Married to order; a romance of modern days

Front matter

Married to Order; & lomame of Jloftmt 3Bap. BY ESME STUART,.. Author of "Joan Vellacot," "A Woman of Forty," Kestell of Greystone," etc. etc. " And where we looked for crowns to fall. We find the tug's to come — that's all." Tti Two Volumes. VOL. I. LONDON : HORACE COX, WINDSOR HOUSE, BREAM'S BUILDINGS, E.C. 1S95. LONDON: PRINTED BY HORACE COX, WINDSOR HOUSE, BREAM'S BUILDINGS, E.C. PROEM Not long ago, whilst wandering for pleasure among the northern dales, we crossed the threshold of a house standing in its own grounds. Evidently it had once been a private dwelling, but now it was merely a temporary resting place for humble travellers. Almost the first remark the landlady addressed to us was, " If you had come an hour ago you would have seen the King!' Fired with curiosity, we inquired what king it was that we had so unfortunately missed, whereupon the story of the Kings of Rothery was unfolded to us, and hidden among its bower of trees the not very distant Palace was eagerly pointed out.

Then, perhaps, feeling slightly injured by seeing some shade of scepticism pass over our faces, the good woman went to her bookshelf, and, dislodging an old volume, she bade us read the strange records to be found there of a Proem. IV former King of Rothery ; records which told of his avarice and of his strange attire, of his hidden treasure and of his wild talk, of his Palace, and of the Duke, his brother, and lastly of the misfortunes which overtook his royal house. "It is all here," she said, "all written in a book, and, what is more, this very house you are in was the last bit of property belonging to the Kings of Rothery. But they have lost it all now, the lands, and the Palace, and this house, all are sold to strangers— still ' , anyway, the King was here this morning." We took up our abode in this picturesque house, standing near its clear trout stream, and we studied the big musty volume, and copied the quaint facts recorded there about the old King of Rothery, and about his mad doings ; — hence this romance. E. S. Unconventionwi. CONTENTS.

Altered * MARRIKD TO ORDKR. % Romance of Potent fags.

Book I. Chapter

I. Lost on the Fell. " I SUPPOSE," said Philip Gillbanks, addressing a labourer sauntering out of a Avayside field gate, " that I can easily get to Meretown if I go over this hill ? " The labourer, as he crossed the road, barely took the trouble to look at his questioner, but jerking his head in an upward direction replied : " Ay, straight oop." Philip smiled at the laconic answer of " straight oop." The direction was at all events easy, but when he began to ascend, his mind full of his own affairs, he found the climb stiffer than he had antici pated. It had been a fine morning, but now the day was passing away, and the sun was setting behind a high range of mountains. The clouds were forming themselves into long lines of crimson and grey, A\7hilst a low bank of dove-like grey filled the space between two near peaks, looking like a B couch of down prepared to receive the Aveary Phœbus.

As the May day faded into evening Philip Gillbanks found his long climb becoming tiresome. The loose stones he displaced on the steep incline rolled down far below him, and the mountain bed of the stream he was folloAving Avas decidedly an unpleasant path. " The man said ' straight oop,' " he thought, " but surely, when I consulted my guide-book it seemed to indicate that I ought to take an easterly direction ; I should say that the natives of this valley have made a vow to use no superfluous words. I must get to Meretown this evening." Then Philip left his torrent bed and made for the eastern ridge above him. Soon after he was de lighted to find a path a foot wide. This he thought must be the right track, so he followed it till he noticed that it narrowed perceptibly, and suddenly vanished, not into thin air, but into short turf and oozy bog, and he saw it no more.

" ' Straight oop,' " he repeated, and suddenly finding that he was still some distance from the highest ridge, he climbed straight ahead only to find that the top was a huge rock, and that above it rose other hills intercepted by miniature valleys. " This is the fell," said Philip, and he stood still to watch the sun dip behind the beautiful line of hills and mountains far away in the west. " And noAv which w7ay is ' straight oop,' for it seems a series of zigzags ? " To climb each hillock was merely adding a descent to his labours, so Philip tried to round them, getting himself occasionally in a cul-de-sac. Some times a bleating sheep with her attendant lamb started up and ran away affrighted ; then a hawk sailed slowly by, as if half asleep on the Aving, for Nature appeared to retire early to rest in these lonely uplands.

Philip was decidedly puzzled as to which course he should now pursue. His knapsack was heavy, and his day's walk had been long ; worse than this, the light was fading quickly. The grey clouds increased tenfold and spread themseh7es rapidly over the sky, apparently regretting that the dale folk had enjoyed a long fine day. In half an hour everything about the sky denoted rain, and a chill Avind began to moan along the hillocks. Now and then Philip struck into a small sheep path, each time feeling sure that at last he had found the right track leading to Meretown, for that one existed he was certain ; but after five minutes of self-congratu lation on his part the path seemed to make a farewell bend into nothingness, leaving the lonely traveller to seek for another. Philip Gillbanks had never been in this country before, and though he was at first amused at the idea of having lost him self, he came at last to the conclusion that this was really the case.

It was now too dark to find any path at all, whether true or false, and in a few moments the clouds seemed to come down bodily, enveloping the whole range of desolate hills and dales in one great mantle of mist. To make matters B better, Philip Gillbanks discovered that he was at the edge of a swampy bog, so common in these regions, and so annoying to pedestrians who are racing Avith daylight. Here and there were tiny stagnant ponds of inky-looking water, near to which black clumps of peat were heaped about in Avild confusion. Philip Gillbanks was travelling for a few7 days in this mountainous district in order to get rest and refreshment. At this moment he repented having ventured as far as this desolate region in order to obtain Avhat could certainly have been as well enjoyed on level ground.

An hour later, having splashed through a new bog in a very undignified manner and found him self at last on firmer ground, he sank down to rest in the midst of rocky boulders. He was com pletely spent, and the torrents of rain which Averted him to the skin seemed as nothing to the great enveloping Avhite mist noAv entirely preventing him from seeing many feet ahead. "Well," he thought, "I must own that I'm lost, so I may as well remain Avhere I am as go on wandering round these never-ending fells. It seems preposterous, but these rocky hills are very awkward bits of climbing, and in this fog, if I tried to descend, I should most likely find myself with a broken leg at the bottom of a gully. Why on earth didn't I keep to the high-road? Sooner or later I must have come upon some farmhouse where I could have been taken in."

He put on his mackintosh, then crouching under a great grey rock, he tried to shelter himself as much as was possible under existing circumstances. A hot supper and a soft bed seemed tantalising visions, for he was certainly both hungry and Aveary. Still, Philip Gillbanks could always make the best of every misfortune. He had a great deal of staying power, and more patience than often falls to the lot of a modern young man. " I Avanted time for reflection, and certainly I have got it noAV," he thought, still able to smile at his unpleasant position. Philip Avas at this moment in a very unsettled state of mind. His father wanted him to follow in his footsteps, and to enter the business which, under the elder Gillbanks, had acquired fame and money. Philip had just finished a creditable col lege career, and something in his nature revolted against money-getting, so for the last feAv days he had been trying to solve the problem of his future work.

Should he devote his life to patent boiler screws, or to something more after his own heart? The rain fell in a steady, persistent manner, and Philip Gillbanks's feelings became decidedly the reverse of cheerful. He tried to enliven them by thinking of his college friend, Forster Bethune ; if he had been Avith him this small adventure would have been merely a laughing matter, but the loneliness of these miles of fell added to his general depression. It was like an emblem of his present life, in Avhich nothing was clear, except perhaps the advisability of giving himself up to patent boiler-screws, and foregoing all ideas of a more romantic life. Business men should avoid romance as much as possible, it does not agree Avith profit and loss. Philip had no right to inherit a strong dose of it.

It Avas this knoAvledge that shook his faith in heredity, for by nature he had almost as much romance in him as had Forster Bethune, his college friend. This man was Philip's ideal of per fection ; he Avas so strongly original in his views that he could see no distinction of rank or Avealth. Possessing both himself, he Avas the only true Radical Philip had as yet encountered. He had a creed that "all men are equal," and acted up to it. It was at times a very inconvenient creed, and Philip saw that his own father, who had raised himself entirely by his genius and his industry, laughed at the idea of comparing himself or being compared with his own workmen. Forster, on the contrary, AA7ho Avas related to some of the bluest blood in the land, could not see why this should entitle him to any more regard from his fellow men than if he had been born in a workhouse.

At the beginning of their friendship, Philip had one day remarked that there could be but A7ery little in common betAveen the Bethunes and the Gillbanks, and at this moment Philip smiled again at the recollection of the Avrath he had called down upon himself. " Look here, Gillbanks, if you ever say such a thing as that to me again our friendship ends. I don't care a straw who your people are or what they are. I liked you, and I think you liked me, from the first. We met here as Freshmen ; you have to put up with my odd ways, and I shall have to put up with your w7ant of sense in liking me. I don't make friends easily, but I like you. If you swear to respect my prejudices I will do the same by yours, but don't let me hear of rank and all that sort of rubbish. There is much to do in the Avorld, and Ave have to prepare for the w7ork as best we can.

I didn't want to come to college, because men think too highly of a college education, but my father insisted on it, so here I am." Gillbanks's friendship for Forster was a subject of remark among the other freshmen, but that did not stop it. Their college life was now over. Forster had passed a brilliant examination; in every thing he had eclipsed Philip, but when they parted Forster's last words were : " I'm coming to Moorchester in a fortnight, but I must go home first to receive the parental blessing. My advice to you, Philip, is, take a feAv days' Avalking tour and sweep away all recollection of these narrow-minded dons, and Avhen I come Ave'll settle plans for the future." "Oh, mine wall be patent boiler-screws," Philip said, sighing and laughing at the same time. " I don't know; we must consult.

Suppose your father accepted me in your stead? There's a great deal to be made out of screws. You can get hold of your men by Avorking Avith them." Philip laughed aloud. "You should hear my father on that subject ! He ought to know, and he has no belief in getting hold of men." Forster's fine pale face looked extremely grave. " It's no laughing matter. You see, Philip, one's elders don't know ; they think they do, and they try to stifle our ideas, but we must be cautious. My father is all wrong, too. He thinks a man who isn't a gentleman by birth can't be expected to act the same as one who is. This is merely the re mains of serfdom and prejudice. We must think for ourselves. Go and commune with Nature, Philip, then all will come clear." Philip had taken his friend's advice, and here he was alone, but unpleasantly alone, with Nature.

To spend the night on the desolate fell, enveloped in mist in lieu of a blanket, is not conducive to pleasing meditation. " I wish I had waited for Forster, though the chances are he would not have rested here, but Avould have wandered about till he fell over one of these treacherous rocks." Thoughts of Forster beguiled the time, but did not cure Philip's hunger, nor did they dry his now saturated garments. At last he jumped up, and determined to do something more exciting than to sit still under a rock. If he had to walk up and down all night in this narrow upland valley, it would certainly be better than to sow the seeds of future rheumatism. To beguile the time he tried to think of Forster's views on A'arious subjects, for these Avere never dull, and usually they were so surprising as to> give ample food for reflection ; but, in spite of himself, Philip's mind strayed back to the inevit able chop he had criticised in the morning at the " Greendale Valley Inn."

He would find no fault Avith it noAv, if he could but order its twin brother. He felt numbed and stiff ; the mist filled his eyes, and the rain dripping from his hat made rivulets down his back. Suddenly a lamb started from its mother's side. Its bleating broke the desolate stillness, but better still, it was followed by a long, low whistle and the bark of a shepherd's dog. Philip's spirits rose at once, and he shouted lustily. There must be a shepherd close at hand Avith the dog, for these hardy men often Avandered all night on the fells, especially if they had lost a sheep, or if it were lambing time. There was no answer to his call, and Philip again shouted through the mist. " Hi ! Here ! Is any one here ? Hi ! These folk of laconic speech are as likely as not to go their own way," he thought ; but he was mistaken, for in another moment the blurred outline of a shepherd stood suddenly before him.

The figure seemed to come from nowhere, thus adding to the mystery of the place. Philip at once made known his Avants. " My good fellow, I've lost my way. I was Avalking across these fells to MeretoAvn, and a labourer down below told me to go straight up, and here I am." " Meretown," was the ansAver, as if spoken inquiringly. "Yes, Meretown, just the other side of this never-ending fell. I was afraid to proceed in this mist and darkness." " You shud hev minded the path," was the short comfort afforded to the lost traveller. " That w7as my stupidity, I suppose ; but indeed I never saw it." " Leuk back noo and I'll show you," said the shepherd. " I want to get on, my good man," said Philip, brushing the drops from before his eyes and speaking a little impatiently. " D'ye nut mind, then, about Meretown?

It's a goodish step from here. Ye be in the wrong path noo." " I do mind about getting shelter and supper, but Avhere I get that I don't much care — the sooner the better. Perhaps there is a farmhouse in these parts ? " " Farm ! Bless your sowl, there's nowt but the Palace between here and Meretown." The Palace was, of course, the name of a public, and Philip accepted this offer of bed and board with alacrity. " I shall be extremely glad if you will show me the way to it, my good fellow." " I can show you the way, sartin sure, boot " " I can pay my night's lodging," said Philip, mistaking the shepherd's meaning. " I dare say you can, boot- " But Avhat ? " said Philip, impatiently. " Boot the King's got a crank against strangers." " The King ? " Was the shepherd an idiot ? " Ay ! " " But I can't stay here even if the Palace Avon't give me a night's shelter."

" I kent saw ; the King moight, and he moight not." " Legally he can't refuse to take in a bona-fide traveller," said Philip, forgetting he was dealing Avith a peasant. " What kind o' traveller did you saw ? " "An honest man. My good felloAv, if we go on talking here much longer 1 shall be frozen to death." " That's not uncommon in the Avinter, sartin sure, boot — the King's got a will of his aAvn ; howsoever, noo I'll tak' you to him." Philip was not in a mood to argue ; he was very Aveary, very wet, and very hungry, and though he could have knocked the fellow doAvn for talking such rubbish, he considered that it was not to his advantage to do so. For a Avhile he now followed his companion in silence, and indeed to follow at all required all his small remaining stock of energy. After crossing a stretch of rocky ground, the guide ascended another hill, at the summit of Avhich he stood still.

" If it war clear, you cud see right doon into the valley fra here," he said; "the Palace is doon yonder. This is the most shut in kind of glen in the country. Yur not flaysum, be you ? " " I'll folloAv you," said Philip, hardly understand ing the vocabulary. " It's a bit steep, but shorter. This 'ere moun tain is Fettishon, and kind o' shuts in the Rothery glen. Toorist gents never coom our Avay ; they never find the Rothery." " Then the Palace is out of the beaten track ? " said Philip, still a little uncertain as to what kind of shelter he was being taken to. " The King doan't like strangers, no more does the Dook." " The Duke must be another inn," thought Philip. But what on earth did they exist for if not for strangers ? His guide, hoAvever, now turned suddenly down a sharp ridge covered with slate and loose stones, which the least touch of the shepherd's wooden shoes sent flying down beloAv into the misty depth.

Presently the guide paused again and remarked : " You can scramble a bit ? " " Oh, yes ; but it's so wet and dark I can't see my footing." " It's a foin country, this 'ere, for hills. Ah'll show you two foin rocks for climbing. This one'll shorten the way, and the King's made a bit of a path at the bottom through the deep part of the dale. Boot alone I wudna advise it. There's danger of falling into the Rothery, and if you did no one would be a bit wiser." " I'd rather not," said Philip, smiling to himself. " Sartin sure. Now, just swing yourself doon." Philip was not a great mountaineer, and he now found himself expected to climb down the face of an almost perpendicular and rocky hill. Here and there Avere tiny ledges where the foot could rest a moment, and wdiere one could take breath for the next scramble.

Philip was too proud to own that he A\7as not much pleased with his path, but he alloAved the shepherd to take his knapsack, and then he followed him as best he could, regardless of the mud which he meditated must be sadly spoil ing the only suit he possessed. Neither was he much reconciled to his situation by hearing the roar of one of the many mountain streams, which after rain become raging torrents, and which, as was here the case, have in past times cut themselves a deep bed through masses of solid rock. However, "all's w7ell that ends well," and at last Philip jumped down upon wdiat he felt to be, for he could not see, a path on level ground. " Here is the King's path," said the shepherd. " He's often said to me, 'Jim Oldcorn, nature has made my natural boundaries, and I'd rayder have the ague than a lot of them strangers aboot the place.' " " This good man is not particularly fond of his fellow-creatures, then ?

" remarked Philip. " Sartin sure," was the answer. " I think I'd better walk on to Meretown in that case. " If the stimmock's empty, victuals is agreeable, sir, and I tak' it that's your condition. It so hap pens the Dook's at home, and he's particularly civil; but the King" — here the shepherd laughed — " he's not one of your narvish sort as thinks of consequences. If he war to find a stranger here, he'd as loik as not send him into the Rothery and not help him out again, that's sartin sure." " And yet travellers must come here pretty often, unless this is the best road of approach, in Avhich case " " It's no' so bad, sir, for one as nivver's been oot of the country ; but Lord ! there's another on to the high-road, only the King has put bards oop, as like snarley dogs as possible, to warn 'em off."

Philip was more and more puzzled, and was going to make another remark when his companion silenced him. " It's best not to speak lood, for the King, as loik as not, moight be firing at us. There's no telling Avhen he's oot or in. Best keep quoit." w :<

CHAPTER II.

A King and His Court. Philip Gillbanks had so lately been in the full swing of a busy and monotonous University life, that now, having chanced upon this adventure, he had some difficulty in believing that he was really in his senses. The day's long tramp had wearied him, and the cold and chill he had experienced on the fell — though his late scramble had considerably restored his circulation— caused him to say to himself, half in fun, and half in earnest, that he must be dreaming. The shepherd's talk about a Palace, a King, and a Duke, was, of course, easily explainable, only he was unable to explain it ; and at this moment the river far below the tiny path, though imrisible through the darkness, added to the mystery, for it splashed and roared between its rocky banks. Moreover, the glen was well wooded, and the trees, bending over the foaming stream, hid from too curious eyes its struggles with its rocky foe.

Philip followed in silence, not because he believed in the King's murderous rifle, but because conversation was useless unless carried on at very close quarters, and he felt too weary to shout so as to make himself heard above the noise. Following closely the shepherd's heels — and this in itself was not easy, considering that the country man Avas not at all spent, and that the toAvnsman was nearly exhausted — Philip at last saw that his guide paused before a small wicket gate. Opening it, he took a path directly to his left, leaving the river to roar on its way alone, and soon after the two emerged on what Philip fancied must be a lawn, beyond which a large pile of building suddenly hid the grey sky. A few lights twrinkled in various windows, but they appeared only to add to the mysterious silence of the place.

This silence was, however, soon broken when the shepherd, turning again to the left, entered a back courtyard. A furious barking of dogs and rattling of chains made Philip truly thankful that he was not alone, and still more puzzled as to the reason why this inn should look like a private mansion, and why the landlord kept so many dogs to guard it. ' Suddenly he realised that this could be no common public-house, for the shepherd, leaving him in near companionship with the furious dogs, dived into a well-lighted kitchen, Avhere he was soon surrounded by several servants, who, though not possessing the spick-and-span air of modern domestics, were certainly not the menials of a poor innkeeper. After some gesticulating and much talk, his friend returned to his side. " The King's at hearn, and Betty is gone to talk to the Princess, for the Queen's a-bed.

She niver wad stop oop ; ta t' bargin between the leddy and the King. Sometimes they dissert and frach't, but no fowling on course." What all this might mean Philip did not know in the least, and by this time he did not much care. The warm glow from the kitchen fire, and the smell of savoury messes, was more than his starving temper could stand. " I don't know who all these people are, but surely this good woman Avill let me dry myself a little, and give me some supper, and then I'll walk on to Meretown if hospitality is not to be had at — this — farm." " It's noah time o' neit ta loose yaAv temper," said Jim Oldcorn, grinning broadly. " Yaw wad be a gay bit better i' bed and with victuals inside o' you, but if the King war to set his face agin it, wal, ye see, your condition wad be for getting warse and warse.

Patience a bit, sir, for Betty's a neat lass and handy with haw tongue, and no doubt the Princess will tak' pity on you." "Take pity! I can pay my night's lodging," said Philip, shortly ; but, happily for his temper, Betty re-appeared. If she was unusually handy with her tongue, she failed on this occasion, for she merely beckoned to. the stranger to follow her. Philip turned to the shepherd and slipped a croAvn into his palm as he wished him " good night." Jim Oldcorn, however, answered with a grin on his face : " No need, no need, sir, and I fancy you'll be here for a lal bit langer ; we'll meet again." c Philip sincerely hoped that he might not again require the swain's services, but, repeating his thanks, he followed Betty through dark passages, till at last they emerged into a large, oak-panelled hall, very dimly lighted by one oil lamp.

Here Betty paused and looked at Philip's dripping condition. " The Princess had better come and see you here, sir," she whispered. Again Philip inwardly cursed the strange etiquette of these wild glen people, who could not allow a poor benighted traveller to come in and dry himself without so much ceremony and so many nicknames. Was he in an enchanted valley ? Had he suddenly jumped back into a past age, or was he at some place more strange than respect able, which would turn out to be some den of iniquity, where robbery, and perhaps murder, were not unknown ? The shepherd's talk gave likeli hood to the idea. No, the supposition was ridiculous ; and Philip was about to make another impatient remark, when a roar of laughter rang through the hall, followed by a hurried sound of footsteps. Betty was visibly affected.

" It's the King," she murmured ; " he's coming out, and I thought he was drinking for the rest of the night. Lor-a-mercy ! " " Hang it all," said Philip, " who is the villain they call the King ? " Suddenly a door opened, and the loud voice audibly preceded the person of the King. The next moment Philip was so much lost in astonish ment that for an instant he was speechless. He saw before him a man dressed in the shabbiest fustian, much patched and discoloured. Closer scrutiny revealed, however, a certain indefinable something about the wild-looking personage which betokened gentle birth ; besides, even the laugh was not that of a farmer, though the appearance was so poverty-stricken. The man himself was short and thick-set, with the look betokening enormous strength, possessed in a remarkable degree by some short men.

His eyes, deep set under scrubby, greyish eyebrows, had in them a keen, cunning expression ; his nose was straight, and went far to redeem the rest of his face, whilst his mouth was barely hidden by a short, iron-grey beard and moustache. The roar of laughter he had heard Avas disagreeable in the extreme, or so thought Philip Gillbanks, who was, hoAvever, doomed this evening to have his mind disturbed by the sight of strange contrasts, for just behind the King came a gentleman who, not unworthily, might have stood for the portrait of a French Marquis. His dress, face, manners, attitude, and bearing were in the highest degree courtly. He was so handsome that it was difficult to believe he could be found in the company of the short, stout, ruffianly-looking man Avho walked in front of him. His dress was of the style long forsaken by ordinary mortals, and included kneec breeches, velvet coat, buckled shoes, and hair which, though not powdered, had the appearance of so being, for Nature herself had slightly tinged it with soft grey.