The Hunchback Cashier. A tale of the last century. And Hallow-E'en

Front matter

" Up the High Street they wended their way, past the City Cross." — Chapter THE HUNCHBACK CASHIER: Q fait of the fust Centura. AND HALLOW-E'EN. BY Mrs. HIBBERT WARE, AUTHORESS OF "DR. HARCOURT'S ASSISTANT," "THE HCNLOCK TITLE DEEDS," "THE WATER TOWER," ETC. LONDON : BURNS, OATES & Co., 17 & 18, PORTMAN STREET, & 63, PATERNOSTER ROW Reprinted from " Colburn's New Monthly Magazine.'' Butler Sl Tanner, Tbe Selwood Printing Works, Frorae, and London CONTENTS. THE HUNCHBACK CASHIER. CHAPTEE PiGp. I. After the Funeral 1 II. In Search of Employment ... 11 III. A Gossip over a Dish of Tea . . .19 IV. St. Peter's Presbytery .... 27 V. Mr. Pepper's "Will 43 VI. Penniless 50 VII. The Cashier 56 VIII. A Chapter on Pompons .... 73 IX. Troubled Waters 88 X. Refinement versus Bon-Ton ... 96 XI. The Road to Ruin . . . . .105 XII.

The Gambler 117 XIII. Farewell 128 XIV. The Masquerade 134 XV. Stand and Deliver ! 154 XVI. The Gold Snuffbox . . . . . CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGK XVII. The Bullion Box . . .' . '. .179 XVIII. Fulfilling or the Prediction. . . 192 XIX. A Link with the Last Century . . 196 HALLOW-E'EN.

Chapter II

. . .- . . . «. . . -221 *,* The Authoress has to acknowledge the courtesy of Mr. Wm. Savage, of the Wykeharu Photographic Studio, Winchester, in kindly permitting her to use the engraving of the beautiful City Cross, which is represented in his interesting "Guide to Winchester." % %nh ai % fas* Ctniurg.*

CHAPTER I. AFTER THE FUNERAL.

Near to the city of Winchester lies the small village of Little Worthy, a quaint looking place, full of associations with the past. Here is the old church dedicated to St. Martin, dating centuries back, with the three large stone figures in front of the door, supposed to represent Christ and the two Marys. The broad meadows, and fields, and green wood lands that lie all around the little village were given by the third son of the Conqueror to the monks of Hyde Abbey, eight hundred years ago. How things * The catastrophe of this story is founded upon fact. It is scarcely necessary that the writer should say that for the allusions to manners, customs, costumes, and so forth, she is indebted to pamphlets, newspapers, magazines, etc., of the last century. B have changed since then ! How many have come and gone, and played out the dream of life in that little village, and in the old cathedral city : church men and people, knights and burghers, young and old!

Perhaps thoughts similar to these were passing through the mind of a sorrowing widow, who, with her two orphan children, sat weeping on a stile, midway between Winchester and Little Worthy. It was a bright July afternoon, and the sun poured down, hot and glaring, on the sad group ; but the weary, heart broken woman little heeded it; she had seemed as one moving in a dream, and had scarce yet passed from her trance of . grief. All nature however was bright and joyous, in sad con trast with her sorrow stricken face. The birds were twittering in a clump of fine old oaks hard by, mowers were singing in a neighbouring hayfield, the clear waters of the Itchen wound like a band of silver through the green landscape; and in the distance, melting away into the golden clouds of the west, lay the North Downs, a long range of greyish white hills, with a stretch of heath, forming a dark purple patch amidst the lighter tints of the uplands.

Mrs. Berrington was young in years and old in sorrow. On that bright summer afternoon she had followed the body of her husband through the streets of the city to its last resting place. Among those old houses, with their red tiled roofs, she could look upon the grey towers of the church beneath whose walls she had seen him laid in his quiet rest ing place. Oh the agony of that stricken heart ! What a luxury it was to sit there and weep ! He had been all in all to her. They had loved so truly and fondly, their souls had been so perfectly united, they had never known what it was to have a quarrel. They had not been rich, bat they had been contented with what they had. Perhaps their only real sorrow had been the sad accident which had transformed their firstborn, a fine noble looking lad, into the pale, delicate, misshapen boy, with an unsightly projection on the shoulders, who sits mournfully at his mother's feet, making a fine nosegay for the tiny little sister by his side, too young to realise her loss, while her brother tries to stem the torrrent of his own grief, that he may prevent Rose from troubling poor mamma with questions.

Mr. Berrington had always enjoyed good health, until a violent cold brought on consumption, that disease fatal to so many of England's sons and daughters. Mrs. Berrington hoped against hope, though the sad malady made rapid and fearful strides. She brought her husband to Winchester, his native place. All she did was unavailing. Seated at the open window, on a balmy summer day such as that on which he was buried, his head resting on the shoulder o£ his faithful and loving companion, he passed quietly away from life to death, without sigh or struggle, so gently that she hardly knew that he was dead. Then, alas ! she found that the jewel had gone, that the casket was empty, and that John Berrington's name should be known no more. To weep undisturbed is a luxury, but even this sad privilege Mary Berrington could no longer enjoy.

She knew she must be up and doing. The staff and prOp of her life had gone ; there was no one now to stand between her and the rough usage of a hard world. And then there were her two poor children, the little girl scarce four years old, and the sickly deformed boy, to whom her heart clung the closer from his very misfortune. She must go home : what a solitary home now ! though she and her children were not its sole occu pants. Perhaps she would rather thatshe- should have been alone, for at home was her own old uncle, a man reputed rich, but hoarding what wealth he had, as though he could take it with him to that shadowy world on the borders of which his foot already trod. Some little time before her husband's death Mr. Pepper had proposed coming to live with his niece. The prospect was not promising, as he had never-shown any affection for her, his sole rela tive.

He was known for a close and penurious man, and was accompanied moreover by a cross, ill natured, serving woman. However, poverty reconciles us to many hard things ; and so, for the sake of the small stipend he offered, Mary Berring ton received her uncle under her roof, waited on him hand and foot, and bore with the surliness and taunts and malice of Betsy. The old man threw out distant hints of benefiting her children, of making them his heirs. On her own account his niece would have been too proud to bend to the many in dignities the selfish old uncle put upon her; but she considered that, rather than destroy her children's chances, she ought to bear the burden, however great it might be. The cottage inhabited by Mrs. Berrington was situated just on the outskirts of Little Worthy. It was a small, white, stuccoed house, with a porch covered with woodbine and dog rose, a little garden dark" with evergreens, the high-road stretching away in front, with plantations on either side, and the dusky rooftops and spires of Winchester visible in the distance.

" You've been long of coming home," said Mr. Pepper's morose old servant, as she met Mrs. Ber rington and her children in the vestibule of the cottage. " I gave him his tea an hour syne," she acfded, jerking her finger in the direction of the door of the little sitting room in which her master usually sat. " He could na bide waiting so long ; and now there '11 be fresh tea to brew. I reckon the master will no' be for any extravagance ; there '11 be little enough; an' if we are to waste, there'll be less.' " I do not want any tea, Betsy," said Mrs. Ber rington, her voice broken by grief and an irritation which she could not altogether repress at the inso lence of the woman ; " and as to extravagance and waste, I am not likely to be gvrtlty of either the one or the other ; but in any case it will not affect my uncle, as I do not wish him to keep either myself or my children."

"'Tis like he'll have to, though," muttered the old woman. " Come your ways," she added aloud, addressing the hunchback, "I trow you'll be for your tea, if your mother isn't. Wi' all your lank lean body and famishing looks, you tak more meat and drink, I warrant, than e'er a man in the parish. I'd be ashamed to feed i' such a gait, and never to do a stroke of work." An imploring look from his mother stayed the angry words on the boy's lips, and he followed the old woman in silence into the red flagged kitchen, where a scanty meal of bread, thinly spread with butter, and a little milk, was set out on a table for him and his little sister ; the quantity of edibles but ill according with the idea conveyed by Betsy's words as to the consumption of food by poor Humphrey. The largest share of the milk and the choicest bits of bread and butter were given by him to Rose ; and then, after tea, when the little child, weary and exhausted, had cried herself to sleep because she had no dear papa to kiss, he stole in to her, and knelt down beside her bed, bowed his head on his folded arms, and wept long and bitterly.

Then he prayed for the dearly loved mother and the little sister, and so grew more composed. He rose from his knees, and standing by the open window watched the sun dying away in the west, till his thoughts gathered brightness from the soft crimson tinted clouds. A brief dream of happiness filled the poor boy's soul ; he would work hard, he would make way in the world, he would win a home for his mother and sister, and all their troubles would be at an end. And so the night surprised him still weaving that bright web of hope. The stars were out, and the glistening lamp of the tiny glow worm sparkled on the green turf under the shadow of the beeches in the quaint old garden, before the voice of Betsy, calling him to supper, aroused him from his reverie. In the little sitting room Mr. Pepper was seated with his niece at the open window, for the night was oppressively hot.

He was a tall, thin man, with white hair, keen dark eyes, and very bushy eyebrows, clad in a loose dressing gown, which he usually wore in the house to save his coat. As Humphrey entered the room he caught the words, uttered by Mr. Pepper in an angry tone, " eating you out of house and home," a remark which he doubted not applied to himself. " Humphrey is not strong enough for the work you propose," said Mrs. Berrington, evidently in answer to some proposal of her relative's. " Well, I don't know what's to be done ; I can't keep him ; I am only a poor man, niece, a very poor man," said Mr. Pepper emphatically. " Mamma, I can work, and I will work ; I am stronger than you think me, indeed I am," ex claimed the poor boy, as he placed his thin trans parent hand on his mother's shoulder. " You see the lad has more sense than you have, niece," said Mr. Pepper.

" Humphrey does not know what he is talking of," replied Mrs. Berrington sadly, " you know that, uncle ; how could he carry heavy loads ? John Berrington's son has not the strength to be a grocer's errand boy, even if he could so lower him self." " Oh ! as for that, beggars must not be choosers," remarked Mr. Pepper with a sneer. "I am going to try and get employment my self," said Mrs. Berrington, without noticing her uncle's taunt, " and that may lead to something for Humphrey." " Indeed ! this is a new idea," said Mr. Pepper, elevating his eyebrows ; " and what are your plans, may I ask ? In what manner do you propose to make a fortune that may enable you to bring up your son in idleness, for that seems to be the sole aim of your life ? " " In our prosperity my husband did not intend to bring up Humphrey in idleness," replied Mrs. Berrington, her voice faltering as she alluded to that dear one who had gone from her for ever; " certainly I shall not do so now that trouble and affliction have befallen me.

I spoke yesterday to Father Metham about Humphrey, and probably he may hear of something. He is all goodness and charity." "Oh, yes!. Father Metham? He's a very good man, I daresay, a saint perhaps. But I don't like saints in every day life," replied the old man snappishly. " Father Metham is always wanting something for somebody. He would give the coat off his back, I daresay, if he thought one of his neighbours wanted it ; but I'd rather keep mine, lest, in my turn, I should not find such a charitably disposed person. But about yourself; you haven't answered me yet, what are you going to do ? " " I am going to try and get employment as a teacher," replied Mrs. Berrington. " I shall go and see Dr. Burton to-morrow ; he has been very kind, and I daresay he may be able to find me some pupils."

"I wish he may do any such thing," answered Mr. Pepper impatiently; "the most he will do will be to let you pay him in kind for the pills and powders, and visits and drugs he favoured your husband with, and let you teach those two gawky daughters of his : but no such luck, I shall have a long bill to pay. Some one must pay it you know," he added hastily, seeing his niece was going to speak, " and that will be me, if I can find so much as will satisfy his rapacity. However, we'll say no more about it. I wish you may be able to keep your son as a fine gentleman, that's all ! I doubt it. Let us go to supper. Close the window, for the draught will waste the candle, and I shall have to be careful of candle ends, as well as everything else, when I have a doctor's bill to pay which may be measured by the yard, I daresay."

CHAPTER II. IN SEARCH OF EMPLOYMENT.

The early morning mist was floating upwards in clouds of silvery vapour from the green hillsides and woodlands around Winchester, as Mrs. Berrington, on the day after her husband's funeral, made her way thither from Little Worthy. She had started early, as Dr. Burton, on whom she intended calling first, was rarely to be met with at a late hour in the morning. She entered the old city by the north gate, passing under the turretted archway, where the yellow sunlight glimmered on the dark leaves of the ivy, and edged with gold the sombre outline of the grooves made for the portcullis in the days of yore, and the massive hooks that had once supported the gates, those old gates through which mailed knights and belted troopers had so often passed, in those far away times when Stephen of Blois was crowned in the old city, and when it was the metropolis of England.

Ascending a flight of steps, Mrs. Berrington pursued her way along the walls, her mind too pre occupied with sad thoughts to note the many beauties of the scene around her. Far beneath stretched away the meadows, a sweet fragrance rising up from the heaps of hay which the hay makers were scattering around them ; beneath her feet lay the walls, a solid mass of flint, the greyish hue of the stones relieved by patches of moss ; here and there, a profuse growth of ivy, and in many places trees, oak and ash, their trunks springing from interstices in the walls, their boughs drooping towards the golden meadows beneath. Dr. Burton's residence was in Great Minster Street; an old house with plenty of shade that hot summer morning from the trees around it, and cool and pleasant within ; at least so thought poor, weary, heavy hearted Mrs. Berrington, as she sat in the doctor's study.

An old fashioned room was that study, with wainscoted walls and a great high mantelpiece of wood, carved here and there into curious grotesque looking faces, and with a glass door at the far end opening out into a pretty, old fashioned garden, shaded by giant oaks and beeches and elms, with grassplots grown over with daisies, and beds of all shapes, full of roses and pinks and carnations. A sweet fragrance rose from all those many tinted flowerbeds, and through the dark foliage of the trees was seen the grey tower of St. Lawrence's church, the tower beneath whose shadow lay the grave of John Berrington. " None of you ill, I hope ? " said the doctor, a IN SEARCH OF EMPLOYMENT. pleasant, genial looking man of sixty or so, as he bustled into the room, clad in professional black, with knee breeches, ruffles at his wrists, shoes with extensive buckles, and a portentous, full bottomed, white powdered wig.

" No, there are none of us ill, thank God," replied Mrs. Berrington. " I only wanted to ask your advice, you have been so very kind to me and mine. I wished, in fact, to know whether you thought there would be any chance of my obtaining any pupils in Winchester, and whether you would say a word in my favour to any of your friends." " Certainly, I will do anything in my power, my dear madam," answered the good doctor ; " though I am sorry," he added with a sigh, as he gazed on the slender form and thin pale face of the young widow, " that you should be compelled to think of the laborious occupation of teaching." " Oh, I do not mind the labour ; I only hope I may be able to get employment, that 's all," replied Mrs. Berrington ; " and, Dr. Burton, will you send in your account, please, and I will settle it."

Poor Mrs. Berrington, before she started on her journey that morning, had looked over a few little trinkets she possessed, and determined on selling them to pay the account. " My account ! " said the doctor, taking a large pinch of snuff. " Bless you ! I am a very careless man. I have never put down my visits or my drugs. Never trouble your head about that matter : if you get rich you can pay me something ; if not, well, I fear I may be a debtor when my last accounts are made up in the other world, and this little affair may make a small balance in my favour. By the way, I see Mrs. Burton in the garden ; I will go and ask her about the teaching." And the good man hurried through the glass door, glad to escape from Mrs. Berrington's grateful thanks. Under the shadow of the old beeches Mrs. Burton was busy among her flowers.

She wore a large pair of garden gloves ; a huge pair of scissors were in her hands, and she was snipping off dead leaves just as her husband reached her. " My dear," said the doctor, breaking at once into his subject, as was his wont, " didn't you say yesterday that you should like to meet with some accomplished, experienced person, to finish the edu cation of our two girls ? " "Yes, I did," replied the lady, "but I doubt I shall not find such a person in Winchester. Have you any one in your head, doctor ? " she added, looking suspiciously at him as she spoke, " because, if you have, I know beforehand the person won't suit. You know nothing of the essentials required in a governess." "Stop, my dear, pray ! and hear who the lady is," IN SEARCH OF EMPLOYMENT. ejaculated the doctor, " before you condemn my suggestion.

Mrs. Berrington, I have heard you say yourself, is a highly educated woman." "Mrs. Berrington going to teach ! " exclaimed the good lady, in unfeigned astonishment; "but, doctor," she added, in an apprehensive tone, and. looking inquiringly at her husband as she spoke, " what about your fees ? " "Oh, we shall see; there is time enough for that." " Indeed ! " exclaimed the lady wraths ully ; " I know what I shall see, my daughters begging their bread, if their father continues to defraud them in this way, being so mighty generous to other folk at their expense." " I think there is no danger of that," answered the doctor, adding, with a tone of great composure which increased the annoyance of his fair spouse, " and the risk which you have premised is so slight that I am willing to brave it, even though the future of our children is concerned.

However, to return to the subject upon which I came to speak to you, what do you say about engaging Mrs. Berrington to teach the girls ? " " I will think about it ; indeed, I daresay I may decide upon having her as governess," answered Mrs. Burton rather hastily, the good lady seeming inclined suddenly to enter into her husband's views, rather to his surprise. " But one thing I must beg of you, that you will not interfere with any arrange ments I may make with Mrs. Berrington." Dr. Burton contented himself with having won the day so far as to gain his wife's consent to engage Mrs. Berrington ; and he simply said, as he turned towards the "house to tell that lady the result of his embassy : " One thing, my dear! be liberal in your salary to Mrs. Berrington, that I insist on." " Do you indeed ?

" muttered Mrs. Burton, as she hastened towards an arbour, where the two Misses Burton were seated. " Well, you shall pay her a liberal salary certainly ; but I'll take care and stop some of it towards defraying that bill, and I shall give it to the girls for their clothes. Charity begins at home." With this benevolent aspiration on her lips Mrs. Burton entered the arbour, and threw herself on a little rustic seat. The two sisters were not unlike : fat, fair, and rosy, with hair powdered and frizzed, and drawn up to a stupendous height over a cushion, innumerable pins and layers of pomatum being used in the construction ; dresses of sky blue French lutestring, all flowers and frills, and ex panded by wide hoops, and aprons of flowered lawn . "Your father will be the death of me!" ex claimed Mrs. Burton.

IN SEARCH OF EMPLOYMENT. " La, mamma ! how you terrify us ! " exclaimed both sisters in a breath. " You will be beggars on the face of the earth ! Your father is always making bad debts and ex cusing people from paying what they honestly owe. I expected there would have been a good round sum to receive from John Berrington's widow ; but no such thing ! She is to be your governess and have a liberal salary, forsooth ! Here am I, pinch ing and saving, so that you girls may make a good figure in the world ; and here is your father scatter ing his money broadcast, as you may say." " I am sure we don't want a governess," ex claimed Miss Caroline. " I was going to ask papa to buy me that pink damask we saw at Mrs. Dutton's/' interrupted Miss Sophia ; " but, of course, if nobody is to pay him, there '11 be no money for us.

A nice thing indeed! " " Oh ! I shall give Mrs. Berrington to under stand that I expect her to return me a portion of her salary towards defraying this bill," said Mrs. Burton in a determined tone. " She will be too proud to say anything to your papa, and I think, girls, you will find her useful; you are not quite finished yet. And then I believe she is very clever at her needle : she can work in the schoolroom ; there is my Mechlin head and lappets," added Mrs. Burton musingly ; " I wonder if she can mend lace." c " Oh ! mamma," interposed Caroline ; " if I have that black velvet suit she might quilt the blue silk petticoat for it." " Perhaps she can trim caps," remarked Sophia. " I want a mob with blue ribbons." In this way the mother and daughters went on, laying out work for the new governess, till they decided that her coming would enable them to dispense with the services of a mantuamaker.

" I shall go and see Mrs. Purcell this afternoon," said Mrs. Burton as she left the arbour ; " and, by the way, she might perhaps like to take singing lessons of Mrs. Berrington. I know Martha was thinking of having some. I '11 propose it, and if she does she might as well give her her dinner ; she can have her lunch here ; I don't see why she should dine with us, as your papa intends giving a large salary." Unconscious of all the hard remarks that were made about her, Mary Berrington sat in the study in a rather happier frame of mind than she had been in for some time past; for the doctor had told her that Mrs. Burton would most likely engage her for her daughters, and would see her that morning, when all would be settled. And so she sat counting up how much she could earn, and how happy she would be in supporting her children, and in being no longer dependent on her poor selfish old uncle.

Chapter III

A GOSSIP OVER A DISH OF TEA. " My dearest friend, I have come to take a dish of tea with you this afternoon, and to hear all the news from London, where I expect you have been mightily amused." The above remarks were addressed by Mrs. Burton to her bosom friend, Mrs. Purcell, the wife of a barrister, a man of great attainments and learning, but whose intellect had unfortunately be come impaired from the effects of a severe sun stroke, so that he had been compelled to retire from practice, and had settled in Winchester, his native place. Mr. Purcell was of a younger branch of an old family. The Purcells and Methams (notwithstanding their difference of religion, for the former were Protestants and the latter Catholics) had been for many generations on terms of intimacy and friendship. In the dire days of the first penal laws, when the refusal of a Catholic to take the oaths of supremacy was made treason, and the practice of his religion involved heavy fines and forfeitures, and later on, when the victorious puritans raised louder cries to enforce more rigidly those laws, and caused commissioners to be ap pointed, with powers to seize two parts of the estates of all papists for the use of the parliament, the Catholic gentry and proprietors throughout the kingdom would have been ruined had it not been for the kind feeling and friendship of Protestant neighbours.

These generously accepted convey ances upon trust of the estates of Catholics, in order to screen them from the knowledge of the commissioners ; and right honourably did they per form the trust reposed] in them, restoring the estates to the rightful owners when the danger was past. In this manner had the Purcells often come to the aid of their Catholic neighbours, the Methams, in the hour of need. Mrs. Purcell was a fine lady, given to hysterics and vapours, whose sole recommendation to her husband had been a tolerably good fortune. She had been brought up in France; but though she had been educated at one of the first convent schools, the good nuns, do all they could, had been unable to prevent her growing up into a vain, affected woman, weak and vacillating, and yet at times disposed to obstinacy.

Mrs. Purcell was seated in a pretty, old fashioned room, panelled with oak, with portraits, in oval frames, hanging around, of the ancestors of the Purcell family ; cloth hangings of dark blue were A GOSSIP OVER A DISH OF TEA. 21 drawn over the windows to exclude the sun, and the room was filled with the faint odour of per fumes. An inordinately ugly little lapdog lay curled upon a silken cushion, and the table was covered with shreds of brocade and lace and velvet, Mrs. Purcell being apparently engaged in selecting patterns. " I am so glad you have come, my dear," said Mrs. Purcell languidly ; " I was going, indeed, to write you a note to ask you to do so, but I felt unequal to the task. Travelling from London has quite exhausted me. I thought I should have died in the chariot yesterday before we got to Win chester."