Warleigh's Trust

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BY EMMA JANE WORBOISE, A it t /tor of The Abbey Mill," ,: Sissie" "Tke Story of (Penelope,™ " Amy Wilton," ''A Woman s Patience" " Maude Bolingbroke " &>c., &*c. Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world But those who slide along the grassy sod And sting the luckless foot that presses them '? There are who in the path of social Hfe Do bask their spotted skins in fortunes sun, And sting the soul * Joanna Baillie, ILontion : JAMES CLARKE & CO., 13 & 14, FLEET STREET. HODDER & STOUGHTON, 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1883. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. The First .Mrs. WiUabye .... I II. Janetta . . . .. . .17 III. " Nothing to Lose and all to Gain " . . . 2S IV. Change of Air . . . . . . 42 V. River House . . . . , -55 VI. The Legend of Warleigh Place . . -7° VII. "Bide a Wee!" . . . . .84 VIII. "First — Catch your Hare " .... 100 IX.

Won ! . . . . . . .110 X. An Odious Woman when She is Mariied , .124 XI. Seven Years ...... 132 XII. A Moonlight Ramble . . . . .147 XIII. Doomed to Captivity . . 157 XIV. Cold Comfort . . . . . .171 XV. The Escape . . . . . . 1S3 XVI. "Missing" . . . . . .198 XVII. Mr. Willabye's Return ..... 210 XVIII. The Policeman and the Ghosts .... 222 XIX. The Curate of St. Swithin's-in-the-Marsh . . 232 XX. At Southcombe Rectory .... 242 XXI. The Curate's Ramble . . . . 259 XXII. The Conditions . . . . . .273 XXIII. A Champagne Supper ..... 285 XXIV. The Rectory Guests . . . . .299 CONTENTS. VIII CHAPTER PAGE XXV. The News of Southcombe . • • 312 XXVI. Going Back to River House . . ■ 325 XXVII. " Wanted, a Governess " . 334 XXVIII. The Petition of Augustus Willabye . . ■ 35° XXIX. The Ball at River House , . ■ • 36' XXX.

Christmas Eve . 375 XXXI. An Old Prophecy . . . • ■ 386 XXXII. A Parson's Holiday . . . 400 XXXIII. In the Hotel " Coffee-room " , . • 4°9 XXXIV. Mr. Warleigh's Narrative . . . • 427 XXXy. Mr. Peronett at Home .... 443 XXXVI. Hilda's Welcome . . . . -453 XXXVII. Mr. Willabye's Regrets ... 463 XXXVIII. Tidings from Florence . . . .475 XXXIX. Hilda's Correspondence .... 486 XL. Joyful Tidings . . . . .500 XLI. At Warleigh Place Once More • . . .509 XLII. Checkmated ..... 524 XLIII. All Sorts of Changes . . . .539 XLIV. The Last Chronicle of Southcombe . . . '

Chapter I. The First Mrs

WILLABYE. IT was' the afternoon of a dull November day, and the shades of night were rapidly descending over the quiet west-central square in which my story opens. In a hand somely furnished chamber in one of the best houses in this square Mrs. Willabye lay dying of a fatal disease, which had run its course so rapidly that her husband and her friends could scarcely bring themselves to believe that the end was really close at hand. She was sitting up in her bed — a comfortable, old fashioned four-poster— well supported by pillows, _ talking rather slowly, though with an occasional unsteadiness of tone, to a showily-dressed personage sitting at her side. She was an elderly woman, though not perhaps so old as she looked ; the straggling locks that escaped from beneath her elaborately frilled nightcap were few and grey ; her forehead was a good deal wrinkled, and her cheeks were hollow ; her hands, as they rested quietly on the fine linen sheet, were very thin; her face was sad and anxious, and wore a strange, wistful expression, as if it would fain see a little more of the life of this world, which WlTS so rapidly fading from her view ; she was saying in a clear, distinct, yet subdued voice, "She is my real anxiety, Caroline.

If it were not for Hilda, I think I should not be unwilling to die. My life has not been a very happy one." i " Frank has not been unkind to you ? " " Oh, no, no ! I should be ungrateful indeed if I made any complaint of him. He has scarcely ever said a cross word to me, and he has given me every comfort — I may say, every luxury. I never thought to live in a house like this, and have servants at my command. Frank's luck has been wonderful — wonderful ! " " So I suppose," replied Mrs. Tillotson, the " Caroline " previously addressed. " I only wish my husband would have a lucky fit, but Tillotson never was the man to take fortune by the forelock; and then, he never had any chances to speak of. Mr. Willabye might have been no better off than my Tom if he had not found a helping hand." " No, indeed ; and it is because we owe so very much — everything indeed — to Mr. Warleigh, that I am so anxious that Hilda should be done well by.

Her father has so much faith in us ; his trust in my husband is boundless." " I don't quite understand about Miss Hilda. I knew, of course, that she was not your own child, and, in one of your letters, you said something about holding her in trust — her father's trust, of course. Has she no mother — no relations ? and why did her father go away and leave her ? " " I don't know that I have the strength now to tell you, but I'll try ; if I cannot make you understand, Frank will," replied Mrs. Willabye. " You see, Frank and Mr. Warleigh were boys together, and fast friends, though they were not in the same station in life. Frank was an orphan, very poor, and very cruelly treated by that old uncle of his, whom I can scarcely bear io name. Mr. Warleigh, too, was an orphan and poor ; but, in comparison with Frank, almost rich.

They were thrown together somehow, and took a great liking to each other, and after a while an opportunity occurred to Mr. Warleigh of serving his friend, by recommending him to the notice of the great firm of Sexton, Fullager, and Sexton. He was taken on trial at the instance of Mr. Warleigh, who was intimate with Mr. Fullager — quite as an underling, I believe, holding rank as a'n office lad willing to make himself generally useful, rather than as an office-clerk." "Yes; you told me something like that before, when you were trying to make up your mind to marry Mr. Willabye. And your husband that is now put his best foot foremost, and got on ? I remember.'' " Yes ; that was just it. He did get on, and what was more, people said he well deserved the success he found." " May be," returned Mrs. Tillotson, sharply ; " but lots of folks never get what they deserve ; as I always said, Frank Willabye was a lucky man.

He was lucky in finding a friend to push his fortunes, and he was lucky in getting on from year to year ; and he will be lucky to his life's end, no doubt. Some men are born to luck, and some ain't ; and we all know that nothing succeeds like success." " Yes, Frank has been lucky, .or fortunate, ever since he ran away from his uncle's house — there is no denying it ; though I am not sure but what is called ' luck ' is only the result of perseverance in doing's one duty, and making the best of one's opportunities." " Well, that's neither here nor there ; go on with your story, Martha. You know I came all the way from New castle to hear it — I shouldn't have come so promptly at the call of any one else, I can tell you. It's a very long journey, and Tom pulled a long face and was none too pleased, I promise you, when I told him what I was going to do."

" It was very kind of you, and I am afraid I was just a little thoughtless," faltered the invalid. "But, Caroline, you and I used to be such dear friends in past time, and we have always corresponded since we parted. And I did so want to see the face of an old friend, and to say a few things that I could not — I hardly know why — say to anybody else." " Oh, I rather liked the notion of the journey ; I don't much fancy Newcastle — I am always glad to be in London ; I wish Tom had his business here. Well — go on ! " " I could not tell you all the story of my husband's for tunes, because I do not know it, so as to tell it again intelligibly. But of this I am sure, in one way or in another he owed everything to Mr. Warleigh, who, on his part, did anything i — but prosper, but went on from bad to worse, till he lost pretty nearly all he had.

If Frank made a speculation of any sort, it turned in twenty or thirty per cent, directly ; it Mr. Warleigh did the same thing, it straightway came to grief. Frank has often told me that he kept clear — on principle — of all his patron's ventures, because it really seemed as if every mortal thing he touched was bound to be unlucky." " Who is Mr. Warleigh ? " " He is Warleigh of Warleigh — the last of the Warleighs ; unless one counts poor little Hilda, who is only a girl. The Warleighs are a Chalkshire family — a very fine old family, and lords of the soil for miles and miles round about South combe, which is only a little to the west of Ravenage, that is famous for its wonderful stone, that is always being quarried and sent all over the country. I have been there ; we went to Southcombe on our wedding-tour — Frank and I. It seemed to me one of the most desolate, out-of-the-world places that could ever be ; but the sea was beautiful, and the cliffs, and the great high downs, and Warleigh Place ! — oh, there never was anything like it, out of a book."

" Was it so very grand ? " " Some people would say it was little better than a ruin ; but it must have been a splendid place once, when it was at its best. Evil fortunes have followed the family ever since the days of King Charles II. , when the Warleigh of that time — -'Sir Rupert,' they called him — murdered a gentleman of the French Court, after he had run away with his wife. and then, people said, there was a curse on the family, and on the house, and nothing belonging to them would ever prosper, till, in the end, the Warleighs would become extinct — a prediction which is all but accomplished." " Where is Mr. Warleigh now ? '' " He is in India— somewhere. His letters are dated from various places with the most extraordinary names ; but we always write to him through his agent in Calcutta.

As I told you, he got poorer and poorer, till he lost all hope of regaining his ancient inheritance, which was partly mort gaged, and partly in the possession of creditors, who, how ever, could not do much with it, because the old title-deeds, they tell me, stand in the way of its being properly sold. Mr. Warleigh's father and grandfather — both of them sad spendthrifts, especially the latter — managed between them to cut off the entail; but when the estates came to be disposed of, some difficulty arose that the lawyers, for all their stratagems, could never get over ; and now ' The Place,' and the park, and ever so much of the land is in Chancery." " Was your Mr. Warleigh a spendthrift ? " " Dear, no ! not he. Never was a nicer nor a better gentleman ; it was the sins of the fathers visited upon the children, you see.

They all paid, as I have been told, one after another, for the transgressions of their ancestors, from the son of that wicked Sir Rupert, down to the present day. Mr. Warleigh's father inherited very little except debts, I have heard ; and as for Mr. Warleigh — our Mr. Edward— he had nothing in the world but a little farm in Creamshire, that he inherited from his own mother, of whom he always spoke with the deepest reverence and affection. It was about two years ago that somebody persuaded him to try his fortunes in India, and, as a last chance, he went." "And left his little girl in your care ?" " Yes ; he left Miss Hilda with us, in our sole guardian ship. He had some very distant relations, he said, but he knew nothing of them nor they of him ; and there was nobody in the wide world that he could trust as he trusted Frank Willabye.

He and I were always good friends, though I fancy he did not quite approve of my husband's choice. ' Frank might have done so much better, a little bird whispered to me,' was his remark when he knew that we were married. And, indeed, that was quite true. Frank might have done better — much better. I cannot think what possessed him to think of me — poor, insignificant Ivlartha Jackson." " And I never thought you would marry. I always said, ' Patty means to be an old maid ; she is faithful to the memory of her dead lover.' " " And so I was, Caroline — so I was ; and, in one sense, so I am now. I have never forgotten Charlie Scott, my first dear love ; but things went so hardly with me. My aunt died, and her husband married again, and the new wife never rested till I was out of the house, and till she hiid poisoned my uncle's mind against me.

I tried several ways of getting my living, as you know, Caroline ; but it was hard work always, and the world seemed to me so hard and so cold and so merciless, that I only longed to die and be with Charlie." " I always said, Martha, you were never one to fight for yourself; you always wanted spirit — you were too meek by half." " I might have been ; but now that it is all over, and that I am going to die, I think not. Well, Caroline, I got into sad trouble in my last situation. I had an enemy. There was a young person in the shop — it was a draper's and haberdasher's in the Kingsland Road — who, for some reason or other that I could never find out, took a great dislike to me, and, as I afterwards discovered, was continually saying, or rather hinting, at things to my disparagement. She said I was a proud, stuck-up minx, and above my station ; that I thought it beneath me to be behind a counter, and a great deal more of the same sort.

And perhaps she was right, for I think I was proud. I dare say I did think — though I never said so — that my place in the world was not exactly behind a counter." " I should think not, indeed. Your poor aunt never thought you would come to that when she sent you to Miss Marchington's school, and had you taught French and music, and the use of the globes, and all the rest of the extras. You had a far better education than I had, Martha." " If I had, I am afraid I did not make a very good use of it. I was very silly to think myself demeaned by any sort of honest work : looking back, I fancy I gave myself airs, and refused to be one with the other young people in the shop and in the m crkroom ; anyhow, my pride had to suffer a sad fall. There were some errors in the accounts ; week by week there was a deficiency — I don't know to this day who was the culprit, I only know that I was not, and that I had nothing to do, even indirectly, with the matter ; but, some how, I was suspected, and the guilt, though never traced home to me, was laid at my door.

I could only protest, I had no means of clearing myself; and one day my employer paid me my wages till the end of the month, and said he thought it would be better for all parties if I left my situation at once ; at the same time he inferred that I must not apply to him for a recommendation." " And you left, I dare say, without any fuss ? No ; you were not fit to fight your own battles — you never were." " I never was. I was broken-hearted, I had not the strength to struggle ; I only wonder I did not die. Well, when things were at the very worst with me, I met Frank Willabye, and after a short acquaintance, he asked me to be his wife, and I had not the courage to say ' No.' " " You would have been a great fool if you had said ' No,' Martha ; good gracious ! what a chance you would have lost.

Why shouldn't you have said — what luckily you did say—' Yes ' ? " " Because I was only grateful to Frank ; I did not love him. I had no love to give to any man ; my heart was in Charlie's grave. I told Frank so, but it made no difference; nothing would do but that I must be Mrs. Willabye. I felt, too, that I was no match for Frank. For one thing, I was eight years older than he was, and I was certainly neither beautiful nor clever. However, it all ended as you know. Frank would have his own way, and we were speedily married. But I never guessed, till he brought me home, how well off he was, and I am thankful I did not. At any rate, if I married for a home and for lawful protection, I did not marry for money or for position. And Frank has been a very good husband to me ; and though I am sure I must sometimes have disappointed him, he has never given me any reason to suspect that he repented his choice."

" I dare say you have made him a very good wife, in your own quiet way ; and some men don't care about the dash and style, — that I am sure was never your forte." " I think I have done my duty by him ; and I do love him now — I should be a wretch if I did not — though not as I loved Charlie Scott in the days of my youth. But Frank does like dash and style, I am sure ; I found that out long ago. Still, I have done my best ; if we had had children it would have made a great deal of difference." " That it would. There's nothing like a family for drawing husband and wife together ; I wouldn't have been child less for anything. At the same time, I should have been very thankful not to have quite so many. If all of mine had been living there would be fourteen of them— a nice quiver ful, wasn't it ?

And here are you with neither lad nor lass of your own, and a rich husband. Things do go contrary in this world." " It has always been a trouble to me, for I fancied it was a vexation to Frank, our having no children— though he has never said so. And then I have always been so fond of little ones myself. The house has been as bright again since Hilda came, and Frank is very fond ot her. I have tried to do my best for her, poor child, and I do not think I shall be afraid to meet her mother in heaven." "Is she — the little girl — dependent on Mr. Willa bye?" " Oh, no ; not at all. Mr. Warleigh left a nice sum of money in Frank's hands for her expenses, and he promised regular remittances. We would most willingly have taken her without payment, and done everything in our power for her ; but her father would not hear of it.

He was not so poor that he could not afford to keep his own child, he said, and I fancy he did not like the idea of Miss Warleigh living upon anybody's charity, however freely given. But he did say that if he could ask a favour of any creature in the world, it would be of us — for he got to regard me with great kindness towards the last, and I really believe he thought Frank might have done worse for himself than make me his wife." " I should think so, indeed — for, except in point of age, I don't see but that you were quite Mr. Willabye's equal. He would have had to serve in a shop, perhaps, if Mr. Warleigh hadn't been his patron ; I wouldn't go so far as to say that he married an inch beneath him." " Not beneath him, perhaps ; but I was not the wife for a man who wanted to get on and make a figure in the world.

It wasn't in me to cultivate society, as I have heard him say sometimes. But that does not matter now ; it is almost over. And I am sure I should not be sorry if it were not for Hilda— though Frank will miss me ; I have always made much of him." " Never mind Hilda ; after all, she is not your own. And Mr. Willabye must get a governess for her ; and I dare say " But here Mrs. Tillotson paused ; she was just about to assure the dying wife that her place would most probably be silled, ere long. But, unrefined as was her nature, and ready as she was with her tongue, she felt just then a little reluctant to speak out her thoughts. The truth was that Mrs. Willabye had somewhat exaggerated in her own mind the good qualities of Mrs. Tillotson, as well as the friend ship that had been for so many years between them.

It was long since they had been intimately thrown together, and during the interval Caroline had not improved. She had had rather a hard life of it, with her limited income and her large family, and a husband, good and affectionate in the main, but not too sweet-tempered, and soured, no doubt, by a good many mercantile disappointments. She and Martha had unconsciously drifted apart ; the one had "coarsened," so to speak, the other had become more sensitive and gentle than ever. Of an extremely reserved disposition, naturally shy, and shrinking from display of any kind, Mrs. Willabye had not made many friends, and now that her life was drawing to its clo^e she yearned to see once more the friend — the sole friend remaining to her — of those long past youthful days, when she and Charlie Scott were all the world to each other.

Mrs. Tillotson had only arrived that afternoon, and already Mrs. AVillabye was beginning to suspect that she had made somewhat of a mistake. She was beginning to fear that Caroline would not exactly sympathise with her on the one earthly subject which really occupied her mind in the near prospect of death. She had meant to ask her always to take an interest in Hilda — to accept, as it were, a portion of the trust which Mr. Warleigh had reposed in herself. But she was not sure now wnether Caroline was quite the person in whom she could confide. Through out the conversation which had taken place between them there had been an inexplicable something which jarred upon the feelings of the dying woman. And yet she had so much that she wanted to say, and if she did not say it to Mrs. Tillotson it must be left unsaid.

She quite comprehended what her friend would have remarked had she not stopped so abruptly, and she con tinued quietly, " And Mr. Willabye will be almost sure to marry again, you were going to observe. Yes ; he will marry again, of course ; it is perfectly natural that he should, and quite right ; but '' " But you don't like to think of it ; of course you don't. A wife doesn't care to think of herself as dead and buried, and another filling her place in the house, and at her hus band's side. I believe I should turn in my grave if I could know that somebody else sat as mistress at my table, and used my best plate and linen every day, and counted it her own. Still, it is what may happen to any of us, Marthxa. Men are such fools ; and really, they are but poor, helpless creatures without us, and then they are so much at the mercy of their female relations.

One can't exactly blame a man if he does make a second choice, though one does not like to think of it as regards one's own husband." " I should not mind Frank's marrying again if I were quite sure he would choose some one who would be kind to Hilda. She is a peculiar child, and everybody would not understand her. It is very selfish to wish your husband to live solitary and uncared for, because it pleases God to call you to Himself. And Frank has never loved me with any sort of passion ; I know that, because I was once engaged to poor Charlie Scott, and some day he will see — he ought to see — the very woman of his choice, and he will marry her and be happy — if he do not make a mistake, a far worse mistake than he made ten years ago, when he married me. If I could only know that he would choose the right person !

" " Is there any one you would like him to marry ? " " No one ; I wish there were. I wish I could point to some sweet girl whom we both knew, and say, ' There, my dear, there is the woman who will be more to you than I have ever been. Marry her when the time comes, and God bless you both.' But there is no one I could point to, for I have not many female friends. I have not a talent for friend ship, I suppose ; I have never been really and truly intimate with any woman but yourself; and that was why I asked you to take the trouble to come all the way from Newcastle, that we might speak together once more." " Well, then, Martha, is there any one whom you would not like him to marry ? " A flush passed over the pallid, grey features, and the thin fingers clutched suddenly at the fringes of her shawl, as the invalid replied : " Yes ; there is some one, Caroline.

I wish Frank to marry again, and I wish him to be happy ; but he will not be happy, and Hilda will not be happy, if he marries Janetta." "Who in the world is Janetta?" " She is a sort of cousin — the step-daughter of that uncle who drove Frank almost to his destruction when he was a lad. In reality, she is no relation ; but since Frank has become rich she claims kindred." " And you think he may want to marry her ?" " No ; but she may want to marry him, and that will come to the same thing in the end, for Janetta is a snake ! God forgive me for calling names when I am on my death. bed. But she is a woman who will always get her own way by hook or by crook, and Frank is just the man to fall a prey to a designing woman of her stamp." " Is he fond of her ? " " In a sort of way I think he is. No ; not in a way to complain of; a more faithful husband than Frank Willabye never lived.

He thinks she is a capable woman — and so she is ; she is far cleverer than I am, and she likes to make herself of importance." " Lots of us do that. But tell me more about the woman herself. Is she young ? is she old ? is she pretty ? is she widow or maiden ?" " She is not very young, but she is certainly not old ; she is younger than I am by some years ; younger than Frank, I should say, but I cannot tell — that sort of woman never cares to tell her age. She is not pretty at all ; there can be no two opinions ;ibout that. I think she is ugly ; but then I don't like her, so perhaps I am not a fair judge." " You have not answered my last question. Don't tell me she is a widow, because if she is, and she likes Frank, he is done for." " No, she is not a widow ; she is still unmarried, though I should say she is quite thirty-five ; I can see that she is dreadfully afraid of being an old maid."