining at the Hall were of the same opinion, for they went on in a kind of dreamy way, opening a few windows in the morning, and closing them at night, and giving themselves as little trouble in the gardens and plantations as was consistent with accounts to be rendered of the sale of fruit, and other produce.

In the whole range of the premises nothing looked more deplorable than the stables. The hunters had all been sold, with the exception of two or three turned out to grass, and amongst them was a beautiful young animal, which a celebrated horse trainer had received orders to make ready for the coming winter. Nobody knew why, for Sir James was not likely to use it if at home, and as to the family with their friends spending the winter there, that was a thing quite out of the question. The* young mare, however, was placed under training, and with this exception, the affairs at the Hall remained in statu quo, approaching, as nearly as life could approach, to stagnation. The mossy foun tains dripped upon the lawn, the peacocks screamed on the ivied walls, the jackdaws took possession of the unpeopled tower, and the dog howled for company in the untrodden yard.

People wondered the Huntleys did not take more pleasure in keeping up the place — such a fine old county place as that. " But they were nowt but new-made fowk thersel's. What did they knaw aboot coonty places, and what belonged to real genteel dooins ?" Thus the summer glided on, bringing, perhaps, no greater change than that wrought B2 in the character and modes of thought of one isolated youth, whose life, up to this time, had been one of pensive musings and harm less dreams. To Robert Gray it was one of active and vigorous employment, as well as to his sister, and other relations, whose helping hands were ever at his service. To say that he was perfectly satisfied with the part which his future help-meet took in the businessj was more than anyone would have ventured. Many were vexed enough to see how careless ly Bessy looked upon the preparations for her future home.

But they were accustomed to be vexed with her, and bore such vexation as people bear a chronic disease. Robert alone was never heard to complain. Men seldom do complain under such circumstances ; the vexation touches them too closely. And sometimes, as usual, Bessy was both thoughtful and pleasant, and would say and do what, to those who loved her, made up for a thousand wrong sayings and misdoings. And Robert always forgave her sooner than anyone else, and seemed only to love her better each time that she was forgiven. Happily for him, there had occurred throughout the summer nothing positively vexatious — nothing worse than her frequent visits to the Inglewoods. There had been no exciting events in the neighbourhood — no interesting strangers — in short, nobody to flirt with — not even a young Methodist preacher, for it so happened that a married man was now stationed at that post of duty.

It might be the dearth of excitement generally which had first driven Bessy so fre quently to Norton Cottage. Perhaps she was beginning to tire a little even of that, when it was proposed that she should go from home, and pay a few farewell visits amongst uncles, aunts, and cousins, some residing in York, and others in different parts of the country. The York visit was the most interesting to Bessy, because here her wedding purchases were to be made. It was a great event to see the latest fashions, and make purchases in York. Ridiculously small as might appear the sum of money allowed for this purpose, in the eyes of a modern young lady, to Bessy it was much — so much, that it occupied no in considerable portion of her thoughts in plan ning out, so as to make it reach the extent of her wishes.

The worst was, she must have a new riding-habit, and this article, submitted to the hands of a fashionable habit-maker in York, was no trifling matter. A well-made cloth habit was, in these times an indispensable part of all respectable female equipments. Young women were often married in habits ; and for a day's excursion, or a journey, it was the favourite costume — equally adopted by those who rode on horse back, and those who had never graced a saddle in their lives. For a rider like Bessy, it was, therefore, especially indispensable ; and a superfine blue cloth habit was procured as the first article of her personal outfit. What thoughts Bessy had of the hunting-field during the coming winter, were best known to her self. She was not to be married before early in the following spring, and she saw no reason in the world why the new habit should not do service before that time.

When Bessy returned from her cousinly visits, she found all at home, and in the surrounding neighbourhood especially, " throng," as they called being busy, with an accumulation of work that must be done. There had been all the summer fruit to preserve ; and now there would soon be the autumn fruit to gather in ; and, in addition to other preparations, an endless variety of home made wines to conduct through the various processes of fermentation, bottling, &c. Then there was the autumn ale — strong ale to brew. And all the while both hay and harvest, in their turn, had been going on according to the old-fashioned style of providing for the great body of the workmen in the house, or about the premises. It was the custom to hire additional labourers from a distance at such times. Scotchmen would come and work at the English harvests, and return in time for their own.

Besides which, there were more frequently vagrant Irish, dis banded soldiers, and a great variety of other hands, not always welcomed by the native labourers. Women, children, all spare hands turned out at such times ; and generally all other operations were suspended for the occasion. Not so in the present instance, for chiefly on account of this important marriage, there were early risings, and late under takings, all tending towards the same great event — the first marriage in the two fa milies. In the midst of all this bustle, Bessy would not unfrequently amuse herself upstairs by un folding and examining her late purchases, and especially her habit. She had no excuse at present for bringing it further out into the light of day. Everyone was so busy, there was no one to ride with. Besides which, her father took possession of Pepper to canter about the fields, and inspect the work going on there.

All the other horses on the farm were more or less engaged in carting the produce from the fields. If Bessy had gone out in her habit, she would scarcely have been seen, so great was the urgency of business on every hand, so close the occupation of all, that none would have been at liberty to admire her. Whether it was owing to the weight of his rider, or his own advancing years, certainly Pepper did not get about, Mr. Bell thought, with his accustomed lightness and spirit. Bessy remonstrated against her father's riding him. She was sure he was too heavy, for she also had observed that her old favourite was not quite himself. And one day she appealed to Robert on the subject, saying, with an ex pression of distress in her face, " I wish you would examine my pony for me. I am afraid he has had some kind of strain.

I don't like the go of his near hind \e°." Robert assured her it was nothing but old age. It did not matter much, he said. She would never want him again. He would train the bay colt ready for her before the spring. " But I shall want him again," said Bessy, pouting. " I shall want him all this winter." "How?" asked Robert. "Why, to see the hounds, to be sure." " Nonsense !" said Robert. " Don't be foolish, Bessy. You are not going into the hunting-field this winter." "Yes, but I am." " You are not." " We shall see. And I'm going to ride Pepper, too." "Now, Bessy, do be reasonable. Can't you see that the poor old fellow is fairly worn out? Besides which, I am quite sure you have been growing stouter this summer. You are quite too heavy for that little cock-sparrow, even if he was not on his last legs, and it would be downright cruelty now to ride him as you have done."

" And pray what am I to ride, then ?" " Just nothing at all. You can surely keep at home as other girls do for one winter, and that the last before you are a wife." "But I must ride, and I will. Why, there's my new habit ! Think of what it cost me. Is it to be stuffed away to get moth eaten ? It's an absolute necessity that I ride — and I will ride, too." " I don't think you will," said Robert, with great coolness, as he turned away, feeling perfectly satisfied in his own mind that Bessy would see the impropriety of exhibiting her self in the hunting-field before the time should come. Besides which, he did not intend to allow her to be seen there, but preferred that she should resist the temptation herself, as he never doubted but she would. In the meantime came the shooting. And now the old Major toddled out with his gun, mounted on his white pony.

He had come to live in that neighbourhood, he said, for the sake of the shooting. He described himself as a wonderful shot. But he did not make much out after all, for his hands were shaky, and his eyes saw false, so that the lad who carried his game-bag had a very light duty to perform. Still, he thought it looked like sport, and perhaps felt a little like it too, as he snuffed the autumn air, saw his pointers rushing through the stubble, and heard the firing of other guns to the right and left of him, and met other sportsmen with whom he chatted by the way. There was a little taste of early nature in all this to the old man. And, oh ! if he were but young again, he thought, how he would bring down the birds, and astonish them all ! Bessy was very much in the mind to put on her habit, mount her pony, and ride about with the old gentleman ; but, besides that it might look particular, his style of riding was not to her taste.

Still, as he had never seen her habit — had scarcely seen her on horse back at all — for Pepper had been turned out all the summer — she did dash up to him one day like an Amazon, delighting his enchanted eyes, and drawing from him a perfect flood of delicious compliments, all ending in a sigh. Yes, all ending in a sigh, almost a groan, for he did wish, just then, that he was young again, and could ride with that splendid creature, as he had ridden once, but, oh ! so long ago ! In spite of herself Bessy could not stay pottering beside the white pony and its gouty rider. Her impatience to be off was too yisible, notwithstanding all his flatteries. Her cheek glowed, her eyes flashed as she tossed back her exuberant hair, and at last she darted past, looking back and laughing, and showing her white teeth, and making the old Major feel as if he could yet ride a war-horse, if he had one.

Ride? Yes, to the end of the world, with that young creature by his side. But you have no war horse, Major Ingle wood, and with that young creature you have nothing in the world to do. And you have a gouty foot. You are very old, and very wicked, and you had better go home and say your prayers. As usual with characters like Major Ingle wood, who have realised little or nothing of that to which their youthful ambition pointed, and who are growing old against their will, there lurked about his heart a certain amount i of spite, which sometimes flashed out in a vicious look when it could do no more, but much more frequently in a hasty lash at some tender point which those around him might have been vainly endeavouring to conceal from his penetrating eye. He was a great gossip, too. Notwithstanding his high pre tensions, he could amuse himself with the follies or the failures of the simple people of the neighbourhood, and out of these he could construct an immense variety of cha racteristic anecdotes for the delectation of his guests, when he chose to make himself agreeable.

It is wonderful what power of repulsion is possessed by a woman of true dignity, when she comes in contact with such a man, and will neither be flattered by his compliments nor entertained by his wit. In vain had Major Inglewood tried the experiment of both these, and many other means of charming, in his first interview with Alice Gray. He saw at once that with her he should make no pro gress — should exercise over her no power, and they became like perfect strangers to each other, except for the interchange of those passing civilities which were altogether un avoidable. Alice was satisfied, but the major was not. He was secretly piqued and annoyed by her obduracy, and this created a certain de sire to revenge himself upon her. It was diffi cult to exercise anything like spite upon one so distant, so self-possessed as Alice, and at the same time so utterly regardless of his favour or disfavour ; but he could bide his time, and that time came at last, as he thought, very opportunely.

Alice was making a call at the cottage one day late in the autumn, and after a few com monplace remarks, Major Inglewood turned VOL. II. c suddenly towards her with a meaning look, and said, " Miss Gray, I hope I am the bearer of pleasant news to you. I met in the hunting field yesterday a friend of yours — Captain Gordon." With some people there is a little respite between the shock and the blush, and Alice had just time to look full into the face of the old man, and say, as if quite calmly, "I heard Captain Gordon was there," before she turned away her head to look down again at some work which Kate had been showing her. So the arrow missed its aim, for anything the Major could see. The fact was, Alice had been told privately the previous night by Molly that Captain Gordon was in the neigh bourhood, that he had taken up his quarters at the Hall, and was going to spend the hunting-season there, with as much more about him as the neighbourhood was cognisant of, and perhaps a little more.

Disappointed in his first attack, the Major went on again, after awhile but not before Alice had recovered from that inevitable blush which she had in a great measure succeeded iu hiding. " They tell me," said the Major, " he has had a fortune . left him by some maternal uncle, and that his circumstances and position are greatly altered now. I would advise all you young ladies to trim your caps afresh, for it will be no joke to catch the handsome Captain now — rather a different kind of thing, I fancy, from what it was when he lay maun dering beneath your father's roof. Eh ! Miss Grav?" " He was in a shocking condition then," said Alice, looking up steadily, and not choosc2 ing to understand the last hint of her tor mentor. " I only wonder that he ever reco vered !" " There is no making either friend or enemy of this stupid girl," said the Major to himself.

" She won't strike fire. Was there ever such a block!" And, having sneered in wardly to his heart's content, he went on ex patiating upon the Captain's good looks — perhaps the last subject he would have chosen for his own pleasure. But he liked to extol the value of that which he felt sure Alice would now lose, and lose for ever. Alice could almost have resorted to her father's favourite expression — "None of these things move me," so strong did she feel under the lash which it pleased the old gentleman to administer. Her indignation at the meanness of his spite — for such she be lieved it to be — gave her power for the moment to bear it without flinching. It would have taken a great deal to make her exhibit before him one spark of emotion which she had the skill to conceal. Indeed, her resolu tion helped her to remain longer in his presence than she had intended, lest he should enjoy the triumph of thinking he had driven her away.

Gladly would Alice have departed unno ticed and alone that day, but Kate followed her as usual to the garden-gate. It was a far greater effort to converse there in her accustomed manner with the daughter, than it had been to sustain the father's ill-natured jests. Alice felt her voice grow almost un manageable, while she endeavoured to con verse on indifferent subjects ; and when she tried to smile, her lips felt stiff, and would not yield to the expression without quivering. But the delicacy of her friend gave her strength. Kate made no remarks bearing the least reference to the subject of disquiet ude. For anything which she betrayed, she might not even have understood her father's meaning ; and now, if she lingered at the gate longer than Alice might have wished, it was with the instinctive feeling that a little chat about indifferent matters would have a more calming effect than a sudden separation.

When Alice reached her own room, she felt forcibly how hard it was that she could not bear what she might have to bear without the impertinence of that spiteful old man. What she might have to bear ! Yes. A strange sinking of the heart had succeeded to Molly's information of the night before. Yet why should it be so ? There was no earthly reason why Captain Gordon should have written to her, or in any other way have made her acquainted with his intention of returning to the neighbourhood. There would not have been the least pretence to pro priety in his doing so. What was there to blame in him ? — what to find fault with in his conduct ? Certainly nothing. And yet, when the night came, Alice could not sleep. Something like a pall, blacker than night, closed round her — she knew not how, nor why.

Onthe following morning, when Alice was sitting at her work in the old oak parlour, her father reading by the fire, she heard a brisk step on the gravel walk leading to the front door, and soon a well-known voice asking if Mr. Gray was at home. In another moment Captain Gordon was ushered into the room by Molly, to whom he addressed a few playful and pleasant words by the way. It was the Captain himself, looking so well and handsome — so bold, so gay, so free, it was impossible not to treat him with frankness and cordiality in return. To Mr. Gray he first held out his hand in hearty and cheerful recognition, so managing as to throw in, with his easy address, some appropriate, off-hand expressions of gratitude for all the kindness and hospitality of the past. And then, with Alice he was equally at home, or very nearly so, for he talked fast and freely, speaking with ready warmth of the kind services he had received at her hands, such, as he assured her again and again, it would be impossible for him ever to forget.

It was well for Alice that she had, almost from childhood, cultivated an habitual command over herself — her voice, her features, her modes of expression — so that she could now answer the Captain somewhat in his own way — talking exclusively about himself — not herself at all ; asking after his health, and even the poor injured limbs, which she had once dressed and handled with such tender care. To all which inquiries he made playful answers, not scrupling to allude to many particulars of those nights and days of past suffering, about which, perhaps, Alice knew more than he did himself, only leaving out, with a distinctness which she could not fail to be aware of, just one particular — one phase of that strange past, now evidently so far — so very distant, as to seem to Alice, after so short an interval, as if it had belonged to her in some other previous state of existence.

When the interview was over, and the graceful and easy gentleman took his leave, it might have been submitted to the strictest judge of propriety whether he had not done all that was required of him, and whether he had not done it in the best possible way. Indeed, there was nothing in Captain Gordon's wliple manner which the most fastidious and requiring could have found fault with. Even Robert Gray, who acci dentally came in during the interview, and who was vexed enough that the Captain had again made his appearance in the neighbour hood — even Robert declared he never saw a man so much improved in his life. " He speaks out like a gentleman now," Robert said, " and knows how to behave himself. Why, he even thanked me again for the loan of that ten pounds, though he had returned it punctually enough, and had done all that was necessary at the time.

I used to think him so selfish, you know, Alice, and so hard upon you, poor lassie ! He seems grateful enough now. Well, I'm glad he has come to some right sense of things, though I shall never like him, let him come to what he may. But what's the matter, Alice ? You don't scold me now for abusing the Captain as you used to do ?" " It seems to me you - are praising him, not abusing him now." " Well, then, you ought to look pleased, just in proportion as you used to be angry ; and to my thinking, you don't look pleased at all." " But I am pleased, though — pleased to see my old patient so well, and pleased that he has behaved in a way to please .■I you. " Not quite so much as that, perhaps. He will never please me, except by quitting the neighbourhood altogether. They say he is going to remain here through the winter.

He has brought a horse down with him, and I hear from the servants that Huntley's filly is training for him. Well, it's no business of mine, certainly. I know one thing — I shall have enough to do without hunting this season ; and as for poor Bonny, my mare, I am obliged to make her cart manure, instead of leaping fences." With these words, Robert went away about his daily work, in which he found sufficient occupation, and much contentment. He was working for his home, and for the mainten ance and comfort of her who was more to him than all the world beside. Perhaps he worked with the more alacrity because the present state of affairs was not in all respects quite as he liked it, and, beyond this, because he believed entirely that when Bessy should become his wife, all would be right both with her and with himself.

Robert had no doubts here. He anticipated no heaven upon earth — no sea without its ruffled waves. His view of earthly happi ness was a very reasonable one — alternate cloud and sunshine, with a little roughness of temper now and then, and up-hill work, to make such a livelihood as he wished to make for his wife and family. But he never question ed the goodness of Bessy's heart and princi ples, and, judged of as a whole, he never doubted her affection for himself. After the interview with Captain Gordon, Alice Gray had a severe attack of that worst kind of vexation — vexation with herself. Why was she not satisfied ? Why was she not happy ? She was neither ; and yet Captain Gordon was well, and prosperous, and evi dently enjoying life as much as a man could desire to enjoy it, after his fashion.

The day after his call, there was more cause for rejoicing — more praise for Captain Gordon — more reason to feel satisfied with him as a man, and a gentleman. At an early hour a message arrived from the Hall, bringing a number of parcels carefully packed, arranged, and addressed. The largest was for Molly, containing a handsome winter cloak, with a note, full of playful reference to her past care and attention to a good-for-nothing soldier laddie, interspersed with irresistible encomiums upon her cookery, as the means of his ultimate recovery. " To think of that moon-calf !" said Molly, as Mary read the letter to her. But there were all the while pleasant little twitchings about the corners of her mouth, for the compliments touched her just where she was most vulnerable. And then the cloak !

It was precisely what she most want ed, and had been vainly endeavouring to screw out of her small wages. " There was no harm," she said, " in taking things in that way from them that have lived upon you, and could afford to give — not a bit. It was nowt but nasty pride an' high-minded ness to refuse where there had been reel obligation. It was nobbut reet and decent. There could be nae doot aboot that." And she went on smoothing out the cloak, and feeling with her flattened hand the fine ness of its texture, until her attention was drawn to other parcels, and unfoldings, for there was some token of remembrance for every member of the family. For Mr. Gray there was a handsomely bound Bible, of a new and popular edition. To Robert, something which felt very much like a teapot, but which no one dared to meddle with until he came in from the fields, when it was discovered to be a beautiful silver teapot, with a note from the Captain, requesting that he might have the honour of contributing a trifle to the new establishment at Homefield.

Robert was very becomingly pleased. He hadno scruple about accepting the gift, because he felt that in Captain Gordon's circumstances he should himself have done the same ; and under such circumstances he considered it more generous to accept such gifts than to refuse them. But Alice, though highly ap proving of what was done, could not so cordi ally rejoice, so far as she was herself con cerned. " He is paying us all off," was the secret language of her heart. And when she had sufficiently admired the various presents, as well as the ingenious and appropriate note by which they were each ac companied, she went up to her own room with a small parcel addressed to herself. Before ascertaining what the parcel contained, Alice unfolded and read the accom panying letter. As if determined to make the strictest propriety the rule of his conduct, Captain Gordon, in addressing Alice as " Dear Miss Gray," spoke of the little memorial of his gratitude, of which he begged her acceptance, as coming from his aunt, Lady Huntley, not from himself.

It was a most elegant and costly bracelet, and the letter went on to say — " The cameos I feel sure you will like. They were cut in Rome. My aunt having a high appreciation of your taste, as well as your kind services to her worthless nephew, was anxious that you should be reminded of his gratitude by something calculated to afford you pleasure as a work of art." . Alice Gray had probably never seen any thing of the kind so beautiful as this bracelet in all her life before, and besides its rarity, it D VOL. JI. was a kind of thing exactly suited to her taste. She felt very keenly how much she would like to have one beautiful and valuable thing in her possession — just one ! But from Lady Huntley ? No, she could not accept it. The warm indignant blood rushed for one moment into her face, and then she stood looking at the bracelet some time ; until, at last, pale, and still, and resolute, she replaced it in the case, shut down the clasp, and pushed it from her.