A spoilt girl

Front matter

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CHAPTER I. '' Be you for parson’s house at Culverley ?’*

The time was six o’clock in the evening, the season September, the place a little way-side station in North Kent, and the speaker the driver of the local carrier’s cart.

The person he addressed was a tall, well-dressed man, thin, bent, and so hollow of cheeks and bright of eyes that the carrier treated him to a long stare of unfeigned curiosity and compassion. When the gentleman spoke, it was in such a harsh, cavernous voice that the carrier started and looked at him as if half doubtful whether the stranger really belonged to this world.

“ Yes ; I’m for Culverley. Why ?”

“ ’Cause the Vicar’s cob’s broke down, fell an’ cut her knees bad on Cotting Hill, so I was to arsk you if so be you’d like a lift to Culverley in the cart there?”

And he jerked his whip in the direction of a singular object outside.

The stranger followed the direction of the whip with curiosity, and saying, “ Well, let’s have a look at it first,” he left the platform and proceeded, by the light of the station-lamp, to a minute inspection of the

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vehicle. Meanwhile, the carrier eyed him askance, with a resentful suspicion that the stranger’s criticism was an unfavourable one.

“ How far is it to Culverley ?” asked the stranger, at last.

“ Matter o’ four mile,” grunted the carrier. ‘‘You can walk if you like, only it’s cornin’ on ter rain, an’ it’s ten to one you’ll lose your way at one or other o’ the cross-roads,” he added, malignantly.

The stranger muttered something inaudible, and looked inside the cart. A strong smell of apples, a stronger one of coffee, a still stronger one of cheese, and a vision of two portly ladies hemmed in by huge baskets, decided him.

“ I’ll walk,” said he, “ unless you can make room for me beside you.”

“ Oh, I can do that,” responded John Tustain, readily ; “ an’ we can put your luggage at the back there right enough.”

So the porter put the two smart leather portmanteau X) the gun-case, and the Gladstone on to the back of the cart, where they made a striking and pleasing addition to the pile of earthenware, live fowls, and Windsor chairs already there.

Then John Tustain encouraged his horse with a clk-clk and a flick of the whip, and on they jogged along the level road towards Culverley.

The stranger was in a taciturn mood, and John Tustain, who had ascertained by an inspection of the labels on the luggage that the name of his passenger was “ Mr. Hubert Besils,” glanced at him with increasing curiosity. —

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Been to Culverley before, sir ?” he asked.

“ No. I answered an advertisement of a furnished house to let, and, as it seemed to answer my requirements, I took it by letter.”

“ Ah, I thought so,” was the prompt and discouraging answer.

“ Why ? Anything wrong with the place ?”

“ Oh, no, sir. Not at all, sir. It’s a very nice place. All the folks as takes it says as how it’s as nice a house as they ever was in, sir.”

“ All of them ? Why, is it often to let, then ?”

Well, sir, it’s a nice house, as I said. An’ the Vicar he could do with less room an’ more money, so he gets a tenant for it when he can, sir.”

“ I see. What sort of man is he, the Vicar ?”

“ Oh, a very nice gentleman, indeed, is Mr. Griffith. An’ the young ladies, all of the seven, they’re all very well liked in the neighbourhood, sir.”

“ Seven of them ! Then the place is rather overrun with the Vicar’s daughters, perhaps ?”

“ Oh, no, sir. They’re such nice young ladies that we couldn’t do with one less, an’ that’s a fact.”

“ And the sons ? A half-dozen wild boys, perhaps, who swarm over the grounds ?”

“ Oh, no, sir. There’s only two sons, an’ they’re both at Oxford.”

“ Wife a bit of a grey mare ? Most of these parsons’ wives are.”

No, sir. Nobody has anything but a good word for Mrs. Griffith. By the bye, sir, if you should be coming back again, I could take your luggage, even if you cared to walk yourself.”

I*

To come back ! Why, Tm going to spend the winter here, at least.”

“ Well, sir, I live next door to the blacksmith’s, an’ I could fetch your traps any time, if so be you should change your mind.”

“ I won’t forget. But, as I tell you, I am settling ‘ down here. I have been ordered rest, and I sha’n’t be moving again for some time.”

From the depths of the cart behind him Mr. Besils fancied he caught the sound of a smothered explosion of laughter. But the merriment of his fellow-travellers did not concern him, of course. And then the cart jogged on in the silence of the whole party until it came in the dusk to a village, in the heart of which a whitewashed and picturesque inn stood, inviting travellers. In front of this building the carrier’s horse stopped of its own accord, and John Tustain, with a grin and a shrug of the shoulders, took the hint and descended from his seat.

“ Coming in, sir ?” asked he, as he did so.

Mr. Besils shook his head, but changed his mind a moment later and followed the carrier into the “Dun Cow,” just in time to hear that worthy raise a laugh at his expense.

“ Who hev ye got in the cart, John ?” asked a crony, as Tustain entered the bar.

“ Oh, a rum chap enough,” replied John, with a broad grin. “ He’s taken parson’s house at Culver- \ey—/or rest and qidet ! ”

And a roar of rude laughter from the entire crowd of villagers in the bar told Mr. Besils, who was just outside, that his conduct was considered eccentric indeed.

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** And, pray, will some of you good folk tell me the exact objection to my finding rest and quiet in parson’s house ?”

As the deep, harsh voice of the stranger uttered these words a sudden hush fell upon the assembly, and, while some of the customers buried their faces hastily in tankards of ale, the landlord looked with curiosity at the tall, gaunt figure, and the landlady peeped at him from behind her husband’s back, as if there was something uncanny about the person who could put such a question. The stranger meant to be answered, that was certain. There was a tone in his voice that showed that he was accustomed to prompt obedience.

So the landlord made the best of it.

Well, sir,” said he, of course we didn’t know you was so near.”

“ Well !”

“ The fact is, sir, that Culverley Place is just behind the Vicarage ; an’, you see, sir, people don’t expect quiet so near to the Brancepeths.”

There was chorus of assenting murmurs, and one of the bolder spirits in the bar added, emphatically, — Old Nick’s abroad when Harry Brancepeth’s not at home.”

And the rest of the assembly chuckled acquiescence.

The stranger, however, seemed amused rather than disturbed by the alarming prospect.

“ If that’s all,” said he, grimly, “ the Vicarage will do well enough for me. I think I can manage to survive Harry Brancepeth and all his works, and be comfortable in spite of him.”

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For a moment the assembly seemed to lose its breath. Some of the men in the bar looked at each other, and some looked at the landlord, and some, when they had recovered themselves a little, went so far as to wink. It was evident that they enjoyed the joke hugely, poor as it seemed to the stranger to be. Mr. Besils paid for the glass of ale he had ordered and not tasted, and went back to his seat in the cart. John Tustain followed, in high good humour, for he was still enjoying the merriment occasioned by his companion.

How many are there of this alarming crew of Brancepeths ?” asked Mr. Besils, as they drove along up a steep hill, with a picturesque and striking hedge on either side of it.

“ Well, there’s old Sir Giles, but he don’t count hardly now, for he’s been paralysed this five year, an’ it’s all that time since he’s been on a horse. He was master of the hounds, he was, an’ a pleasant gentleman enough when he was sober; but, Lord, when he wasn’t he was a caution ! They said he was meant to ha’ lived in the times when we was all slaves to the great folk. But he wasn’t a bad sort, an’ he was a rare good ’un compared to the young ’uns.”

And John Tustain shook his head emphatically.

“ And how many are there of them ?”

“ There’s Giles, that’s got his father’s name, but little else of his father that’s worth havin’. He’s twenty-five now, an’ he’s crammed enough wickedness into that twenty-five years to last any ordinary man fifty. An’ then there’s Athelstan, an’, if anything, he’s rather worse than his brother. An’ then

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there’s Radley, an’ for certain he worse than the other two put together. An’ then — an’ then — ” went on John, honest John, with the air of one who was coming to a climax at last — “an’ then there’s Harry !’’ He paused significantly, and then added, with forced calmness, “ Well, I won’t tell you nothing about Harry, for you might think as I was making up. That’s the ringleader, that’s all I’ll say. An’ then there’s Quin, but he’s youngish, not more’n seventeen ; but he won’t be no different from the rest, that’s certain.”

Mr. Besils listened with great interest, but with still more incredulity. It was evident that he took the reports he had heard with a large grain of salt. The wickedness which makes a sensation in the country might pass for average rectitude in town.

“ And what do they do, these desperadoes ?” he asked in his harsh, mocking voice. “ Do they string up a groom to the nearest tree if he fails to touch his hat with sufficient civility ? Or have they been known to have a quiet rubber of whist on a wet Sunday ?”

The countryman saw that he was being “ chaffed,” and at once grew sullen.

“ You’ll see, sir, soon enough,” he answered, drily.

Mr. Besils saw that he had given offence, and he proceeded to make amends.

“ Seriously,” said he, in a less irritating tone, “ and without a moment doubting the accuracy of your reports, you must allow that it is very difficult to conceive how the mere fact that a particular family reside in a detached house in a neighbourhood can lO

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be enough to render intolerable the existence of another family in another detached house in the neighbourhood. Why, at that rate the five of them would go far towards depopulating the county !”

The carrier chuckled drily.

“ All I can say is that the Vicarage has been let five times this year, an’ that none of the five tenants have stayed a month.”

But the new tenant uttered a short, derisive laugh.

“ They won’t get me out in a month,” said he.

The carrier gave his companion a whimsical look, but he said, civilly —

“ Well, sir, I’m sure I hope they won’t, especially if you’re wishful not to be moving again so soon. At the same time, for people that’s getting on in life, an’ not in the best of health, sudden shocks an’ the pranks of a tribe of savages make a sharp sort of a medicine.”

Mr. Besils looked quickly at his companion.

“ How old do you suppose I am, then ?” he asked, with some interest.

John was taken aback by this unexpected question. He paused an instant before replying, and when he did so, it was with the evident intention of flattering his fare by taking a half-dozen years off his age :

‘‘ Well, sir, not more than four- or five-an’ forty, I don’t suppose.”

Mr. Besils’ strongly marked countenance contracted with some expression which the carrier could not read ; but he said nothing, and they jogged on in silence until, half-way up the long hill, John turned his

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II horse’s head and stopped the cart to give the animal a few minutes’ rest. As he put a stone behind one of the wheels, he raised his head suddenly, listening.

“ Did you hear that ?” he asked, sharply.

Mr. Besils listened too.

“ I hear horses galloping, and — and a voice shouting.”

John Tustain nodded.

'‘I thought so,” said he, ominously. ‘‘Them’s Brancepeths, or I’m a Dutchman 1”

“ And what if they are ?”

“ It just depends on how the fit takes them,” said John, laconically. And going to the front of the cart, he nodded to the two women inside, and told them to “ Hold tight, for them devils was coming.”

Hubert Besils laughed, pulled up his silk muffler, chose a cigar, and settled himself for a smoke. He had not the least doubt but that a few words from him would have the power to exact from the young men the respect which most men pay to a good-humoured remonstrance from another man of their Own class.

The sound of hoofs came nearer. The riders were coming up the hill, and at a good pace. They were laughing and talking all together, making, as John Tustain observed, noise enough for a regiment. They were clearly in a lively mood. It was now so dark that even when the merry party came .very near, Hubert, looking out from beneath the hood of the cart, could get no better view than of a dark cloud of moving figures behind a lighter cloud of dust. But he discerned five little red specks of light

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from five cigars or cigarettes, and he was thus enabled to decide that of the whole lawless tribe not one was missing.

He was much amused to notice that the two women inside the cart and Tustain himself were a prey to real trepidation, and that they listened, and tried to appear unconcerned, much as a party of noncombatants might do who found themselves close to the enemy in war-time. All he was anxious about was that he might get as good a look at them as might be as they rode past.

Suddenly above the gallop-gallop of the horses, and the babble of laughter and talk, there rose a wild cry like the war-whoop of a savage. Then someone said “ Hush !” and there was a pause of an instant, all the horses being stopped with a jerk, while the riders whispered together.

John Tustain groaned, and went quickly to his horse’s head.

For a moment there was silence, and Hubert, excited against his will, looked out at the dark mass a little way below, and felt his pulses stirred with expectancy. He saw the trees waving above the group, and the distant blur of light in the low ground below, where the spires of the town of Fernsham were massed together in the dusk. And he heard the impatient pawing of the horses and the hiss of the whispered consultation. Then there was a cry, a rush, he scarcely knew what. The carrier’s horse was backed, his traces were cut, and with a smart crack of a hunting-stock the animal was sent galloping down the hill, while the perpetrators of the out-

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rage, with a mocking laugh and a simultaneous cry of “ Good-evening, gentlemen !” went up the hill at a smart trot, and disappeared at the next turn of the road without so much as a glance behind.

CHAPTER 11.

“ Perhaps you’ll believe me now when I say they’re old Nick’s own brood,” grumbled the carrier, as he picked himself up from the border of grass at the side of the road, where he had been flung by his riotous assailants.

But Hubert Besils was too much enraged to answer. To be treated with such indignity by a parcel of rude hobbledehoys was an experience as unprecedented as it was revolting. At the same time the outrage put him upon his metal and gave him a new interest ; and he said to himself, as he set his teeth hard, that he would not leave Culverley until he had shown these rough young cubs that there was one person at least in the world whom they could not mock and insult with impunity.

John Tustain had gone limping down the hill in search of his horse; so Hubert, impatient at this delay, told his two frightened female fellow-passengers that he should finish his journey on foot, and, having received some direction from them, proceeded up the hill at a brisk walk.

He was not long in reaching the summit, and he 2

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then saw before him a stretch of flat table-land across which a level road, still bordered by a hedge on either side, led to the little village of Culverley. He had just taken the right fork of two branching roads, when he saw the lights of the village twinkling at the bottom of a slight descent before him. On his left the hedge now gave place to a high park wall, overhung by a thick growth of trees, and a little further he came to the tall iron gates, through which he got a peep at a square unpretending building, representing two periods and two styles of homely architecture, which he afterwards discovered to be the home of the notorious Brancepeths.

This being satisfactory evidence that the end of his journey was nearly reached, Hubert pushed on more quickly, and in a few minutes found himself in one of the prettiest villages in England.

An ancient and picturesque church, one portion of which was the sole remnant of a monastic establishment of the thirteenth century, stood on high ground in the centre of the village, well sheltered by trees. From the south porch a straight, steep path, bordered with yew-trees, led through the hilly church-yard down into the little group of irregular, red-roofed cottages which clustered at its foot. Nothing in the village was straight, or formal, or made with any thought of economy of space or convenience. The road wound round the hill, and branched off to the right and left, in delightfully irregular curves. The cottages did not form a stiff, straight border to the road, but were planted here and there, at every imaginable angle, in accordance with the whimsical

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caprices and requirements of the builders of centuries ago. You walked up a narrow and unnecessary alley to the post-office, which was a thatched cottage with a glass jar in the window containing “jumbles” and a basket of new-laid eggs. At the next turn in the winding road you came upon an ancient inn, with pointed gables and beams of carved timber let into the dark brick front.

At this point the cottages came to an end on this side of the village ; and Hubert Besils, who had been tempted thus far by the quaint charm of the place, retraced his steps to the path at the foot of the church-yard.

And here he found himself face to face with the Vicarage itself, which stood at an angle formed by the road by which he had entered the village and another road which skirted the east side of the church-yard, rising to the high ground beyond the village by a steep ascent. Here, on the summit of the hill, Hubert found on the church side of the road a plain, substantial house set at right angles to it, and on the opposite side an inn more modern and more pretentious than the first, but picturesque also in its irregularity of front and in the multiplicity of its outbuildings.

Having made this survey of the village, the traveller returned to his own new domicile with a pleasant sense of comfort awaiting him, for the long, low, red-tiled building, well walled-in from the road and embowered in trees and evergreens, was just such a house as he would have chosen. He had already noticed that the garden must be of considerable size, and that i6

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the height of the enclosing wall diminished as it ascended the hill.

Just as he stopped for a moment to look over this wall into an open space of lawn and flower-bed, he heard again the sounds which he had already learnt to associate with the approach of the Brancepeths. This time the noise of hoofs and voices came from the trees which stood either in or behind the Vicarage garden.

The sounds brought the blood to Hubert’s head, and he instinctively drew himself up and clenched his fists, although he had no immediate expectation of seeing the young rascals, who must be, he supposed, riding through their own park.

To his utter amazement, however, he saw the whole party, riders, horses, and all, emerging from the trees at a gallop and riding straight across the Vicarage lawn, taking grass, flower-beds, paths, just as they came, and making for a place where the wall was low. Here they ‘‘ took off” in beautiful order, and landing in the road outside, galloped past the new tenant down the hill, and turned sharply to the right in the direction of the park-gates.

Hubert had been too much taken by surprise by the unparalleled audacity of this fresh outrage to offer even the mildest protest. But when he dashed open the Vicarage gate and thundered at the knocker, his hand was trembling and his face was white with passion.

The door was opened by one of his own servants, who had come on the previous day to prepare for his arrival.

At the very first sight of her lugubrious countenance, Hubert felt sure that he should have to listen to more doings of the undesirable neighbours.

“ Well,” said he, sharply, have you settled down all right ? And is the luggage come ?”

*‘The luggage has come at last, sir, all except yours,” answered she. But Oh, sir, the people that live near ”

That’ll do for the present,’’ interrupted her master, shortly. “ I’ll hear all about it by and by.”

But, sir, please I must just tell you this, that the cook wouldn’t stand it, and she’s gone back to Hull,” said the servant, in a tone which seemed to threaten a similar move on her own part. “She said she wasn’t used to being chased round the grounds by a pack of human wolves, nor yet to having rockets let off outside her kitchen door, please, sir !”

“ What !” roared Hubert, glaring at the brown copies of “ old masters” which hung on the walls of the hall.

“ Yes, sir. And, if you please, they all ride right through the orchard and across the lawn half a dozen times a day, and nobody dares to speak to them ; and, if you please, sir, everybody says that it’s impossible to live near them, and they say they are just the curse of the county. They’re a deal more like heathen savages than Christian gentlefolks, sir, and I hope, sir, you won’t think of staying unless you get them to promise to behave better.”

“Of course I will,” said Mr. Besils, impatiently, “ Do you suppose, Hatchard, that I shall allow any half-dozen undisciplined cubs to play their pranks on me and my household unchecked ?” b a* i8

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“No, sir, I don’t suppose you will,” answered Hatchard in a more equable tone. She had been some years housekeeper as well as parlour-maid in Hubert Besils’ bachelor establishment, and knew that he was the last man in the world to bear any sort of thwarting or annoyance calmly.

“ So set your mind at rest, and cook me a chop,” said he, already mollified by finding the wide, low hall, with its dark pictures, bright draperies, and shallow, old-fashioned staircase, as much to his taste as the exterior of the house had been.

And he walked into an inviting room on the right, which proved to be the drawing-room, and in full view of the ravages done by the intruders on the smooth lawn, he made up his mind that he would grapple with the enemy without delay.

For he was determined to stay in his doubtful quarters, not only because he liked the house itself, but because the idea of a fight with these scatter-brained young rascals gave his rather dogged and pugnacious nature just the stimulus he liked.

It was indeed by virtue of these same qualities of bull-dog courage and tenacity that Hubert Besils had made his way. Forced by the death of his father when he was little more than a boy into a responsible position at the head of a great shipping firm, he had overworked himself steadily and persistently ever since, with the result that he was threatened with complete breakdown, and found himself suddenly banished, by his physician’s peremptory orders, into an exile which would have proved tedious without the excitement provided by the Brancepeths.

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As it was, he had already become quite eager for the fray ; and no sooner had he made a tour of the cosy, old-fashioned house, and eaten his chop in a low-ceilinged, oak-panelled dining-room, than he put on his hat and started to complain to the Vicar.

The present abode of the Reverend Francis Griffith and his family proved to be the old house just outside the church-yard. Hubert went through the little gate, along the stone-flagged path which ran close under the house-wall, until he came to a door painted green, as unpretending as the back door of a cottage. He rang the bell, and the door was immediately opened by a tall, fair, mild-looking girl who had round shoulders and wore spectacles. One of the Vicar’s daughters, evidently.

^‘Can I see Mr. Griffith?” asked Hubert, with determination.

Papa is away,” answered the young lady, with a frightened look. “But if you will call again to-morrow ”

“ Thank you. Can I see Mrs. Griffith ? I will not detain her long.”

The girl hesitated, and glanced round her apprehensively.

“ I’m afraid that wouldn’t be of much use, if you have any business to talk about. Mamma is almost an invalid.”

At that moment a door on the right opened, and a bright girl’s face looked out. At a glance from her sister, the owner of the face sprang into the little narrow hall, which was hardly more than a passage.

“You are Mr. Besils, I suppose?” said she, de-

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cidedly. Of course we can guess what you have come about. Please come in.”

She went back to the door by which she had entered the hall and held it open. The next moment Hubert found himself in a low-ceilinged, plainly-furnished room, which seemed to be full of nothing but girls, tall, fair, and spectacled, like the first one he had seen. The bright-faced one, who was darker of hair and complexion than the rest, and who was the only exception to the type, took the lead again.

“ You’ve come to complain of the Brancepeths.”

The visitor, in a meeker tone, admitted that he had.

Well, then we may as well tell you at once that we can do nothing, and that if you can’t manage either to make terms with them or to force them to make terms with you, you may as well go away again at once, just as everybody else does.”

“Kathleen!” protested one or two of the pale and spectacled ones.

“ It’s quite true,” persisted the audacious Kathleen, doggedly. “And it’s best to say so at once. Of course it would have been better still to have warned you before you came of what you had to expect. But when you’re dreadfully poor ”

“ Kathleen 1” protested two or three more of the girls.

— And it’s dreadfully important whether you let your house or not, you have to stifle the promptings of the higher morality.”

“ Kathleen I”

The protest was quite a breathless one this time.

Meanwhile/’ went on the rebellious one calmly, ** there’s always the chance that a tenant will turn up who’s not to be daunted by Brancepeths.”

“Why, yes,” said Hubert, grimly, “that tenant’s turned up now !”

Seven girls’ faces were turned in an instant eagerly towards him.

“ Hooray !” cried Kathleen. “ Of course, you know, they wouldn’t be so bad if it were not for Harry. You’ve heard of Harry ?”

“ Oh, yes. I’ve heard of Harry.”

“Well, quell Harry and the rest will be easy. Some of the others are not all bad, so they say.”

At this point there was a demure exchange of faint, pale smiles among Kathleen’s sisters.

Hubert, who had some work in hand, got up to

go-

“ I want to know where I can find a couple of men who would do a bit of rough work for me to-night. Labourers would do.”

“ Well, at this time in the evening your best chance would be to look in the public-houses,” said Kathleen. “ But I warn you that whatever you do will be reported up at the Place. The villagers have to keep ‘ in’ with them up there, or their lives wouldn’t be worth living.”