Graybridge Hall. A romance

Chapter I

"Always the same, Darby my own." TEA was over ; two ladies sat comfortably chatting in the large well-furnished drawing-room of Graybridge Hall. The lamp still burnt brightly beneath the burnished kettle on the tea tray, for Mr. Grier had been out all day, and his wife glanced up at each distant sound — she was waiting for his return. " What a pity Mr. Penrose couldn't remain for tea ! " she observed at length to her niece, Maude Graham, who sat by an open French window winding a skein of wool. " Dear man ! he works too hard. Before he came the men smoked in the chancel when they came for choir practice. I'm sure we were thankful when old Mr. Hopkins resigned the living. He was such a horrid old dose ! " Maude laughed. "You do say such funny things, auntie." " Mr. Penrose ought to marry. I have no patience with these celibate clergy," continued Mrs. Grier; "a man gets so moped when he lives alone.

Men are such poor creatures, they require the support of women. If horses and women but knew their power the world would be a very different place to what it is. Such is my firm belief ! " A " Mr. Penrose seems quite content to remain as he is," said Maude; "he always appears pretty cheerful." "That may be," acquiesced her aunt; "nevertheless, every man ought to be married." Having cut the pages of a book she held, Mrs. Grier rose to put it on the table. " Ring the bell for Uncle John's muffins," she cried ; " he is coming across the lawn." Maude was not very tall, but had a slight and prettily-rounded little figure. The oval of her face was mignon, shaded at the temples by rippling waves of hair, whose coils glowed with tints of golden bronze when touched by the fading sunlight. Her mouth drooped slightly when her face was quite at rest, but the smile with which she now greeted her uncle's entrance was that of a happy, innocent child.

Her eyes were brown, rather large, and very frank and open. Their expression had become more thoughtful of late, — with the thoughts of seventeen. "So here you are at last, John," exclaimed Mrs. Grier, as her husband entered the room. " I thought you were never coming ! Maude and I have had our tea ; we waited, till at last I felt quite faint. You know I never can wait for my tea, John," this in parenthesis, "it upsets me, and the doctor says I mustn't be upset," and Mrs. Grier pouted like a spoilt child. " Dear old man," she added ; " I've been thinking of my old husband all day long," and she touched his hand caressingly as she handed him his cup. " Well, I am glad to get home," exclaimed Mr. Grier, seating himself and stretching out his legs before him with a sigh of huge content. " Only two brace of grouse all day, and I'm sure I must have tramped quite thirty miles !

By the way, Mary, Harry has come home, and I have asked him round to dine to-night." Maude's colour heightened. She had been hoping, hoping, and now the news had come. " I looked in at the Grange on my way home," continued Mr. Grier. " Harry arrived this morning, and was explaining to his mother those mortgage papers. Fine young fellow, Harry Fielding ! as different from the ordinary run of mashers in the present day as Maudie there is unlike the modern young woman of Sandown and the Row. But there, I'm an old fogey, I suppose, with pre-historic notions. Anyway, I should like to kick a good deal of conceit out of some young fellows of my acquaintance ; I've no patience with such puppies." " The Courts rose some days ago ; Harry must have been detained in town, since he only came home this morning," observed Mrs. Grier.

" No doubt he got a good case," said Mr. Grier. " He is a very promising young barrister. Such a good son and brother, too ! Poor Mrs. Fielding ! her whole soul is wrapped up in that boy." Mrs. Fielding, the subject of this remark, was a widow in delicate health, who, some years before the commencement of this story, had come to live at the Grange, a large, grey-stoned house, situated midway between the hamlet of Graybridge and the neighbouring town of Kenelly. The cordial relations then commenced between the two families had continued without interruption ; Mrs. Fielding was sincerely attached to Mrs. Grier, and her only daughter, Sylvia, a tall girl of sixteen, was Maude Graham's greatest friend. "How did Harry look?" asked Mrs. Grier. " Never saw him look better," replied her husband. " And I thought Mrs. Fielding's white cheeks had a tinge of colour in them.

She always seems to get better when Harry comes home." "He is a good fellow,"observed Mrs. Grier.without enthusiasm. " I should just think he was," replied her husband, his honest face flushing. "Not one man in a thousand can come up to him. The young people of the present day seem to consider themselves brought into the world simply to fritter away their lives in self-indulgence. As to putting self for one moment on one side — " (here Mr. Grier grunted with dissatisfaction, and examined his hob-nailed boots). " This is excellent tea, Mary," he observed, his face assuming the stolid expression peculiar to some people during the process of mastication. " Let me hold that wool for you," said his wife, noticing how entangled Maude's skein had suddenly become. " What have you been doing with it, Maudie ?

" Maude crossed the room, and knelt down between her aunt and uncle. Mrs. Grier's brows contracted as she surveyed the knotted skein — her husband's eyes softened. John Grier had known one sorrow in his life, the death of his sister Marguerite, who, marrying at an early age, had accompanied her husband to the West Indies. One day a black-edged envelope bearing the Jamaica postmark had arrived at Graybridge Hall. Captain Graham bad succumbed to yellow fever, then raging virulently in that dangerous climate ; Marguerite had followed her husband to an early grave ; such had been the substance of the letter, — Maude was motherless. Then Mrs. Grier, to whom a participation in nursery joys and cares had been denied, promised to fill that sweet relationship towards her husband's orphan niece ; the long disused schoolroom was re furnished, a doll's house bought, and one day Mr. Grier drove home from Kenelly with a brown-haired little maiden by his side, while his wife, rosy with excitement, flew to the lodge gates to meet them.

A new chapter was then commenced in the annals of Graybridge Hall. "How well our little woman looks to-day, auntie," said Uncle John, softly patting the glowing cheek before him. " Just now she does," admitted Mrs. Grier, cautiously, " but this afternoon she looked dreadfully pale. I shall certainly put a stop to all this district visiting and tearing about the country." " Penrose deserves to be kicked," muttered her husband, with whom respect for the clergy was not a ruling characteristic. " He is working our little lassie to death ; those parsons show no mercy." "It is not overwork, indeed, Uncle John," exclaimed Maude, glancing up with big truthful eyes. " I have been dreadfully lazy of late, always making good resolutions, but always breaking them." " No use making good resolutions unless we keep them, Maudie," said Uncle John, scanning her upturned face with kindly searching eyes.

Something in her manner of late had recalled to him the ways of another little woman, whose day dreams he had sometimes interrupted twenty years ago. " Mary looks quite young still," he thinks, glancing fondly at his wife. But though he had observed no change, time had gently left its traces on Mary's smoothly-plaited hair, and her figure was plumper than it once had been, though neat and pretty still. Her dimpled hands were soft and white, and the rings she wore glistened brightly as she wound the skeins of wool, while her little feet, encased in red morocco slippers, resting upon the footstool, were quite bewitching. At least, such was her husband's opinion. " Uncle John will hold the skein while you gather some flowers for us to wear to-night, Maudie," said Mrs. Grier. " I should like some violets to match my lilac dress, Harry would like a little bud, so would Uncle John, and I think some deep red roses would look nice in your white dress.

Don't take the roses from the conservatory," she cried, as Maude was leaving the room. " I promised them to Mr. Penrose for the Flower Show," she explained. " Hold your hands a little lower, love — so, John — that will do. Mr. Penrose called this afternoon, looking, dear, so tired ! He wants taking care of; in fact, he ought to marry. That crazy old housekeeper of his, Mrs. Jones, doesn't understand him a bit. No man will eat his dinner unless it is nicely put before him ; you wouldn't yourself, dear. Now, John, don't shake your head, because you know that what I say is true. If your dinner wasn't properly cooked, you'd just put down your knife and fork. And quite right, too, love, considering how hard you work !" This was a pleasant fiction in the family. "Now, it appears to me," she continued, "that Maude is exactly suited for a clergyman's wife.

So quiet and domesti cated, and at the same time quite a shocking absence of style." " I think our child is very bonnie, wife," broke in her husband, hotly. " She is just what a woman should be — sweet, and innocent, and pure. There are no hateful French fandangles about my little lassie, thank Heaven. And her eyes ! she has just her mother's eyes, haunting and pathetic, as if she could foresee all sadness that must be. Poor Marguerite." " Maude is a lady, of course, how should she be otherwise? but you don't quite grasp my meaning, John. You look upon her as a dear, sweet child; I watch her critically, with an eye to the future. I promised to be a mother to Maude, and what is a mother's first duty towards her daughter?" "I fear I've forgotten my catechism," said John, with a laugh. "What is it, Mary?

" " Why, to marry her well, of course," replied Mrs. Grier, with alacrity, " and I trust I have a keen sense of my duty in that respect. Of course she must marry, and her photograph must appear in the Queen. Next Spring will do for that. But it would never repay me to take a house for the Season in London, and have her properly introduced. She must be presented from a hotel, — just for the name of the thing. I could never forgive myself if it were not done, and we could return home quietly the following morning. To give Maude a fashionable outfit, and take her to drive in the Row would be absurd. She would never create a sensation. A timid manner and pretty air are all very well for the country; in London a girl must have manner, and Maude has no aplomb." "A good thing, too," muttered John, "I hate these si n de siecle young women.

Maude is just a typical English girl, true as steel, and as fresh as a daisy." "Those old-fashioned qualities don't take in the present day," said Mrs. Grier. " Men of the present day require to be amused, and Maude can amuse nothing beyond her kitten ! What does she know of the world? Nothing, absolutely nothing ! " " And may she never know more ! " prayed John beneath his breath. "Then consider her figure," continued Maude's aunt, "she is far too short. A plainer girl, with a finer carriage, would be certain to find admirers, while Maude would be passed by. Are you listening to me, John ? " she asked abruptly, for her husband's eyes were wandering, and his attention seemed to flag. "I've been listening attentively for the last half hour," replied Mr. Grier, "but why you should draw comparisons between Maude and the typical London girl I utterly fail to see!"

" Haven't I been trying to explain my object all along ? Men are so dense. Of course we must get her married, and since she is so unadapted for London Society, we must marry her in the country, and Mr. Penrose is the man ! " " Why should she marry at all?" asked Mr. Grier, innocently. "I don't want to part with the child." "Of course not ! But you wouldn't have to part with her if she married Mr. Penrose. Think how nice it would be to have her settled for life at the Vicarage, just outside our gates!" " I don't see why she should be planted just outside the Lodge gates, boarded out as it were. Why should my little girl be made to marry? I'm not a rich man, but she will be comfortably provided for when I die. I'd rather keep her inside the gates if it's all the same to you, Mary." " But think what a good man he is, and how kind he would be to her, dear !

It would be delightful for me to have her living at the Vicarage. It would be quite a nice little occupation for me to choose her dresses, engage her servants, and arrange her dinner parties." " For which small services you would probably receive no thanks. How old is Penrose ? He might be any age. We must not marry her to a man old enough to be her father." " She is such a baby that a middle-aged husband would be an advantage. And as to thanks, I expect no gratitude in this world," she added with a martyr's sigh. " ' Crabbed age and youth cannot live together,' " quoted Mr. Grier. "We were both twenty-one when we married. You wouldn't have taken an old fogey yourself, Mary. Now confess!" Mrs. Grier laughed and blushed. "You know you wouldn't!" he persisted; "confess, Molly ! " " Well, there, I wouldn't. Don't be teasing, John.

But Mr. Penrose isn't an old man. I doubt if he is forty, and a man with his abilities is sure to become a bishop some day. How beautifully he preaches ! They say his congregation last Sunday was the largest known in Graybridge last year. His sermons, like my own remarks, are always to the point. They just suit me, being only twenty minutes long, while Mr. Hopkins' prosy homilies invariably — " "Sent you to sleep?" interposed her husband. "Well, so they did! And I've known Mr. Penrose's addresses produce the same effect. How often have I carried that huge bottle of smelling salts to church for you, Mary ? " " Don't be horrid, John ! You often fancy I'm asleep when I'm deep in meditation. A little meditation in between whiles does me good !" Her husband laughed. "Don't breathe a word of our conversation to Maude," said Mrs. Grier, impressively.

"It hasn't entered her head as yet, and a syllable whispered prematurely would quite spoil my little plan." " It hasn't entered his head either," answered John. "Maude would never learn to love him." " We shall see. And as to your fancying that he has never thought of her, I can only answer that it is impossible to fathom what men think ; they are so very deep. I'm sure I never dreamt you loved me until you told me so !" "Then, ma'am, you must have been very blind, for I was most attentive. But then, of course, I was only one in a crowd." Mary smiled, well pleased at the pretty flattering speech. " The poor people worship Mr. Penrose," she said. "And I know some one else who is on the high road to idolatry," said Mr. Grier, wagging his head sadly. "No one ever worships me now !" His wife laughed.

"You silly old goose," she cried ; but she kissed his shiny forehead, as he had intended that she should ; then rang the bell for Thomas to remove the tea things.

Chapter II

"Maude's own little oak room, Which Maude, like a precious stone Set in the heart of the carven gloom, Lights with herself.'' HARRY had come home, and a little heart was beating, it was dancing and throbbing madly in the sweet old-fashioned garden of Graybridge Hall. Situated in the most picturesque district of N shire, where the dark-hued soil of the marshy fens gives place to soft undulating meadows, Graybridge Hall, a square brick residence, built some time in the eighteenth century, could lay no claim to architectural distinction. Its many rows of windows were suggestive of a barrack, while cracks in the crumbling masonry pointed ominously to decay. It was not a beautiful residence, but hallowed by many memories, ghosts of the past dwelt there to haunt it, as, with its history uncompleted, it stood in the fading splendour of an autumn sunset's glow.

Have any forgotten, buried with other holy recollections, the remembrance of those golden days when the sight of a long-lost face, and the sound of a once-loved voice awakened the dawn of a brighter life within them ? Some have per chance forgotten ; some never can forget. And yet when the flush of youth, with its soaring hope, and freshness of delight is over, world-stained and harassed they strive to recall the past, and to taste again the sweet mysterious joy which once possessed them, they find that power to conjure back those fleeting hours have vanished, the fairy whose wand once smote their hearts has gone for ever — they call vainly, she will return no more ! Yet even while the strange coy spirit dwelt within them, their denser reason was powerless to comprehend it, or to explain the transformation which painted with rosy splendour the misty horizon of life.

Over all that now surrounded Maude had passed some subtle change. Love's light had brought new powers of vision, sweet mysteries were unfolding with each leaf and opening flower. The roses knew her secret, which was no news to them, and they spoke in their splendour, telling her that life for ever should be fair and beautiful, because, in still-hushed accents came their whisper, "You, too, have learnt to love." Then, at the accusation, the timid little heart recoiled, striving to deny the charge thus brought against it, and tears came, she could not help them falling, while auntie's voice from the window recalled her to earth once more. The golden rays of the fading sunlight reflected themselves like myriad lamps in the windows of Graybridge Hall. Day was over, and ended her hour of dreaming.

Gathering up the flowers she crossed the garden paths, then ran with lightening steps up the great oak staircase to the door of Aunt Mary's room. "Run and dress, child," said Mrs. Grier, turning from the mirror before which she had been arranging her hair. " Harry will be here immediately, and you won't be ready." Maude laid the violets she had gathered on the dressing table, then flew down the passage to her own little oak room. Maude's room was very dear to her. It seemed to have shared with her her young life's story. Here had she sobbed herself asleep, to dream of that young mother whose kiss should never again be the seal of her " good-night," whose hand no more should soothe the brow that burnt so hotly, whose voice should sing her nevermore the evening hymn. Mother ! Hers was the picture which hung above the mantelshelf.

A calm face, peaceful and quiet — the quietude that of a heart that has found its anchor ; the peace — that tranquillity that follows storm. ' I scarce hoping to attain that rest, Ahvays from port withheld, always distressed. And from Maude's eyes, as Cowper's beautiful lines would rise to her lips, dewy tears would fall. Ah, passionate heart ! It is when the storm is past that rest comes, and after raging torrent comes the calm. We know her secret, the secret that drove her so often to seek at eventide the twilight of her little room, there to hold communion with the One Almighty Father, on Whose great heart her aching, fluttering heart found rest. " Commit thy best to Me," would come the Heaven-sent message. " Thy love is but a raindrop, Mine is a mighty ocean. Thy love could never slake another's thirst, My love I lavish freely.

Commit thy best to Me ! " But Harry had come home, hence her heart was full. She could not think of herself that night, as she hastily dressed to meet him. She did not know, as with quick, trembling fingers she fastened those red roses in her dress, and combed back her ruffled hair, how pretty a picture was reflected in the mirror by her small, white-clad figure, thrown into strong relief by its sombre background of oak ; nor had she time to notice her dark-fringed eyes which sparkled strangely, or remark the changeful rosy colouring of her cheeks. Her toilet finished, Maude knelt down, for her sparkling eyes had grown dim and misty, and a cloud was gathering ominously of raindrops, ready to fall. Oh, Maude, you silly spendthrift ! Is it wise to give your all for love, a bargain sealed with tears ?

Presently she rose and put out the lights. Like the rest of the house, her room was oak-panelled. Often did she wish it were not so. It was such a temptation to leave a candle burning on the mantel-shelf, and Auntie was so dreadfully afraid of fire. The candle safely extinguished, she and Aunt Mary went down the staircase together, to find that Harry Fielding had already arrived. "Try some of this claret, my boy," said Mr. Grier, as, when the ladies had left the dining-room, he filled his young friend's glass. "Quite a treat to have you among us now-a-days. Those lawyers in London keep you well supplied with briefs, eh ? They don't allow you much time to waste on us dull old folks at Graybridge." " Somehow, though I am always at work, I never grow rich," said Harry. "I don't make more than an average curate."

" All in good time ; Rome wasn't built in a day, and we'll see you on the woolsack yet," said Mr. Grier, cheerily. There was a tone of firm conviction in his hopefulness which rarely failed to re-assure the most desponding. " Notice my new field of mangel wurzels as you came along?" The field in question was situated close to the road, but Mr. Fielding's attention had not been devoted to the surrounding vegetation. " I'm afraid it escaped my observation," he truth fully remarked ; " but I hope to have a look round to-morrow." " Do, my boy. You'll see a fine sight. I've the finest show of wurzels in the county. You should see my swedes at Chalkfield. They'd make a cow's mouth water to look at them. To think that land would scarcely grow a blade of grass when I bought it ! But that's what I call good farming, that is," he cried, with a cheery laugh, rubbing his hands together.

"I always consider," he added reflectively, "that as food for man and beast, there's nothing to beat the turnip !" "You have a good deal of wheat stacked already," Harry Fielding observed. "There is no sight more lovely than an autumn sunset gilding rich fields of corn." "Aye ! a pretty sight it is, and the country's looking up, but farming doesn't pay, my boy, it doesn't pay ! " he repeated emphatically, " and I tell your mother so when she laments that you wouldn't settle down among us. She'd like to see you wear your curly hair as Nature made you. That hideous wig of yours would have done well for an auto-da-fe, or what ever they called those bonfires of ladies' chignons and other rubbish in Savonarola's time, but there ! her duck would take to water. Too much brains to make a farmer, I suppose !

" " Too hopeless a vacuum where they ought to be ! " said Harry, with a laugh. His mouth was large, but the lips were cleanly cut, and his teeth were strong and even ; and when he laughed his eyes laughed too, and glistened, making a picture bright and generous like the sunshine. But Harry rarely laughed, his sense of humour was not strong, he had left boy hood behind him, and he rarely felt as inclined for unreasoning mirth as somehow he did to-night. His eyes were dark, deep set, and tender — not dreamy eyes, but calmly penetrating in their glance, while his well-shaped head and forehead seemed calculated to convince the world in general that the man it had to deal with was no fool. Of medium height, he was broad shouldered and strongly made, erect, but not graceful, his muscular figure seeming built for work.

He was clean shaven, like most barristers, with a broad, strong chin. He looked like a man whose view of life, if critical, was kindly, and the tones of his voice were not without their own peculiar charm. He was now twenty-eight, but looked younger; his quiet manners were devoid of self-consciousness, and, while a favourite in society, he dearly loved his home. " The mother seems to have gained a little strength since last I saw her," he observed. " As to Sylvia, she grows at an alarming pace." " She is a tall poplar of a lassie," said Mr. Grier, "and getting quite a young woman in her ways. Another couple of years, and she'll turn the heads of all the country round." "She is still a perfect child," said Harry, "and able to jump a fence or climb a tree with any of them ! " " You look none the worse for your work in London," observed Mr. Grier, surveying his guest critically through his spectacles.

" A trifle pale, perhaps, but that won't last long. It's well for a young fellow to have plenty to do. I wish I had been made to work when I was young. Bad habits, you see, are hard to shake off, so I shoot and potter about the farm, and flatter myself that I am a very busy man. My wife humours me into believing that I'm a pattern of industry. So time goes on. After all, there's something that each one can do if only they look around. ' Helping lame dogs over styles,' as Kingsley, I believe, called it. When notes run short I try a word of sympathy or encouragement, and Mary does the same for me when I want a little cheering on the way." " I see you have changed the position of the Vandyck," said Harry, glancing round the room, whose dark oak panelling was relieved by jets of light. " Well, yes ; the wife said it would show to greater advantage over the sideboard.

I am no connoisseur myself of such matters. To my mind there is but little to choose between the colouring of the picture and the colour of the wall. We are conservative folk here, Tory to the backbone, growing old imperceptibly to ourselves, and intolerant of change. Maudie has altered a bit ; don't you think so ? We fancied her still a baby, till she astonished us one morning by turning up her hair. How time does steal upon us, to be sure !" What were Harry's thoughts of Maude ? Whatever they were he did not utter them, but fixed his eyes upon the stately Vandyck while searching for some surface thing to say. " By the bye," exclaimed Mr. Grier, suddenly remembering an important injunction he had well-nigh forgotten, " my wife impressed upon me not to forget the bantam's eggs that she wants you to take home to mother.

Those fowls will drive me mad ! What with hunting for eggs, carrying in hens to warm before the kitchen fire, and feeding sick chickens with a spoon, my life is not worth a moment's purchase. The life Mary leads me is something cruel, between Dorkings, Brahmas, bantams, and the cherished Cochin China brigade, I'm on the trot from morning to night. Not that I mind in reality," he explained; " always do your best to oblige a lady ! eh, boy ? So now, since you won't have any more wine, I'll have a look for an egg basket, while you find your way to the drawing-room. Right glad am I to see you again," he cried, with a resounding thump on the young man's shoulder. " So here you are at last !" exclaimed Mrs. Grier, looking up from an interminable sock as Harry entered. " What can you men find to talk about?

I believe you never thoroughly enjoy yourselves till we poor women are banished. What do you say, Maude?" "You talk politics, and stocks, and other dry subjects, don't you?" asked Maude Graham, in a low, clear voice. "They talk scandal, Maude," cried Mrs. Grier. "Tabbies at tea parties are not in the running with men over their cigars." "I supposed their discussions to be quite beyond our feminine brains !" laughed Maude. " You mustn't shake my faith in masculine intelligence, auntie." " I alighted upon a nest of harpies the other day," said Harry, "Women's Suffrage ladies, all talons and claws. I beat a retreat in consternation !" " I have been a dame of the Primrose League a year," observed Mrs. Grier severely, " and am a strong supporter of Women's Rights." " Quite a pillar of the Government, are you not?" said Maude.