Ellen Raymond: or, Ups and Downs

Front matter

ELLEN RAYMOND OE, UPS AND DOWNS. BY MES. VIDAL, AUTHOR OF "TALES FOR THE BUSH," " CABRAMATTA AND WOODLEIGH FARM," ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, COKNHILL 1859. [77ie right of translation is reserved.'] CONTENTS. Chap. Page I. The Abbey . . . . .1 II. To London . . . . . . 12 UT. " Are We Rivals ? " . . .34 IV. Olive Branches . . . . . 47 V. About Pearls and Prospects . . .57 VI. Old Memories . . . . . 65 VII. " Mrs. Raymond" . . . . .80 "VTLT. A Drive and a Drawing-Room Lecture . . 90 IX. Recognition . . . . .115 X. Electioneering . . . . . 128 XI. Paying an Old Debt . . . .144 XH. A Sunday Walk and Talk . . 154 XIII. Who is He? 171 XIV. The Passing Bell . . . . 181 XV. Sympathy . . . . . .194 XVI. Fiction and Fact . . . . . 209 XVII. The Stolen Interview . . . .229 XVIII.

The Dignity of Matrimony . . . 252 XLX. A Friend's Friends .... 260 XX. Debtor and Creditor . . . . 27.3 XXI. The Summons ..... 290 XXLI. The Mystery and the Solemn Oath . . 305 XXIII. A Journey • 326 XXIV. The Stepmother's Reception . . . 334 XXV. Two Ellens . . . . .347 XXVI. Resisting Temptation . . . . 362 XXVII. The Pleasure of being an Heiress . .377 XXVHI. Mrs. Mortimer's Snuggery . . . . 392 XXIX. Death-bed Words .... 402 VOL. UPS AO DOWNS.

Chapter I. The Abbey

" The last storm of wind seems to have brought spring," remarked Mrs. Wentworth, as they drove up the fine old Abbey avenue ; "we shall have fine weather, I think." " Oh, how beautiful the Abbey woods are ! " ex claimed Ellen. " I had forgotten that they were so fine. Only think of this place being deserted and let to a common farmer. If I was rich, I would repurchase the estate ! " Mrs. Wentworth smiled at Ellen's eagerness. " Who knows, my love, but you may do such a thing ? Do you know, Ellen, I have a scheme in my head about you — a pet scheme: shall I tell you?" " Certainly— what is it ? " VOL. II. B " Well, then, you are my first favourite, as you know, "for auld acquaintance" sake ; for the sake of Bertha, and Ellen, your namesake, you are dear to me — but I have another — I should it would be the crowning wish of my heart to see you and him united."

"Oh, Mrs. Wentworth, that is not like you: I thought you were no match-maker!" said Ellen, laughing. " Nor am I, my dear ; and I am silly to mention this : I will not betray anything more ; so no mischief is done. Yet you are so suited ! there will be fortune, and no earthly objection." " One strong one," returned Ellen, " which is, that I have a harder heart than you think ! It is not with girlish folly and affectation I speak, but with a far more serious and earnest meaning, when I disclaim any idea of matrimony at present : I assure you, my heart is as hard in that way as the nether mill stone." "You have been plagued and worried enough, Ellen, to account for your present feelings ; nevertheless,, though I give you credit for sincerity, you must allow me the pleasure of hope; so I shall go on building my little castle very happily and innocently."

" I think I have seen enough ; that my own ex perience of marriage is rather a preserver against my having any visions of that kind," continued Ellen, gravely. " In our family it has hitherto been a bitter cup in the draining, and I must get you now to tell me everything. You would not last time, but I feel now that I am old and reasonable enough to hear all you can tell me." " Well, my dear, I will think about it ! It is a painful task, for it partly affects the living, as well as the dead." " My father ! But, Worthy, you well know how I guessed it long ago. I am unlike poor Bessie ; I always had a keen eye for all the faults of others. I know he never loved my mother. Yet, do you know, I could have loved him ! Yes, I am sure I should have loved my father — but for that woman. It is my nature to love those most of whom I have a little dash of fear, and there was always something attractive in my father's handsome person and proud reserved bearing : — a mystery in the dim silent study from which we were excluded — an awe in his strictly polite and finished manners, and his sometimes evident pride in his children.

He loved Bessie best, but I knew — I felt he was proud of me. I have often felt his eye fixed on me, and heard him sigh ; and once or twice, when he was thrown off his guard, he has betrayed emotion of no common kind even when angry and irritated against me." " I dare say ! I can well believe it ! I can account for his admiring you, Ellen, even had you not been his child. You are very like your aunt, my dear ; I feel it so more and more." " My aunt ! Why should that attract my father?" "Oh, I cannot tell you exactly! There is no time ; for see ! here we are. There is nothing very pleasant in some of the recollections of my youth. I have seen strange things : I have individually passed many quiet happy years since that time, though my friends are gone ; but here is old Jeffrey himself," and Mrs. Wentworth was evidently glad to turn from the subject.

The Abbey, i. e., the original building, stood on the crest of a thickly wooded hill, commanding a view of the sea and the long straggling village of Ashbv Cross, with endless moors stretching out far in the distance, their grey tints contrasting well with the rich woods, the fields, and the extensive pleasure grounds. A stream ran below this hill, famous for its trout, and well known to many an angler, who loved to follow its windings round the picturesque woods by day, and return at night to the clean little Abbey inn, which stood at the end of the village, and listen to all the legends of the place ; of which the landlord had enough and to spare. The more modern building, usually called the Abbey House, stood more in the valley, facing the wooded hill and the grey ruins. Part of it had been pulled down by the Roundheads, and rebuilt, after the lapse of many years, in a different style ; but Mrs. Wentworth could tell of the thick walls with chambers in them, so mysterious and awful to her as a girl, where fugitive royalists were said to have been secreted by Bertha, the good lady of the Raymond family.

The house had been burnt down since then ; and as Mrs. Wentworth drove up the' once stately avenue, they both exclaimed at the dreary look of the shattered blackened walls and heaps of brick and mortar, while roses threw out great thorny branches across the paths, as if to guard it like the enchanted palace of fairy tales. All was ruin and confusion — except the once mossy lawn, which had been freshly ploughed by Farmer Lewis. The ladies alighted and went to the flight of broad stone steps, which still remained, from whence there w-as a beautiful view. Broken ginger-beer bottles and corks, and a heap of cinders near a large flat stone, spoke of last summer's picnics. It was indeed a favourite resort to strangers. Ellen sickened as she saw this, and turned away hastily. A rude hedge of roses, now broken down in some places, separated them from what had been a flower garden.

Ellen went there, and was followed by her companion. " Yes," she said, " this was their garden. Their private sitting room led out by a flight of steps to this, and it used to be quite shut out from the front. Hours and hours have I passed here gardening, and singing, or reading under that large tree." Mrs. Wentworth said she seldom came here now — it was too melancholy; and after getting her rose plants was evidently glad to hurry away. Not so Ellen. She would like to have spent hours in roving about, and dreaming over the past. It grated harshly on her pride to feel how much the fortunes of her family had sunk. A Raymond married to an apothecary, in a dismal country town I her father under the dominion of a low bred woman ! herself without a home, and as poor as she was proud. But the more she looked at the desolate wreck of her mother's home, or the time-honoured ruins which stood out so boldly against the soft light of the sky ; the higher she raised herself, dreams of what she would do, passed rapidly before her.

Her brother was dead: had never survived his babyhood; but why should not a woman do something to reclaim the tarnished honour of the family ? Where there was a will, there was always a way ; and so on. " Ellen, my love," said Mrs. Wentworth, that evenin_\ _-atherin_- together her delicate knitting, which so well showed off the taper and graceful fingers. " Our visit to the poor old place has not inspirited us, I think : or perhaps you are tired with your walk this morning ? " " No." Ellen said she was not tired — only dull, and perhaps a little miserable. Yes, " miserable ; * it was no use denying or hiding it. At Blair, at least, she need not wear a mask. It was such a comfort to be true. " But I should hope that the very being at Blair may enable the true face to be a happy one. It would be hard indeed if Poole troubles reached you here.

Come shake it off, Ellen ; forget it all, my love." "Forget! Ah, so I thought I should; but, Worthy, it is not easy." " Poor soul ! But now you are well out of it, Ellen. If your father will marry that woman — well, it can't be helped." " I was not thinking of that. But it isn't pleasant to have such bitter, bitter things said and believed of one. They say such dreadful, such cruel things of me. You know, Worthy, that it was while I was staying at Mrs. Ullathorne's that Bessie's engagement and marriage took place, all in a great hurry. How I hated it ! But I could not prevent it ; and my opposition was attributed by Mrs. Hay to my jealousy and envy of Bessie's good fortune — that I did not like her to be married first." Ellen's lips curled with proud disdain as she said this. " Bessie cried, and was wretched.

When I found how fond she was of John, I determined to say no more. I have borne a good deal : but never mind, if she is but happy. No wonder, if hi all this 'row' I was glad to turn to poor Alick's pleasant face, and talk and laugh with him. I must confess also, there was some little pleasure in braving his mother. It was enough to harden me, or any one, to have such looks, such eyes, cast on me, and to hear such dreadful stories. It is a wonder I have any love left for poor Bess, they have tried so hard to set her against me." " Do you believe her to be happy ? " asked Mrs, Wentworth. " Indeed, I can't say : I fear much that her eyes are opening. She must feel the selfishness and the coarseness of his character. He should have had a regular spirit — a determined woman, like his own sister.

Bess is too meek and gentle; and I must say her slow, dawdling ways are enough to provoke a man, at times. But she is so devoted, and so good. It is hateful to see him flirting with every girl he sees, and leaving her to pine and faint at all the home trials alone. He is losing his practice, and is, I believe, in some difficulty. The worst time was when he found that the expected fortune from Mrs. Ullathorne had dwindled into a mourning brooch and 10?. a year. Mrs. Hay had no authority, no right, to proclaim Bessie as her godmother's heiress ; but I am very sure the marriage was made up by her on the strength of it. Mrs. Ullathorne was a severe tempered, narrow-minded, old woman. She used to cross-examine me about John and Bessie. I always, of course, spoke of Bessie as I thought and felt, but when she would take no evasion, and asked me plump if I liked John, what could I say ?

I hesitated, and tried my best ; but though I expressed a hope that marriage would improve him, and tried to bring out his good points (oh, it was hard work, the digging for them I assure you!) she would nail me to the direct question, " Did I think highly of him ? " I said ' No ; ' and there it ended. But they choose to lay her will, to my — my — management. Yes," she added, speaking rapidly, and with glowing cheeks, " I am accused, Worthy, of flattering her, trying to ingratiate myself, and speaking ill of my sister, because — because — oh, it makes me so angry! — because I was to marry Mr. Vaughan, they said. He was a distant relative of Mrs. Ullathorne's, and staying with her while I was there. He had just come in for some money, and changed his name, and it was to him the old lady left everything." 'S' "Vaughan!

Vaughan! do you know him? Edward Vaughan ? " exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, with ani mated eagerness, in every look and gesture. " Yes ; I knew him then, and — and I had met him once before, under another name, under curious circumstances, which rather served to bring us together ; and he is peculiar in his manner to ladies. But the idea of their daring to say that I " Ellen rose, and moved about the room in a restless and excited manner. Mrs. Wentworth watched the ashes fall ; and the servant came in to take away the tea and coffee cups. When this was done, and Ellen drew her chair to the table and took out her work, Mrs. Wentworth said, " Aud what did you think of Edward Vaughan, Ellen ? How is it I never knew of your acquaintance with him ? " EUen coloured a little. " You don't know quite everything about me, perhaps.

How did I like him ? Well enough : he is pleasant and entertaining ; but his name is not too pleasantly associated in my mind. Just fancy the report ! Fancy such a thing being said, and being partly — that is, having just a slight foundation of truth in it. I don't know how to explain it; but you see we were much thrown together in that house for some weeks, and as you know him, you must be aware that his manner can be just a little particular, and that sort of thing. I shoidd suppose him a general admirer of womankind." " You are mistaken there ! Where he likes and admires, I grant he lets his manner express very much, all he feels ; but Vaughan is quite fastidious in his taste. How very singular it is that you and he should have met, and I not to know it ! " " I only hope we may never meet again !

I wished to explain it all to papa, but he ordered me not to utter another word ; and added that when I asked his consent to the marriage, I should hear his ophiion of the whole proceeding ! " " Very strange ! " muttered Mrs. Wentworth. " Yes ! strange enough. But I never will stoop to tuideceive or explain again. If they can and will believe such things, they may. Why should I care? I will not," Ellen said, with quivering lips. " I see no reason why you and Mr. Vaughan should not meet again ; on the contrary, I hope to see him here very soon : and is it possible you don't know he has taken Thorn House, six miles from this? You need not start, or look so dismayed. What is there to prevent you two from meeting like other Christians? Your father has been deceived. Leave it to me to undeceive him.

I know no one person equal to Edward Vaughan. I esteem and like him. Indeed, Lena, you must get over this absurd prejudice." " I don't dislike him — there is no prejudice. I simply wish not to be thrown near him agam, owing to all that has been said." "There is everything to recommend him. Family, fortune, ability, and a most thoroughly agreeable manner," remarked Mrs. Wentworth, resuming her knitting with a somewhat clouded face. " Won't you give me a song, Worthy ? Do now ! And let us forget all disagreable things," and Ellen drew out the harp, placed a light and some music, and then playfully and coaxingly drew her friend towards it. The rest of the evening was passed in the delight of seeing and hearing Mrs. Wentworth. Nor was the promised history of the Abbey even remembered.

Chapter II. To London

Blair Hall was not long allowed to remain as quiet as Ellen found it for the first few days after her arrival. Morning visitors soon poured in to greet Mrs. Wentworth's return, and there was a succes sion of dinner parties, besides people staying in the house. Among the latter was a distant cousin of Mrs. Wentworth, a Miss Clare. Ellen had never seen her before, and at first was struck favourably by her lively and amusing manner. She was not prett}*, but had an agreeable countenance, though she was very near-sighted and wore spectacles. She was one of a large family, and had been accustomed to great thrift and management in domestic affairs, for her father was Vicar of a large parish and had but a straitened income. Four boys were launched in colonial life, and one son and five unmarried daucditers remained at home.

Mrs. Wentworth, accustomed all her life to love and flatter}-, had never hked Mr. Clare's blunt and downright manner, and alto gether contrived to be as distant as she well could. Mr. Clare was an independent character, and was quite as willing as herself to confine their inter course to occasional formal letters; but his wife could not consent to this. She considered a relation so rich as Mrs. Wentworth to be worth courting in every possible way. Many a honeyed word and affectionate inquiry did she contrive to in sinuate, unknown to her husband — many a pretty specimen of needlework, in the shape of mats, rugs, and screens, were sent with warm messages to Blah- Hall, when her daughters were mere children. As they grew up they were invited one by one for a month's visit. But except in the case of this one, Arabella, that desired and welcome invitation had never been repeated.

The day after Miss Clare's arrival, it was Sunday ; Ellen retired to her room in order to read with the under-housemaid, the young girl whose attendance on herself she had petitioned for, and in whom she took some interest, which induced her to set herself the duty of trying to impress her with some higher principles then generally pervaded the servants' hall. In the midst of the reading, Miss Clara's head ancl spectacles appeared. " Oh, I beg pardon ; didn't know you were en gaged ; only to ask you to take a stroll," and she retreated. " How extremely good of you, Miss Raymond," she remarked, when an hour after Ellen joined her in the verandah, and they walked up and down enjoying the fresh air. " You 're fond of teaclung, I dare say. I have no vocation in that line; my sisters do a great deal.

But," lowering her voice, " I am so glad to see that you observe the very sad neglect, the utter want of rule and discipline which exists here. I should fear, however, your post can't be very agreeable ? I daresay you find the servants resent any delegated authority — any interference — I couldn't undertake the situation myself on any account." " What situation ? " asked Ellen, looking at her in surprise. " What do you suppose?" " ' Situation ' is perhaps not the right term exactly. But don't be afraid of me — I know my cousin so well, so very well ; and dearly, devotedly as I love her, one can't be positively blind to her little foibles. And I can quite conceive that you have much to bear, for she is exigeante, and things have been terribly neglected." " I really don't understand you. If you allude to my reading to Nanny, I assure you, it is quite a private agreement between herself and myself — quite a voluntary act.

Certainly I thought it right to ask Mrs. Wentworth's leave before " " I understand ! How enthusiastic you are, to be sure ! I read characters quickly ; I saw you through and through the very first evening. That kindling colour rising and falling, the quivering nostrils and your peculiar shaped brow — all tell their tale. How very charming my cousin is ; don't you think so ? A little accustomed to exclusive devotion and that kind of thing ; but who would not offer it to such a shrine ? My dear father does not, I know, approve of quite so much dissipation, and we have thought her now and then just a little inclined to be selfish and forgetful of others. But one must remember all the temptations, and not judge too severely. Tell me now, does she — I hope and trust she does — but does she behave liberally to you — you who do so much for her?"

"Really, Miss Clare, you strangely misunderstand things. What do you suppose I am here for, I w*onder. Do you consider me a hired companion or a housekeeper ?" "You dear, excitable, offence-taking creature! Your naivete delights me ! You are so very fresh and original." " Oh, yes ; but my question ? Do you know that Mrs. Wentworth was my mother's most intimate and earliest friend, and that she is my friend, and that as such I am here as her guest, and her guest only?" " Indeed ! — Oh, yes, of course ; only I did fancy I heard her say that this was your home. But I beg your pardon ; pray, forgive my stupid blundering." Ellen tried to swallow down her he, which this conversation had roused, and they spoke of other things till the dressing-bell summoned them in. A day or two after this, Ellen was hurt and surprised at seeing that something had visibly annoyed her friend.

On going to her dressing room, Ellen felt at once, from the coldness of her manner, that Mrs. Wentworth was offended. "Pray, don't trouble yourself to do that," Mrs. Wentworth said, as Ellen arranged her bouquet — her usual task. " My maid can do it. Pray, don't take that trouble ! " " Trouble ! Oh, Worthy, and you know what a delight it is to me ! See, I thought you would wear your black velvet to-day, and I have chosen these lovely geraniums and roses. Indeed, I shall not give up my post to any one ! " "As you please; but assuredly I never asked the favour." Ellen looked at her, and saw there was something wrong. After putting up and undoing the flowers many times, unsuccessful in her annoyance, she said, " If I only knew what has hurt you ! I am sure I have done something. Tell me what, please !

" And she laid her hand gently on Mrs. Wentworth's arm. " Ellen ! " she said, after a pause, and with some agitation, "have I ever asked you to do anything unbecoming or inconsistent with your being my guest and my friend's child ? Tell me frankly now : why should you so scornfully assert your indepen dence, and speak so disdainfully of being asked to do any httle thing for me ? Is it true and sincere, after your professions of love ? I have reason to be hurt ; and I am deeply hurt." " I can't understand it ! Who can have said such very false things of me ? Oh, Worthy — you know I could not have spoken so ! You are only trying me ; I am sure you wouldn't believe anyone against your own heart's conviction. But — who has said so ? I have a right to know this. Was it, could it be your cousin ?

" After some time Mrs. Wentworth confessed that it was Arabella wdio had spoken of Ellen's indignant denial of being under any obligation whatever to Mrs. Wentworth, but on the contrary she had asserted all tlie obligation was on the other side ! The misunderstanding was soon made up between them, owing to Ellen's fearless frankness. But, henceforth, the lady in the golden spectacles was sedulously avoided by her, and some of the old Poole looks were revived for Miss Clare's benefit. Miss Clare took no offence, apparently. The only allusion she ever made to the cause of Ellen's annoyance, was in remarking carelessly one day, that Mrs. Wentworth was rather absent and apt to hear a thing imperfectly, and go off with a wrong impres ■ sion. By dint of making herself useful, amusing dull VOL. II. c visitors, running of messages, and making divers pretty and really clever models in cardboard, taking a part in a glee, winch no one else knew, and other highly convenient acts, she succeeded in recovering her lost ground with Mrs. Wentworth ; wdio praised her as a "good soul," a "clever body," and one who gave herself no airs.

The lady's maid liked and confided in her, relating all the causes for offence she had against Ellen, who usurped her rightful place in so many ways, and had the bad taste to prefer the help of an ignorant girl to her own condescending attendee o © ance! Miss Clare managed to prolong her visit, much to Ellen's sorrow ; for each day made it clearer that the two could not pull together. Seeing Miss Clare's exaggerated caresses and adoration of Mrs. Wentworth, had the effect of keeping Ellen distant and cold to her friend : the sight of the spectacles acted very much as a refrigerator in company, and made her conscious of scrutiny not particularly partial. She took refuge in her own resources, paid " Goody " many visits, and whenever the weather allowed, she took long rambles to the old Abbey grounds, and sketched it in every point of view, dreaming some cxirious dreams meanwhile over her drawings.

One day Mrs. Wentworth looked over her shoulder, as she put the last strokes to a picture. " Why, that is really beautiful, Lena ! We shall have you quite an amateur artist, by and bv. Is this your portfolio ? " And she drew out, one after another, Ellen's collection. There were hasty sketches of her father, a more finished and very good likeness of Bessie, and an unfinished drawing, and several rough outlines of Hetty and Ruth, fancy portraits of all kinds and faces done from memory, of which one of old Goody Fleet was very striking. Mrs. Wentworth insisted on passing them round for general inspection, and a Major Kelly, himself no mean draughtsman, was loud in his praise, as well as judicious in his criticism. "You have the gift decidedly, Miss Raymond. Good teaching and hard practice will do wonders."

" Ellen must have a master. What do you say to our taking a run to town ? I must or I ought to be there on business, hateful word ! We shall come hi for the season in its full bloom, and see the exhibi tions, and while I am wearied to death with lawyers, you may have lessons. What do you say, Lena ? " " Delightful ! Just what I have always specially desired," exclaimed Ellen, joyously. "Ah, yes I Such an advantage, and get really good masters ! " sighed Miss Clare. " But we could never have that benefit. We all taught ourselves." " You have taught yourself to some purpose,'" observed the gallant Major. "Your models are first rate. Do you draw? I should suppose you must and do so." " A little, in a very humble w*ay. I have quite a c passion for 'Art, but hi a country town one has so few advantages."