Mildred Arkell. A novel

Front matter

■ ■ m i ■ ■ ■ BY MRS. HENRY WOOD, AUTHOR OF " EAST LYNNE," " THE CHANNINGS," " JOHNNY LUDLOW," etc., etc. ®Ijiity-si.xtf) Œfjousaiitf. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, publishers in ©tomato, to $cr fHajcstg tfjc ©uten. 1888. {AU rights reserved.') LONDON : PRIN1LD BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, Limited STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PACE I. Which is Nothing but an Introduction ... i II. The Miss IIugheses' Home ... ... 10 III. The Advent of Charlotte Travice ... ... 16 IV. Robert Carr's Request ... ... ... 24 V. The Flight ... ... ... ... ... 32 VI. A Miserable Mistake ... ... ... 41 VII. A Heart Seared ... ... ... ... 51 VIII. Betsey Travice ... ... ... ... 59 IX. Displeasing Eyes ... ... ... ... 70 X. Going out as Lady's Maid ... ... 76 XI. Mr. Carr's Offer ... .,, ... ... 85 XII.

Marriages in Unfashionable Life ... 92 XIII. Going on for Lord Mayor ... ... ... 101 XIV. Old Years Back again ... ... ... 108 XV. The Dean's Daughter ... ... ... 118 XVI. A City's Desolation ... ... ... 138 XVII. A Difficulty about Tickets ... ... ... 137 XVIII. The Concert ... ... ... ... 144 XIX. The Schoolboy's Love ... ... ... 156 XX. The Tour of David Dundyke, Esquire ... 165 XXI. A Meeting at Grenoble ... ... ... 173 XXII. A Mystery ... 1S6 VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XXIII. Home, in Despair ... ... ... ... 197 XXIV. News for Westerbury ... ... ... 204 XXV. Robert Carr's Visit ... ... ... ... 212 XXVI. Going over to Squire Carr's ... ... 221 XXVII. A Startled Luncheon-Table ... ... ... 228 XXVIII. A Missive for Squire Carr ■ ... ... 239 XXIX. The Last of Robert Carr ... ... ... 246 XXX.

Mr. Richards' Morning Call ... ... 257 XXXI. A Dislike that was to beau its Fruits ... 265 XXXII. The Examination ... ... ... ... 275 XXXIII. A Night with the Ghosts ... ... ... 285 XXXIV. Perplexity ... ... ... ... 295 XXXV. A Shadow of the Future ... ... ... 305 XXXVI. Diamond cut Diamond ... ... ... 315 XXXVII. A Doubtful Search ... ... ... .., 326 XXXVIII. Detection... ... ... ... ... 334 XXXIX. Assize Saturday ... ... ... ... 3.5 XL. Assize Sunday ... ... ... ... 35c XLI. Peaching to the Dean ... ... ... 363 XLII. Carr versus Carr ... ... ... 372 XLIII. The Second Day ... ... ... ... 383 XLIV. The Shadow of Death ... ... ... 394 XLV. The Gravestone in the Cloisters ... ... 405 XLVI. Thoughtless Words ... . ... ... 41c XLVII. Misconception ... ... ... ... XLVIII. The Tables Turned ... ... ... 430 XLIX. A Recognition ... ... ... ... 444 L. Mildred's Recompense ... ... ... 40 LI. Miss Fauntleroy Loved at Last ... ...

Introduction

.

I am going to tell you a story of real life— one of those histories that in point of fact are common enough ; but, hidden within themselves as they generally are, are thought to be rare, and, if proclaimed to the world in all their strange details, are looked upon as romance, not reality. Some of the actors in this one are living now, but I have the right to tell it, if I please. A fair city is Westerbury ; perhaps the fairest of the chief towns in all the midland counties. Its beautiful cathedral rises in the midst, the red walls of its surrounding prebendal houses looking down upon the famed river that flows gently past ; a cathedral that shrouds itself in its exclusiveness, as if it did not belong to the busy town outside. For that town is a manufacturing one, and the aristocracy of the clergy, with that of the few well-born families time had gathered round them, and the democracy of trade, be it ever so irreproachable, do not, as you know, assimilate.

In the days gone by — and it is to them we must first turn — this feeling of exclusiveness, this line of demarcation, was far more conspicuous than it is now : it was indeed carried to a height that would now scarcely be credited. There were those of the proud old prebendaries, who would never have acknowledged to knowing a manufacturer by sight ; who would not have spoken to one in the street, had it been to save their stalls. You don't believe me ? I said you would not. Nevertheless, I am telling you the simple truth. And yet, some of those manufacturers, in their intrinsic worth, in their attainments, ay, and in their ancestors, if you come to that, were quite the equals of the proud old canons. In those old days no town was more flourishing than Westerbury. Masters and workmen were enjoying the fruits of their skill and industry : the masters in amassing a rich competency ; the work men, or operatives, as it has become the fashion to call them of late Mildred Arkell. years, in earning an ample living, and in bringing up their children without a struggle.

But those times changed. The opening of our ports to foreign goods brought upon Westerbury, if not destruction, something very like it ; and it was only the more wealthy of the manufacturers who weathered the storm. They lost, as others did, a very great deal ; but they had (at least, a few of them) large resources to fall back upon, and their business went on as before, when the shock was over ; and none in the outer world knew how deep it had been, or how far it had shaken them. Conspicuous amongst this latter class was Mr. George Arkell. He had made a great deal of money — not by the hand of extortion ; by badly-paid, or over-tasked workmen ; but by skill, care, industry, and fair dealing. In all high honour he had worked on his way. He could not have been guilty of a mean action. To take any unfair advantage of another, no matter how he might have benefited himself, would have been foreign to his nature.

And this just deal ing in trade, as in everything else, let me tell you, generally answers in the end. A better or more benevolent man than George Arkell did not exist, a more just or considerate master. His rate of wages was on the highest scale — and there were high and low scales in the town— and in the terrible desolation hinted at above, he had never turned from the poor starving men without giving a helping hand. It could only be that such a man should be beloved in private life, respected in public ; and some of those grand old cathedral clergy, who, with their antiquated and obsolete notions, were fast dropping off to a place not altogether swayed by exclusiveness, might have made an exception in favour of Mr. Arkell, and condescended to admit their knowledge, if questioned, that a man of that name did live in Westerbury.

George Arkell had one son : an only child. No expense had been spared upon William Arkell's education. Brought up in the school attached to the cathedral, the college school as it was familiarly called, he had also a private tutor at home, and masters. In accordance with the good old system obtaining in the past days — and not so very long past either, as far as the custom is concerned — the college school confined its branches of instruction to two : Greek and Latin. To teach a boy to read English and to spell it would have been derogatory to its traditions. History, geography any ordinary branch you please ; mathematics, science, modern languages, were not recognised. Such things probably existed, but certainly nothing was known of them in the college school. Mr. Arkell — perhaps a little in advance of his contemporaries — believed that such acquirements might be useful to his son, and a private tutor had been provided for him.

Masters for every accomplish ment of the day were also given him ; and those accomplishments were more uncommon then than now. It was perhaps excusable : William Arkell was a goodly son : and he grew to manhood not only a thoroughly well-read classical scholar and an accomplished man, but a gentleman. " I should like you to choose a profession, William," Mr. Arkell had said to him, when his schooldays were almost over. "You shall go to Oxford, and fix upon one while there ; there need be no hurry about it." William laughed ; " I don't care to go to Oxford," he said. " I think I know quite enough as it is ; and I intend to come into the manufactory to you." And William kept to his resolution. Indulged as he had been, he was somewhat accustomed to liking his own way, good though he was by nature, dutiful and affectionate by habit.

Perhaps Mr. Arkell was not sorry for the decision, though he laughingly told his son that he was too much of a gentleman for a manufacturer. So \William Arkell was entered at the manufactory ; and when the time came he was taken into partnership with his father, the firm be coming " George Arkell and Son." Mr. George Arkell had an elder brother, Daniel ; rarely called anything but Dan. He had not prospered. He had had the opportunity of prospering just as much as his brother, but he had not done so. A fatal speculation into which Dan always said he was " drawn," but which every one else said he had plunged into with confiding eagerness, had gone very far towards ruining him. He did not fail ; he was of the honourable Arkell nature ; and he paid every debt he owed to the uttermost farthing — paid grandly and liberally ; but it left him with no earthly possession except the house he lived in, and that he couldn't part with.

Dan was a middle-aged man then, and he was fain to accept a clerkship in the city bank at a hundred a year salary. He abjured speculation for the future, and lived quietly on in the old house with his wife and two children, Peter and Mildred. But wealth, as you are aware, is always bowed down to, and Westerbury somehow fell into the habit of calling the wealthy manufacturer "Mr. Arkell," and the elder " Mr. Dan." How contrary" things run in this world! The one cherished dream of Peter Arkell's life was to get to the University, for his heart was bent on entering the Church ; and poor Peter could not accomplish it. His cousin William, who might have gone had it cost thousands, declined to do so ; Peter, who had no thousands — no, nor pounds, either, at his command, was obliged to relinquish his dream.

It is possible that had Mr. Arkell known of this strong wish, he might have smoothed the way for his nephew, but Peter never told it. He was of a meek, reticent, somewhat shy nature ; and even his own father knew not how ardently the desire had been cherished. "You must do something for your living, Peter," Mr. Dan Arkell had said, when his son quitted the college school in which he had been educated. " The bank has promised you a clerkship and thirty pounds a year to begin with ; and I think you can't do better than take it." Poor shy, timid Peter thought within himself he could do a great deal better, had things been favourable to him ; but they were not so, and the bank and the thirty pounds carried the day. He sat on a high stool from nine o'clock until five, and consoled himself at home in the evenings with his beloved classics.

Some years thus passed on, and about the time that William Arkell was taken into partnership by his father, Mr. Daniel Arkell died, and Peter was promoted to the higher clerkship, and to the hundred a year salary. He saw no escape now ; he was a banker's clerk for life. And now that all this preliminary detail is over — and I assure you I am as glad to get it over as you can be — let us go on to the story. In one of the principal streets of Westerbury, towards the east end of the town, you might see a somewhat large space of ground, on which stood a handsome house and other premises, the whole enclosed by iron gates and railings on a level with the pavement of the street. Removed from the bustle of the town, which lay higher up, the street was a quiet one, and contained only private houses.

It was, however, one of the principal streets, and the daily mails and other stage-coaches, not yet superseded, ran through it. The house mentioned lay to the right, going towards the town, and not far off, behind various intervening houses, rose the towers of the cathedral. This house lay considerably back from the street. On a level with it, at some distance, was a building whose many windows proclaimed it a manufactory ; and at the back of the paved yard, lying between the house and the manufactory, was a coach house and stable. Behind all, was a large garden. Standing at the door of that house, one autumn evening, the red light of the setting sun falling athwart his face, was a gentleman in the prime of life. Some may demur to the expression — for men estimate age differently — and this gentleman must have seen fifty five years ; but in his fine, unwrinkled, healthy face, his slender active, upright form, might surely be read the indications that he was yet in his prime.

It was the owner of the house and its appendages — the principal of the manufactory, George Arkell. He was drawing on a pair of black gloves as he stood there, and the narrow band on his hat proclaimed him to be in slight mourn ing. It was the fashion to remain in mourning longer then than now. Daniel Arkell had been dead twelve months, but the Arkell family had not put away entirely its signs. Suddenly as Mr. Arkell looked towards the iron gates — both standing open — a gentlemanly young man turned in, and crossed the yard with a quick step. There was not much likeness between father and son, except in the bright dark eyes, and in the expression of the countenance. That was the same in both ; good, sensitive, benevolent. William was taller than his father, and very handsome, a look of delicate health on his refined features, and a complexion almost as bright as a girl's. At the moment that he crossed the yard, an open carriage, well-built and handsome, but drawn by only one horse, was being brought round from the stables.

Nearly every afternoon of their lives, Sundays excepted, Mr. and Mrs. Arkell went out for a drive in this carriage, the only one they kept. " How late you are starting! " exclaimed William to his father. " Yes ; I have been detained. I had to go into the manufactory after tea, and then Marmaduke Carr called, and kept me." " It is hardly worth while going now." " Yes, it is. Your mother has a headache, and the air will do her good ; and we want to call in for a minute on the Palmers." The carriage had come to a standstill midway from the stables. There was a small seat behind for the groom, and William saw that it was open; when the groom did not attend them, it remained closed. Never lived there a man of less pretension than George Arkell ; and taking a servant with him for show would never have entered his imagination.

They kept only this one man — he was groom, gardener, anything ; his state-dress (in which he was attired now) a long blue coat with brass buttons, drab breeches, and gaiters. " You are going to take Philip to-night ? " observed William. " Yes ; I shall want him to stay with the horse while we go in to the Palmers'. Heath Hall is a good step from the road, you know." " I will tell my mother that the carriage is ready," said William, turning into the house. But Mr. Arkell put up his finger with a detaining movement. " Stop a minute, William. Marmaduke Carr's visit this evening had reference to you. He came to complain of you." " To complain ! — of me?" echoed William Arkell, his tone betraying his surprise. " What have I done to him ? " " At least, it sounded very like complaint to my ears," resumed the elder man.

" And though he did not say he came purposely to prefer it, but introduced the subject incidentally, I am sure he did come to do it." "Well, what have I done?" repeated William, an amused expression mingling with the wonder on his face. " After conversing on other topics, he began speaking of his son and that Hughes girl. He has come to the determination, he says, of putting an end to it, and he requests it as a particular favour that you won't mix yourself up in the matter and will cease from encouraging Robert in it." " I! " echoed William. " That's good. I don't encourage him in it." " Marmaduke Carr says you do encourage it. He tells me you were strolling with the girl and Robert last Sunday afternoon in the fields on the other side the water. I confess I was surprised to hear this, William."

William Arkell raised his honest eyes, so clear and truthful, straight to his father's face. "How things may be distorted!" he exclaimed. "Do you remember, sir, my mother asked me, as we left the cathedral after service, to go and inquire whether there was any change for the better in Mrs. Pembroke ? " " I remember it quite well." " Well, I went. Coming back, I chose the field way, and I had no sooner entered the first field, than I overtook Robert Carr and Martha Ann Hughes. I walked with him through the fields until we came to the bridge, and then I came on alone. Much 'encouragement ' there was in that ! " " It was countenancing the thing, at any rate, if not encouraging it," remarked Mr. Arkell. " There's no harm in it ; none at all." " Do you mean in the affair itself, or in your having so far lent yourself to it ?

" " In both," fearlessly answered William. " I wonder who carries these tales to old Carr ! We did not meet a soul, that I remember ; he must have spies at work." The remark rather offended Mr. Arkell. "William," he gravely asked, "do you consider it fitting that Robert Carr should marry that girl ? " William's eyes opened rather widely at the remark. " He is not likely to do that, sir; he would not make a simpleton of himself." " Then you consider that he should choose the other alternative and turn rogue ? " rejoined Mr. Arkell, indignation in his tone. " William, had any one told me this of you I would not have believed it." William Arkell's sensitive cheek flushed. " Sir, you are entirely mistaking me ; I am sure you are mistaking the affair itself. I believe that the girl is as honest and good a girl as ever lived, and Robert Carr knows she is."

" Then what does he propose to himself in frequenting her society? If he has no end at all in view, why does he do it ? " " I don't think he has any end in view. There is really nothing in it — as I believe. We all form acquaintances and drop them. Marmaduke Carr need not put himself in a fever about it." "We form acquaintances in our own sphere of life, mind you, young sir ; they are the only safe ones. I wonder some of the ladies don't give a hint to the two Miss Hugheses to take better care of their sister — she is young and careless. At any rate, William, do not you mix yourself up in it." " I have not done it, indeed, sir. As to walking through the fields with them when we met, as I tell you, accidentally, I could not help myself, friendly as I am with Robert Carr. There was no harm in it ; I should do it again to-morrow under the circumstances ; and if old Carr speaks to me I shall tell him so."

The carriage came up, and no more was said. Philip had halted to do something to the harness. Mrs. Arkell came out. She was tall, and for her age rather an elegant woman. Her face must once have been delicately beautiful. It was easy to see whence William had inherited his refined features : but she was simple in manner as a child. "What have you been doing, William? Papa was speaking crossly to you, was he not ?" She sometimes used the old fond word to him, "papa." She looked fondly at her son, and spoke laughingly. In truth William gave them little reason to be " cross " with him. He was a good son in every sense of the term. " Something a little short of high treason," replied William, laughing also, as he helped her in. " Papa can tell you if he likes." Mr. Arkell took the reins, Philip got up behind, and they drove out of the yard.

William Arkell went indoors, put down a roll of music he had been carrying, and then left the house again. Turning to the right as he quitted the iron gates, he continued his way up the street towards the busier portion of the city. It was not his intention to go so far as that now. He crossed over to a wide, handsome turning on the left, and was speedily close upon the precincts of the cathedral. It was almost within the cathedral precincts that the house of Mrs. Daniel Arkell was situated. Not a large house, as was Mr. Arkell's, but a pretty, compact red-brick residence, with a small garden before the front windows, which looked out on the Dean's garden and the cathedral elm-trees. William Arkell opened the door and entered. In a tiny room on the left sat Peter Arkell, deep in an abstruse Greek play.

This little room was called Peter's study, for it had been appropriated to the boy and his books ever since he could remember. William looked in, just gave him a nod, and then entered the room on the other side the passage. Two ladies sat in this, both of them in mourning : Mrs. Daniel Arkell, a stout, comfortable-looking woman in widow's weeds; Mildred in a pretty dress of black silk. Peter and William were about the same age, Mildred was two years younger. She was a quiet, sensible, lady-like girl, with a gentle face and the sweetest look possible in her soft brown eyes. She had not been educated fashionably, according to the custom of the present day ; had never been to school; but had received, as we are told of Moses Prim rose, a " sort of miscellaneous education at home." She possessed a thorough knowledge of her own language, knew a good deal of Latin, insensibly acquired through being with Peter when he took his earlier lessons from his father, read aloud beautifully, wrote an excellent letter, and was a quick arithmetician, made shirts and pastry to perfection, and was well read in our best authors.

Not a single accomplishment, except dancing, had she been taught ; and yet she was in mind and manners essentially a gentlewoman. If [Mildred was loved by her own mother, so was she by Mrs. George Arkell. Possessing no daughter of her own, Mrs. George seemed to cling to Mildred as one. She cherished within her heart a secret wish that her son might sometime call Mildred his wife. This may be marvelled at. It may seem strange that Mrs. George Arkell should wish to unite her attractive, wealthy, and accomplished son with his portionless and comparatively homely cousin ; but she knew Mildred's worth and the sunshine of happiness she would bring into any home. Mrs. George Arkell never breathed a hint of this wish : whether wisely or the contrary perhaps the sequel did not determine. And what thought Mildred herself?

She knew nothing of this secretly-cherished scheme ; but if ever there appeared to her a human being gifted with all earthly perfec tions, it was William Arkell. Perhaps the very contrast he presented to her brother — a contrast brought palpably before her every day of her life — enhanced the feeling. Peter was plain in person, so tall as to be ungainly, thin as a lath, stooping perpetually, and in manner shy and awkward ; whilst William was all ease and freedom ; very handsome, though with a delicate look on his refined features ; danced minuets with Mildred to perfection — relics of the old dancing days, which pleased the two elder ladies ; breathed love-songs to her on his flute, painted her pretty landscapes in water-colours, with which she decorated the walls of her own little parlour, drove her out sometimes in his father's carriage — the one you have just seen starting on its expedition ; passed many an evening reading to her and quoting Shakespeare ; and, in short, made love to her as much as it was possible to make it, not in words.

But the misfortune of all this was, that while it told upon her heart, and implanted there its undying fruit, he only regarded her as a cousin or a sister. Brought up in familiar intercourse with Mildred, he never gave a thought to any warmer feeling on either side, or suspected that such intimacy might lead to one, still less that it had, even then, led to it on hers. Had he been aware of his mother's hope of uniting them, it is im possible to say whether he would have yielded to it. He had asked himself the question many a time in later life, and he could never answer il. The last of the setting sun threw a glow on the room, for the house faced the west. It was a fair-sized, comfortable apartment, with a bright look about it. They rarely sat in any other. There was a drawing-room above, but it was seldom used.

" Well, arunt ! well, Mildred ! How are you this evening ? " Mildred looked up from her work at the well-known, cheery voice ; the soft colour had already mantled to her cheek at the well-known step. William took a book from his pocket, wrapped in paper. " I got it for you this afternoon, Mildred. Mind and don't spoil your eyes over it : its print is curiously small." She looked at him with a smile amidst her blushing thanks ; she always smiled when he gave her the same caution. Her sight was remarkably strong. William's, on the contrary, was not so, and he was already obliged to use glasses when trying fresh pieces of music. "William, my dear," began Mrs. Daniel, " I have a favour to ask your father. Will you carry it to him for me ? ,r "It's granted already," returned William, with the confidence of an indulged son.

" What is it ? " " I want to get over to see those children, the Carrs. Poor Mrs. John, when dying, asked me if I would go over now and then, and I feel as if I were neglecting the promise, for it is full six months since I was there. The coaches start so early in the morning, and I thought perhaps your father would let me have the carriage for the day, and Philip to drive me. Mildred can sit in the back seat " " I'll drive you, aunt," interrupted William. " Choose your own day, and we'll go." But Mildred had looked up, a vivid flush of annoyance on her cheek. " I do not care to go, mamma ; I would rather not go to Squire Carr's." " Be quiet, Mildred," said William. " You are not going to see the Squire, but the Squire's grandchildren. Talking about the Carrs, aunt, I have just been undergoing a lecture on their score."

" On the score of the Carrs ? " " Yes. I happened on Sunday to be crossing the opposite fields, on my way from Mrs. Pembroke's, and came upon Robert Carr and Miss Martha Ann Hughes, and walked with them to the bridge. Some one carried the news to old Marmaduke, and he came down this evening, all fire and flurry, to my father, complaining that I was 'encouraging' the thing. Such nonsense ! He need not be afraid that there's any harm in it." Mrs. Dan Arkell gave her head a shake, as if she were not so sure upon the latter point as her nephew. Prudent age— impulsive youth : how widely different do they judge things ! William was turning to the door. "You are not going?" said Mrs. Dan, and Mildred looked up from her work, wistfulness in her eye. " I must, this evening. I asked young Monk to come in and bring his violin, and he will be waiting for me, if I don't mind.