The stooping lady

Front matter

By MAURICE HEWLETT

Author of " The Forest Lovers,"

"Richard Yea and Nay,"

Contents

PAGE

Which Expounds a New Use for

One's Mistress 171

Chapter I In Which We Place The Heeoine

/^N the 21st of January, 1809, Miss Hermia Mary ^-^ Chambre and her brother, Ensign Richard — as the Countess of Morfa's chariot brought them for the first time to Caryll House, St. James's, within those great gates, into that gravelled court where the statue of a late earl stood and admonished London* — on this da}', and on the very threshold of this Sanctuary of the Constitution, Miss Chambre, I say, and her brother, a beautiful and healthy girl of twenty and a fine young man of rather less, were witnesses to a disagreeable incident,

* As this monument has now been removed, I feel bound to record the inscription which it bore, long though it be.

ON

This Spot

where formerly stood

CARYLL HOUSE

and where

on the Fourteenth of October

The Right Honourable

Rupert

Fourth Earl of Morfa Viscount "Wrest

Baron Rhos and Ruegg K. G., Lord Lieutenant

and Gustos Rotulorum of Flintshire etc. etc.

Returned Public Thanksgiving

to

Almighty God

For the Declaration of His Majesty a vulgar brawl and scuffle, calling for the interference of the police.

Orphans, Irish bj a deplorable father's side, and therefore in crying need of grace, this was the grace they got. Recalled within the pale of Family — that Family which their poor mother had forsworn — they were to see Family put to the blush. A rout of satyrs, a boors' comedy, in which an incensed young giant of the lower classes was hero and two tipsy gentlemen the sport of his heroics ; in which Jacob Jacobs, elderly, gold-laced guardian of the gates, was choragus ; in which footmen in canary yellow and powder, a groom of the chambers, a butler hovering for the carriage, took their cues from him, and wailed, lifted their eyes to Heaven, wagged their polls, called for constables, as he guided them with agitated hands — what a welcome to Britain ! Beyond them and around them — with a ring scrupulously kept

King William III

That truly Constitutional Monarch

and

FATHER of his COUNTRY

This Statue

Has been erected by his admiring

Descendants to record for the

Elevation and Instruction

of

MANKIND

His Patriotism his Piety

and

His Prescience.

The lapidary has, in a pardonable enthusiasm, perhaps magnified his

Lordship's act. What he is stated to have done upon the occasion

recorded is to have slapped his thigh and said, "Thank God, we've

dished the Tories!"

WE PLACE THE HEROINE 3

for the "turn-up" — surged and thundered the mob, intent only on the play, with raucous cries directed solely to that, with eyes afire for the rules of the great game. "Time ! Time !" "Let my lord get his wind — Now they're at it — a mill, a mill ! — ding-dong !" "What, you'll rush it, my lord? By God, that's stopped him !" "Six to one on the butcher — I lay." "Keep the ring, gentlemen, please — fobbed him fairly — gone to grass !" It was indeed at this crowning moment, when one gentleman lay bleeding on his back, and the other, slighter gentleman, "spitfiring like a tomcat," it was afterwards averred, struggled fruitlessly to escape the enemy's grasp of his coat-collar — that the family chariot of the Morfas loomed heavily at the far end of Cleveland Row and, advancing, displayed to the eyes of our young lady and her brother one of the sights of London — as they no doubt supposed it. Hardly seeing what, certainly, was not fit to be seen, no doubt for a second of time those startled eyes of hers gazed upon the havoc, and upon the flushed young Saxon, bareheaded and fairheaded, the hero of it — a noticeable young man performing noticeable feats with gentlemen. No doubt but that she too was by him gazed upon in her turn, and that that second of time seemed by seconds too long. These encounters of the eyes stay by one, though in this case there were sights to come. Within the gates lay another — a dead horse, weltering from the issue of a terrible wound ; whereat indeed the bright-eyed jNIiss Chambre shrieked and clung to her brother, and he, after one sagacious look, said, "Staked, Hermy," and then, "Poor devil. So that was the meaning of it."

And thus 1809, thus London, thus England and Caryll House arrayed themselves to greet two young Carylls (by the mother's side) very newly from Ireland. A mob at the Gates ! A dead and mangled horse within the Precincts ! A tipsy gentleman scrufFed by a butcher's man ! The scene was significant. As the French would say — 1809!

The arrival of the carriage brought order back to some scattered wits. The canary-breeched footmen aligned in the vestibule, the groom of the chambers mounted the inner steps, the butler hovered for shawls. Servants of the Chambre pair — Gibson, a red-cheeked maid, and Simcox, a red-haired valet, descended from the rumble ; Ensign Chambre, tall, slim, and lady-faced, ^ot out and handed out his sister. "Here we are, my dear — Caryll House. What a shindy, eh? Let's get out of it all." But that was not possible to her.

"Oh, Dick, the poor horse — no, no ! We must find out something. We can't possibly — " She turned to the butler, half in and half out of the carriage, collecting wraps. "What has happened.'' Who killed the horse.'' Who were those people.'' Please to let me know." The butler's head and shoulders came from the interior, deprecating inquiry; his hand humoured his chin. He really could not say ; it was hardly for him to say. Per-

WE PLACE THE HEROINE 5

haps her ladyship — but he would inquire. Before he could reach that last refuge of Secretaries of State and butlers alike, Miss Chambre had turned to the powdered array. Did any one see what it was? Was any one present? Surely something was known? The giants stiffened and stared ; one was seen to blush, and another betrayed, by a slight twitching of the fingers, that this was the most awkward moment of his life. Miss Chambre's eyes, which were grey and very clear, insisted on response ; they had to be met. And so confused mutterings were heard, as one giant looked at the other, and deep called unto deep. She caught the words — "His lordship"— "young Vernour" — "thirty-guinea 'oss" — "no take-off for an 'oss," and "lashed 'isself into strips.'* She was young, she was impatient, and used to obedience. She stamped her foot.

"It's very extraordinary that nobody seems able to speak here. I don't understand it at all." Then she turned flashing upon the careworn butler. "Whose is that horse?"

"I believe — they tell me, miss — it is young Vernour's horse."

"Oh! And who is he?" The butler looked sideways.

"He's the butcher, miss."

"Oh, then that was he — that young man "

"Yes, miss."

"And who were the other two, the two cowards attacking him?"

But the butler's agony was now for all to see. "I really — it's not for me, miss — but I'll inquire." "Oh! Inquire!" She stamped again. Her brother was appealed to. Dick must go and find out; she insisted on knowing what was the matter; and while Dick stalked out to do her commands she chose to wait, tapping her foot in the vestibule, quite regardless of the canary-coloured giants about her, of hovering butler or groom of the chambers at his post. She had had no great experience of these gentry ; she had lived in Ireland all her twenty years, and certainly her poor, pretty, helpless mother. Lady Hermione, whose runaway match with Colonel Chambre — Handsome Dick, Dick of the Gallop, and what-not — had been productive of little comfort besides these two children, certainly her mother had not been able to show her any such state. Why, except for McFinn — coachman in boots by day, footman in slippers by night — and the maids — three of them — there had been no indoor service at Chambre's Court. But there may have been traditions, and, of course, there was blood, to go upon. She had her Norman prerogative, sa haulte franchise, by the mother's side ; and these stockinged emblems were so much furniture to her — now that she had found out that they could not pretend to be men. Not so to Gibson, her red-cheeked maid — but apparitors, wielders of the torture of silence and suspense. Gibson told her young mistress afterwards what she had endured in those awful moments of arrival. "If

WE PLACE THE HEROINE 7

one of them yallows, Miss Hermy, had advanced a leg or put forth a finger, I should have died with the scream in my throat — so lifelike they was." One sees what she meant.

When Dick did return, he looked bothered.

"I can't make much of it out. They all talk at once. There was a row with a butcher about his horse — good horse, too — I could see that for myself. Somebody's been riding it, and staked it. Some gentleman, they say — or, at least, he thought so." Here he grew grave, reserved, made himself as old as he knew. "They do say — but I don't know anything about that. The horse is dead, the fellow's gone to gaol. The two gentlemen will prosecute. Their servants are with them, I believe. At any rate, they've been sent for. They weren't seriously hurt, either of them. I say, Hermy, I do think we might go in — now, 3'ou know."

But Miss Hermia had opened her ej'es, and wouldn't budge.

"To prosecute, my dear ! To prosecute the butcher ! How can they prosecute him for staking his own horse ?"

"You don't understand me. He didn't stake the horse. I thought I had made that clear."

She did not choose to see. "Very well, then, I suppose they will prosecute him for owning a horse at all. Is that what you mean?"

Dick put on his Ensign's manner — his last refuge against this sort of attack. "Why, you see, my love, it is rather an awkward business. The fellow began it. Of course, the whole affair might have been settled if he had taken it reasonably."

"Reasonably !" Really, for a girl only two years his senior, she caught him up. "How do you take a staked horse reasonably.''"

"My dear child, this fellow had hold of a gentleman — of a peer, they say — by the collar, and gave the other no end of a smack on the nose. Well, you know, you can't have that, can you .?"

Miss Chambre, after staring at her brother for a trying moment, turned her back upon him, and walked up the array to the house. She threw him a Parthian shot. "You can have what you deserve — and be called a gentleman— and not take it like a gentleman — or so it seems."

Dick followed her nervously. He knew his sister, but he knew more. He knew the names of the two gentlemen ; she must never get at them, whatever happened. But he had his birthright in him, too. "One was a peer, remember — and the other a peer's eldest son. I can't say any more. And they were both drunk — you ought to remember that." She marched on.

"Pooh !" she threw at him, "I don't believe you. And if it's true, it makes it all horrible."

"They were drunk as owls," says Ensign Dick.

"As pigs, you mean," flung back the lady.

The groom of the chambers mutely implored — his long white face was a study in the tragic: that of a just man

WE PLACE THE HEROINE 9

contending with circumstances. He turned the handle of a door. "Miss Chambre, my lady. And Ensign Chambre."

At the further end of a long and dimly lighted room, full of pictures and cut-glass chandeliers and highbacked chairs, there was to be seen Grandmamma Morfa, the withered, the eagle-faced, crutch in hand, enthroned before a sea-coal fire.

Miss Chambre stepped lightly forward. She walked as young women do who have been free of moor and weather all their lives, carrying her head high. "How do you do, Grandmamma Morfa ?^^ she said, and took up the white old hand to kiss.

"The better for the sight of 3'ou, my dear," said the great lady, like the wolf in the fable.

Chapter II In Which We Bring Her Into Play

]\/r ISS HERMIA Lad the better of her brother in wits -*- -^as well as in years, and at tongue-work he had never pretended to touch her, even when he had been freer than he was now — with no Ensign's commission burning in his breast-pocket and hobbling every step he took, so to speak, with reminded dignity. Lady INIorfa may not have been entertained, but could not fail to have been instructed by her granddaughter's vivacious narrative of the voyage from Kilbride. She said little, not being herself ever very free of speech, but she listened to every word, and at the end of it, as will be seen at the end of this chapter, proved that she had learned something. It would not have been Miss Hermia's fault if she had not. It had been, then, a stormy crossing, but a quick one, with a following wind. She had not been ill in the least, had been on deck all the time, in oilskins lent her by the captain ; only her hair had got wet — nothing else. But that had been drenched — like seaweed — and had had to be dried before the inn fire at Holyhead. That place had been full of people drinking brandy-and- water ; they, too, had been very kind, making room for her while she knelt and dried her hair. They offered her brandy-and-water; she got some bread and milk. SImcox and poor, dear Gibson had been dreadfully ill — prostrate! Simcox said that never, in his born days— but she here perceived that Lady Morfa took no interest in Simcox or his days, and pursued her own adventures. What did grandmamma think .f^ It was rather a wet morning, but not very ; so she and Dick rode outside the coach, and put the servants inside. It had been the greatest fun — they saw the dawn, but not in England as they had hoped, for they were still in Wales. The coachman was very kind. He told the guard that Dick was "a bit o' blood," and the guard had said, "Bless your life, that liquor's bound to show" — wasn't that fun? It was three in the morning when they were off, and not a soul out of bed, once past the inn-yard.

She touched but lightly on the landscape, flashed upon by the coach-lamps and swiftly blotted out ; slumbrous villages, shaly banks, lanes endless and tortuous, long ascents and breakneck gallops down into blackness, gaunt finger-posts to hidden ways — a chance-caught "To Chester," another "To Carnarvon," and then "To Ruthin," where lay, she knew, JNIorfa ]Mawr, the cradle and chief seat of all the Carylls — dripping trees, rivers, narrow bridges. She had lived through the dark upon these, but they were not for her tongue to tell of. Nor how, when the five dark hours had been past, and with the pale winter sun striving with the rain, they had looked out upon the heart of Wales — and there was Ogwen Lake, all black under the storm-cloud, and all that litter and slide so shining wet under the splintered mountain: a quarry of slate! Not for her untried speech all this. She spoke rather of their fellow passengers, and as one who knew them well ; the young usher for Rugby, with a painful catch in his breath, who had shown her the portrait of his mother; the sea-captain homing to wife and child at Wem ; the wine-merchant whose head had nodded on to her shoulder, and whose apologies had been so frequent and profound; and, lastly, and with fervour, she told of Mr. Aloysius Banks. Kind! He had been more than kind — he had gone out of his way to be kind — and had accompanied them to London.

"Do you mean," asked Lady Morfa here, "that this — ah, person — was going out of his way when he came on to London?"

Miss Hermia was not so innocent as to fail to understand what Lady Morfa meant by a "person."

"He's not a person — what you would call a person — grandmamma, at all. And, of course, he lives in London. I am surprised that you don't know him — indeed, he told me that you did. He had met you at Lady Crowland's, he said. He was able to do you some trifling service. You bowed. There can be no mistake. Mr. Aloysius Banks, an Edinburgh Reviewer."

Grandmamma may have meant to name Mr. Banks a personage, but did not look as if she had. She denied his acquaintance. Miss Chambre sketched him freehand.

Ke was extraordinarily ugly, and seemed to feel the cold. His e3'ebrows looked very odd when the rime was thick upon them. He wore a plaid scarf so tightly round his neck that Dick had said, and she could not but agree, that he looked like a skull tied up in crossbones. He had been snappish at first, but they had done their best to make him happier, and she believed they had succeeded. Nobody could have been kinder than he. He was a poet and critic — most severe — but that was forced upon him. He was a Whig, of course ; and he said that all the Ministerial poets, and, above all, the Jacobin poets, were so deplorably bad that he felt it his duty to be stringent. When, said he, you find principle as lax as numbers, morals and sense alike subverted ; when your rhymester is as trite as he is obscure, adds factiousness to dulness, and turns all to blasphemous uses — it is no time for lovers of order to be silent. He had been charged, he said, but unjustly charged, with having caused one 3^oung man to die of mortification, or (as he hoped it might be said) of remorse. IMr. Banks added that he hoped that he should never shrink from his duty to the Constitution, however painful that duty might be. He had the profoundest respect for the Constitution and for great families. Anecdotes! He had one for every fine house he passed. There was Sir Tancarville Tancarville's : he had married his cook. Stokeheaton's mansion reminded him of a very sad affair — how young Lord Wilmer had called out Colonel Despard, and how

U THE STOOPING LADY

the Colonel had shot him; Mr. Banks had to be excused the reason. Then there had been Lady Diana Meon, who ran away with

"And we saw Wolseley Hall, grandmamma, where papa had often stayed, with Sir Charles. They saw the fall of the Bastille together, you know — but I forgot ! You didn't agree with papa about that. Nor did Mr. Banks, by any means." Lady Morfa considered that that was the best thing she had heard of Mr. Banks so far ; but she did not say so. She was learning this free-spoken granddaughter of hers.

On the whole, it seemed that Mr. Banks was at his best upon the subject of noble birth and what he called "FraRchise." What had he meant by that, precisely.'' Miss Chambre had asked him. He had explained. Franchise was the liberty which blood conferred, and, in these days, place, since the King, we must not forget, was the Fountain of Honour, and could ennoble by a look. So franchise was liberty — the liberty to be free, and the liberty to rule a free people — a harmony, not a discord of ideas. "I found that difficult," said Miss Hermia. "I asked him what gave the liberty to rule, and he said Place ; what gave Place, and he said Blood." It was puzzling, because there was another kind of Franchise— a parliamentary kind, which Mr. Banks refused to discuss, which seemed to make him angry, which, he said, had nothing to do with true Franchise. But let grandmamma consider. A free people had the freedom to be ruled; Blood and Place had the freedom to rule." She frowned now as she thought of it, but grandmamma refuaed to help* "Bits of blood," were they, had said the coachman to the guard. And then she remembered the butcher's horse. There had been blood there, too.

All that apart, she owned that she had found Mr. Banks's eulogy of the Carylls rather fulsome. "He knew who we were without our having to tell him. He said that the country still mourned grandpapa, and that Uncle Roddy was very high in the confidence of the Prince of Wales. And then he spoke of you, grandmamma, and of Uncle Badlesmere, and of all your family. He said that the Botetorts and the Carylls bore the only shields that remained unsullied in England. I told him that I thought that impossible, and that if it were true he ought not to say it to us. Perhaps I ought not to have gone so far — Dick thought not. But he was very charming in what he said about you."

Lady Morf a took Mr. Banks's charms as best she might. She went so far as to ask what the gentleman had been pleased to say of herself, and accepted with grim acquiescence a tribute to "that combination in her ladyship's person of exalted birth and enlightened principles which set England, our happy country, apart from all European nations." If her granddaughter did not report him exactly, that is what he had said. Miss Chambre remembered also how he had praised Mr. Fox, the Dukes of Bedford and Devonshire, Lord Lansdo^vne,

Lords Grey and Grenville. Lord Crowland he was proud to call his Maecenas. All this should have endeared him to Lady Morf a, for all these were her allies ; but she was staggered with what followed. Miss Hermia, owning that she knew nothing of these gentlemen, had asked him concerning others — "friends of papa's" — with less happy results. "When I asked him," she said, "if he had known Lord Edward, he said 'Good God!' and had no more to say."

"I don't wonder," said Lady Morfa, and, like Mr. Banks, said no more; for Lord Edward could only be Lord Edward Fitzgerald, whom she was accustomed to describe as "that little renegade who married the Frenchwoman," and who signified for her the three things in this world most detestable — enthusiasm, slackness of fibre, and treachery. She kept a keen ear for Miss Hermia's chatter after that ; but all went passably well until the end.

"And so, grandmamma, we got to London at last, and met the carriage, and oh ! I must tell you of a most disagreeable thing — which I think you ought to know about."

Out it came, the whole of it, and Lady Morfa bristled and stiff"ened as she heard. A staked horse ! The battle at the gates! The ring, the prostrate gentleman. "Dick tells me he was a gentleman, but I can't believe that. He was tipsy, and one of two. The other I couldn't see, because the butcher had him by the coat-collar; he was tipsy, too, and, Dick says, a peer. He was using very bad language, but couldn't possibly get away. The butcher was a splendid young man." And then she added, "His eyes give him that proud look. I mean that they see you, and see that you are nothing."

"You are talking sad rubbish, my dear," said Lady Morfa with decision. "What's all this.'' I've heard nothing of it."

Dick Chambre, very red and uncomfortable, put in his word. "I don't think it need disturb you, ma'am. It was some vulgar attack. They sent for the constables, and, no doubt, it's all over. I think Hermy was upset."

If she was, it became her. It gave her starry eyes and a colour of flame ; it lifted her head and gave a thrill to her voice. "No one can bear injustice," she said. "It's horrible. Oh, grandmamma, what do you think.'' They've taken the man to prison because they staked his horse. Why, papa would have — Oh, grandmamma, what can we do.-^"

Lady Morfa, after blinking and working her tightened lips, put an end to the conversation. "We can do a number of things, my dear, and one of them is to refrain from discussing subjects of which we know little or nothing. If you will kindly ring the bell, I'll have you shown your rooms, I'm an old woman, as j-ou see, and not above owning when I'm tired. Ring the bell, my child."

Miss Hermia was taken in convoy by the housekeeper; but Ensign Dick remained to show his commission, for which he had to thank his grandmother, to talk of the Army of Portugal, which he was soon to join, of the levee, of uniforms, of his horses, and other glories of youth. He was a simple, well-spoken lad, much to her ladyship's taste. She liked young men to be good-looking, to call her "ma'am," and to agree with her. These were Gary 11 qualities ; and she could manage the Gary lis, or, at least, had never met with one whom she could not. Dick Ghambre proved no exception, and with his help she flattered herself that she could deal with the girl. The girl was Ghambre — that was evident ; but Lady Morfa meant to do her duty by her. What was this wild story of the butcher's horse? What had Dick to say about that.? The unhappy Dick had much to say which nothing would have induced him to reveal. That she guessed; therefore, after letting him flounder and blush into coherence, she gave him his orders. "My dear boy, it's clear that you have great good sense. These vulgar things are not to be wondered at in the time we live in ; insubordination, however, must be checked. I remember that I speak to a soldier. Your sister is excited because she is tired. To-morrow she will have forgotten all about it. Give her my love, and say that I shall excuse her at dinner to-night. Let her have her sleep out — she shan't be called in the morning. And let us have no more talk of fighting butchers and their horses. Truly, a 'splendid' young man ! Remember, Richard, we must have no more wild speeches. And th€ less of your Mr.

Aloysius Banks the better. Progers will show you your quarters if you ring. You will find your man, no doubt." So away with Ensign Richard and his commission.

But her ladyship had more to do. After a time of bleak survey of the fire, she rang her handbell. Progers, the careworn butler, the velvet-footed, came in.

"Ah, Progers," said the lady, "has his lordship returned.?"

"Yes, my lady. His lordship have returned. His lordship have asked me to say that he is feeling himself indisposed, and will not dine."

"No, no. I will see his lordship presently. Has Dr. Noring been sent for.^*"

"Dr. Noring is here, my lady. He is with his lordship."

"Very well. That will do, I think. And— ah, Progers "

"My lady.?"

"There was, I understand, a disagreeable scene this afternoon. Vernour, the butcher, was concerned in it,"

"Yes, my lady." Progers of the furrowed brow !

"Let orders be given that Vernour is not to call again for custom. Let that be done at once. And let there be no talking about this, if you please. Miss Chambre was greatly upset by the affair. I don't wish anything said to Miss Chambre — or to anybody in the house. Understand that, Progers."

"Very good, my lady."

Dr. Noring reported that the young Earl of Morfa was suffering from a severe shock to the nervous system, and must have rest. A low diet could do no harm ; but rest was imperative.

Chapter III In Which, Ip You Please, You May Contemplate Her

FAMILY

T T is possible that the annals of the politicians may cn- -*■ shrine the person of a stauncher Whig than that of Jane (born Botetort) Countess of Morfa, but if they do I have never heard of it. It is highly improbable ; she was not only all that a Whig should be, she was all that he could ever be and remain a man. She was a Whig of the Whigs, dotting all the i's in the sacred words British Constitution; she was Whiggism incarnate, for she added character to principle, and what she professed, that she was. Where Mr. Fox had doubted, she had affirmed; where Lord Crowland shook his head, she shook her fist ; where my Lord Grey was tempted to enquire, she held her nose. Thus she was the sublimity of the Whig position, which was not one of compromise, but of despair. For the Whigs took kings into favour, not because they were estimable, but because without them the families could not govern; and though many of tliem may have believed it, and some may have said it, I know of none to whom it was so much bone of the bone as to Lady Morfa, of none who said it so stoutly and lived it so hard as she did.