The Gladstones. A novel

Front matter

RECENT NOVELS In 3 Vols. 31s. 6d. (This day.) THE BRIDAL BAR. By J. PANTON HAM. Author of "The Idea of the Church," &c. In 2 Vols. Price 21s. TOM HASWELL'S FORTUNES. By the Author of "The Spinsters of Sandham." " Possesses merit of a very high order. We should say the greater part of the characters are drawn from actual life." — Bell's Mes senger. " Had the 'Fortunes of Tom Haswell' been written fifty years ago, it would have been considered one of the giants of its generation." — Saturday Review. "A most readable book." — Eastbourne Gazette. " It is a fair representation of the dullness and narrowness of life in a remote parish at the beginning of the century ."—Monthly Packet. In Two Vols. THROUGH ALL ILLS. By the Author of " Fenacre Grange." " There are some very clever and life-like descriptions of country magnates, their modes of living and passing time.

There are like wise some equally clever portraits of high born ladies, and their con strained intercourse with city bred millionaries. Some of the inci dents are capitally told, and several of the characters are admirably drawn." — Bell's Messenger. "The translator has been very successful in reproducing the spirit of the original. The different characters, especially that of the faithless Bita, are put before the reader in a very vivid light. The tone of the book will be found of a high standard, and the denoue ment is skillfully passed over, though with no sacrifice of dramatic intensity." — Liverpool Albion. In 1 Vol. Demy 8vo. Price 12s. (with Portrait). EECOLLECTIONS OF THE PUBLIC CAREER AND PRIVATE LIFE OP THE LATE JOHN ADOLPHUS, The Eminent Barrister and Historian, WITH EXTRACTS FROM HIS DIARIES.

By his daughter, IKS. HENDERSON. "A lively, readable book."— Examiner. "Lovers of gossip will peruse it with satisfaction."— Athenæum. "Plethoricofracy anecdotes and witty sayings." — Liverpool Albion. "Full of racy humour and amusing chit-chat." — Bell's Messenger. " Few people will fail to be entertained by it."— Bury Post. "Adotphus had a ready wit, and many pleasant recollections arc scattered through these pages."— Saturday Review. A NOVEL. IN THREE VOLUMES. BY FEANK TKOLLOPE, AUTHOR OF " THE MARKED MAS," " BROKEN FETTERS," " AK OLD MAU'S SECRET," " A RIGHT-MINDED WOMAN," &C. VOL. III. London : T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 30, WELBECK STEEET, CAVENDISH SQUAKE. 1872. [all rights reserved.]

Chapter I

Robert Fisher's first impulse was to creep stealthily up to the seat, that he might peep over Sarah Crisp's shoulder and ascertain who that letter was from, and what it was about. A moment's reflection, however, made him ashamed of the mean idea, and gliding softly away, he was soon out of his cousin's hearing. She, poor girl, did not linger longer in her favourite haunt than to read the precious document hurriedly over, and then set off in the direction of the farmstead as rapidly as her limbs could carry her. VOL. III. B " Whatever is it, Sarah, that keeps Robert out so late ?" cried Mrs. Fisher, somewhere about nine o'clock. " His father will be home from market, I expect, every minute, and vexed he will be if the lad is roaming about those damp woods at this time of night. I hope to goodness he won't catch his death of cold with such fancies."

" Perhaps Robert has called in at the Vicarage to see the papers, aunt," suggested Sarah. "I heard him say a day or two ago that Parliament was trying to put on some new malt-tax, and I shouldn't wonder if he's gone to see what ' The Times ' says about it." " Tax ! tax ! tax ! I'm fairly sick of the word," exclaimed Mrs. Fisher, in a very angry voice, for such a mild tempered woman as she was. " Those nasty wars and victories are enough to break one's heart, they bring so many taxes after them." " I once heard poor father say," observed Sarah, " that a victory was almost as bad as a defeat sometimes. If the French are as heavily taxed for their defeats as we are for our victories it will be some time before they go to war again, I should think." Mrs. Fisher's thoughts were with her son in that damp, gloomy wood.

" I wish thy uncle hadn't taken the lantern with him," she said, after a minute's pause. " If we had it, Sarah, you and I could have gone down to the meadow bottom and tried to find that silly lad." Sarah noticed how her aunt's face grew white and red by turns, as it always did when she was uneasy about Robert. She put down her knitting and said — " If you wish it, aunt, I will go up to the Vicarage and ask if Robert has been there to night. I think he must be there." " Somebody might do you an injury, Sarah, this dark night. I will go myself," said her aunt. " I think that's Robert's step at the door," said Sarah, who had been listening intently. *' It cannot be uncle, at any rate, for the old B mare would have made a very different noise to that." Robert at this moment opened the door and came in.

" You will catch your death of cold, lad," said his mother, taking his hat and stick from his hand and placing a chair for him near the blazing fire. " I was just about starting off to the Vicarage to hear if you had been there." " I have been safely housed, mother, though not at the Vicarage," said her son, kissing her affectionately. " Where is father ?" " At market still, dear man. He would have been terribly angry had he come back and found you out at this time of night. I am surprised you can be so imprudent, Robert." " Oh ! you know it's my way, mother. I like to be out these dark, still, autumn nights." " I can't imagine who it was taught you such fancies, Robert ; I'm sure neither I nor your father have such tastes. What do you say, Sarah?" " I prefer moonlight," said Sarah, who had been sitting in the shade of the chimney all this time, and perfectly understood why it was her cousin never glanced over to the place where she was resting.

Mrs. Fisher lighted a candle and sat down near her son. " Now tell me where you've been, Robert ?" she asked, in a pleasanter tone, as she drew her spinning wheel out of a corner and settled herself to work. " There's so few houses hereabout that you care to go into that I can't imagine where you've been if not to the Vicarage." " I'd rather not tell you, mother," said Robert, abruptly. " I'm sure you wouldn't know if I were to try and explain." Sarah noticed the shadow that stole across Mrs. Fisher's pleasant features at this more than unsatisfactory speech, and her heart sympathised with the pang she knew must have agitated that loving mother's heart at the words. " Robert is tired, aunt," she whispered, without daring to look at either of them. " You know, he is scarcely strong yet, and he has been out ever since tea."

" You are right, Sarah," said her cousin, in his cold, measured voice, " I shall go to bed, mother," and taking up his candle, he kissed her, and left the room. Nothing was heard in the kitchen where the two women were left by themselves for several minutes but the monotonous buzz of Mrs. Fisher's spinning-wheel, and the sharp click of Sarah's needles. The latter, however, knew the tears were chasing each other down her aunt's comely cheek, and that her heart was heavy within her at the return she received for her long and patient love of her only son. Sarah was perplexed to know how to break the silence so long maintained between her aunt and herself. At length she said — " I wish November was here." "Why, Sarah?" demanded her aunt, in desponding tones. " Because then I shall be obliged to leave you, aunt, and Robert will become as he used to be in the good old times before I came to Chilworth."

" What makes you think that, lass ?" de manded Mrs. Fisher. " Robert never had any of these gloomy fits upon him before I came, had he, aunt ?" asked Sarah, dropping her work into her lap, and looking fixedly at her companion. " No, he certainly had not, Sarah," said Mrs. Fisher, " but why should you have such an effect upon his temper. I'm sure Robert does not grudge the bite and the sup we give you and the lads." " No, aunt, I'm sure he does not," said Sarah. " Then what made you say what you did, lass ?" " Why, aunt, something has passed between my cousin and me that can only be put right by my leaving Chilworth ; and that is why I wish November was here." It had never entered Mrs. Fisher's head that her son could by any possibility admire the pale, quiet-looking girl her husband had brought home to five with them, after attending the funeral of William Crisp and his wife.

Still less could she have imagined that Sarah could have refused Robert, had he made her an offer of marriage f Now, however, the truth flashed upon her in a moment, and she asked the question with a degree of eagerness that was very uncharac teristic in either word or deed. Sarah's silence was the most assuring answer her aunt could possibly have received to the question. " So you refused Robert, Sarah ? " she said, in no slight bewilderment. Again Sarah was silent, and again Mrs. Fisher's thread broke, the accident caused by the agitation made her hand tremble more violently than it had probably ever done in her life before. " Poor Robert ! poor Robert !" murmured the mother, sadly, as her loving heart pictured the grief with which her son had had to struggle so long in silence and despair.

" Sarah, I can forgive him all now that I know this." " And me too, aunt," cried the agitated girl, dropping upon her knees, and burying her face in Mrs. Fisher's lap. "I have been sorely tried, too, dear aunt — I have had — " and here her fortitude forsook her, and she burst into a violent flood of tears. " Get up, Sarah, my love, I forgive and forget it all," said Mrs. Fisher, through her sobs. " Robert had no right to expect that you could desert poor Harry Jobson, even for him. Only promise me that your uncle shall never be told this. Oh, dear ! how sadly vexed it would make him if he knew what had happened." " Aunt," said Sarah, after another pause, " Don't you think I had better go to York at once ? Robert, I am certain, will feel un comfortable so long as I am in the house." The mother's heart was already prepared b for this speech, and yet she felt a severe pang at hearing this unselfish thought spoken with so much calmness.

" I don't deserve that Robert should have such kindness for me, aunt," continued the niece, a blush suffusing her pale cheek ; " and yet I am sure, as long as I stay here, he'll be good for nothing, but will continue moping about as he has done ever since he got better. If you will go so far with me I could walk into Bradford to-morrow, and call upon Miss Gladstone. I have no doubt old Hannah will give me a bed for one night, for old acquaint ance sake." " Well, Sarah, if you have made up your mind to the plan, I have nothing to say against it," rejoined Mrs. Fisher. " I'm afraid Robert thinks too fondly of you for his own peace of mind ; and if you think your going away for a time will induce him to get the notion out of his head, I won't say nay to the scheme. What shall I tell your uncle to account for this hurried leaving Chilworth ?"

" Tell him I was uneasy about poor Harry," said Sarah, with a blush. " He will forgive me for that. Besides, it only wants about a fortnight to the assizes." " Well, I will tell him all to-night, and then it will be off my mind," said Mrs. Fisher. " I want a few things from Bradford, which I may as well bring back with me to-morrow, so that it won't be such a great loss of time after all. Well, I never should have dreamed of Robert falling in love with you, Sarah." " Nor I, aunt. He never paid me any particular attention, to lead me to expect anything of the kind. I do so hope he will soon get the fancy out of his head." " I am afraid he won't, Sarah," said Mrs. Fisher, " he has such strong, deep feelings in him ; feelings few give him credit for possess ing. His father says he's stubborn."

" He has been very kind to me," said Sarah, in a low voice, " and that makes me so sorry for him." " Well, I hope Harry Jobson will get out of prison in a week or two, and that you and he will make the marriage up quickly, and then Robert can dance at the wedding," said Mrs. Fisher, in quite a pleasant tone of voice. " Cheer up, lass, and let me see some colour in those pale cheeks of yours. Robert will find a wdfe, depend on it, some of these days, or I'm no true woman." " Good-bye, Sarah," said Mr. Fisher, phleg matically, the next morning, as he sat near the open door pulling on his boots ; "I suppose we shall have you back again soon ?" " I hope so, uncle," although she had made up her mind not to come back unless Robert went away, " if Harry gets free." " Oh ! he'll be sure to do that," said her uncle, shaking her by the hand.

" Harry Jobson never fired Mr. Gladstone's foundry, or my name is not Fisher." " Well, uncle, I hope you are a true prophet," said Sarah, smiling " Good-bye again." " I wonder if Robert will come to bid me good-bye ?" thought Sarah, as she sat ready dressed in the parlour waiting for her aunt, " I'm sure he knows I am going, for I over heard Bobby telling him I was going to York to stay till the trial was over." If she expected anything of the kind she was doomed to disappointment, for Robert did not come out of his room until the pedes trians were on the road. Looking back, Sarah saw him go stealthily into the garden, and walk towards the summer-house with his chin buried in his breast. She had need of all the hopefulness of her character to look and speak cheerfully after this ; but Mrs. Fisher thought that she was in excellent spirits, not for a moment suspecting the effort the poor girl had to make to appear so.

Although not an educated woman, Mrs. Fisher had a deep and earnest admiration for the beauties of nature, which, aided by one of those brilliant autumn days that seem as if they were sent to add to the rigour of winter and make its approach the more appalling, made the otherwise long walk into Bradford one of actual pleasure to poor Sarah. " Just look up there, lass," said Mrs. Fisher, stopping ; " I wish we had a long stick with a crook at the end of it, that we might get some of those fine clusters of nuts that hang so temptingly over our heads." " I wish so too," said Sarah, " but I fear wishing won't help us wdthout the stick, aunt." " If we turn up yonder lane we shall avoid Braidsworth entirely," said Mrs. Fisher, the next minute. " It's a long time since I used to go nutting there. It was before I was married," she added, with a sigh.

" I should have thought you would have forgotten it by this time," said the niece, "with a smile. " Not I, lass. We never forget anything we did and said when we were young. Do you see that stile ? We must get over that and cross the cornfields beyond. I wonder who that lazy fellow is who has not got in his barley yet. I hope you are not tired, Sarah." " Oh ! no, aunt, I could walk double the distance," said the niece, hopefully. " I am glad of that, for I am going to take you through some of the most beautiful scenery in all Yorkshire, so we mustn't either of us be tired for the present." As Mrs Fisher spoke she led the way over the stile, and entered the corn-field she had before pointed out to her niece, until they reached the brow of a hill, where some of the most pleasing scenery, she had ever seen, opened before her eyes so suddenly as to in duce her to utter an exclamation of delighted surprise.

" Is it not beautiful, my dear ?" demanded Mrs. Fisher, as she leaned against a fine tree. " I've wanted Robert to make a picture of this view, but he says there's no painter in Europe could do justice to it." " It is indeed a wonderful piece of scenery," said Sarah. " How beautifully the side of the valley is studded with trees." " Yes, lass, it is ; and only look at the crimson tints of autumn. Now just cast your eyes a little beyond, and observe the sparkling waters that dash over that old wheel. Would it not make a beautiful picture ?" " I think so," rejoined Sarah. " But what is the name of the village you can just see through that clump of trees ?" " That is Hawstead, where your uncle Fisher was born," answered Mrs. Fisher. " Don't you see the mill-dam yonder ? That village, with the church steeple peeping over the two or three thatched houses that you can see, is Brandon."

" But how do you get there, aunt ? I can't see any path leading down from this hill." " Oh ! there's a path through the woods, Avhich I will show you all in good time. If you are sufficiently rested we will go on." Mrs. Fisher plunged boldly into the wood, calling out to Sarah to be careful that the boughs of the trees she parted in her progress did not fly back and strike her in the face. In less than ten minutes they got safely through the wood, and then the path led through those green meadows Sarah had ad mired so much from a distance, and which looked still more beautiful on a nearer view. " I could find my way in the dark through these fields, my dear," said Mrs. Fisher, in her cheerful voice, " and yet I have not been here for many ye^rs." " I wonder, aunt, you have not come often in all these years," said Sarah.

" Why, I suppose it will be near upon twenty since you were here last ?" " Four-and-twenty, lass," said Mrs. Fisher, gravely. " Dear ! dear ! how time does slip away to be sure. I was a bonnie, high-spirited girl when I last set eyes upon this spot, I can tell you. Why, I declare, there's the very stump of a tree your uncle and I used to be so fond of sitting near in our courting days ! I wonder it hasn't been chopped up for fire wood years ago." " Well, I'm sure Brandon is the prettiest place I almost ever saw," observed Sarah, as the path led them in front of the church. " What a beautiful lawn !" " That's the Vicarage, Sarah," said Mrs. Fisher, stopping to admire the picturesque looking Vicarage, which was almost buried in a profusion of creeping plants, now, however, showing symptoms of the approach of winter.

" Many and many a time I've stood on that lawm, just in front of that rustic seat, to say my catechism, when a child." " The Vicar seems to be very fond of old fashioned flowers," said Sarah, as she lingered near the gate to inhale the delicious perfume of the sweet-briar and late flowering stocks. " It's quite an old-fashioned place altogether." " The Vicar's sister had the sweet-briar planted when she first came to live here," said Mrs. Fisher, in an almost melancholy tone ; " and I see the old man still keeps up his sister's fancy." After making this observation, Mrs. Fisher walked away at such a rapid pace that Sarah had great difficulty in keeping up with her. Strange as it may seem, the unaltered aspect of everything pained her more than the entire obliteration of the familiar scenes of early years would have done ; it was saddening to feel that she alone was changed, although the years had passed over her head with so few cares or sorrows.

" I wonder what Miss Frances Gladstone will say to us ?" said Sarah, after a long silence, during which her companion's mind had been busy with memories of former years. " Nothing but what is pleasant, at any rate, lass," said Mrs. Fisher, rousing from her dreamy state ; " she's a kind, amiable, young lady, if ever there was one, and wouldn't forget an old friend, however humble, for the wealth of the world. We shall receive a kind welcome, I'll be bound." "They say Mr. William has paid off every farthing of his debts," said Sarah, quietly. " I am certain he would do that as long as ever he had a farthing left to pay with, though he had to work for his daily bread for the rest of his life." " I believe all of them work now, except Miss Sophia." " Poor decrepit thing, she can do little in the way of work," said Mrs. Fisher, in a pity ing tone.

" It must be a wearisome life that of hers. Fancy, lying day after day as she does on the sofa." " She never complains, or looks weary," said Sarah, who when a child had often spent whole days with Miss Gladstone, who liked the merry, noisy elf, all the more for her playful gambols. " She has such a sweet temper — all the pain in the world couldn't sour it." " What poor, weak mortals we are, when God afflicts us," said Mrs. Fisher, who had all her life known neither pain nor ache. " And what do they say about Miss Kate, pray? " Nothing, but that she grows prettier and prettier every day, aunt, and that Mr. Wilding grows more in love with her every time he sees her." " I'm sorry for it, and can't say I admire his taste, Sarah. To my mind, Miss Frances is much prettier." " She grows more upon you, aunt, with her calm, sweet face and pleasant, quiet ways,"said Sarah, wdth critical acumen.

" I should not wonder in the least if Miss Frances gets married first, after all. They do say Miss Kate is a sad flirt, and teases Mr. Wilding terribly." " Then, if I was Mr. Wilding I'd have nothing more to say to her; a girl that can torment the man she intends to marry must have no feeling and no heart to give him. Dear ! dear ! how some folks are led away by a pretty face. Now, Miss Frances has both head and heart, I should say ; there's more good common sense — and that's the best sort of sense — in that little head of hers — worth all the pretty cheeks and beaming eyes that ever made fools of the men since the world began." " There's Bradford," said the aunt, the next moment, as they gained the top of the hill and saw the town lying at their feet. " Please God, we'll soon be there ; I'm getting tired, and shall be glad to get a cup of tea to freshen me up a trifle."

" What a black pall lays over the town," said Sarah, " and what a contrast to the brightness of the country we have just left behind us." " And what a difference between the deafen ing sound of those forge hammers in comparison with the stilless of Nature," rejoined Mrs. Fisher, as they entered the street leading to the terrace in which the Gladstone family were residing. Mrs. Fisher began to feel nervous and ill at ease the nearer she approached the presence of the young ladies, whom, until now, she had only known in the height of their prosperity ; whilst Sarah was quietly speculating upon the precise words with which Frances Gladstone and old Hannah would welcome her to their new home. "It isn't Braidsworth, aunt?" said Sarah, breaking the silence, as they approached the Gladstones' house.

" There's more country about Braidsworth, Sarah; more trees and grass — and country people like the green pastures — and yet I cannot but say Bradford is a fine place after all. See there, niece, isn't that Miss Frances looking at us from that window yonder?" Frances Gladstone it undoubtedly was, and the next minute she was in the narrow slip of garden in front of the house, dragging rather than leading Mrs. Fisher into the neat pas sage, and bidding both the aunt and niece welcome with many kind speeches, enquiring after Mr. Fisher and Robert and Sarah's brothers all in a breath. " All nicely, thank you, Miss Frances," was Mrs. Fisher's delighted reply, " and how is Miss Sophia, and Miss Kate, and Mr. Glad stone too." " All quite well," rejoined Frances ; " Kate is on a visit to Miss Vinen at Braidsworth.

This is a holiday, so I have got rid of my pupils for the day." " The school trade must be a very healthy one, if I may judge from your looks, Miss Frances," said Mrs. Fisher, "you usen't to have such roses on your cheeks when you lived at ' The Rookery.' " "lam beginning to like it very much," said Frances, with her usual frankness; " come up stairs at once and see my sister." Mrs. Fisher had a great fear of Sophia Gladstone — the fear that the robust and the healthy often feel for the weak and the sickly ; and it was with a considerable increase of nervousness that she followed Frances into the pleasant room that the loving care of the brother and sisters had provided for the poor invalid. Rare and beautiful plants, many of them still in bloom, chequering the sunlight stream ing into the chamber, birds flitting about their cages, amidst all this bowery wealth and the warmth and snugness that pervaded, as it were, the atmosphere of the room, certainly took away somewhat of the trying ordeal that Mrs. Fisher was called upon to undergo.

The quiet tone and sweet smile of poor Sophia soon dispelled the remaining trepidation, and the two ladies and their visitors were at once in the midst of an eager conversation about Braidsworth and its inhabitants, when Frances chanced to mention that Mrs. Jobson had been over from York the week before, and had called on her way. " Poor old body ! How does she bear her troubles ?" asked Mrs. Fisher. " I thought she looked thinner than usual," said Sophia; " it must be a terrible thing to a mother to be called upon to bear so much for a son." " Our brother says he is confident Jobson is innocent," said Frances addressing Sarah, VOL. III. C I do hope — we all hope — he will be ac quitted." Sarah longed to tell them there would be one there at the trial who would clear poor Harry, but she restrained herself, and said in a low tone she was quite sure he would.

" William says he will do all in his power to save him," was the observation of one of the sisters. " We had Dr. Vinen here last week, and he will attend the trial to give Harry a good character." " No one can give him anything else," said Sarah, blushing. " I do hope all will yet be right." " Sarah would say, Miss Frances, if she durst make so bold," said Mrs. Fisher, summoning up courage at this juncture, " that if you would give her the bite and the sup for a week or so, till the trial comes on, she would take it very kindly." Both the sisters, in a breath, declared that nothing would give them greater pleasure; and Mrs. Fisher began to give herself credit for a great deal more diplomatic talent than she had ever before fancied herself possessor of. She was too wise a woman to take her leave the moment this little arrangement was made, but remained chatting away till Mr. Gladstone came in to dinner, and he was far too hospitable to permit her to go away as hungry as she had come.

Sarah and her self were turned over to the tender mercies of old Hannah, who looked as hearty and sturdy as ever, notwithstanding the loss of no small portion of her consequence. " I suppose we shall be having a wedding soon, Mrs. Fisher," said Hannah, in a tone that was meant to be confidential. " Miss Kate is going to lead off the dance, after all, I fancy." " I wish it had been Miss Frances," said her visitor. " I'm sure I don't," retorted Hannah sharply ; " what could we all do without her, pray ? What could Miss Sophia do with such c a thoughtless bairn as Miss Kate ? Or what could Mr. William do without Miss Frances ? Why, she's his right hand woman, with that cool head and wise brain of hers. No, no, we cannot part with Miss Frances. They do say, though, that there's one across the seas that would fain win and wear her, little as she thinks of herself."