The Story of Charles Strange. A novel

Front matter

MRS. HENRY WOOD'S NOVELS. Sale over Two Million Copies. EAST LYNNE. 4S0th Tliousand. THE CHANNINGS. 160M Thousand. MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. \bOth Thousand. THE SHADOAV OF ASHLYDYAT. 90th Thousand. LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. SOth Thousand VERNER'S PRIDE. 65^4 Thousand. ROLAND YORKE. Wbth Thousand. JOHNNY LUDLOW. First Series. bOth Thousand MILDRED ARKELL. 6Sih Thousand. ST. MARTIN'S EVE. 607/; Tlwusand. TREVLYN HOLD. 60th Thousand. GEORGE CANTERBURY'S WILL. 65th Thousand THE RED COURT FARM. 70th Thousand. AVITHIN THE MAZE. 97th Thousand. ELSTER'S FOLLY. both Thousand. LADY ADELAIDE, both Tlwusand. OSWALD CRAY, bind Thousand. JOHNNY LUDLOW. Second Series. 33rd Thousand. ANNE HEREFORD, ibth Thousand. DENE HOLLOW, both Thousand. EDINA. iOth Thousand. A LIFE'S SECRET. iSth Thousand. COURT NETHERLEIGH. 30th Thousand.

BESSY RANE. SOth Thousand. JOHNNY LUDLOAV. Third Series. New Edition. THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. iOth Thousand. ORVILLE COLLEGE. 33rd Thousand. POMEROY ABBEY. iOth Thousand. JOHNNY LUDLOW. Fourth Series. New Edition. THE HOUSE OF HALLIWELL. Ibth Thousand. THE STORY OF CHARLES STRANGE. Ibth Thousand ASHLEY. Ibth Thousand. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, New Burlington Street, W. (.Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.) Jl Jtobel. BV MRS. HENRY WOOD, AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," 'JOHNNY LUDLOAV," ETC NEW EDITION. fifteenth LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, publishers in ©rtinarg to pjcr fHajrsto tfjc ©uten. 1897. (AU rights reserved.) LONDON : PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. Early Days ... ... ... ... ... 1 II.

Changes ... ... ... ... ... 12 III. Mr. Serjeant Stillingfar ... ... ... 26 IV. In Essex Street ... ... ... ... 40 V. Watts's Wife ... ... ... ... 52 VI. Blanche Heriot ... ... ... ... 62 VII. Tried at the Old Bailey ... ... ... 79 VIII. The Vine-covered Cottage at Pisa ... 96 IX. Complications ... ... ... ... 107 X. The House at Marsudale ... ... 119 XI. The Quarrel ... ... ... ... 134 XII. Mystery ... ... ... ... ... 150 XIII. Suspicion ... ... ... ... ... 1G3 XIV. Not Lifted ... ... ... ... 177 XV. One Night in Essex Street ... ... ... 192 XVI. Leah's Story ... 204 XVII. Lady Clavering ... ... ... ... 217 XVIII. The Missing Wir.L 233 XIX. Annabel ... ... ... ... ... 243 XX. Perry's Kevelation ... ... ... 25G XXI. Some one else seen ... ... ... ... 268 XXII. Prowling about ... ... ... ...

Chapter I. Early Days

I, Charles Strange, have called this my own story, and shall myself narrate a portion of it to my reader ; but not the whole. May was quickly passing. The drawing-room window of White Littleham Rectory stood open to the sunshine and the summer air : for the years of warm springs and long summers had not then left the land. The incumbent of the parish of White Littleham, Hampshire, was the Reverend Eustace Strange. On a sofa, near the window, lay his wife, in her white dress and yellow silk shawl. A young and lovely lady, with a sweet countenance ; her eyes blue as the heavens, her face growing more transparent day by day, her cheeks too often a fatal hectic ; altogether look ing so delicately fragile that the Rector must surely be blind not to suspect the truth. She suspected it. Nay, she no longer suspected ; she knew.

Perhaps it was that he would not do so. "Charley!" B I sat at the end of the room reading a book of fairy tales that my father had given me that morning. He was as orthodox a divine as ever lived, but not strait-laced, and he liked children to read fairy tales and wholesome stories. At the moment I was deep in a tale called " Finetta," con cerning a young princess shut up in a high tower. To me it was enchanting. "Yes, mamma." " Come to me, dear." Putting down the precious book, I crossed the room to the sofa. My mother raised herself. Holding me to her with one hand, she pushed with the other the hair from my face and gazed into it. That my face was very like hers, I knew. It had been said a hundred times in my hearing that I had her dark-blue eyes, soft brown hair and well-carved features.

" My boy," she said caressingly, " I am so sorry ! I fear yon are disappointed. You Avere always promised a birth day party, you know, when you should be seven years old. I think we might have had them." There had been some discussion about it. My mother thought the boys and girls might come ; but my father and Leah said, " No — it would fatigue her." "I don't mind a bit, mamma," I answered. "I have my book, and it is very pretty. They can come next year, you know, when you are well again." She sighed deeply. Getting up from the sofa, she took up two books that were on the stand behind her, and sat doAvn again. . Early in the spring some illness had seized her that I did not understand. She ought to have been well again by this time, but was not so. She left her room and came downstairs, and saw friends when they called : but instead of groAving stronger she grew weaker.

" She was never robust, aud it has been too much for EARLY DAYS. 3 her," I overheard Leah say to one'of the other servants, in allusion to the illness. "What if I should not be here at your next birthday, Charley ? " she asked sadly, holding me to her side as she sat. " But where should you be, mamma ? " " Well, my child, I think — sometimes I think — that by that time I may be in heaven." I felt suddenly seized with a sort of shivering. I neither spoke nor cried ; at seven years old many a child only imperfectly realizes the full meaning of anything like this. My eyes became misty. " Don't cry, Charley. All that God does must be for the best, you know : and heaven is a better world than this." " Oh, mamma, you must get well ; you must ! " I cried, Avords and tears bursting forth together.

" Won't you come out, and grow strong in the sunshine ? See how warm and bright it is ! Look at the flowers in the grass ! " " Ay, dear ; it is all very bright and warm and beautiful," she said, looking across the garden to the field beyond it. " The grass is growing long, and the buttercups and coav slips and blue-bells are all there. Soon they will be cut doAvn and the field will be bare. Next year the grass and the flowers will spring up again, Charlie : but we, once we are taken, will spring up no more in this world : only in heaven." " But don't you think you will get well, mamma ? Can't you try to ? " " Well, dear — yes, I will try to do so. I have tried. I am trying every day, Charley, for I should not like to go away and leave my little boy." With a long sigh, that it seemed to me I often heard from her now, she lay for a moment with her head on the back of the sofa and closed her eyes.

Then she sat forward again, and took up one of the books. " I meant to give you a little book to-day, Charley, as well as papa. Look, it is called ' Sintram.' A lady gave it me when I Avas twelve years old ; and I have always liked it. You are too young to understand it yet, but you will do so later." " Here's some poetry ! " I cried, turning the leaves over. The pleasure of the gift had chased away my tears. Young minds are impressionable — and had she not just said she would try to get Avell ? " I will repeat it to you, Charley," she answered. " Listen. When death is drawing near, And thy heart sinks with fear, And thy limbs fail, Then raise thy hands and pray To Him who cheers the way, Through the dark vale. See'st thou the eastern dawn ? Hear'st thou, in the red morn, The angel's song ?

Oh ! lift thy drooping head, Thou who in gloom and dread Hast lain so long. " ' Death comes to set thee free ; Oh ! meet him cheerily, As thy true fiiend; And all thy fears shall cease, And in eternal peace Thy penance end.' You see, Charley, death comes not as a foe, but as a friend to those who have learnt to look for him, for he is sent by God," she continued in a loving voice as she smoothed back my hair with her gentle hand. " I want you to learn this EATiLY DAYS. 5 bit of poetry by heart, and to say it sometimes to yourself in future years. And — and— should mamma have gone away, then it will be pleasant to you to remember that the angels' song came to cheer her— as I knoAv it will come when she AVas setting out on her journey. Oh ! very pleasant ! and the same song and the same angel will cheer your departure, my darling child, when the appointed hour for it shall come to you."

" Shall Ave see the angel ? " " Well— yes— with the eye of faith. And it is said that some good people have really seen the radiant messenger who has come to take them to the eternal shores. You will learn it, Charley, Avon't you— and never forget it ? " " I'll learn it all, every verse ; and I will never forget it, mamma." " I am going to give you this book, also, Charley," she Avent on, bringing fonA'ard the other. " You " " Why, that's your Bible, mamma ! " " Yes, dear, it is my Bible ; but I should like it to be yours. And I hope it will be as good a friend to you as it is noAv to me. I shall still use it myself, Charley, for a little while. You will lend it me, won't you ? and later, it will be all your own." " Shall you buy another for yourself, then ? " She did not answer. Her face was turned to the AA-indow -, her yearning eyes Avere fixed in thought upon the blue sky ; her hot hands were holding mine.

In a moment, to my consternation, she bent her face upon mine and burst into a flood of tears. What I should have said or done, I knoAv not ; but at that moment my father came swiftly out of his study, into the room. He was a rather tall man Avith a pale, grave face, very much older than his wife. " Do you chance to remember, Lucy, where that cata logue of books Avas put that came last week ? I want- " Thus far had he spoken, Avhen he saw the state of things ; and he broke off in vexation. " How can you be so imprudent, Lucy ! I will not have it. You don't allow yourself a chance to get well— giving way to these low spirits ! What is the matter ? " " It is nothing," she replied, with another of those long sighs. " I was talking a little to Charley, and a fit of crying came on. It has not harmed me, Eustace."

" Charley, boy, I saw some fresh, sweet violets down in the dingle this morning. Go and pick some for mamma," he said. " Never mind your hat : it is as Avarm as midsummer." I was ready for the dingle, which was only across the field, at any time, and I ran out. Leah Williams was coming in at the garden gate. " Now, Master Charles ! Where are you off to ? And without your hat ! " " I'm going to the dingle, to get some fresh violets for mamma. Papa said my hat did not matter." " Oh," said Leah, glancing doubtfully at the window. I glanced too. He had sat down on the sofa by my mother then, and was talking to her earnestly, his head bent. She had her handkerchief up to her face. Leah attacked me again. " You've been crying, you naughty boy 1 Your eyes are Avet still. What was that for ? " " I did not say Avhat : though I had hard work to keep the tears from falling.

" Leah," I whispered, " do you think mamma will get well ? " "Bless the child 1" she exclaimed, after a pause, during which she had looked again at the window and back at me. " Why, what's to hinder it ? — with all this fine, beautiful warm weather 1 Don't you turn fanciful, Master Charley ! And when you've picked the violets, come to me, and I'll find you a slice of cake." EARLY DAYS. 7 Leah had been with us about two years, as upper servant, attending upon my mother and me, and doing the sewing. She was between tAventy and thirty then, an upright, superior young woman, kind in the main, though with rather a hard face, and faithful as the day. The other servants called her Mrs. Williams, for she had been married and AA-as a widoAV. Not tall, she yet looked so, she was so remarkably thin. Her gray eyes Avere deep-set, her curls were black, and she had a high, fresh colour.

Every one, gentle and simple, wore curls at that time. The violets were in the dingle, sure enough ; both blue and white. I picked a handful, ran in with them, and put them on my mother's lap. The Rector was sitting by her still, but he got up then. " They are very sweet," she said Avith a smile — " very sweet and lovely. Thank you, my darling boy." She kissed me a hundred times, and might have kissed me a hundred more, but my father dreAV me away. " Do not tire yourself any more to-day, Lucy ; it is not good for you. Charley, boy, you can take your fairy tales and shoAV them to Leah." The day of the funeral will never fade from my memory \ and yet I can only recall some of its incidents. What impressed me most was that my father did not stand at the grave in his surplice reading the service, as I had seen him do at other funerals.

Another clergyman Avas in his place, and he stood by me in silence, holding my hand. And he told me, after Ave returned home, that my mother Avas not herself in the cold, dark grave, but a happy angel in heaven looking down upon me. And so the time went on. My father was more grave than of yore, and taught me lessons daily. Leah indulged and scolded alternately, often sang to me, for she had a clear, sweet voice ; and when she was in a good humour would let me read " Sintram " and the fairy tales to her. The interest of my mother's money— which was now mine — brought in three hundred a year. She had enjoyed it all ; I was to have (or, rather, my father for me) just as much of it as the two trustees chose to allow, for it was strictly tied up in their hands. When I was twenty-four years of age — not before — the duties of the trustees would cease, and the whole sum, six thousand pounds, would come into my uncontrolled possession.

One of the trustees was my mother's uncle, Mr. Serjeant Stillingfar ; the other I did not know. Of course the reader will understand that I do not explain these matters from my knowledge of them at that time ; but from Avhat I learnt when I was older. Nearly a year had gone by, and it was warm spring weather again. I sat in my brown-holland dress in the dingle amidst the wild flowers. The air was full of the scent of violets ; cowslips lay about me ; I had picked the flowers from the stalks to make into a ball. The sun light flickered through the trees, still in their tender green ; the sky was blue and cloudless. Why it should have been so, I know not ; but while I sat, there suddenly came over me a remembrance of the day when I had come to the dingle to pick those other violets, and a rush of tears came on.

Leah took good care of me, but she Avas not my mother. My father was good, and grave, and kind, but he did not give me the love that she had given. A mother's love Avould never be mine again, and I knew it ; and in that moment Avas bitterly feeling it. One end of the string was held between my teeth, the other end in my left hand, and my eyes were Avet with tears. I strung the cowslips as well as I could. But it Avas not easy, and I made little progress. EARLY DAYS. 9 " S'all I hold it for oo ? " Looking up in surprise— for I had thought the movement in the dingle was only Leah coming to see after me — there stood the sweetest fairy of a child before me I had ever seen. The sleeves of her cotton frock and white pinafore were tied up with black ribbons ; her face was delicately fair, her eyes were a deep blue, and her light curls fell Ioav on her pretty neck.

My child heart went out to her witli a bound, then and there. " What oo trying for, 'ittle boy ? " " I Avas crying for mamma. She's gone away from me to heaven." Without warning, the child put her arms round my neck, Avithout waiting my permission, and gave me a dozen kisses. " Noay make the ball, boy. S'all oo dive it to me ? " " Yes. What is your name ? " " Baby. What oors ? " " Charles. Do you— — " "You little monkey ! — giving me this hunt ! How came you to run away ? " The words Avere spoken by a tall, handsome boy, quite old compared with me, Avho had come dashing through the dingle. He caught up the child and began kissing her fondly. " It Avas oo ran away, Tom." " But I ordered you to stop where I left you— aud to sit still till I came back again. If you run away by yourself in the wood, you'll meet a great bear some day and he'll eat you up.

Mind that, Miss Blanche. Mamsie is in a fine way ; thinks you're lost, you silly little thing." " Dat 'towslip ball for me, Tom." Master Tom condescended to turn his attention upon me and the ball. I guessed noAv who they Avere : a family named Heriot, who had recently come to live at the pretty white cottage on the other side the copse. Tom was looking at me with his fine dark eyes. " You are the parson's son, I take it, youngster. I saw you in the parson's pew on Sunday Avith an old woman." " She is not an old Avoman," I said, jealous on Leah's account. " A young one, then. What's your name ? " " Charles Strange." " He dot no mamma," put in the child. " Tome to my mamma, 'ittle boy ; she love oo and tiss oo." " When I have made your ball." " Oh, bother the ball ! " put in Tom. " We can't wait for that ; mamsie's in a rare way already.

You can come home with us if you like, youngster, and finish your ball afterwards." Leaving the coAVslips, I caught up my hat and we started, Tom carrying the child. I was a timid, sensitive little fellow, but took courage to ask him a question. " Is your name Tom Heriot ? " " Well, yes, it is Tom Heriot — if it does you any good to know it. And this is Miss Blanche Heriot. And I Avish you were a bit bigger and older ; I'd make you my playfellow." We were through the copse in a minute or tAVO and in sight of the Avhite cottage, over the field beyond it. Mrs. Heriot stood at the garden gate, looking out. She was a pretty little plump woman, with a soft voice, and Avore a AvidoAv's cap. A servant in a check apron was with her, and knew me. Mrs. Heriot scolded Blanche for ruuning away from Tom whilst she caressed her, and turned to smile at me.

" It is little Master Strange," I heard the maid say to her. " He lost his mother a year ago." " Oh, poor little fellow ! " sighed Mrs. Heriot, as she EARLY DAYS. 11 held me before her and kissed me twice. " What a nice lad it is ! — what lovely eyes ! My dear,- you can come here whenever you like, and play Avith Tom and Blanche." Some feAV years before, this lady had married Colonel Heriot, a widower with one little boy — Thomas. After that, Blanche was born : so that she and Tom were only half-brother-and-sister. When Blanche was two years old — she was three now — Colonel Heriot died, and Mrs. Heriot had come into the country to economize. She was not at all well off ; had, indeed, little beyond what Avas allowed her with the two children : all their father's fortune had lapsed to them, and she had no control over it.

Tom had more than Blanche, and was to be brought up for a soldier. As we stood in a group outside the gate, my father came by. Seeing me, he naturally stopped, took off his hat to Mrs. Heriot, and spoke. This is how the acquaintanceship began, Avithout formal introduction on either side. Taking the pretty little girl in his arms, he began talking to her : for he Avas very fond of children, Mrs. Heriot said some thing to him in low, feeling tones about his Avife's death. " Yes," he sighed in ansAver, as he put doAvn the child : " I shall never recover her loss. I live only in the hope of rejoining her there." He glanced up at the blue sky : the pure, calm, peaceful canopy of heaven.

Chapter II. Changes

" I shall never recover her loss. I live only in the hope of rejoining her there." It has been said that the voavs of lovers are ephemeral as characters written on the sand of the sea-shore. Surely may this also be said of the regrets given to the departed ! For time has a habit of soothing the deepest sorrow ; and the remembrance which is piercing our hearts so poignantly to-day in a few short months will have lost its sting. My father was quite sincere when speaking the above Avords : meant and believed them to the very letter. Yet before the spring and summer flowers had given place to those of autumn, he had taken unto himself another wife : Mrs. Heriot. The first intimation of what was in contemplation came to me from Leah. I had offended her one day ; done something wrong, or not done something right ; and she fell upon me with a stern reproach, especially accusing me of ingratitude.

" After all my care of you, Master Charles— »iny anxiety and trouble to keep your clothes nice and make you good 1 What shall you do Avhen I have gone away ? " " But you are not going away, Leah." " I don't know that. We are to have changes here, it seems, and I'm not sure that they will suit me." CHANGES. 13 " What changes ? " I asked. She sat at the nursery window, which had the same aspect as the draAving-room below, darning my socks ; 1 knelt on a chair, looking out. It was a rainy day, and the drops pattered thickly against the panes. "Well, there's going to be — some company in the house," said Leah, taking her own time to answer me. " And I think perhaps there'll be no room for me." " Oh yes, there will. Who is it, Leah ? " " I shouldn't wonder but it's people over yonder," pointing her long darning-needle in the direction of the dingle.

" There's nothing there but mosses and trees, Leah. No people." " There is a little farther off," nodded Leah. " There's Mrs. Heriot and her two children." " Oh, do you say they are coming here ! — do you mean it ? " I cried in ecstasy. " Are they coming for a long visit, Leah ? — to breakfast here, and dine and sleep ?_. Oh, how glad I am ! " " Ah ! " groaned Leah ; " perhaps you may be glad just at first ; you are but a little shallow-sensed boy, Master Charley : but it may turn out for better, or it may turn out for Avorse." To my intense astonishment, she dropped her work and burst into tears. I felt very uncomfortable. " What is it, Leah ? " " Well, it is that I'm a silly," she answered, looking up and drying her eyes. " I got thinking of the past, Master Charley, of your dear mamma, and all that.

It is solitary for you here, and perhaps you'll be happier with some play fellows." I went on staring at her. " And look here, Master Charles, don't repeat what I've said ; not to anybody, mind ; or perhaps they won't come at all," concluded Leah. There came a day— it was in that same week — when everybody seemed to go wrong, as far as I was concerned. I had been at warfare with Leah in the morning, and was so inattentive at lessons in the afternoon that my father scolded me, and gave me an extra Latin exercise to'do when they were over, and shut me up in the study until it was done. Then Leah refused jam for tea, which I wanted. Altogether I was in anything but an enviable mood when I went out later into the garden. The most cruel item in the whole was that I could not see / had been to blame, but thought every one else was.

The sun had set behind the trees in a fiery red ball as I climbed into my favourite seat — the fork of the pear-tree. My father had gone to attend a vestry meeting ; the little bell of the church was tinkling out, giving notice of the meeting to the parish. Presently the bell ceased ; silence ensued ; the bright ness of the day had given place to the shades of approach ing evening ; the trees were putting on their melancholy tones. I have always thought — I always shall think — that nothing can be more depressing than the indescribable melancholy which trees in a solitary spot put on after sun set. All people do not feel this ; but to those who, like myself, see it, it brings a sensation of loneliness, nay, of awe, that is strangely painful. " Ho -ho ! So you are up there again, young Charley !

" The garden-gate had swmng back to admit Tom Heriot. In hastening down, I somehow lost my balance and fell on to the grass. Tom shouted with laughter, and made off again. The fall was nothing — though my ankle ached ; but at these untoward moments a little smart causes great pain. It seemed to me thatll was smarting all over, mentally and CHANGES. 15 bodily ; and I sat down on the bench near the bed of shrubs, and burst into tears. Sweet shrubs were they. Lavender and rosemary, old man and sweet-briar, marjoram and lemon-thyme, musk and verbena ; and others, no doubt. My mother had had them all planted there. She would sit with me where I was now sitting alone, under the syringa trees, and revel in the perfume. In spring-time the sweet blossoms would surround us ; she loved their scent better than any other.

Bitterly I cried, thinking of all this, and of her. Again the gate opened, more gently this time, and Mrs. Heriot came in looking round. " Thomas," she called out — and then saw me. " Charley, dear, has Tom been here ? He ran away from me. — Why, my dear child, what is the matter ? " For she had seen the tears falling. They fell faster than ever at the question. She came up, sat down on the bench, and drew my face lovingly to her. I thought then — I think still — that Mrs. Heriot was one of the kindest, gentlest women that ever breathed. I don't believe she ever in her whole life said a sharp word to any one. Not liking to confess my naughtiness — which I still attributed to others — or of the fall from the pear-tree, I sobbed forth something about my mother. " If she had not gone aAvay and left me alone," I said, " I should never have been unhappy.