A Seventh Child. Second edition

Front matter

H TRovel. BY JOHN STRANGE WINTER, AUTHOR OF " BOOTLES' BABY," " ARMY SOCIETY," " IN QUARTERS," MY GEOFF," " HE WENT FOR A SOLDIER," " BEAUTIFUL JIM." " MRS. BOB," " AUNT JOHNNIE," " ONLY HUMAN," "THE SOUL OF THE BISHOP," ETC. The seventh child of a seventh child is gifted with the second sight. — Old Superstition. SECOND EDITION. LONDON : F. V. WHITE & CO., 14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 1894. riUXTED BY KLLLT AND CO. LIMITED, 182, 183 & 184, HKJH H0LB0RN, LONDON, W.C, AND KINGSTON-ON-1HAWES. TO MY FRIEND AND SISTER NOVELIST, MRS. PAUL KING, I, With much Pleasure, Dedicate this Story of A SEVENTH CHILD. JOHN STRANGE WINTER. London, July, '94. CONTENTS. CHAP. TAGE I. — We are Seven ..... 1 II. — A Strange Power .... 15 III. — 113, Great Pakenham Street . . 29 IV. — Free of the Spell ... 43 V. — 'Tis Wiser to Forget ... 55 VI. — Mr..

Warrender's Diamond Star . 64 VII.— The Nameless One .... 79 VIII.—" That's My Brother "... 92 IX. — A Ghastly Story .... 104 X. — The Mysterious Paper . . . 114 XL— That Baby! 126 XII.— The Blue Bottle .... 135 XIII. — The Ruby Claret Jug ! 146 XIV. — An Indian Telegram . . . 157 XV.— Austin Gray 169 XVI.— Engaged 176 XVII. — A Recurrence ..... 188 XVIII.— Miss Lorenzi 199 XIX.— At Home! 213 XX.— The Inevitable .... 229 XXL — In the Garden 244 XXII.— A Face I Knew .... 259 XXIII.— An Old Vision! 274 XXIV. — One Golden Thread of Triumph ! . A SEVENTH CHILD.

Chapter I. We Are Seven

Truth comes home to the mind so naturally, that when we learn it for the first time, it seems at though we did no more than recall it to our memory. — Fo.XTEXELLE, From the world of spirits there descends A bridge of light connecting it with this. O'er whose unsteady floor that sways and bends, Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss. — Haunted Houses. It isn't all beer and skittles being the youngest of seven. Yes, I admit that " beer and skittles " is not the highest expression of social and linguistic art, but when you are the youngest of seven, and four of them are boys, you do get into a way of calling things by what boys always call their "right" names. I am the youngest of seven. Oddly enough my father was the youngest of seven and my mother was also the youngest of seven, so o A SEVENTH CHILD. that I am the seventh child of a seventh child twice over.

I need not say that my father's name was Septimus — Mother always called him Sep — and lucky it was that she was not called Septima. She was not, however, for her name was Blanche. We seven had neither hideous names like Septimus, nor ultra-fine names like Blanche. Madge was the eldest, and there was just ten years difference between her and me, so that when I was ten years old, Madge was twenty, and already engaged to be married. As a matter of fact, she did not marry that man. Madge was excessively handsome, and she was engaged several times before she finally married. Tom always said that it was because she was looking out for a better match than the man in possession, but I never thought Tom was right. It is true that I never understood why Madge engaged herself to James Allistair. He was not in any sense a proper or suitable match for her, being at least five-and-thirty, of no particular birth, of no especial position, and possessed of a shockingly bad temper and an exceedingly jealous disposition.

Of course, at that time of day I was too young to realise all that I now know about James Allistair in looking back upon him. I remember his coming one day to the old house on the outskirts of Minchester, which was the only home that I had ever known. I must have been ten years old then. He had walked out the half mile from the town, where he lived, and as he came up the drive I was just crossing it from the shrubbery to the thicket. I don't know where the others were — I think they were all scattered about the place. " Hullo, Nancy ! " said he, " where is Madge ? " I don't know what made me say it, but I answered his thoughts, and said, " Geoffrey Dagenham is not here." " I said nothing about Geoffrey Dagenham, Miss," he blurted out. I remember as well as possible looking at him and saying — " Didn't you ask about Geoffrey Dagenham ?

" "No, I didn't. I never mentioned Geoffrey Dagenham. I asked you where Madge was." " I am sure I beg your pardon, James," said I ; " I mistook you. Madge has gone down to the dressmaker's." " Do you know when she will be back ? " he asked abruptly, taking no notice of my reply. " No, I don't know when she will be back, but I should fancy she will be rather a long time. I am sure she did not expect you to-day." " Oh, well, never mind. You can tell her I came." And without another word, or any further salutation 1* or pretence at taking leave, he turned on his heel and retraced his steps towards the town. I told Madge when she came back of how James had been, and what he had said and what I had said. " But Nancy, you little witch," she said, in rather a wondering tone, " what made you say anything about Geoffrey Dagenham ?

" " I don't know, Madge," I replied ; " it came to me. I am sure he was thinking about Geoffrey Dagenham, and I think he asked me. He said he didn't. I don't know any more than that." " Oh, well, it doesn't matter a bit," said Madge. kindly — she was the kindest of all my brothers and sisters was Madge — " only it was odd you should have happened to hit upon that." " To hit upon what ? " I asked. " Oh, well, Nancy dear, I don't think you would understand if I told you, but it happens that poor old James is very jealous of Geoffrey Dagenham, and very probably he vjas thinking about him." " But you have known Geoffrey Dagenham all your life, Madge," I cried. " You knew him long before you ever heard of James Allistair." " So I did," said Madge, looking away across the charming old garden with a far-off kind of gaze, " so I did — yes, so I did.

However, Nancy dear, it's no use saying anything more about it. Don't tell the others, there's a darling. They do worry one so about one's little affairs." I promised Madge that I would not, and I faith fully kept the secret — if secret it could be called — and about a week after this, well, really, I don't know quite how it happened, but something went wrong with poor James Allistair, and he did not come any more. I met him once or twice when Eve and I were going to school together — yes, we went to school because Father would not be bothered with a governess, he objected to governesses, and of course as there were seven of us we really had not room for one. Besides, as we all went to school, it left Mother free during some part of the day, and, as Father said, let the house get quiet for an hour or two before we came home again.

I have often wondered about James Allistair, and why he gave up coming to the Warren. I suppose he and Madge quarrelled. I tried to find out, but Madge never would talk about it, and although I did give a hint or two to Eve, who was five years older than me and just fifteen, Eve was as close as wax and would not split at any price — dear, dear, there I go again split, that is worse than "beer and skittles." I wonder if I shall ever get off the taint of having had four brothers ! As I said Eve and I met him several times on our way to and from school, but James never took the least notice of us, in fact, as Eve said, he was excessively rude, he positively cut us dead, and, after all, if he had quarrelled with our sister it was no fault of ours, as I think Eve would dearly like to have told him.

Aster that, Geoffrey Dagenham was everlastingly at the Warren. He never seemed to have anything to do, for he used to turn up as soon as breakfast was comfortably over and play tennis with Madge, or with Tom if Madge was not available — he didn't seem particular — and then towards lunch-time he would lounge up to Mother, who generally sat out in the garden on fine mornings, and say to her in a lazy sort of tone — " Well, I must be getting along, Mrs. Rej'nard." And Mother always looked up in her sweet, dreamy sort of way and said, " Oh, must you? Hadn't you better stay to lunch?" and Geoffrey generally said — "Well, if it wouldn't put you out," to which Mother always answered, " Oh, my dear boy, one more or less makes no difference to me. If you have got nothing better to do, pray stay." He always did stay, and generally Madge used to comedown aster changing her dress and say, with an air of great surprise — " What, are you staying aga in, Geoffrey ?

Well, really, I think you had better go back and fetch your box ! " Then in the afternoon, Mother generally went out with Father. You see, she had always been accustomed to spending her morning3 without Father, because, of course, when he was in the Service, he always had officer's work and parade and other duty of that kind — you may know what the duty of an officer in barracks is, I can't pretend I do, because I was not born until after Father had given up his command of the 21st. But ever since they had been married, Mother had always gone out in the afternoon with Father, and when he left the Service and became an idle man, she somehow made no change in that respect. As soon as lunch was over, the cob and cart would be brought round, and away they went, unless it was actually raining. Sometimes they made calls, and sometimes they did a little shopping, and sometimes they took a little drive further into the country than the Warren lay; but we were always sure of their being away together between three and half-past five o clock.

I think Madge was unlucky. She was very pretty — well, looking at her from my present standpoint of eighteen and a half years old I am bound to say that she was one of the handsomest girls that I have ever seen, but, at the same time, I am quite sure that she was distinctly unlucky. Geoffrey Dagen ham had been a sort of day-boarder at our house for three months, and the brilliant summer was beginning to wane into a still more brilliant autumn, when something happened, and Geoffrey did not come quite so much. The fact was Madge went to stay a week with her godmother, and as Geoffrey was not asked — and as, indeed, their engagement had not been formally announced to the family, that was not to be wondered at— he wandered in and out for a week pretty much as he had been used to do, ex cepting that he talked to Mother or to Tom in stead of to Madge.

But at the end of the week, Madge did not come back, and another week slipped by, and another and another, and still she remained the guest of her godmother fifty miles away. It seemed, somehow, quite natural and reasonable that she should stay away in that hand-to-mouth fashion. She was always coming home in two or three days' time, but somehow some fresh gaiety was sure to crop up, and a note would arrive on the morning of the day on which she was expected to be once more with us, a note saying " Dearest Mother, I am so sorry to be still a day or two longer from home, but Lady Margaret particularly wants me to stay for a picnic," or a dinner, or a dancs, or a concert, as the case might be, " which takes place to-night. I am really getting very home-sick, but Lady Mar garet is so insistent that I thought you would prefer that I should stay."

These letters got to be quite a joke in the family. Tom used to look up at breakfast and say " Well, Madge will be home to-day," and Father used to say, " Ah, where's the letter bag? " and Mother used to take the inevitable letter with a queer little smile, and look across at Father and then say — " Poor darling, she is very home-sick, but it is a ball this time," or "it is a picnic this time," as the case might be. And then Geoffrey used to turn up, and look very glum for ten minutes after the ill-news had been communicated to him, but eventually he would finish the day lounging about very much as he had done before. This went on for about six weeks, and then one day Madge suddenly arrived without any letter at all— and, oddly enough, Geoffrey did not come near the Warren that morning. We found out afterwards that though she had not written to Mother, she had written to him, and to put it shortly, Geoffrey came no more to the Warren for many a long day after re ceiving Madge's communication, whatever it happened to be.

She arrived in time for lunch, looking very much more grown-up than she had ever done before, with a radiant colour and a glad light in her eyes, and the sunniest smile playing about her mouth. " Where did you get that ring ? " asked Tom, with all a brother's bluntness. She held her left hand out a little, and made the light of a golden autumn sunbeam play upon the diamonds which clasped the third finger. " Isn't it pretty ? " she said. " What have you done with Geoffrey's ring ? " Tom continned. Tom was devoted to Geoffrey Dagenham. " Oh, well, of course, it was a dear little ring," said Madge, reddening a little under his inquiring gaze. " Pretty idea, ' Mizpah.' " " What have you done with it ? " asked Tom. "Well, the fact is I have sent it back to Geoffrey." " What ? You have chucked Geoffrey Dagen ham?"

"I am afraid I have," said Madge, looking very conscious. " Madge ! " said Mother. " I will tell you what, young woman," put in my father in his most commandant voice, "you will get yourself into trouble one of these days if you don't look out ! " " Oh, yes, dear Daddy, I am afraid I shall," said Madge, " and the sooner I get married, dear, the better it will be for all my family. By-the-bye, I wanted to tell you that somebody is coming to see you this afternoon." " To see me ? " said Father, rather grumpily. " Yes, dear." " About you and that ring ? Oh, dear, Madge I wish you would get married and have done with it. I am tired of seeing young men on your behalf. Blanche, I think you had better see the young man this time." "He isn't exactly a young man," said Madge. "Well, this old fellow, then," said Father.

" No, he isn't old," my sister objected. " Well, this man — this ring-giver." " I have never done that kind of thing, Sep," put in Mother, in her mildest tones, " and of course, you have, dear. You are getting quite experienced in giving your consent to Madge's engagements. I think it is a pity to break the rule, isn't it ? " " No, madam, I don't," said Father. " Further more, I am going out this afternoon, my dear. I have positively promised to be at the Broken Cross at four o'clock. I cannot wait in for your young man, Madge, my dear." " Oh, there is no hurry," said Madge, easily ; " if you see him at tea-time, that will do quite well." So it happened that when Madge's new lover first came to the Warren, neither Father nor Mother was at home to receive him ; in fact, scarcely anybody was at home.

Eve and I had a half-holiday, and were engaged for the afternoon and for tea ; Charlie and Frank were going to play cricket ; and Dick and Tom indignantly went off to see how Geoffrey Dagenham was getting on. So Madge remained alone at home, and what time Mr. Devereux came, or what Madge said to him, I really don't know; but when we younger ones came home, they were all at dinner, and we didn't get so much as a peep at him. Of course, the next morning we were off to school before he appeared again, and it was not until tea that afternoon — which we always had with Mother in the large old drawing-room — that Eve and I met him. Somehow, when we went in, although Madge had a very smart frock on, and was looking very important with all the diamonds twinkling on her left hand, it never occurred to me that the tall, dark, forbidding-looking stranger, who was standing by the tea-table, was the supplanter of Geoffrey Dagenham.

"And these are my younger daughters," said Mother. " This is Eve," indicating my sister, " and this," laying a fond hand upon my shoulder, " is little Nancy." " How do you do ? " said Eve. " How do you do ? " said I ; then looked at Madge and wondered when he was coming. We all talked, and then two of the boys came in and we talked still more, and everybody waited upon everybody, and Mother poured out the tea and was very gracious in consulting the exact taste of the visitor, and presently when Jane had come and cleared the tray and the little table away, he caught hold of me and drew me between his knees. " Well, so your name is Nancy, little woman, is it ? " said he. " Yes," I answered, " my name is Nancy." " And a very pretty name too," was his comment. " And now tell me, what do you think of my name ?

" " I don't know what your name is," I said promptly. " Really ? My name is Oscar." " Oscar ? " said I, " Oscar — Oscar what ? " " Devereux, of course." " Oh — but you are not Mr. Devereux ? ': " Indeed I am." " But you can't be Mr. Devereux ? " "My dear little woman, I am indeed I looked at Madge. Madge smiled. I looked at Mother. Mother also smiled. I looked at Eve. Eve knew something of what was going on in my mind, and she flashed a glance of distinct inquiry at me. He, still holding me close in his strong grasp, began to tease me. " I am afraid," said he, " my dear little Nancy, that you don't think very much of me ? " " I — I — never said that," I stammered. " Now, come, what is it ? Are you afraid that I shall lock your sister up or be bad to her? Come, I see there is something in your face.

Now, tell me, what is it ? Don't you think I shall make a very nice husband for Madge ? " I looked at him. "What have you done with your wife ? " I asked.

Chapter II

A STRANGE POWER. Always there is a black spot upon our sunshine, and it is, even as I have said, the shadow of ourselves. — Caklyle. Thoughts from the tongue that slowly part Glance quick as lightning through the heart. — Sir AV alter Scott. If I should live to be a hundred years old, I shall never forget the consternation which my question created. Everybody seemed to say " Nancy ! " at once. They were all in different tones. Father thundered it, Mother gasped it, my two brothers giggled it, and above all the Babel of voices, I heard Madge's ejaculation of my name ring out like a broken bell. In his surprise Mr. Devereux had loosened his hold of me. Then he caught my wrists again and said, " Child ! What do you mean ? " I stared at him. " I don't mean anything ; but you have a wife. You are married."

" How do you know ? What do you mean ? What are you saying ? " " I didn't know I was saying anything." " What made you say that at all, Nancy ? " asked my father, sternly. I turned and looked at him. " I don't know, Dad. It came to me. But it is true. Mr. Devereux said just now ' How do you know ? ' ' " Mr. Devereux," said my father, " I must have an explanation of this ? " " I can give you no explanation," said he, letting my wrists go and getting on to his feet. " If you choose to take the freak of a child's imagination as a certainty, there is nothing for me to say." " But there is something for you to say," said my father. " What made this little girl suggest such a thing ? " He shrugged his shoulders and held out his hand with a deprecatory gesture. " How should I know ? Ask the child.

She is here." " Have you ever been married ? " said my father. " Never." " Can you prove that ? " " Yes, I think that will be very easy to prove. Of course, I admit that the child's extraordinary question startled me for a minute, and when one is very much startled it is difficult to weigh one's words. Come, little Nancy," holding out his hand to me with a great show of kindliness, " you and I are going to be great friends. We won't begin by misunderstanding each other. You will tell your father how you came to put that question to me, won't you ? " " I don't know," I replied ; " it came to me. I didn't mean to offend any one. I thought you were married." " My dear child, how could you tell ? " " I don't know. I thought so, that was all. I didn't know that you were Madge's Mr. Devereux. I didn't hear your name."

" I see. Well, we will be quite friends. We will not go making mistakes about each other in the future." " Oh, no, I am very sorry," I said — and it was true enough. I felt bewildered amongst them all, for I saw by Father's face that he was not satisfied, and Madge was looking frightened, and Mother had turned very pale, and as for Mr. Devereux — well, he was like a ghost, he was like chalk and he was trembling. And, after all, what had I said ? I had only taken him for somebody who had a wife. He held out his hand to me — " We will always be good friends, little Nancy," he said, holding his head back and smiling at me. I put my hand into his and then he kissed me — oh, I remember it so well — and then he sat down in the same chair in which he had been sitting before, and made me come and sit on his knee while he talked to Mother about all sorts of things ; and after half an hour or so, he suddenly spoke to me.

" Little Nancy," he said, " what are you thinking of? " I had been sitting very quietly — if the truth be told, very comfortably — encircled by his arm. I was a slight little thing, very weak and fragile, and fully appreciated being petted and made much of. As he spoke, his hand closed over mine. " Come," said he, " a penny for your thoughts." " I was thinking," I said, " of a lady." " Yes. A nice lady ? " " I don't know. She is tall and she wears a black velvet dress. She has a flashing brooch at her throat — it is like half a star — and it glitters like Madge's ring." I felt him give a great start, but the others were all listening and he did not stop me from going on. " She is so pretty, with yellow hair and pink cheeks, and she doesn't look quite straight with her eyes — I think one of her eyes is a little darker than the other.

She is in such a pretty room, nearly all blue, and she is standing with her hand on the mantel-shelf and her foot on the fender as if she were waiting." " Nancy, what are you talking about ? " Madge broke in impatiently. Mr. Devereux withdrew his hand and the vision faded away. " What did you say, Madge ?" I asked. " What were you talking about ? Waat lady are you describing ? " " I don't know. Yes, I was describing a lady. I am sure I don't know. It is very silly of me. You asked me what I was thinking about, didn't you ? " " To be sure I did, and you promptly conjured up the picture of a charming lady, whom I am sure you have seen somewhere." " No, I have never seen that lady before," I returned instantly. "Well, I think you had better go away with Eve," said my father at this point. " Take her away, Eve, she fidgets one.

What has come to you, Nancy ? You never used to do this sort of thing. It is most unpleasant." You know, perhaps, the way in which young brothers and sisters can be hustled out of the room when their presence becomes irksome to their elders. I never quite knew whether it was Eve or Madge or the boys or my father who hustled me out of the drawing-room that day. Eve was brimful of curiosity. " I want to know, Nancy, what made you say that. I believe that man is married. He was in a perfect fright — he was yellow with fright. How 2* can Madge look at him ? However could Madge throw off dear Geoffrey for a horrid, yellow— Ugh !— I wouldn't be Madge for something, that I wouldn't ! What made you say it, Nancy ? " "I don't know, I tell you. You ask me such silly questions. I only said what was in my mind.

It came to me, I don't know why, and Dad was angry, I am sure he was, and Madge was looking furious " and then I broke down and ended in a wail of despair. We still had the old nurse who had been with my mother for twenty years — ever since Madge was born, in fact — and hearing me sobbing she came in and gathered me into her capacious arms, holding me fast against her comfortable bosom. " What is the matter, my blessed pet lamb, my sweet angel bird ? Tell old Nursie what it is, dearest." " I don't know, Nurse. But I do feel so worried. People are always asking me silly questions, and then when I answer them they don't like it. They get cross and they go white and do all sorts of things. I don't know. There is a horrid man downstairs that Madge is going to marry. I don't like him, Nurse." " Eh, my lamb, but that is bad hearing."

" And he asked me what I thought, and I cannot tell lies about it— Father says it is mean and vulgar to tell lies, and Mother looks like a dying duck in a thunderstorm if we suggest such a thing, as if, if we were to tell a lie, she would have a fit on the spot, and then when I tell the truth, it sets everybody by the ears. I only said what I thought." " And what did you think, my lamb ? " I don't know, I forget. Don't worry me, Nurse." " My dear honey, I won't worry you, but you seemed in trouble and I thought I could help you out of it." That was the beauty of Nurse, she never did worry us. She held me on her knee and rocked me to and fro in the big rocking-chair until I had forgotten all the disagreeable sensations that had happened since our return home that day, and presently we had our usual substantial nursery tea and I went to bed, for once not the least little bit jealous that Eve was going clown to dessert and I was not.