A witch's legacy

Front matter

Ae

BAG

BY

Chapter II

From the moment that Violet had signified her willingness to accept Joseph Nettley, Mrs. Lee’s health improved in the most marvellous manner. Her excessive weakness disappeared as if by enchantment, and there was no longer the slightest sign of any desire to faint or swoon on slight provocations. The little lace pocket handkerchiefs had an unwonted period of rest, and the only tears which Mrs. Lee treated herself to now, were gentle little snivellings of joy at the success which was about to crown her projects, and of satisfaction in possessing such a dear, good dutiful daughter as Violet.

She was determined, however, that no time should be lost, and scarcely two hours after Violet had told her mother that she would marry Joseph Nettley, a dainty little scented note was written and despatched

A Witch's Legacy. st by special messenger to Rockmount. This note was a marvel of epistolary skill and a perfect specimen of motherly solicitude and tenderness.

After informing Mrs. Nettley of the success of her embassy, it hinted, nevertheless, with great tact, that Nettley must not expect the same burning sentiments from his jiancée as characterised his own feelings, but that Violet being possessed of a very calm equable temperament, had expressed herself to her mother in a manner which showed that she was quite prepared to make him a good, faithful, and affectionate wife, and that Nettley must not expect more for the present.

Violet was not allowed an opportunity of seeing this note, or the terms in which it was written would certainly have been considerably modified. She was determined that she would not allow Nettley to marry her with any illusions as to her real feelings towards him, and she promised herself that she would tell him exactly what her sentiments were the very first time they met. If he were still desirous of marrying her on those terms, and without the love which a2 A Witch's Legacy.

she felt she could not give him, at all events for the present, she would be satisfied to let things take their course. If, on the contrary, her mother had led him to believe more than was true, she would set him free at once, despite all consequences.

The next morning Mrs. Lee was sitting alone in the verandah, thinking placidly over forthcoming events. Violet had shut herself up in her room, and utterly refused to talk over the thousand and one little details which her mother was turning over in her mind, and would not have a word to say even about the all-important question of trousseau, etc., which Mrs. Lee was positively itching to discuss.

The sun was shining gorgeously, and Mrs. Lee’s eyes wandered with satisfaction over the bright scene which lay before her. The bright-coloured garden, the great big shady tamarinds, and the soft-green cariefields in the distance—all seemed to her this morning to be invested with increased charm and beauty, and the knowledge that all these handsome possessions were now comparatively assured to her, made the good lady feel immensely satisfied with herself and with every one else.

Presently a figure walking up the long carriage-drive attracted her notice. Raising her eyeglass, she saw that it was only one of her own servants returning from his daily jaunt to Williamtown with the day’s provisions and other messages. Mrs. Lee then remembered that the English fortnightly steamer had touched at Grenadilla the day before, and that the servant would most likely be carrying the letters and papers which had arrived by the mail. The fellow seemed to dawdle this morning in a most . agoravating manner, and once or twice she felt inclined to send another servant out to him to make him hurry.

Mail-day in the West Indies is to most people the great red-letter epoch by which most others are reckoned, and many a solitary bachelor, who spends the best years of his life out there, looks on “ mail-day” as representing the brightest moments of his exile. The feeling of absence from loved ones is lost for a short while; distance exists no longer, thousands of miles are bridged over in an instant, and the sight of

VOL. IL. D.

some dear familiar handwriting, even on the outside of an envelope, causes the heart to beat faster with the truest emotions, and the brightest pictures of home-life to rise up before the wanderer’s eyes with intense vividness. How eagerly are the opening lines scanned, and how deep the sigh of relief and thankfulness when the tone of the first phrase shows that all is well with the dear ones so far away! So much may happen in a fortnight that it is almost with a feeling of dread that a letter is torn open, lest one should find that the fond mother, the loving sister, or the fondest loved one of all, who wrote so cheerfully and happily fourteen days ago, should now be in_ sickness, trouble, or even gone for aye!

Mrs. Lee, however, had no such sentiments when the mail-bag was handed to her. All the relations she possessed were distant connections who had lost nearly all interest in her when she had married and gone out to the West Indies so many years before. Still, there were a few old friends who wrote now and then, and Mrs. Lee was much disappointed on finding that the bag

A Wrtch’s Legacy. 35 contained nothing addressed to her, save a couple of bills and some newspapers There were two letters addressed to Violet though. One of them, by the handwriting on the address, was evidently from some feminine friend, but the other, in a large square envelope, at once attracted Mrs. Lee’s attention. She started, as if a viper had bitten her, and feverishly clutching the letter, she cast a hurried and frightened glance around the verandah.

The mail-bag and its contents fell from her knees to the ground, and concealing the large square envelope under her little lace shawl, Mrs. Lee rose hastily, and with a flushed excited face, looked quickly into the neighbouring rooms. She then rushed into her own bedroom and locked the door.

Mrs. Lee was afraid to ask herself what she was about to do, and yet her mind had been made up the instant that her eyes had fallen on the letter. She was about to commit a wicked, despicable action, and she felt like acriminal. Tottering with uneven steps to an arm-chair, and casting another euilty look all round to convince herself that she was entirely alone, Mrs. Lee drew

D2 out from under her shawl the letter which appeared to have such a powerful interest for her, and held it out at arm’s length. An intense struggle was going on in the woman’s mind, but the weakness of her character prevented her from withstanding the terrible temptation that was assailing her. The letter bore a London postmark, and the address was written in a bold thick hand which Mrs. Lee was sure she recognised. She seemed to have some doubts though, for after looking intently at the envelope for a moment or two, she suddenly rose from her chair, and went over to a little writing-table, and after rummaging hastily among a lot of odd notes and papers, seemed after a moment or two to have found the letter she was looking for.

It was a little note from Jack Moresby, which he had written to her a few weeks before his disappearance, and which Mrs. Lee remembered to have kept, for some reason or other.

“Yes, of course its from him,” she murmured, as she compared the handwriting of the note with that of the address on the unopened envelope. “ Exactly the same M, the same L. Must be from him ! but from London!” There was no doubt about it; she felt sure that the letter was from Moresby, and that it was addressed to Violet! Mrs. Lee seemed to suddenly overcome her scruples, for pursing up her lips with a determined movement, she rapidly tore open the envelope.

I cannot head this hurried scrawl in the formal orthodox style, and yet I dare not write down what I long so much to say to you.

“The mail for the West Indies closes in a few minutes, I find, so that I shall only have time to scribble a few words.

I cannot imagine what you must have thought of my sudden departure, leaving as I did without even bidding you farewell—and yet it was impossible for me to see you before I went, although I was so awfully anxious to doso. I wanted to tell you, Violet, all about what I began to say so clumsily, during our last ride, when that old bore interrupted us. I wanted to get your answer. Would it have been “Yes?” I will not ask you now, my darling, but implore you to wait just a little while until I can once more whisper in your sweet ear the words which fly to my lips every time I think of you.

I am not allowed to tell you yet the cause of my mysterious disappearance, or why I am over here. I am most terribly worried and anxious, but everything will be settled to-night, one way or the other. Next mail will, I trust, carry me back to you a rich man, entirely free from all the worries and difficulties which have hampered me so terribly, or else — but, bah! I cannot, will not envisage any other eventuality.

I would give worlds to be able to tell you what it is all about, my darling, but I cannot. All I can do is to ask you to have a little patience and to believe, until next mail-day, that I love you with all my heart and soul.

It was certainly not a model of letter writing, but it was, on the other hand, sufficiently incoherent for any love epistle, and poor Jack, when he wrote it was in such a state of feverish excitement that its defects did not strike him very forcibly.

Mrs. Lee read the letter to the end, only interrupting herself once or twice to give a sniff of contempt, or a little snort of indignation when she came to any phrase which seemed to her to be particularly audacious or uncalled for.

“T never heard of such a thing, never!” was all she could say, and then Violet’s mother’s tears flowed copiously. It was the poor woman’s only resource. She was quite

A Witch's Legacy. 39 unable to struggle against all her conflicting thoughts.

The letter annoyed and puzzled her beyond measure. That portion of it which said that he hoped to return to Grenadilla by the next steamer a rich man, attracted her notice, but matters being as they were, she determined to disbelieve anything lke such a probability.

In a moment or two came a revulsion of feeling as she began to realize the vileness of the act of which she had just been guilty, and for some instants it was only with difficulty that Mrs. Lee restrained herself from rushing up to her daughter and confessing what she had done. This impulse was, however, quickly stifled, and in a few minutes she regained her self-possession.

Mrs. Lee shrewdly guessed that her daughter’s doubts as to the genuineness of Jack’s love, had done more than anything to induce her to agree to her mother’s plans, and these doubts removed, all hope of a speedy marriage with Nettley would be irretrievably ruined.

Hypocritically comforting _ herself with the reflection that it was all for Violet’s ultimate good, Mrs. Lee quickly prepared to remove for ever all traces of her dishonourable act. A lighted match was speedily applied to a corner of the letter and the greedy yellow flames shot up and consumed the loving words which Jack had penned so full of hope and_ tenderness. Mrs. Lee could not help feeling as if she had committed a great crime, and shuddered as she noticed that the bold thick handwriting was still easily decipherable on the charred and blackened paper. Feverishly she crushed up and pulverised the offending ashes and as she cast them out of the window to the dispersmg winds, she felt all the sensations of a criminal striving to blot out for ever all the marks and evidences of her crime.

The deed was done, and there was now no help for it. Violet’s mother, to ease her overwrought feelings, then indulged in a lachrymose soliloquy on the motives which had induced her to conceal and destroy Jack’s letter. So much thought and ponderous reflection were beyond Mrs: Lee, and throwing herself on her bed, she wept herself to sleep.

The poor lady was really a wonderful woman. She remained in the seclusion of her bedroom during the whole of that day, and when, after several hours’ rest, she found herself face to face with Violet at dinner that evening, she had _ entirely resumed her placidity of demeanour. Mrs. Lee was beginning to look on the morning’s episode quite in the lhght of ancient history, and if now and then a few little qualms rose to disturb her equanimity, they were speedily stifled by the reflection that all she had done was purely for Violet’s own good.

She could not, nevertheless, help thinking once or twice how awkward it would be if Jack Moresby were really, to return in a fortnight’s time, and ask Violet whether she had received his letter. Mrs. Lee, however, did not allow this reflection to trouble her too much. In the first place she did not give the slightest importance to Jack’s expressed hope of returning to Grenadilla in a fortnight’s time, a rich man ; that was absurd and was merely a young man’s sanguine nonsense, only meant to induce Violet to keep up her interest in him. Even if he did return at an early date, Violet would be engaged or perhaps married to Nettley by that time, and Mrs. Lee did not care much what happened once that happy event had come off. There was nothing to prove that Jack’s letter had arrived at its destination, and it might easily be supposed to have miscarried. However, Mrs. Lee did not allow all these little worrying thoughts to disturb her beyond measure; she had a firm faith in the fact that everything generally turns out for the best in the end, and after a rather hurried meal she and Violet retired to their rooms to don their ball dresses.

There was to be a dance that night at Government House, to which the Lees and the Nettleys had of course been invited. But Violet did not look forward to it with any of the pleasurable anticipations which young girls usually have in such festivities.

She knew that Joseph Nettley would most probably propose to her there, and Violet could not refrain from looking on the whole matter as a most painful ordeal which she devoutly wished were over and done with. Many times during the day her heart had almost failed her, and the oft-recurring thoughts of Jack made it most difficult for her to adhere to the resolution which it had cost her so much to arrive at. That night, during the long drive from Belvoir to Government House, Mrs. Lee barely exchanged half-a-dozen words with her daughter. She feared to say anything which might possibly irritate Violet's overwrought feelings, and she knew by instinct that her wisest course was to let matters proceed without any further help or undue haste on her part. Violet sat perfectly still in her corner of the carriage and was secretly grateful to her mother for her silence. She did her best, in the gloom of the dark night, to compose all the conflicting thoughts and memories which rushed in chaos through her mind, but it was a hopeless task. It seemed impossible for her to realize that she had already decided her lot, and that she would be returning home, a few hours later, the affianced bride of a man whom she had never looked upon im any other light than as a mere acquaintance. Although Mrs. Lee had forgotten that it was “mail-day,” Violet had not, and notwithstanding that she had tried to school her mind to indifference, it was a bitter pang when she found that the mail-bag had brought no news of Jack. Where was he ? What was he doing? Was he indeed in trouble, and had he really done something to be ashamed of? Although she did her best to strugele against such thoughts, Violet could not prevent herself from confessing that if he had written only one little word or two to her, nothing on earth would induce her to pay the slightest attention to Joseph Nettley’s addresses or those of any one else, even though it meant ruin, poverty and all their attendant miseries. But he had not written. There was not a line for her. She was most probably making a fool of herself and imagining all sorts of absurdities which her own inclinations had twisted into the idea that Jack loved her. Violet longed to know whether any news of him had been received at Palm Vale. If he had written to his overseer and not to her, it would be a sure sign that he cared no more for her than for any of the other girls whom he had met in Grenadilla. Her bitter reflections were cut short by their approach to the scene of festivities.

It was already late, as hours go in Grenadilla, and when the Lees’ carriage drove past the sentries at the Government House gates, the delightful strains of one of Waldteufel’s waltzes were resounding softly in the night air. The grounds were beautifully lighted with coloured lanterns, and several young couples were strolling among the winding gravel paths and cosy shrubberies.

The first person who met Violet’s eyes as she and her mother were entering the ball room, was Joseph Nettley. He had been - wandering about the doors for over an hour, anxiously awaiting their arrival. The poor fellow had been tortured with fear lest after all Violet should have retracted her word at the last moment, and he was in an agony of dread lest the ecstasy into which Mrs. Lee’s letter had thrown him was doomed to be speedily replaced by despair. When at last he caught sight of Violet coming out of the cloak room, his honest face was so hehted up with intense delight that she could not help smiling sweetly at him as he gently took her hand and held it in his for an instant. Nettley’s happiness and confusion were such, that for the moment, he quite forgot Mrs. Lee, who was standing by watching the little scene and really quite affected by the evident depth of his love for Violet.

“You must not be so ungrateful as not to take any notice of me, you know,” she said, tapping him lightly on the sleeve with her fan. ‘I feel quite offended, I assure you.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, dear Mrs. Lee,” said Nettley, blushing to the roots of his hair, as he shook hands with Violet’s mother, ‘““T feel so happy that I declare I’ve quite lost my head and am really not responsible for my actions,” he continued almost in an undertone, which however was loud enough to reach the ear of Violet, who was being quickly surrounded by a crowd of young dancers eager to fill her programme at once.

“Come along, Violet,” said Mrs. Lee, “I see Lady Redfield over there; come and say ‘how do you do’ at once.” This little manceuvre allowed Nettley to gain possession of Violet's programme for a moment, and hastily writing his initials opposite two square dances, he returned her the card.

“Tm not a dancing man, Miss Violet, so have only asked you for the Lancers which I know you don’t care about.”

Violet repaid his forbearance with a smile and Nettley was then forced to leave her to struggle with the unreasonable demands of other fellows, who would be satisfied with nothing less than waltzes.

Joseph was quite content to stand at one of the doors and gaze with delight on Violet’s graceful figure as she glided round the spacious room in the slow, rhythmical whirl of a creole valse. And yet, oh! how he regretted at that moment that he was not a dancing man; although not of a jealous nature, how intensely he envied the happy man whose arm was then round her waist, and on whose sleeve rested her little gloved hand. Violet’s partner was a first-rate waltzer and suited his step to hers with perfection. Otherwise he was a vapid, harmless, and rather conceited individual, and Joseph wondered how on earth the fellow managed to retain that placid, unemotional smirk, feeling that graceful little waist gently swaying on his arm, and that soft perfumed breath fanning his cheek.

Nettley’s were not the only eyes that gazed admiringly on Violet that evening. She was looking extremely well, and her gown of palest sea-green silk and tulle, with long black gloves, showed off delightfully the exquisite purity of her complexion and the clustering little curls of her golden-brown hair. She was far from enjoying her dances though, and some of her partners could not refrain from noticing that she was not as cheerful and smart as she generally was, and each one fell to wondering whether he could have possibly offended her in some way or other. Violet was passionately fond of waltzes, but that night she danced with.a heavy heart. The well-known valse melodies reminded her with each variation of one of whom she had resolved to think no more; each tune brought back to memory some delightful occasion when Jack had guided her so skilfully through a maze of whirling dancers, only a few weeks ago. And now he was no longer there to scribble his name across so many numbers! He was gone, Heaven knows where, and would probably never see her again, or else return to Grenadilla to find her the wife of another !

The ball-room was a very pretty one, brilliantly lighted, and with a floor like a mirror. All Grenadilla was there. It was one of the official dances which Colonial Governors are supposed to give two or three times a year, and to which every one who has the slightest pretension to being “somebody” is convened. As the good colonials are by no means deficient in pretensions, there was, naturally, a considerable crowd, and in addition to the forty or fifty people who formed the officers, rank and file, of the Government House ‘‘set,” there was a considerably larger number of what Mrs. Topman styled “Bush people,’ and others who were only admitted to the glories of the gubernatorial abode on similar official occasions, and who generally dated their lives by taking such occasions as_ chronological events.

Oh! the heart-burnings and anxieties which had torn the breasts of many of these worthy people during the fortnight which preceded the dance. How intense

VOL. II. : E the fear lest they should not receive the coveted invitations, and oh! the intense satisfaction when, after the seventh of their daily visits to the little district post office, the longed-for square envelope with the blue crown was handed to them !

And then the dresses! How the fashionplates of the ‘Lady’s Journal’ were eagerly scanned, and how much are, deliberation, and anxious thought were gone through before the final choice was made !

“Maria, dear, shall | wear pure pink, or orange and black?” or ‘ Look! don’t you think this shade of green would look lovely?” Then the worthy Grenadillan planters’ wives and daughters would get on their horses and invade their heterogeneous stores in the little district towns, and in the midst of a varied assortment of horns, blacking, novels, and boots, would turn over the shopman’s whole stock of silks, satins, lace, and muslins before definitely making their choice. The country dressmakers would utterly refuse to be worked to death, and many a dame and lively damsel had to concoct her own gown and furbelows ; the result being a style and chive which would have literally astounded a Paris faiseuse.”

“Are you going to the ball?” “Of course you have your invite.” “I suppose youre going to the dance?” ete, ete, would be heard and said by every one on coming out of church, or on meeting anywhere else.

“Oh, yes, I suppose I must go, a dreadful trouble, though,” would languidly answer a lady who, the night before she had received her card, had suffered from two distinct andviolent attacks of hysterics, brought on by fear of not getting the longed-for invitation.

People came from all parts of the island. No distance was thought too great to prevent guests from getting to the ball. In many districts, where the roads were too bad for driving, cavalcades of men and lady riders might have been seen wending their way over the mountains towards Williamtown, the scene of the festivity. The worthy planters’ wives and daughters, in all shades of white and brown complexions, trotted along with their male

E 2 relatives, followed by a veritable army of camp-followers. Each man was followed by a sturdy native carrying a portmanteau with his master’s dress clothes ; each dame and damsel accompanied by a dusky wench on foot, carrying on her head a huge native basket, which contained the exquisite toilette which was destined to eclipse all others. These waiting wenches generally helped themselves along the steep and weary roads by hanging on with one hand to the rather unkempt tails of their mistress’s ponies, and at the end of the journey would turn into deft handmaidens, cunning in all the art of hair-dressing and other feminine mysteries.

The hour on the invitation cards was 9.30, but most of the country guests left their rural homes in the early morning, so as to be able to take a well-earned siesta at the end of their long jaunt, and before donning the glorious habiliments which had cost so many hours of hard labour and thought.

The town friends hospitably received the country mice, and many were so good as to allow ten or even twelve of their lady friends to dress in a room set apart for the purpose. The comfort of dressing under such conditions may be imagined. <A moderate-sized bedroom, scantily furnished ; ten country ladies, each needing the ministrations of her particular attendant. Ten trunks or voluminous “carib” baskets containing the “creations,” one small looking-glass, and you have a_ correct picture of the interior of many of the town houses on this eventful evening. In some rooms, where several of the ladies happen to be of considerable bulk, the more slim ones have to make room by standing inside their trunks, and laying their gowns in the covers of them. If any one of the dames should happen to have lately returned from Europe, and possess a_ reputation for elegance, she dresses with all the publicity which used to mark the petit lever of the grandes dames of the eighteenth century, and eighteen pairs of eager eyes are intently fixed upon her, so that an entirely accurate idea may be obtained of how much of a certain “mystery,” if any, ought to be placed in a certain position ; whether the correct colour of stays is white or darker tints, or whether the elegant lady under observation makes use of any fictitious aids to acquire that appearance of style which has attracted such attention? However, all these little troubles are got through somehow or other, and the crowd of expectant dancers make their way in good time to the Governor's abode, fully resolved to make the most of the elegant function to which they have been invited.

As has been said before, every one was there. All our friends of the tennis-court, including worthy Mrs. Topman, looking majestic in black, and talking loudly of her Attorney-General, who, however, kept discreetly in the background. The Colonial Secretary's pretty wife, looking particularly nice and jolly; the Treasurer’s wife, and the mob of spouses of all the other officials, great and otherwise ; deaf old Lady Blunt was there filling the largest arm-chair in the room, and all the nonentities and nondescripts also in full force. Vulgar little old Smith with his stutters was perpetually wandering about in the vicinity of the buffet, and was heard to declare that

““p-p-people were p-p-packed like herrings in a b-b-barrel,” and that, notwithstanding the great heat, “the g-g-girls were all J-j-Jumping about like p-p-parched peas in a frying p-p-pan !”

The ball was certainly a great success, and poor Lady Redfield, who received her guests at the entrance of the ball-room with delightful grace, was quite worn out by shaking the hands of what she began to think must surely form a large section of the whole population of the island.

At last the moment which Violet could not help dreading arrived, and when the band struck up the opening bars of a set of Lancers, Joseph Nettley found himself standing at her elbow. The poor fellow was terribly nervous, and for the life of him could not think of anything appropriate to say. He began to stammer something and blushed so painfully that Violet, observing his evident distress, considerately came to his assistance, and smiling to her last partner, took Joseph’s arm, and walked away with him towards the broad verandah which led out into the gardens.

Nettley’s heart was beating so loud and fast that he felt sure that Violet could almost hear it. He was in an agony of bashfulness, and all the suitable phrases which he had rehearsed to himself, over and over again during the day, had entirely faded out of his mind, and he found it impossible to remember a single one of the words which came to him so glibly when he was alone and holding an imaginary conversation with Violet. He felt sure that she must think him utterly ridiculous, and yet, after a silence which seemed to him an eternity, he could find nothing more original to say than that he hoped Violet would not find it too cool in the verandah after dancing so much.