Pomeroy Abbey. A romance

Front matter

9L Ulomanc*. bv MRS. HENKY WOOD, AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," "JOHNNY LUDLOW," ETC. Jfortietk Sihoueanb. LONDON. EICHAED BENTLEY AND SON, in ©rSinatj to fttx fflajestc tjie ©uwn. 1896. (All rights reserved.) LONDON : PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, Limited, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. CONTENTS. PART THE FIRST. CHAPTER PAGE I. Joan Pomeroy ... ... ... ... ... 1 II. At the White House ... ... ... 17 III. The Keeper's Dauqhter ... .. ... ... 29 IV. The Death Fiao ... ... ... ... 41 V. At the Stile ... .. ... ... ... 52 VI. Triumph ... ... ... ... ... 63 VII. The Storm ... ... ... 78 VIII. The Young Lady of Pomeroy ... ... 90 IX. The Prediction ... ... ... ... ... 108 X. The Quarrel ... ... ... ... 122 XI. Folly ... ... ... ... ... ... 139 XII. In the Haunted Room ... ... ... 152 XIII.

The Climax ... ... ... ... ... 162 XIV. Escaped ... ... ... ... ... 168 PART THE SECOND. I. At the Duchess of St. Ives' ... ... ... 183 II. Lady Anna ... ... ... ... ... 197 III. Guy's Chii d ... ... ... ... ... 208 IV. Startling VisiiORS ... ... ... ... CONTENTS. VI CHAPTER ' \a V. A Warning ... ■■■ 235 VI. Whispered News . . ... ... 244 VII. In the Chapel ... ... ... ..Ual VIII. A Frail Blossom ... . ... 205 IX. Latep. on ... ■ •■ .. ■ -71 X. Mystery ... ... .. 279 XI Bridget's Tale ... ... ... 298 XII. Miis. Wylde ... 308 XIII. With Mr. Hildyaud .. ...318 XIV. On the Seat by the Sea ... ... 330 XV. Trouble and Terror ... ... ... ... 343 XVL In the Keep ... ... ... ... 357 XVII. Laid to Rest ... ... ... ... ... 373 PART THR THTHD. I. After Long Years ... .. ... ... 383 II. Naomi's Revelation ... ... ... ... 394 III.

Annai.ine ... ... ... ... ... 407 IV. Amidst the Roses ... ... ... 411 V Rupert and Mary ... ... ... 417 VI. With Mrs. Wylde ... ... ... 423 VII. Rivalry ... ... ... ... ... 433 VIII. Coming Home ... ... ... ... PART THE FIRST I Fomeroy Abbey POMEBOY ABBEY.

Chapter I. Joan Pomeroy

Never was there a more gloomy structure tlian that of the old Abbey of Pomeroy, with its grey walls, overgrown in plaeos with lichen and other mosses, its narrow Gothic casements, and its time-worn towers. It was in keeping with the scenery around. Situated on a wild part of tho coast of England, it was flanked by bleak and bold rocks on the one side, and a dark forest on the other. Not that the trees were very close to the abbey ; they were considerably removed from it, forming, as it were, a background in the distance. The abbey, looking towards the sea, faced the east ; and from its front descended a gentle hill, where a few houses, most of them very poor and humble, were honoured with the title of the village, taking its name from their site, " Abbeyland ; " for the houses were built on lands belonging to the abbey.

This hill wound round to the right, and led onwards to the dark and gloomy forest. In days gone by, in the time of the Norman kings, this place had been the stronghold of the de Pomeroys, who were noted warriors. Then, gradually, they seem to have dwindled away and disappeared, and the abbey for a century or two was the abode of a religious order of monks. After that, it had come again into the hands of the Pomeroys, who professed to be lineal descendants of the ancient family, and who in fact were so. They retained their original faith, that of the Church of Rome, but dropped the " de " before their name. The reigning chief of the abbey was called the Lord of Pomeroy ; a privilege bestowed upon the family, according to popular belief, by one of our Norman kings. But the Pomeroys themselves accounted for it in a different manner.

Tradition ran — and they and others believed it to be true — that the portion of land on which tho abbey and its demesnes were situated had once been an island — the Island of Pomeroy. On this tho Pomeroys had held sway as its absolute lords ; and had hence derived their title of the Lords of romeroy. Since then, ages ago, the sea had retreated and the island became part of the main land ; but they still retained their title, and were likely to retain it. The reader understands that it was no title conferred by law or monarch ; it was merely conceded in courtesy, somewhat as a landed proprietor in Scotland is styled the laird. Nothing could move their own faith that they had as much right to it as has the premier peer of England to his dukedom. The abbey was built in the form of a quadrangle ; a solid square stone building with a turret at each corner.

The massive iron entrance-gates stood in the middle of the front or east pile. Entering these gates, and passing their dark, spacious archway, to the square opening or quadrangle that lay in the centre of the building, we see how large it is. Each side contains rooms sufficient for a numerous household. Standing with our faces to the entrance, the chief, or east pile lies before us, and its corner turret, to our left as we stand, is called the East Tower. Tho north and west wings lie between their respective towers ; and the south wing, lying to our right between the west and south towers, brings us again to the front and starting point. Of these various piles, or wings, only the front and north are inhabited at present, though all (excepting the west) are more or less furnished for occupation.

The rooms in the west wing, and more particularly those in the west tower, have the reputation of being haunted ; and for long past no one has inhabited them. It sliould also be said that this west wing, though apparently as large as the other wings to tis who stand in the open quadrangle below, is deceptive. For it is not half the width of the other wings ; aud the rooms, instead of being numerous, are few, and all of them look out upon the abbey itself, and tho quadrangle it encloses, there being no windows whatever at the back. As to the quadrangle, with its grassy flooring, if the term may be allowed, it looks exactly like a gloomy graveyard enclosed by cloisters. All round the quadrangle, between the abbey and the grass, lie roofed cloisters suji ported by pillars ; their casements are unglazed and open to the quadrangle ; doors here and there lead from them into the quadrangle, as they do from the cloisters into tho house.

If there were a window looking out to the back in tho west wing, and we could take our stand at it, we should gaze upon a wide expanse of wood and dale. To the right lies the chapel, surmounted by its quaint cross, and the graveyard beside it. Near the graveyard is the little house inhabited by the priest, Father Andrew, who shrives the abbey and the village and the neighbourhood in general, for nearly every one is of the old faith. Beyond are tho stables and coach-houses. Some miles further off may be seen the chimneys of a large building rising against the horizon ; they belong to a convent. It has existed for centuries, having been spared the destruction which so many other religious communities underwent in troublous times, though a portion of it once had to be rebuilt after a fire. It is of a rigid order, and is an educational establish ment as well as a convent.

A few houses nestling within their own grounds may be observed, scattered here and there in the distance : sundry good Eoman Catholic families inhabit them, drawn to the neighbourhood originally by the convent, by the far-famed abbey and its strictly Roman Catholic owners. Eather to our left, and very near the abbey, stands a small, round stone building, grey and old ; it is covered with moss like the abbey, and is called the keep. A slope of green grass descends from it somewhat abruptly to a low level dell or hollow ; and then the ground gently rises again to the abbey walls. At present this keep is vacant ; but it has occasionally been inhabited by some faithful retainer of the family when he has grown too old for service. It is said that the present lord intends his own man, Jerome, to retire to it later.

On this west side tho abbey has no entrance whatever. Neither has the south side any outer entrance ; if you want to enter you must travel round to tho front-gates. On the north side lie the garden and grounds, which are extensive. Hugh, Lord of Pomeroy, the present head of the family, had two daughters and four sons : Guy, Rupert, George, and Leolin ; Guy of course being the heir. George, Captain Pomeroy, was with his regiment in Ireland, though he had recently been sojourning at the abbey ; in fact, as his father told him, he seemed to be always getting leave of absence and coming home. Leolin was on the continent, an attache at one of our embassies. Guy and Enpert were at home ; neither had any profession or calling. Guy was the heir ; and Eupert had come into a fair fortune when he was of age, bequeathed by his mother, because he was the second son, though it was well known that her favourite son was the third, George.

The rest thought it unfair that Rupert should have this money, Guy especially; but the Lady of Pomeroy had so left it in her will, and nothing could be changed after her death. It might have been just as well that Eupert had not inherited the bequest. He had hastened to London, to Paris, and to other gay places, spend ing the money right and left. When it was all gone, and more to it, for which he was in debt thick and threefold, back he came to the abbey and there took up his abode. That was a twelvemonth ago, and he was still here. Guy and Eupert Pomeroy were remarkably tall, fine men, just of a height, nearly six feet three, and alike in figure. They both possessed the high, handsome features of the Pomeroys, the bright brown hair, and the deep-grey eyes ; but there the resemblance apparently ended.

Guy was of a pale, almost ghastly complexion ; his features, as well formed as Eupert's, were rendered plain by their exceedingly stern expression, and by his possessing what is called a hare-lip, all efforts to close which had failed in infancy. Eupert's complexion was more fresh and beautiful than is often owned by man, tho expression of his face was winning, though somewhat free, and his mouth was one of great sweetness. In voice also they differed: Guy's being deep and harsh, Eupert's pleasant as music. It was a bright summer morning, and the breakfast-cloth was laid in the usual room ; a small apartment on the first floor, that looked towards the front of the abbey. Many of the rooms on the ground-floor were given over to tho servants : and the windows of all were protected outside by cross-bars of iron.

Standing at the narrow open casement of this breakfast-room, while waiting for her father and brothers, was Miss Pomeroy, gazing out upon the old familiar features, which she had not seen for so long : the rocks, the straggling village, and a large white house nearly hidden by trees, which lay half-way up the hill beyond. She had returned home the previous evening from an absence of eight months. Some years ago her sister Isabel had married the Honourable Henry Capel, and had already more children than she cared to count. Joan often went to stay with her, but had never remained away so long before. She had been named Joan after a certain Dame Joan de Pomeroy, famous for her beauty in the reign of King John. Poor Joan — this Joan — was plain, tall and angular, her hair very dark, and her complexion nearly olive ; but her features were good.

She was twenty-nine this year; her sister Isabel, the eldest of the family, being one year older. Rupert entered. " What arc you looking at, Joan ? " " Not at anything in particular. Just then I was watch ing the smoke curling up from the White House. How do you get on with its inmates, Rupert? Have you become intimate with them ? " " Guy has." "Guy!" "He and the lord are there often. Indeed, I began to think that we were going to be presented, gratis, with a lady-in-law " " Eupert ! " interrupted Joan, in a tone of rebuke. "Or step-lady— how runs it?" continued the unmovec. Eupert. " Until I found that the play lay in a different direction. The Lord and Mrs. Wylde were only courting for their children." Joan drew up her head. " As if papa would condescend to anything of the kind, Eupert !

Tell me what you mean." " The son-and-lrcir is to settle," cried Eupert ; " so runs the programme ; and " '• Guy cannot afford it. You have all been too extravagant for him to think of marrying ; papa has often told him so. Two households in tho abbey would double the present expenses." " I should like to have a guinea for every superfluous word you drop in a day, Joan," laughed Eupert Pomeroy, who was the essence of good temper. " Guy will afford an establishment — if he gets the young lady. She has five and-twenty thousand pounds — to be paid down on her wedding-day." " Are you speaking of the mother or the daughter ? " "Well done, Joan! The mother is double Guy's age — or getting on for it. I said on the wedding-day." "But — will— she, the daughter, have Guy?" slowly and doubtfully ejaculated Miss Pomeroy.

Eupert opened another of the narrow casements, and put his head out. He whistled to one of his pointers, which was frolicking below with the gamekeeper, Gaunt. " Eupert ! Eupert ! " exclaimed his sister, petulantly, " you know when I want to hear a thing I must hear it. I say will Alice Wylde accept Guy ? " Eupert drew in his head. " You had better ask that cf Guy himself." "Is it true that she will have so large a sum?" " Quite true. Her father was in India : a nabob — or rajah— or merchant — something they make fortunes at, out there : and she inherits it. There will be another twenty five thousand when her mother dies : or more." " She will never have Guy : she is too beautiful." " Pretty women often marry ugly men, and Hush ! " broke off Eupert : " here he comes, the son-and-heir." Guy Pomeroy was heard outside, talking.

His temper had made him not loved by his brothers and sisters, over whom he assumed too much authority. But the lord doted on him. In Guy he saw his son-and-heir : and his constant allusions to Guy's being so, had caused the rest to apply the term to Guy derisively. Haughty, arrogant, and fearful spendthrifts, tho Pomeroys, from tho lord downwards, had outrun their income ; but this was not known to the world ; and Guy, between whom and his father there existed entire confidence, had reached the age of eight-and-twenty without thought of marrying. " You must wait until I'm gone, Guy," the lord sometimes said to him ; " you'll have the whole then." Whilst things were in this state, tho White House changed its tenants, and became inhabited by the rich widow and daughter of Mr. Wylde. But not for the sake of her fortune did Guy Pomeroy think of sacrificing his liberty : that the money may have added weight to the inducement, was probable, but the fresh beauty of Alice Wylde had caught his eye and heart.

When those cold-natured men, such as Guy, do love they love passionately : and with an impassioned fervour that is not often equalled had Guy Pomeroy learnt to love Alice Wylde. Eupert did not explain this to his sister ; he parried her questions, and seemed to treat the whole as a joke to be laughed at. " I hear George has been at home again," she resumed. " George ? Yes, he came soon after you left home, I think ; he stayed for some months." " I wonder he likes to idle away so much of his time — and I wonder he gets the leave to do it," remarked Joan. " He cannot find much amusement here, I should think. But George was always idly inclined, and down here he is of course relieved from duty." As she spoke, Guy Pomeroy entered. Joan went up to him and they kissed each other : they had not previously met since her return.

Guy took his seat at the breakfast table, and motioned to her to do the same. " Guy," she began, as she obeyed him, with little regard to his feelings or to her own good manners, " Eupert says you wish to marry Miss Wylde. WiU she have you ? " TOMEROY ABBEY. 10 A hot flush illumined Guy's white check; proving, of itself, how very deep his love had gone. He drew himself up haughtily. "Let Rupert concern himself with his fishing and his shooting, and his other — more questionable— sports : but let him not concern himself with me." He rang the bell as he spoke ; Eupert, still looking from the casement, appeared not to hoar. Jerome came in, tho lord's personal attendant ; a faithful serving-man over fifty years old. " The lord breakfasts in his room," said Guy. "Yes, sir, I kuow it," replied Jerome.

"He has slept badly." Joan was busy with the breakfast-table. She could not domineer over Guy, as she did over Eupert : not that the latter heeded her domineering, for he was good-tempered and careless. Once, when Guy had declined to tell her something she wished to know, and she had teased him to anger, he had struck her. She said no more now about Alice Wylde, but let the conversation drift to general subjects, and the breakfast passed in peace. The meal over, she went up to her father. A grand, tall old man, with a grey, handsome face, and grey hair. Now that Joan saw him by daylight, she noticed how ill and worn he looked. He was slowly eating his breakfast at a small round table drawn to the fire in his own sitting-room. '• Papa, you don't look well." " No. I can't got over that last attack of mine, child."

" And you have a fire ! It is a very warm day." " I never feel warm now. There, let my ailments alone, Joan. Talk of something else." " Papa, is Guy to marry Alice Wylde ? " The lord looked up. " Who has made you so wise ? " " Eupert." " It is no business of Eupert's." " Papa, I do not suppose she would have Guy." " Not have Guy ! I can tell you that an alliance with the future Lord of Pomeroy is what many a young lady, far higher in position and lineage than she, would kneel for. She and Mrs. Wylde see it in the right light, and are eager for it. Do you think that so strange a thing, Joan ? " '• Well, papa, you know that Guy is stern of manner, and not very much liked in general. And one so rich and beautiful as Miss Wylde can choose as she will." " But Guy will be Lord of Pomeroy. To be his wife is what a daughter of tho highest noble in the land might covet.

And Guy will make a good husband — unless I am mistaken. At any rate, Joan, the matter lies entirely with himself and Miss Wylde : it is not seemly that you should thus comment upon it." "I'm sure, papa, I wish Guy every happiness," replied Joan, her eyes filling at the reproof. " If he and Miss Wylde like one another, I could desire nothing better." " Guy likes her ; be very sure of that. And, if Mrs. Wylde is to be believed, the daughter likes him. And now you may leave me, my dear : I'm expecting Father Andrew." As Joan went out of the room, she met the Father. He wore his priestly garments, by which Joan knew that he was going in for some office of religion. Father Andrew's face, a pleasant, rubicund face at all times, brightened at the sight of her. He was a stout man of middle height, and of some five-and-forty years.

" Welcome home, my child. We have been dull without you." "Father," she whispered, after responding to his greeting, " do you think papa is seriously ill ? He looks so changed." " He is weaker than I like to see him. But the last fit of gout was a sharp one, and tried him terribly." " But that was three months ago." " True. Still, he has never seemed quite the same since. And he is not cautious enough as to what he takes. Poor living does not suit the taste of the Pomeroys. However, let us hope that he wdll get up his strength shortly." Father Andrew passed into the lord's room, and Joan went about her business in the abbey. Visiting the housekeeper, Mrs. Eex, and other of the upper servants, and superintend ing the putting away of her own wardrobe — which she liked Pi.OIEROY ABBEY. to do, rather than leave it entirely to her maid.

What with one thing and another, she was pretty busy until luncheon time. Early in the afternoon, she called Bridget — who was the housekeej.er's niece and a favourite servant. " I want you to go as far as the lodge," she said. " Tell Sybilla — tell Miss Gaunt that I am at home ; though 1 dare say she has heard it. Give my love to her aud ask her to come up to see me." Away went Bridget on hor orrand. She was soon back again ; for the gamekeeper's lodge was only just beyond the village. " Miss Gaunt's kind love and duty to you, Miss Joan ; but she has one of her bad headaches this afternoon, and is not able to wait on you," was the message Bridget brought. And Joan Pomeroy's usually placid features took a momentarily cross expression — for she liked Sybilla Gaunt and was fond of her occasional companionship.

The family dined alone. Not in the great dining-hall below, but with all the usual state and ceremony appertain ing to the Pomeroys. The lord headed his table and Joan faced him ; Guy and Eupert being on cither side. To be alone at dinner was rather an unusual circumstance ; for the abbey was fond of guests, though it might be only Father Andrew. But the lord was losing his energy, and of late seemed not to care how much he was left in quiet. With the removal of the cloth, Joan quitted the room. Eupert followed her, and strolled out. Guy remained with his father. " Where have you been all the afternoon ? " demanded the lord. " At the White House ? " " I called there," replied Guy. " When do you mean to bring matters to a close ? It seems to me that you arc holding off unaccountably. Speak to her off-hand, Guy, and don't be afraid.

I never knew that a Pomeroy could be scared by a woman." Guy Pomeroy's livid face turned scarlet ; a far deeper scarlet than that called up by Joan's bold question in the morning. If the proud old chief could only have known its cause ! " There is plenty of time," replied Guy, evasively, " As you please, Guy. I thought your heart was set upon the match. I'm sure I don't wish to urge it, if you don't." " Time enough," muttered Guy. " Father, drink claret ; so much port is not good for you." " I hate claret," said the lord ; " not a drop should be on my table, but for fashion's sake. I never could get used to it as a young man, aud I can't as an old one. In my day, Guy, the creed was to despise everything French." " But think of the gout, sir. Jerome is fearing another attack." " Jerome would fear his own shadow," replied the Lord of Pomeroy.

Meanwhile, Eupert strolled leisurely along, just as though he had no object in life except to look about him ; but when he was beyond view of the abbey, he mended his pace, and went as if he were walking for a wager. It was a lovely summer's evening, and the setting sun threw its golden light athwart the heavy trees in the distance. Crossing some fields, by a sheltered path, he emerged from them at the back of the White House, and entered its garden by a small door. Not to the open part of it : no, Eupert Pomeroy dared not do that, lest he should encounter the lynx eyes of Mrs. Wylde. He kept amidst the clump of shrubs that skirted the wall, and peeped out beyond them to see what was to be seen. He saw a bright, radiant-looking girl, her dark brown hair shining in the sunbeams, and her cheeks damask with expectation.

She was in an evening dress of white, and wore a small thin gold chain round her neck, and similar bracelets on her arms ; and she was flitting from bed to bed, plucking a flower from one, stooping to inhale the scent of another, and — drawing farther from the windows of the house : drawing as if unconsciously, and without any ap parent design. Just in the same manner, you observe, that Mr. Eupert Pomeroy had drawn away from the abbey. Eupert Pomeroy, talking with his sister, had said the late Mr. Wylde had been something in India — a nabob, or rajah, or merchant — something at which people made" fortunes. In point of fact, Mr. Wylde had not been any one of tho three; he had been a railway contractor. The greater portion of his fortune was made at home ; though he did go out to India and died there.

Of his large fortune, twenty five thousand pounds were left to his daughter, to be paid to her on her marriage ; and the rest (which was something like another twenty-five thousand doubled) would be hers on the death of his wife. Mrs. Wylde and Alice came home from India — having accompanied Mr. Wylde thither — conscious of possessing more riches than they well knew how to count. The con tractor had been a close man as to his means, and the wife had never supposed that he was worth a tithe of what those means turned out to be. Being so wealthy, it was of course incumbent on the widow to set up her tent accordingly ; so she looked out for some pleasant locality where Eoman Catholics congregated — for tho Wyldes were of that per suasion — and was directed to Abbeyland. Mrs. Wylde took upon long lease the White House, which belonged to tho Pomeroys, and settled down in it.

They were very pleasant people, this widow and daughter ; the latter was also lovely ; and Guy and Eupert Pomeroy called upon and paid court to their new tenants. Eumours of the girl's great wealth got about, and the Lord of Pomeroy began to pay them attention himself. Guy's heart, hitherto invulnerable, fell before the charms of the young lady ; the lord read the signs, and favoured the project. He was a proud old man, and the Wyldes were nobodies ; but money was wanted at Pomeroy, and he put the riches against the want of descent. " One can't have everything nowadays," he remarked to Guy. The lord, when speaking to Joan, had used the right term with regard to Mrs. Wylde— she was " eager" for the match. Mrs. Wylde's husband had not much to boast of in the way of descent : she had as little ; was, in short, of no " descent," whatever.

As a matter of course — at least, it is a matter of course with many such people — she was inordinately alive to the advantages of rank. Her own turn was over ; she could not be other than she was; but to see Alice wed into a noble family was her first earthly ambition : and when the heir of Pomeroy permitted himself to show indication that he was paying court to Alice, her exultation knew no bounds. Once let Alice become his wife, and Mrs. Wylde would fold her hands in contentment and rest upon her laurels for life. What though Guy Pomeroy was stern of mien and plain of face ? — as Alice remonstrated. " Look at him from a little distance," said Mrs. Wylde, " and where else would you find so handsome a form, so noble a man? It was only when you were close to him that you perceived his lip had a little defect in it, and his face was somewhat pale."