Not his daughter. An American novel

Front matter

Not His

Daughter.

AN AMERICAN NOVEL.

Contents

Chapter. Page.

I. AN IDLE PAIR 21

II. MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER 32

Chapter II

MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER.

D ARCY’S mood was not a novelty to his companion. He had often seen him in it before, and had as often gotten him out of it. Ho two persons were more unlike. Darcy was generally — to use an expressive adage — “down in the cellar or up in the garret.” Charley was always in the garret. If it were a fault, he was too sanguine and easily satisfied. It was his light-heartedness and unfailing good spirits which first attracted Darcy to him. He envied him his disposition and despised the unfortunate weakness of his own. They got along together famously, for each reacted in a measure upon the other.

Darcy acceded to Charley’s proposition to take a walk, and, throwing away their cigars, they sauntered along the piazza, passing, as they did so, the various groups of people always to be found at a summer hotel.

In one spot a party of old ladies, with caps and without them, were huddled together, carrying on a momentous conversation in a serious undertone. A little apart sat three young ladies, one reading a novel, the second scrutinizing critically the dress of a fair promenader, and the third listening with much apparent interest to the words of wisdom which fell from

MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER.

the lips of a young man, dressed in a tennis suit, who stood before her. Nurses were trundling baby carriages in an erratic fashion, as nurses generally do, comparing notes with each other, dilating upon the faults or virtues of their respective mistresses, and cheerfully indifferent to the tearful expostulations and loudly expressed desires of their little wards. Further on, a knot of elderly gentlemen energetically engaged in discussing the financial and political status of the nation, for the time forgetful of hotel bills for large families and incidental expenses.

As Darcy and Charley turned a corner, they came upon a stout old lady rocking herself slowly in a wicker chair. Near her sat her daughter, to all appearances wholly engrossed in some fancy work. The mother might have been sixty years of age, the daughter twenty-five.

Emma Stannel was generally admitted to be handsome. She was tall and slight and her figure was good. Her hair, eyes and complexion were dark, and her features were regular, although, perhaps, a little too sharp in outline. This morning she had on a dress of some light-colored material, and, with a 'becoming piece of cherry ribbon fluttering in her hair, looked very bright and attractive.

Nevertheless, Darcy uttered an exclamation of mingled surprise and angry impatience. He started to retrace his steps 4 , but Charley caught him by the arm.

“ Too late, George — they have seen us. Go in, now, like a man, ‘Fortune favors the brave.’”

Mrs. Stannel had already caught sight of them, and

MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER.

was playfully making an imperative gesture for them to approach. Retreat was impossible.

“ I am so glad I saw you,” she said when they had walked up and seated themselves; “I really believe you both were going to run away.”

Charley hastened to disclaim any such base intention, but Darcy was not very earnest in his denial.

“ Mr. Chanwood, no one knows when you are speaking the truth,” continued Mrs. Stannel, tapping him reprovingly with her fan; “do you know, Mr. Darcy, he always says what he thinks will please, without meaning a word of it?”

“I am afraid you are rather severe on him, Mrs. Stannel,” said Darcy, thus appealed to.

“And I agree with you, Mr. -Darcy,” said Emma, looking up and giving him a glance of timid approval from under her dark lashes; “I know he has said ever so many pretty things to me, and I won’t believe he didn’t mean them.”

Here she pursed her lips into a captivating pout.

“Now, Mrs. Stannel, see how you have wronged me ! ” exclaimed Charley, greatly delighted.

“ Emma, you are such a strange child,” said her mother, in a voice of languid resignation.

“I don’t care, Mamma, ” replied Emma; “I do not think it is right to be so unjust — do you, Mr. Darcy ? ”

This being the second time he had been called upon to decide, he was constrained to say something. Inwardly he confounded the extreme silliness of small -talk.

MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER.

“ Perhaps your mother is a little too sweeping in her assertion. There are times, however, when her observation might apply to Mr. Chanwood without any great perversion of the truth.”

“I am surprised at you, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Stannel, opening her eyes to an alarming extent; “I had looked to you as an ally, if not for my sake, at least for the sake of your friendship to Mr. Chanwood.”

“Do not look for too much in me, Miss Stannel, or you may be disappointed,” was Darcy’s reply.

“His friends do not bother him a great deal,” put in Charley; “it was only a little while ago that he announced his intention of deserting me and running off somewhere to see his Aunt.” '

“ Why, Mr. Darcy ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Stannel, giving a little jump of genuine surprise, and letting her gold eye-glasses fall off her nose into her lap.

“You don’t mean it, surely? ” cried Emma, gazing at Darcy in open wonder.

One would have thought he had declared his intention of sailing for the Polar seas.

“ Is there anything remarkable about it ? ” asked Darcy, amused.

“Of course not,” said -Mrs. Stannel, quickly; “but it is such a surprise ! Mr. Chanwood told us only yesterday the route you both proposed to take this summer, and we were quite interested in it, especially as part of it was identical with our own.”

“You are very kind,” said Darcy, casting an angry glance at Charley, who pretended not to see him.

MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER.

“You must not accuse us women of being tbe only creatures subject to sudden fancies,” Mrs. Stannel went on; “you men are just as bad. I hope you will have a pleasant visit. I do not think I told you that your Aunt is one of my oldest and dearest friends.”

“Is it possible!” in a tone of agreeable surprise, so well counterfeited as to almost throw Charley into a paroxysm of mirth.

“Oh! yes,” said Mrs. Stannel, blissfully ignorant of the amusement she was affording ; “ I have known her a very long time — I am almost afraid to say how long. She is such a sweet old lady! And she has such a beautiful place! Emma, my child, didn’t we receive an invitation about a couple of weeks ago from Mrs. Charter asking us to visit her?”

“Yes, Mamma.”

“If you should accept, I hope I will have the good fortune to be there at the same time,” said Darcy, politely.

“ I do think it is the loveliest place on earth ! ” Emma exclaimed, rapturously; “I have just been legging Mamma to go.”

At this juncture Mrs. Stannel was called away by her maid, and, after making excuses, mother and daughter withdrew, leaving the two young men again alone.

“I breathe the air once more,” said Darcy.

“We have lost the sunshine,” said Charley, with a comical expression of unutterable grief upon his face.

“I presume you refer to — ah — Emma?”

“How can you ask me?”

“What have you been telling these people about

MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER.

me?” demanded Darcy, suddenly. “Why should they know anything about my movements? I suppose you have been lying, just for fun, as you call it!”

“I told them more than you deserved.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing of much importance; merely that you w T ere in comfortable circumstances, with assurances of better in the future ; that you were rather bright, or, at least, thought you were, and had managed to get several persons to agree with you, myself not included; that you had earned some fame and were working for more ; that several years might be added to your age before you could be said to be ancient ; and last, though not least, that you were a cousin by marriage of Khengis Khan and a blood relative of Sinbad the Sailor ! ”

“Charley, you are a fool!” said Darcy, in great disgust.

Chapter III. Aunt Tabitha’s Letter

B REMENTOWN was a very quaint old spot. Villages had grown into towns, and from towns to cities, but Brementown was little different from what it had always been. Though in the very midst of its more ambitious neighbors, it seemed to live apart from them, and, whilst they strove with feverish anxiety to extend their limits and impress upon the world at large the fact of their own importance, Brementown remained in a state of dormant a‘nd contented bliss, and only asked one favor — that the sun be allowed to appear daily in the East, and, after granting the place its legitimate quota of light and warmth, descend in the West about the time when Brementown and its chickens desired to slumber. There was probably no other place like it in the whole United States, and it felt proud of the distinction. Yet from its very nature it possessed a peculiar charm for the visitor. People said it was “ slow,” “ poky ” and “ ridiculous,” but still “a delightful old place.”

Arnottsville, a few miles away, was an infant in age, but Arnottsville had a fire-engine, a newspaper and a “ city council,” Brementown had none of these. Moreover, Arnottsville was on the railroad, but the builders of the road, blind to their own interests, had refused

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER.

to bind Brementown to the civilized world by tbe iron tie. Brementown _never complained of tlie injustice. It kept up its connection with tlie United States by means of an old coach, just as it had done a century before. There was but one street in Brementown, which traversed it from end to end. It was nothing more than a “pike” or highway, but where it ran through the village Brementown appropriated it to its own use, and gave it the original name of Main Street, one strictly in accord with the truth.

The houses, for the most part, were old and of a motley character. They had about them an air of calm superiority, and looked down with undisguised contempt upon some of the more “ priggish” structures, with the glaring brilliancy of their fresh paint and their precisely laid-out gardens. Even these hallowed precincts had been invaded by the modern builder.

The public-house of the town was still known as “ Gardner’s Inn,” notwithstanding the fact that all inns of high and low degree throughout the land had been converted into “hotels.” Gardner himself, the greatgrandson of the original proprietor, had he chosen to don a cocked hat, a “Continental” coat, a pair of knee breeches and buckled shoes, would have made a .very good representative of that type of landlords known no longer except in books or pictures.

And thus lay Brementown in the smiling valley between its pleasant hills, holding as much aloof from the world as the world did from it, and as indifferent to its opinions as it was to the sarcastic pen of the editor of the Arnottsville Index .

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER.

A mile back from “ Gardner’s Inn” — from which place all distances were here computed — stood two massive wooden gate posts, and between them swung a heavy iron gate, surmounted by a row of rather exaggerated spear-heads. Within the entrance, a little to the left, was an old lodge house, tenantless for many a day. No doubt it had once been quite a respectable building, but its walls were now weather-beaten and moss-grown.

There is little changed about the place to-day. Swinging open the gate, which, rusty as it looks, turns easily on its hinges, as if they, at least, had plenty to do, you pass up the gravel carriage-way. On either side the tall, oaks stand closely together, their strong arms intertwined, and their thick foliage casting restless shadows on the sward below. It is only here and there the dancing sunshine pushes through the quivering green and illumines the sombre shade.

You move on, and the road turns and winds in eccentric curves or sweeping semicircles. Suddenly you come to an opening, and there, directly in front of you, a hundred yards distant, is u Charter Mansion.”

Old Stephen Charter built the house you are looking upon somewhere about the close of the last century. Good old Stephen had merely intended to build himself a large, comfortable home, and was not ambitious of a pretentious title, but he had thoroughly astonished the villagers by the vastness of his ideas and it had ever been known as the “ Mansion.”

To walk up to the house and enter it take but a moment. It is large and roomy, with lofty ceilings

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER.

and wide halls. Six immense pillars of stone rise in front and present an imposing fa<jade. Two wings run back at either end of the building, both materially altered to suit the purposes of the present owner, for one has been * converted into a conservatory, and a drawing-room has been put into the other. The windows of the lower floor have been cut down to the level of a veranda, and, unlike the many paned windows above, are fitted with large glass plates. The whole presents a strange jumble of old architecture and modern improvement, in which the latter appears to have gotten the better of the former, whenever the comfort or pleasure of the present occupant has been considered.

There still hung about it, however, at the time of this story, the heritage of nobility. The gaudy villa just erected near by might laugh at its queer old pillars and other oddities, but the “ Mansion ” was imperturbable, deigned not to notice the impertinence, and, calmly sensible of its antiquity and lineage, felt immeasurably superior to the mush room opposite.

The title to the “Mansion” and the lands adjacent was now vested in Tabitha Charter, spinster, to whom it had descended in an unbroken line from Stephen himself. She was a stout old lady, whose hairs had been whitened by some sixty-five winters, and which she kept smoothly brushed and curled up over her ears, no doubt, exactly as she had done when a young and beautiful girl.

Many friends she had, although the circle of her acquaintances was quite a charmed one, within the

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER.

circumference of which entrance was not altogether easy. There were not a few who sighed to be classed in her “set,” not so much for her own sake — for she was only popular in quarters where she was thoroughly known — but because of the consequent advantages, social and otherwise. By those who knew her only by reputation she was universally spoken of as “an eccentric person.” It was undeniable that eccentric she certainly was. For months together she would occupy her large house in the city, with no companions but her housekeeper and cook. At such times, she neither received nor paid calls, and the big brownstone front, with its closed blinds and door, gave no evidence of inhabitants within. Then suddenly the house would become a thing of life. A ball would be given in honor of some one, and everybody would be there. This would be followed by, perhaps, a series of receptions or teas and an endless stream of callers. Almost without a warning, the old lady would retire again within her shell, for a length of time regulated by her humor, only to emerge again as lively as before. Yet, as her social connections were desirable and her entertainments excellent, sycophant society, laugh as it might at her peculiarities, obeyed her beck and call, when she summoned, with alacrity, and as commendably respected her seclusion.

She did a great deal of charity in an unostentatious way. The peculiar bent of the kindness of her heart was characteristic of its owner. Thus she was President of an Anti- Vivisection Society, the foundress of an Art School for Young Ladies, and the patroness of

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER.

a Bureau for obtaining employment for young men. Frequently, also, she wrote for the magazines and newspapers, the subjects, for the most part, being of a utilitarian nature.

A very few mornings after the reported conversation between Darcy and Charley Chanwood, Aunt Tabitha was sitting at her breakfast table in the “ Mansion.” With her was a young girl in a morning wrapper of some delicate white and pink material. Her dark, almost black hair waving over a low forehead, the beautifully tinted complexion of white and red, the deep blue eyes, the exquisitely rounded figure, all formed a decided contrast to Aunt Tabitha in her plain black dress.

The breakfast was finished, and Aunt Tabitha took a letter from her pocket, hesitated for a moment, and then said:

“Did I tell you, Yiolet, that I received a letter from my nephew?”

“No, Mrs. Charter; I did not even know you had a nephew.”

“Did not know I had a nephew!” exclaimed Aunt Tabitha, in amazement.

“I never dreamed of such a thing,” said Violet.

Aunt Tabitha reflected for a moment.

“Of course not — how could you ? ”

“‘How could F — what, Mrs. Charter?”

“How could you have heard of him when I never even mentioned his name! My dear child, I am getting so selfish that I have bored you by talking about myself, and never said one word about that dear boy.”

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER.

“ But you can tell me about him now,” said Violet, gladly. “ I love boys. Tell me all about him, or, better still, let me picture him to myself. In the first place, his name is Charter somebody — because he must be a brother’s child, and that brother would give him no other name. Next, he is about ten years of age, perhaps twelve; hair dark; eyes ditto; face manly and frank. * He goes to school, takes great interest in his studies, and is devotedly attached to his Aunt Tabitha. Am I not right ? ”

As she saw the smile on Aunt Tabitha’s face, she leaned forward eagerly.

“You know I am right — I always am. Read me his letter, Mrs. Charter; I think boys’ letters the most delightful of all correspondence.”

Aunt Tabitha was laughing heartily now, much to Violet’s bewilderment. When she had managed to subdue her laughter, a spirit of mischief might be seen in her keen gray eyes, as she said:

“I was only laughing, Violet, at your wonderful intuition. With but one single exception you have described him almost — ’’here she showed signs of giving away again to her mirth — “almost as well as I could have done.”

“What can be the exception?” said Violet, in tones of great satisfaction.

“His hair is dark,” said Aunt Tabitha, “and so are his eyes. His name is the same as my own; he goes to school, takes great interest in his studies, and loves his Aunt Tabitha almost as well as she does him.”

“Yes?” said Violet, delightedly, rushing to her doom.

AUNT TABITHA’s LETTER.

“Still you are wrong about his age.”

“Oh! that is a small matter,” cried Yiolet; “you could not expect me to give his exact age.”

“I could not, Yiolet; but do you call a discrepancy of twenty years a small matter?”

“ Twenty years ! ” gasped the astounded girl.

“Just about twenty years,” replied Aunt Tabitlia, watching with keen relish the roseate hue suffuse the young girl’s face.

“How could you do such a thing!” said Yiolet, piteously. “ I always thought you were real kind and good.”

“You must not blame me; it was you who offered to picture him.”

“ I know I did, and you said I was correct with one exception.”

“And so you were, my dear. You were right about the hair and eyes. His name is George Charter Darcy, and his face as frank as any you ever saw. He goes to school and takes great interest in his studies, for he holds the chair of Physics in Stedman University.”

Yiolet felt provoked. She took refuge in the pages of a magazine. Aunt Tabitha was watching her.

“You forgot that you asked me to read the letter, Yiolet!”

“I thought it was a boy’s, not a man’s letter,” — forced to close the magazine. “ Men’s letters are so stupid.”

“Do you receive many?” asked Aunt Tabitha, relentlessly.

“I do not receive any of them, but I suppose they write as they talk,” answered Yiolet, feeling that she

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER.

was justified under the circumstances in haying a fling at the sterner sex.

“ Don’t you want to hear my boy’s letter ? ”

“If you wish it,” said Yiolet, seeing escape was impossible.

“Thank you, my dear; I only wanted to read it because I thought it would amuse you.”

“I will listen,” — endeavoring to put on an expression of pleasant curiosity.

“Yery well; here it is.”

Aunt Tabitha unfolded the letter, adjusted her spectacles and proceeded to read with great deliberation the following:

“ Newport, E. I., July 10th, 1880.

“ Dear Aunt : — You can expect me at the 1 Mansion ’ on Tuesday next. I did not t*hink I would see you until later in the summer, but I have changed my mind, a prerogative which belongs to both sexes.

“The truth is I am utterly sick of the constrained fashionable air I am and have been breathing: — near the ocean as it is — and the obtrusive snobbishness which is more widespread this season than I have ever seen it.

“I sigh for the seclusion the ‘Mansion’ affords, and the society of your own dear self. Perhaps, you will laugh when you read such a serious letter on what will probably appear to you trivial causes of complaint, and I do not know but there is something ridiculous about it, but you know old age is creeping on ”

“ The idea ! ” exclaimed Aunt Tabitha, parenthetically.

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER.

“And peevishness and irritability are some of its delightful concomitants.

“There is a friend of mine here, a Mr. Chanwood, who would like to accompany me, but I told him I must have- your august permission. He is an easy-going young fellow, and capital company. At present he finds much solace and enjoyment in the society of some of the lackadaisical young ladies flourishing in this locality, particularly a Miss Stannel.

“ By the way, the young lady’s mother says you are a great friend of hers.

“I presume you have no visitors.

“Your Affectionate Nephew,

“ Charter.”

Aunt Tabitha had hardly read the last line when she saw she had made a mistake. She hastened to correct it.

“You see, Yiolet, he thought I had a house full of people.”

“ If I heard you aright, the words were 1 no visitors.’ ”

“ Yes, I believe that is what he writes,” said Aunt Tabitha, nervously, “but I know very well what he means.”

“ I had already determined upon returning home to-morrow,” said Yiolet; “it was only yesterday I received a letter from my father, asking if I were going to make this my permanent abode.”

“ Oh ! Yiolet ! ” said Aunt Tabitha, aghast, “ you will not leave me! I shall write Charter this very morning that he must not come.”

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER.

“ No, no, not for worlds ! His coming has nothing to do with my resolution.”

“ I shall do it, unless you promise to stay with me.”

She looked so utterly miserable and guilty that Violet was touched by the sight. Aunt Tabitha reached out and took the girl’s fair white hands in her own.

“Stay with me, Violet,” she pleaded, “stay but a little while longer. You do not know what the love of an old woman is for a young girl. The loves of youth are strong and passionate, but, Violet darling, the love of an old woman is a part of her childishness; it is the bright young love of her girlhood come back to her, with all its strength, ardor and waywardness. Such is my love for you, Violet. You will stay to make an old woman happy ? ”

The appeal was too pathetic and eloquent for the nature of the girl. Her eyes were flowing with tears ; she hesitated painfully for a brief moment, and then, impulsively imprinting a long kiss on the aged cheek, broke from her and passed quickly from the room.

She walked out on the grounds and threw herself upon a rustic bench. The letter had disturbed her considerably, and wounded her sensitive pride. Of course, this nephew had a perfect right to come to the “Mansion” if he chose, but it was too bad that he should conclude to do so just when she was having such a cosy time with Aunt Tabitha.

It was true, she admitted to herself, she might put up with him and, perhaps, enjoy his society, if he were any one else, but the letter was a mental and physical photograph of the writer. She knew she would not

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER.

like him. He was a thorough man of the world — good-looking, probably, and vain, indolent and blase . The condescending tone of the letter told that much.

How flippantly and imperiously he spoke of the “lackadaisical young ladies,” who she was perfectly sure were a great deal too good for him ! The friend he had been pleased to dispose of so summarily in the phrase, “ an easy-going young fellow,” was ten million times better than himself! She was confident of that also. Yes, she would really like to meet this Mr. Chanwood. There was no doubt about her liking him . She must stay here’ too, and offer homage to this Eastern monarch, who had signified his royal pleasure of visiting the “Mansion,” and who had expressed a desire that no others should be present when he made his entry. Oh! how galling it was, and how deep the mortification ! She would not be surprised if he should think she had begged to be allowed to remain ! That would be just like him, at any rate. In all probability, he would meet her with a stare, and, after eyeing her leisurely, turn to his humble slave, Aunt Tabitha, and desire to be informed who she was, and what right she had to be there!

One thing she would do, at all events. If she must remain during his visit, she was resolved that he should see as little of her as possible.

Aunt Tabitha! Aunt Tabitha! it was very wrong to read that letter.

CHANWOOD MEETS A LADY IN BLUE.