The Bonnet Conspirators: A Story of 1815

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Chapter I

' The question is/ said Lady Hepzibah, revolving with absorbed deliberation before the long ovalframed mirror which hong so conveniently between the two French windows, *the question is — I have my doubts, my dear niece— does the colour become, really become me ? '

' It matches your hair beautifully,' said Marie, speaking in all the honesty of undivided attention. And then she blushed crimson at her own thoughtlessness, for whatever it was now, even she could remember the time when her aunt's hair had been bright as molten gold in sunshine, and the bonnet, arrested for a moment in mid-air above its natural resting-place as Lady Hepzibah looked round in mild surprise, was lined all through its expanding fon-shaped brim with a satin hovering in hue between dingy drab and a dull fawn.

B

*I— I mean your complexion/ added Marie, and then glancing desperately to where, above the bonnet-brim, three large pink gauze rosettes held in place the six nodding natural-coloured ostrich tips, * The — the pinkf of course, that is.'

*7 was referring to the quilting, my love,' rejoined Lady Hepzibah, dropping the bonnet into position with a merely deprecating gesture of slight reproof for her niece's apparent inattention, and she turned with renewed interest to revolve once more before the big glass.

It gave back a pleasing reflection of a middleaged lady who had once been numbered amongst the beauties, although, in the sincere conviction that a ' has been ' is for ever and aye in a different position from a 'never was,' Lady Hepzibah could not, perhaps, quite so free herself from the past as to accept exactly what her mirror told her. It was the one weakness in an otherwise puritanically sincere nature— less an insincerity, indeed, than an illusion. Had she retained fewer illusions on the subject herself, she might have induced more on the part of others by recourse to the pigments everybody had used in her girlhood, and which most women, even in 1815, thought quite legitimate, if only as a mere matter of following the Mode. But in the flush of triumphant youth Lady Hepzibah Deane had thought scorn of such a fashion, and matured character prevented her from adopting it in later, life.

Instead she quoted with calm naifyetS the proverb of beauty unadorned at all the tea-parties in the neighbourhood, considering herself bound — in effect, no doubt, it really meant privileged — as Lady of the Manor, to inculcate right principles with outspoken consistency. No offence was ever taken. Everybody was on the best of terms in Lodeswell society, and it acknowledged but the one leader.

It was the undefined lurking consciousness of this her responsibility as Dictator and Natural Arbiter of Taste in the circle she so influenced that was exercising Lady Hepzibah's critical perceptions now. In those few moments of silent deliberation, while her bodily vision was filled with the combination of colour upon her head, destined at once to be an unimpeachable model for admiration and a standard for less wellregulated minds in all such matters, she was occupied mentally in reviewing every possible objection that could be brought to militate against its attaining complete success in these two aims.

She moved her head to right and to left, poising it first at this angle, and then at that ; dipped, curtseyed, and nodded thoughtfully at her

B 2 own reflection ; marched some steps forward with the heavy decision of a well-instracted grenadier, swimming back again into the most suitable position for the light with all the elegance bestowed by an early Court training, and then drew herself up once more, stately and tall, to her full height, while Marie stood by, profoundly interested in all these evolutions and with only the faintest suspicion of anxiety — the anxiety bom of her own responsibility as manufacturess of the bonnet in question — dawning in her limpid eyes, as the moments passed and still Lady Hepzibah's lips were rigidly set. She heaved quite a little sigh of relief when at last they parted.

'Is it at all like Miss Bullecroft's of last year?*

' That it is not I * she replied then with quick and decisive fervour.

It was just the one criticism too hard to be borne quite philosophically. Marie did not expect her handiwork to be found flawless, but this allusion to the confections of the Commandant's elderly sister touched to the quick, since they were usually meek travesties of her own.

Few of the ladies in that little seaside village thought scorn to be their own milliners, for in those early days of the nineteenth century life was more simple, and bonnets too aflbrded more engrossing scope for latent skill. No miserly wisps of lace, no meagre brims, no scanty plumes I A large and ample canvas for any mixtures the artiste might fancy did bonnets of that period proffer — a wheelbarrow load of artificial flowers, a baker's dozen of nodding plumes, yards upon yards of quilted lace, gauze, ribbons, or silk — nothing came as a burden to crowns like chinmeypots and brims outstanding like the eaves of a cottage newly thatched. And Lady Hepzibah's bonnets, for size, amplitude, and the luxuriant profusion of their trimming, led the van in the fashion of those parts, as has been said.

Neither was she above mentioning any little economies in the manufacture, nor her niece's share in their contriving — all was a source of real pride, and she herself thoroughly appreciated the compliment paid by imitation. It was not the copying that Marie minded, but her pride centred in the artistic results of her inventive genius, and it hurt her to see them caricatured.

It was just in this that the poor BuUecrof ts unconsciously overstepped the privileges naturally afforded by the special intimacy to which their close proximity as neighbours and a long friendship entitled them.

The Commandant, who divided his time between his house in Lodeswell — the little Bed

6 THE BONNET C0NSPIEAT0E3

House just a few yards beyond the Manor — and his military duties in connection with Langley Fort, had given in a lifetime of allegiance to Lady Hepzibah and all that belonged to her, from motives both of respect and sentiment, and, little autocrat as he was without the gates, became unconsciously, but none the less truly, as slavish a weakling once he stepped within them, as any vain sycophant for Court favour !

And since he himself was the model for all that was right to his timid, sweet-natured little sister, she found scope for her share of the family worship in a conscientious attempt to mould herself as near as might be upon the Deane standards, a form of flattery which Lady Hepzibah accepted as her natural due ; Jacques — who respected nothing and nobody — as delightful material upon which to exercise his inimitable powers of mimicry, and which Marie only resented when it made her productions ridiculous.

* That blue made me a trifle sallow.'

* Yes — I mean oh no. Aunt Hepzibah.'

* And that green was too,»too seasonal. You made it in spring, dear love, so no wonder. But one must not be too slavish to Nature's colouring, though it should be our happiness and comfort to copy her lessons in all else. One might have been asking the trees to drop leaves on one's head and gummed them there — though you meant well, I know, my love.*

Marie nodded.

' And the red — there was something odd about those bows.'

' There was,* said Marie, briskly enough this time. She was grateful when criticisms turned only upon her part of the play, for these at least could be understood and obeyed.

It was the fifth retrimming of that particular bonnet, and the trial trips already made had been ^th every known shade! combination, and species of material. Marie had begun at eight that morning, and it was now past two. Lady Hepzibah might not know her own mind in the question of preliminary detail, and had usually no suggestions to offer of any use beforehand, but she had no hesitation in forming an opinion upon the completed composition.

However, Marie stood now surveying her aunt with nothing but interested equanimity. She only scraped one little sandalled foot upon the other because a bee had stung it that morning and the bandage was rather tight, and rubbed her round cheek against her round shoulder because a stray curl was tickling her, and sucked her needle-pierced left forefinger because it was rather sore. These were no signs of impatience : she was only nineteen, and, you might see by the face of her, sweet-tempered. Nineteen and a philosophic temperament can afford to unpick and retrim for hours at a stretch with no misgivings as to waste of time.

* Now what can you suggest ? ' resumed Lady Hepzibah, smiling encouragingly at her bedizened reflection, and Molly gave one little sigh, less for the delicately conveyed prospect of a sixth attempt than for the furtive love she always bore to her own creations.

' We've tried the puce sarsanet — that was the first. You thought it too elderly. And the blue silk, and the green gauze, and the bit of yellow lutestring — you were afraid Miss Binns would remember it from my frock two years ago, because it was she who spilt the coffee down it. And this bit of maize — I really don't know. Aunt Hepzibah.'

Lady Hepzibah pursed up her mouth, and wrinkled her forehead in serious and concentrated thought.

' We have not yet tried lace,* she began, and then a flash of delighted relief suddenly dispersed the clouds. She went on in quick light tones. * And now I recollect — there's my piece of convent lace — the lace I made myself as a girl at Malines ! You have it, Marie — it would be just the thing ! '

Marie's finger and foot all at once ceased to require attention. She polled herself bolt upright in an instant, while her hands dropped to her sides, and her eyes, big and grey, became bigger and darker with a look of absolute terror. Lady Hepzibah was near-sighted, and with her pale protruding eyes glued to the glass she noticed nothing of her niece's agitation.

* Oh, you gave it to me ! *

' Yes, child, yes, and you shall have it back." « Oh, but '

* Niece, do you hesitate to lend it ? My own handiwork, the price paid for my present imperfect vision ! Niece, I must blush for you ! '

'Oh, don't r'

Lady Hepzibah turned her face upon Marie with astonished apprehension lengthening every line. There was in her tone almost the ring of tragedy.

'It is lost?'

* Oh, no, Aunt Hepzibah ! I — I — It's only that I'm not quite sure where it is.' Marie shivered at the near approach of a lie. Oh, Jacques I Oh, that roll of convent lace ! Where was it but in Mr. Dangars's loan-repository, left as pledge for no less than 502., marked now, This Lot, No. 1060. It might have gratified Lady Hepzibah to have found her handiwork so highly appraised, but scarcely, had she known by whom !

Those were days of universal smuggling, and Mr. Dangars was the general 'receiver' down Hastings way. Jacques Maclean, and a good many others, young and old, in Lodeswell, not above sharing in a ' run ' with intent to evade Government duties, knew him on very famihar terms. Jacques never had any money, and the chance had been irresistible. Dangars had gloated over the beautiful piece of work, and so had Jacques over his 501. Marie was the only one who had nothing to show for the transaction, except a twin brother's absolute and entire confidence.

Lady Hepzibah recovered herself and glanced round agam with her usual serene smile.

* You shall use that then, dear. It's a lovely pattern, and quite unique. Your taste is always charming, too. I like no one's so well ; but you don't mind my just remarking that I think this maize *

' Oh, no ! ' interrupted Marie gratefully, feeling indeed that any diversion was welcome, and she smiled back again at her with all her wonted light-hearted sunniness. Lady Hepzibah kissed her affectionately, and patted her cheek with her mittened hand.

' Dear, good child ! My constant comfort and help,' she said fondly. 'And now that's settled I think I may safely take this oS, and get reaAj to drink tea with Miss Bullecroft. Such a comfort, dear child, to feel that that worry is over.*

She returned to the glass just to give a few farewell pats to her coils and ringlets, shook out her lilac silk skirts, adjusted her black gauze tippet, and then, fixing at its right angle on her head a bonnet of cerise and grey, equally large but less gaudy, which lay on the chair beside her, gave the discarded one to her niece with the air of a sultana.

' You may perhaps have it ready to try on by the time I return, with your nimble little fingers,' she added, disappearing into the garden through the open French window.

A turfed walk running all along that side of the Manor house — the front looked to the west, and owned a portico, a gravelled sweep, and double oak gates crowned with grifl&ns — led to the door in the high brick wall which separated the gajrden from the village street. The family seldom used any other mode of egress than this side door, especially when in summer the windows of the peacock parlour stood always open. Lady Hepzibah trailed majestically down the path, and Marie watched her out of sight, and then turned her perplexed face to the sunny south and the soft south-west wind blowing gently up from the

Channel, while her eyes roamed vaguely over the broad waste of blue with its dancing white horses crowning each fresh wave. The tide was flowing. The rocks green with seaweed, and the beds of glistening blue clay which never seemed to dry however hot the sun might be, were all covered now, and up over the hard yellow ribbed sands and soft grey quicksands the great breakers, with the decision of a task nearly done, were rolling in triumphantly to their goal — the beach line was already vnthin reach of the spray. It was a glorious day, and the July sunshine leapt from crest to crest, marking a glittering pathway that rose to meet the line of sky. The gardens sloped downwards, low wide hedges dividing them from the steep hill of nearly half a mile of gorse common that succeeded; then came the cliffs with their short thick turf, and then the beach.

On a clear day it was said you might almost fancy that you could see the white line of the French coast. There were plenty of anxious searchers, too, in those days — the martello towers dotted along the incurving sweep of the coastline at regular intervals to Beachy Head told their own tale, and the occasional glimpses of white sails by day, and the watch-lights flashing by night from the cruisers beating up and down Channel were as beacons of safety to all nervous shoredwellers even while their very existence signified danger.

Bat Marie was not troubling her curly head as to any likelihood of a French landing. What troubled her was that lace I How to account for it, how make up for it — alas I how to make up That Bonnet without it ? She looked at the sea, at the sky, at the grass, at the roses. The air smelt sweet, even though damp with salt. She sniffed it^ and began to hum, picked one of the roses and stuck it in her hair. Philosophy, youth, and the joy of life brought their own panacea and relief.

*Well, till Jacques comes home I can't do anything. So I suppose I may as well unpick this,' she observed to herself presently, and gaily swinging the rejected bonnet round and round by its strings, trailing plumes and pink gauze recklessly, she went indoors, carried her little worktable and stool close to the window whence she could command a view of the world outside, and set at once to work. The wind stirred her fair hair as she bent over, snipping with the sharp decision of the originator not afraid to destroy because able to restore. It stirred presently with a stronger and more vivid rustling in the trees outside, then, with a curious little sudden rush like a breath quickly indrawn, it stopped, and

Marie, knowing well what that momentary lull meant, leant forward the better to listen, letting bonnet and scissors fall. A lull, a little hush as it were of expectancy, a thrill, and then the delicate shiver of a plash, as the first wave of the flowing tide breaks on the shore ! How Marie loved it — one of the myriad voices she must always stop, and wait, and strain, and thrill to hear, whatever was claiming her attention or thoughts. And as she sat now, all her soul and every feeling hushed to catch the faint mystic murmur, suddenly upon the pause there rose another sound — a human sound — a long, low, soft whistle, and in an instant the Dream-moment slipped to action. She sprang to her feet and went out — to left, to right, up and down and round scanning the garden, cliff, hill, horizon — and then curving her hands round her mouth she .repeated the notes herself. A few seconds later the bushes at the far south-west corner of the garden parted, and a boyish, 3urly, red head came cautiously through.

* Airs well ! ' called Marie, in low quick tones.

' So ! ' said he, under his breath, and then doubling over the grass like a rabbit — * Go in ! Quick ! Hurry ! '

Any one might have known them for brother and sister. There were the same clearly cut features, the same almond-shaped eyes set far apart in a way that lent an extraordinary air of innocent candour to their faces, the same upward curl of the mouth at the comers. Only Marie's hair was curly and fair, Jacques' curly and red ; her eyes a liquid soft grey, his keen and bright ; and where the sister's face was rounded, soft, and childish still, the boy's was thin, lined, and stamped with knowledge of life at first hand. Marie had never tried to see it except through his eyes.

Jacques took in the room with one sweeping glance, and dropped into the nearest chair with a sigh of relief. Marie stood by and looked him over in silence.

He was covered from head to foot with halfdried blobs of clay — the iron-clay of the wealden cliflfs. His hands were grimed with gunpowder, and the smell hanging about his clothes accentuated and explained certain unmistakable stains of red and brown. ^ One sleeve of his tightly buttoned overcoat was half torn out, he had no hat, and his hair hung in plastered rat-tails down his forehead — men wore their hair longer in those days. As to his face, where you could see it for dirt, it was of a ghastly pallor, with the eyes, red-rimmed, sunk deep in the head. The very way in which he let his body relax at full length in the low chair, his hands falling limp and open, palms uppermost, upon the floor on either side of him, spoke of exhaustion and fatigue so great as to defy either caution or reserve. 'Aunt Hep?'

' She's drinking tea at Miss Bullecroft's.' ' Something for me to drink, my dear.* Marie dived out of the room into the passage, and wekS back in a few seconds with a pewter aleflagon and a tankard. A preconcerted arrangement was this, for Jacques' special benefit, involving only forethought, an unsuspected cupboard, and no servants' knowledge. Jacques emptied the tankard at one draught, and without speaking held it out to be replenished. Marie, without a word, filled it from the great flagon she was carrjdng. In silence, too, she fetched from the same hiding-place and set down beside him a plate of sandwiches, thick and solid, upon which he fell like a wolf. Silently she put a cushion behind his head, and with her silk handkerchief, dipped in the crystal bowl of rosewater which always stood on the little Chippendale cabinet just below the big mirror, wiped the dirt and perspiration from his forehead. The brother accepted in the same spirit that the sister gave ; they understood each other very well.

Jacques emptied his third tankard, rolled it amiably along the floor to her feet, and said « Oood I *

Marie picked up the tankard, put it carefolly away with plate and flagon again, and then went back to her seat and waited. She asked nothing in words, but Jacques' eyes met hers.

* My dear girl,' he began — and pulled himself round in the cushioned chair as if he suddenly felt a draught. 'Marie, it's a hanging business this time.*

* Jacques ! '

'We'd a regular scrimmage. Well, I can't help it : why did the fools refuse me my commission? Catholic, forsooth? Fudge! It's so dull, a man must do something ! '

* Was it last night ? All night ? Were you out all night ? '

Jacques glanced down at himself.

'Bather! Cliff, sand — I've been hiding in the gorse these six hours past, watching the windows and for Aunt Hep to go ! Bless my Lord Bullecroft and his sister for once ! This is the first thing I've tasted since yesterday eyening.'

He crammed his remaining sandwich into his mouth.

'The tide served us well, so did the moon. A grand haul. Capital run ! '

' Oh, Jacques ! But if-

Marie's chin sank into the upturned hollow of her hands, as she sat propping her elbows on her knees.

Jacques dragged himself up, and peered round the window next to him, looked sharply all about, returned, opened the door into the house-passage, sniffed suspiciously down it, locked the door, and then strolled leisurely back.

* Must 'ware rats I I don't mind telling you, Marie, of course,* he added simply. *Well, it's been an awful night's work! Generally, you know, it's just the fun, and so on. Last night the revenue cutter was out ; we were just coming ashore in at the Gap, and they tried to run us down. We couldn't have got away, but Drury rammed the helm down hard, and made straight into them instead. She heeled right over, and went aground. We righted, a miracle it was, the tide was running strong with that gale, but Drury had reckoned on that, and so we got ashore. However, they'd a party of men waiting for us there under the lee of the cliff, and everything got mixed up a bit then. Four of our men were shot, and half-a-dozen of them. I can't give you details, you're a girl,' he added. * 'Twas sickening though. These men are fiends when they get their blood up. It's wanton brutality ! *

* Bat you ? Did any one recognise you ? '

* No, I think not. We all got off, though they nearly had us up Veness Gap, with those wounded fellows to carry. They're getting cunning, these Excise devils. Some one's turned king's evidence, we think ; however, we'll soon make an example of whoever 'tis when we catch him — and catch him we will.'

* Oh, Jacques ! '

*You don't understand — you're a girl — however, I wish I'd been out of it. They're honest men, those revenues, even so. I've never been in a dovTnright fight over it before, it's unpleasant — why can't they let me go and fight the French, there'd be use in that ! ' Jacques thrust his hands savagely into his breeches pockets, and strode up and down the room, while Marie followed his movements with helpless anxious eyes.

* The Commandant fights well,* he went on.

* Oh, Jacques, was he there ? I hope he didn't see you ! '

* So do I. Spoil my last hope of a conmiission if he did. Very nearly trussed the old gentleman, too,' went on Jacques with a grin. * Should have stopped at home and in bed at his 4ge — but he's no shirk anyway. What I've saved Aunt Hep I I knocked the man's cutlass up only just in time,

c 2 or he'd have been in kingdom come by now, instead of arming her into Miss B.'s tea ! '

He burst out laughing, with the easy versatility of Celtic youth. The fires of excitement leapt to cheek and eye as the recollection of the night's events came crowding back — It was good to be a limn, with a sword in one's hand,

* 'Twas exciting, Moll ! ' He paused in his abrupt walk by her chair. *You can't understand. It's brutal. I hate it afterwards, but at the time one forgets it all but just the chasing, and then the getting away, and one's blood gets up, and then one likes the fighting ! ' he added with a half -shamed look of apology. *But I'd give a good deal if those poor wretches had got oflf.'

He again dropped heavily into his chair ; the light faded, he swept his hand across his forehead and was silent.

* What became of your wounded ? * said Marie presently, in a hushed voice.

* Freeman and Wicks were dead ; we left them. Two of them we took oflf to Brigden's Farm. The other was a Frenchy, who boarded us out in mid-channel with the cargo. I talked to him some time coming over ; he knew all the ins and outs of the war, from their side, you know —oh, Moll, how I wish I were there ! We got him up to Grimsey's, and there Dr. Scape met us, and he's got him now. In hiding, of course. The whole village will be in it once they begin finding out. By the way '

Jacques jerked himself to his feet, and began unbuttoning his coat.

'The poor fellow was deUrious, and had got some pecuUar fancy about this bale ; be had got it tucked away under his coat, and when we were dressing his wound^'twas through the lungs, he won't last out the month — we came upon it. It might have been a king's ransom by the fuss he made, instead of a beggarly roll of lace. He wouldn't let us take it away till we had promised all sorts of things as to secrecy and confidence, and so on. At last I promised to take it and keep it safely till he could have it again, and that seemed to pacify him. So here 'tis.'

' Why, it's lace just like Aunt Hepzibah's ! '

' Lace ! I should think so ! Yards of it I I had to undo it, and wind half of it round and round mjrself under my coat before I could get the bundle into any pocket! I couldn't have carried it by hand, of course. Good idea, wasn't it ? ' said Jacques, tugging off his coat.

The lace was swathed round and roimd his body, the end dipping into the tail pocket of the discarded coat. Jckcques dived into it to baring up the remainder of the bale in a hard, closely wound bundle, even then with so much of it unwound as big as a fair-sized melon.

'I got into it tee-to-tum fashion, so 1*11 get out the same way, I rackon, as these Sussex men say. Hold, my dear, while I turn ! There must be miles of it I '

Jacques spun round and round, Marie winding up the lace as fast as he undid it. It was ludicrous, and presently both burst out laughing.

' I can't wind so fast,' cried Marie. * Oh, Jacques, dear boy I How funny you look ! '

' My dear girl, I must be rid of it before I can do anything, and I want to go and change. Ha, hullo I Who's that ? Moll ! they're coming in by the garden door ! Wretches, fiends, impudent dogs ! '

Marie literally tumbled across to the window, glanced sharply round, and looked back with a face alive with excited terror.

' Oh, it's the Commandant, and a man, a stranger, with him ! Oh, Jacques^ quick, quick ! Fly I Where's the key ? There'll be just time to get into the passage.'

Jacques, in a muddle of lace all about his feet and legs, was already at the door, working vindictively at the lock.

' Eusty ! . . . Won't turn. Broken, of course. That's no good. Here, Marie, quick march!

Tear it — scratch — cut — scissors, teeth — anything ! •

* Oh, dare we cut it ? '