The mystery of Jessy Page, and other tales

Front matter

PZ

'We^eH

FT MEADE

Part The First. The Disappearance

You may think this a curious title, but the history is a perfectly true one. The affcair occurred in our neiffhborhooci many years ago; people spoke of it at the time as “ The Mystery of Jessy Page,” and they so speak of il to this day.

It can hardly be necessary to recall to your lecollection certain particulars connected with these stones. But, to do so briefly, 1 here repeat the few words of explanation given when the last volumes were published, Mr. Todhetley, commonly called the squire, had two estates. The chief one. Dyke Manor, lay on the borders of Worcestershire and Warwickshire, partly in both counties; the other, CrabbCot, was a smaller place altogether, and lay much nearer Worcester, Sometimes we stayed at one place, sometimes at the other. By an arrangement with Mr. Brandon, my guardian and the trustee to my property, 1, Johnny Ludlow, lived with the Todhetleys. Mis. 1 odhetley, the squire’s second wife, was my step-mother, my father— William Ludlow ot the Court— having married her after my own mother’s death. Aftar my father’s death, which took place speedily, she became the wife of Squire Todhetley, and the step-mother of his only son and heir, Joseph. Two children were subsequently boiD, Hugh and Lena, to whom Joseph was of course the half-brother. Joseph, unlike myself, had been old enough to resent the advent of a step-mother when she came: indulged and haughty he did not like the gentle control she brought; though she was good as gold, as loving to him as he would permit, and kind to everybody. 1 don’t say but that she was tall and thin as a lamp-post, with a mild face given to having aches in it, scanty, fine, light hair, and kindly blue eyes; so she had not mueh to boast ot in the way of appearance. Joe and 1 grew up together like brothers: he was several years the elder and domineered over me absolutely. At school he was always called “ Tod,” and 1 fell into the same habit. This much comprises the explauation: and now we will go on to the first story, “ The Mj^stery of Jessy Page.”

Our old gray church at Church Dykely stood in a solitary spot. Servant-maids (two of ours once, Hannah and Molly), and silly village girls went there sometimes to watch for the ” sbadow^s ” on St, Mark’s Eve, and owls had a habit ot dashing out of the belfry

THE MYSTEKY OF JESSY PAGE.

at night. Within view of the church, though at some distance from it, stood the lonely, red biick, angular dwelling house belonging to Copse Farm, It was inhabited l^y Mr. Page, a plain worthy widower, getting in years; his three diiughters and little son. Abigail and Susan Page, two experienced, sensible, industrious young women, with sallow faces and bunches of short dark curls, were at this period, nearly midway between twenty and thirty: Jessy, very much younger, was gone out to get two years’ “finishing” at a plain boarding-school; Charles, the lad, had poor health, and went to school by day at Church Dykely.

Mr. Page fell ill. He would never be able to get about much again. His two daughters, so far as in-door work a^d management went, were hosts in themselves, Miss Abigail especially; but they could not mount a horse to superintend out of doors. Other arrangements were made. The second son of Mr. Drench, a neighboring farmer and friend, came to the Copse Farm by day as overlooker, lie was paid for his services, and he gained experience.

No sooner had John Drench, a silent, bashful ^oung farmer, well- looking and fairly- well educated, been installed in his new post, than he began to show a deciiied admiration for Miss Susan Page — who was a tew months younger than himself. The slight advances he made were favorably received; and it was tacitly looked upon that they were “ as good as engaged.” Things went on pleasantly all the spring, and might have continued so to go on, but for the coining home at midsummer of the youngest daughter, Jess3\ That led to no end of cross-grained contrariety.

She was the sweetest flower you ever saw; a fair, delicate lily, with a mild countenance, blue eyes, and liair of a golden tinge. Jess}'" has never been very strong; she had always been very pretTy; and the consequence was' that while her sisters had grown up to be useful, not to be a minute idle throughout the long day, Jessy had been petted and indulged, and was not much except ornamental. The two years’ schooling had not improved her taste for domestic occupation. To tell the truth, Jessy was given to be uncommonly idle.

To John Drench, who had not seen her since her early girlhood, she appeared as a vision of beauty. “ It was like an angel coming in at the door,” he said of the day she first came home, when telling the tale to a stranger in after years. “ My eyes were fairly dazzled. ”

Like an angel! And unfortunately for John Drench, his heart was dazzled as w'ell as his eyes. He fell desperately in love with her. it taught him that what he had felt for Miss Susan was not love at all; only esteem, and the liking that so often arises from companionship. He was well-meaning, but inexperienced. As he had never spoken to Busan, the utmost sign he had given being a look or a warmer hand-shake than usual, he thought there would be no difficulty in transferring liis homage to the younger sister. Busan Page, who really loved him, and perhaps looked ori with the Keen eyes of jealousy, grew at last to see how matters were. She would have liked to put him in a corn-sack and give him a good shaking by way of cure. Thus the summer months went over in some silent discomfort, and September came in wmrm and fine.

Jessy Page stood at the open parlor window in her airy summer muslin, twirling a rose in Her hand, blue ribbons falling from her hair; for Jessy liked to set herself oH in little adornments. She was lauehing at John Drench outside, who had appeared covered with mud from the pond, into which he had contrived partially to slip when they were dragging for eels.

“ 1 think your picture ought to be taken, just as you look now Mr. John.”

He thought hers ought; the bright fair face, the laughing blue eyes, the parted lips and the pretty white teeth presented a picture that, to him, had never had its equal. He could not answer at first for looking at her.

” Do you. Miss Jessy? That’s a fine rose,” he shyly added. He was always shy with her.

She held it out. She had not the least objection to be admired, even by John Drench in a state of mud. In their hearts, women have all hankered after men’s flattery from Eve downward.

” These large roses are the sweetest of any,” she went on. “ I plucked it from the tree beyond the grass-plat.”

‘‘ You are fond of flowers, I’ve noticed. Miss Jessy.”

” Yes, that 1 am. Both for themselves and for the language they symbolize.”.

” VYhat language is it?”

” Don’t you know? I learnt it at school. Each flower possesses its owm meaning, Mr. John Drench. This, the rose, is true love.”

” True love, is it. Miss Jessy?”

She was lightly flirting it right before his face. It was too much for him, and he took it gently from her. ‘‘ Will you give it me?” he asked below his breath.

‘‘ Oh, with great pleasure.” And then she lightly added, as if to damp the eager look on his face; “There are plenty more on the same tree.”

“ An emblem of true love,” he softly repeated. “ It’s a pretty thought. 1 wonder who invented — ”

“ Now then, John Drench, do you know that tea’s waiting. Are you going to sit down in those muddy boots and leggings?”

The sharp words came from Susan Page. Jessy turned and saw her sister's pale, angry face. John Dr6nch disappeared, and Miss Susan went out again, and banged the door.

“ It is high time Jessy was put to some regular employment.” cried Susan, bursting into the room where Miss Page sat making the tea. “ She idles away her time in the most frivolous and wasteful manner, never doing an earthly thing. It is sinful.”

“So it is,” acquiesced Miss Page. “Have you a headache, Susan? You look pale.”

“ Never mind my looks,” said wrathful Susan. “ We will portion out some share of work for her from to-day. She might make up the butter, and undertake the pies and puddings, and do the plain sewing.”

William Page, a gray-haired man, sitting with a stick by his side, looked up. “Pretty creature!” he said, for he fondly loved his youngest daughter. “ I’ll not have her hard- worked, Susan.”

“ But you’d not have her sit with her hands before her from Monday morning till Saturday night, 1 suppose, father!” sharply returned Miss Susan. ” She’ll soon he nineteen.”

“No, no; idleness brings naught but evil in its train. 1 didn’t mean that, Susan. Let the child do what is suitable for her. Where’s John Drench?”

“ Jle is in a fine mess— up to his middle iu mud,” was Miss Susan’s tart answer. “ One w'ould think he had been trying to see how great an object he could make of himself.”

John Drench came in, somew'hat cleansed, his coat changed and the rose in nis button-liole. He took his seat at the tea-table and was more shy and silent than ever. Jessy sat by her father, chattering gayly, her blue ribbons flickering berore his loving ej’^es. Once he caught hold of an end of the shining silk, and held it for a moment to his lips.

But the butter-making and the other light work was fated not to be inaugurated yet for Jessy. Charles Page, a tiresome, indulged lad of twelve, became ill again: he was subject to attacks of low fever and ague. !Mr. Duffham, peering at the boy over his gold headed cane, said there was nothing for it but a dose of good seaside air. Mr. Page, anxious for his boy, began to consult with his daughters as to how it might be obtained. They had some very distant connections named Allen, living at Aberyst wdth. To them Miss Page wrote, asking it they could take in Charles and one of his sisters to board for a month or so. Mrs. Allen replied that she would be glad to have them; since her husband’s death she had eked out a scanty income by letting lodgings.

It was Jessy who went with hiD». The house and farm could not have spared Abigail; Susan said neither should it spare her. The iille and useless one had to go— Jessy. IMiss Susan thought she and John Drench were well rid of tho young lady.

September was in its second week when they w^ent; November was at its close w hen they returned. The improvement in Charles had been so marked and wonaerful— as Mrs. Allen and Jessy both wrote to say— that Mr. Duffham had strongly uiged his staying as long as the weather remained favorable. It w'as a remarkably fine late autumn that year, and they stayed till November’s close.

Charles came home well and strong. Jessy was more beautiful tlian ever; radiant to behold. But there w\as some change in her. The light-hearted, talking, laughing girl had grown rather sdent; she was often singing snatches of love songs to herself in a low voice, and there was a light in her eyes, as of some intense, secret Irappiness that a;ight not be told. John Drench, wdio had begun to show signs of returning to his old allegiance (at least. Miss Susan so flattered herself), fell a willing captive again forthwith, and had certainly neither eyes nor ears for anybody but Jessy. Susan Page came to the conclusion that a shaking in a sack would he far too good for him.

*******

The way of dressing the churches for Christmas is those past days was quite different from the new' style of “decoration” obtaining now. Sprays of holly w iih llieir red berries, of ivy with its brown clusters, were stuck, each alternately, into the holes on the top of the pews. It was a belter way than tbe present, far more effective—

THE MYSTERY OF JESSY PAGE.

though 1, Johnny Ludlow, shall be no doubt laughed at for saying it. "Your woven wreaths tied round the pulpit and reading-desk; your lettered scrolls, made of white wadding gummed on pink or crimson ground and plastered against the walls; your artificial flowers, yellow, blue, salmon, 1 know not how many colors, may be talked of as “artistic,” but for effect they all stand absolutely as nothing, in comparison with the more simple and natural way, and they are, perhaps, the least bit tawdry. If you don’t believe me, pay a visit to some rural church next Christmas morning — for the old fashion is observed in many a country district still— and judge for yourselves. Upon entering, you seem to pass into a bright atmosphere; a wide arena of cheery evergreens, symbolical of the day. Like many another custom that has been changed by the folly and fashion of these later days of pretension, and not changed tor the better, lies this one. That is my opinion, and 1 hold to it.

The dressing in our church was always done by the clerk, old Bumtord. The sexton (called familiarly with us the grave- digger) helped him when his health allowed, but he was nearly always ill, and then Bumford himself had to be grave-digger. It was not much trouble, this manner of decoration, and it took very little time. They had only to cut off the sprays nearly of the same size, smooth the ends, and lodge them in the holes. In the last century when a new country church was lebuilt (though it did not happen often), the drilling of these holes in the woodwork of the pews, for the reception of the “ Christmas,” was as much a matter of course as were the pews themselves. Our Christmas was supplied by Mr, Page with a liberal hand; the Copse Farm abounded with trees of holly and ivy; one of his men. Leek, would help Bumford to cut it, and to cart it in a hand-truck to the church. It took a good lot to do all the pews.

On this Christmas that 1 am telling you of, it fell out that Clerk Bumford and the sexton were disabled. Both of them. Bumford had rheumatic gout so badly that his feet were the size of half a dozen — and getting him into church for the morning service the past three Sundays had been a marvel of dexterity— w bile the sexton was in bed with what he called catarrh. At first it seemed that we should not get the church dressed at all: but the Miss Pages, ever ready and active in a good work, came to the rescue, and said they would do It themselves, with John Drench’s help. The squire was not going to be behind-hand, and said we boys, for Tod and I were just home for the holidays, should help too.

And when Christmas Eve came, and Leek had w^heeled up the holly, and we w^ere all in the cold church (not I think that any of us cared w^hether it was cold or warm), we enjoyed the work amazingly, and decided that old Bumford should never be let do it again, gout or no gout.

Jessy Page was a picture. The two elder ladies had on tight dark cloth dresses, like a riding-habit cut short at the ankles: Jessy was in a bright blue mantle edged with swan’s-down, and a blue bonnet on her pretty hair. She came in a little late, anrl Miss Susan sharply blew her up for putting on that “ best Sunday cape ” to dress a church in: but Jessy only laughed good-naturedly, and answered that she would take care not to harm it. Susan Page, trimming

8 THE ]iIYSTERY OF JESSY PAGE.

the branches, had seen Jolm Drench’s eyes fixed on the girl: and lier knite worked away like mad in her vexation.

“ Look here,” said Jessy: “ we have never had any Christmas over the pulpit; 1 think old Bumford was afraia to get up to do it; let us put some. It would hide that ugly nail in the wall.”

“ There are no holes up in the wall,” snapped Miss Susan.

“ 1 meant a large bunch; a bunch ot holly and ivy mixed, Susan. John Drench could tie it to the nail: it would look beautiful.”

” 1 11 do it, too,” said John. “ I’ve some string in my pocket. The parson won’t know himself. ’Twill be as good as a canopy over him.”

Miss Page turned round: she and Charley had their arms full of the branches we bad been cutting.

” Put a bunch there, if you like, but let us finish the pews first,” she said. “ If we go from one thing to another we shall not finish while it’s daylight.”

It was plain good sense: she rarely spoke anything else. Once let darkness overtake us, and the dressing would be done for. The chuich knew nothing about evening service, and had never felt the want of means to light itself up.

” 1 shall pick out the best sprays in readiness,” whispered Jessy to me, as we sat together on the bench by the big christening bowl, she choosing branclies, 1 trimming them and cutting the ends level. “ Look at tills one! )mu could not count the berries on it.”

” Did you enjoy your visit to Aber 3 ’^ 8 twiih, Jessy?”

1 wondered what there was in my simple question to move her. The branch of holly w^nt anywhere; her hands met in a silent clasp; the expression of her face changed to one of curious happiness. In answering, her voice fell to a whisper.

” Yes, 1 enjoyed it.”

” 'lYhat a long time you stayed! An age, Mrs, Todhetley says.”

“ It was nearly eleven weeks.”

*‘ Eleven weeks! How tedious!”

Her face was glowing, her eyes had a sweet light in them. She caught up some holly, and began scattering its berries.

“ What did you do with yourself, Jessy?”

“ 1 used to sit by the sea — and to walk about. It was very fine. They don’t have it like that in November, Mrs. Allen said.”

” Did Mrs. Allen sit and walk wiHi you*-*”

No, She had enough to do with the house and her lodgers. We only saw her at meal times.”

” The Miss Allens, perhaps?”

” There are no Miss Allens, Only one little boy.”

” Why, then, you had no one but Charley!”

Charley? Oh, he used to be always about with little Tom Allen — in a boat, or something of that sort. Mrs. Allen thought the sea breezes must be so good for him.”

“ Well, you must have been dull!”

Jessy looked rather foolish. She was a simple-minded girl at the best. The two elder sisters liad all the strong sense of the family, she the simplicity. Some people called Jessy Page “ soft;” perhaps, as contrasted with her sisters, she was so: and she was very inexperienced.

THE MYSTERY OF JESSY PAGE.

The dusk was gathering, and Charley had gone out tired, when John Drench got into the pulpit to tie the bunch of holly to the wall above it. Tod was with him. Drench had his hands stretched out, and we stood watching them in a group in the aisle below, when the porch door was burst open, and in leaped Charles.

“Jessy! Isay! Where’s Jessy?’'

“ 1 ani here,” said Jessy, looking round. “ What do you want?”

“ Here’s Mr. Marcus Allen.”

Who Mr, Marcus Allen mi^ht be, Charles did not say. Jessy knew: there was no doubt of that. Her face, juBt then close to miiie, had hushed as red as a rose in June.

A tall, dark, imposing man came looming out of the dusk. His handsome, furred great coat was open, his waistcoat was of crimson velvet; he wore two chains, three rings, and an eyeglass. And I’ll leave you to judge of the effect this vision of grandeur made, dropping down on us plain church-dressers in our every day clothes. John Drench leaned over the pulpit cushion, string in hand; the two Miss Pages stood staring; Jessy turned white and red with the unexpected amazement. It was to her he approached, and spoke.

“ How do you do, Miss Jessy?”

gJie put her hand out in answer to his; but seemed to have been struck as dumb as the old stone image on the monument against the wall.

“ These are your sisters, i presume. Miss Jessy? Will you do me the honor to introduce me to them?”

“Mr. Marcus Allen,” murmured Jessy, redder now than any cabbage rose. “ My sister Abigail ; my sister Susan.”

Mr, Marcus Allen, bowing over his hht, said something about the pleasure it gave him to make their acquaintance personally, after hearing so much of them from Miss Jessy at Aberystwith, and begged to be allowed to shake their hands. Miss Page, when the handshaking was over, said in her straightforward way that she did not know who he was, h-er young sister never havimr mentioned him. Jessy, standing like a Httle simpleton, her eyes bent down on the aisle bricks, murmured in confusion that she “ forgot it.” John Drench had his face over the cushion all that while and Tod’s arms began to ache, holding up the bunch of green.

Mr. Marcus Allen, it turned out, was related in some way to the Allens of Aberystwith: he happened to go to the town soon after Jessy Page and her brother went there, and he stayed until they left if. Not at the Allens’ house: he had lodgings elsewhere. Mrs. Allen spoke of him to Jessy as a “ grand gentleman, quite above them,” An idea came over me, as we all now stood together, that he had been Jessy’s companion in the walking and the sitting by

the sea. ,

“ 1 tolfl Miss Jessy that 1 should be running down some day to renew my acquaintanceship with her and make that of her family, said Mr. Marcus Allen to Miss Page. “ Having no particular engagement on my hands, this Christmas time, i came.”

He spoke in the most easy manner conceivable: his accent and manner were certainly those of a gentleman. As to the fashionable attire and the rings and chains, rather startling though they looked to us in the dark church on that dark and busy eveniug, they were all tlie rage for dandies in the great world then.

Noticing the intimation that he had come purposely to see them, Miss Page supposed that she ought, in hospitably good mann{‘rs, to invite him to stay a day or two at the farm, but doubted whether so imposing a gentleman would condescend to it. She said nothing about it then, and we all went out of the church together; except .John Drench, who sta3’’ed behind with Leek to help clear up the litter tor the man to carry away. It was light outside, and I took a good look at the stranger, a handsome man of seven-or-eight andtwent}’’, with hard eyes, and black whiskers curled to perfection.

“ In what way is he related to the Allens of Aberystwith, Jessy?” questioned Miss Page, drawing her sister away, as we went through the coppice.

” 1 don’t quite know, Abigail. He is some distant cousin.”

” How came you never to speak of him?”

” I — 1 did not think to.”

” Very careless of you, child. Especially if he gave you cause to suppose he might come here. 1 don’t like to be taken by surprise by strangers; it is not always convenient.”

Jessy walked along in silence, meek as a lamb.

” What is he?-— in any profession, or trade?”

‘‘ Trade? Oh, I don’t think he does anything of that kind, Abigail. That branch of the family would be above it, Mrs. Allen said. He has a great income, she says; plenty of money.”

” 1 take it, then, that he is above us,’* reasoned Miss Page.

” Oh, dear, yes; in station. Ever so much.”

” Then I’m sure 1 don’t care to entertain him.”

Miss Page went straight into the best kitchen on arriving at home. Her father sat inVhe large hearth corner, smoking his pipe. She told him about the stranger, and said she supposed they must ask him to stay over the morrow — Christmas Day.

‘‘ Why shouldn’t we?” asked Mr. Page.

‘‘ Well, father, he seems very grand and great.”

” Does he? Give him the best bedroom.”

” And our ways are plain, you know,” she added.

” He must take us as he finds us, Abigail. Any friend of Mrs. Allen’s is welcome; she was downright kind to the children.”

We had a jolly tea. Tod and 1 had been asked to it beforehand. Pork-pies, Miss Susan’s make, and hot buttered batch cakes, and lemon cake and jams. Mr. Marcus Allen was charmed with everything; be was a pleasant man to talk to. When we left he und Mr. Page had gone to the best kitchen again, to smoke together in the wide chimney corner.

You Londoners, who go in for your artistic scrolls and crosses should have seen the church on Christmas morning. It burst upon our sight, as we entered from the porch, like a capacious grove of green, on which the sun streamed through the south windows. Old Bumford’s dressing had never been as full and handsome as this of ours, tor we had rejected all niggardly sprays. The squire even allowed that much. Shaking hands with Miss Page in the porch after service, he told her that it cut Clerk Bumford out and out.

THE MYSTERY OE JESSY PAGE.

Mr. Marcus Allen, in fashionable coat, with the furred overcoat flung back, light gloves, and big white wristbands, was in Pages’ pew, sitting between old Page and Jessy. He found all the places for her in her prayei-book (a shabby red one, some ot the leaves loose); bowing slightly every time he handed her the book, as if sli 3 had been a princess ot the blood royal. Such gallantry was new in our parts; and the congregation were rather taken oft their devotions watching it. As to J^essy, she kept flushing like a rose.

Mr. Marcus Allen reuiained more than a week, staying over Kew Year’s Day. He made himself popular with them all, and enjoyed what Miss Abigail called their plain ways, just as though he had been reared in them. He smoked his pipe in the kitchen w’ith the farmer; he drove Miss Susan to Alcester in the tax-cart; he presented Miss Abigail with a handsome work-box; and gave Charley a bright half-sovereign for bull’s-eyes. As to Jessy, he did not take more notice of her than he did of her sisters; hardly as much; so that if Miss Susan had been entertaining any faint hope that his object in coming to the Copse was Jessy, and that in consequence John Drench might escape from bewitching wiles, she found the hope fallacious.' Mr. Marcus Allen had apparently no more thought of Jessy than he had ot Sally, the red-armed servinggirl. “ But what in the world brought the man here at all?” questioned Miss Susan ot her sister. ‘‘ He wanted a bit of countiy holiday,” answered Miss Page with her common sense.

One day during the week the squire met them abroad, and gave an impromptu invitation to the manor for the evening. Only the three Miss Pages came. Mr. Marcus Allen sent his compliments, and begged tol^e excused on the score of headache.

One evening at dusk we met him and Jessy. She had been out on some errand, and he overtook her in the little coppice path between the church and the farm. Tod, dashing through it to get liome for dinner, 1 after him, nearly dashed right upon them. Marcus Allen had his face inside her bonnet, as it he were speaking in the ear of a deaf old lady ot seventy. Tod burst out laughing when we got on.

” That fellow was stealing a sly kiss in the dark, Johnny.

‘‘Like his impudence.”

“Rubbish to impudence,” retorted Tod. “It’s Christmas-tide, and all iair. Didn’t vou see the bit of mistletoe he was holding up?” And Tod ran on, whistling a line of a song that the squire used to sing in his young days:

“ We all love a pretty girl, under the rose.”

Mr. Marcus Allen left the Copse Farm with hearty thanks for its hospitality. He promised to come again in the summer, when the fields should be sweet with their mounds ot hay and the golden corn was ripening. , .

No sooner had he gone than John Drench asked Jessy to promise to be his wife. Whether he had felt any secret jealousy of Mr. Marcus Allen and his attractions, and deemed it well to secure Jessy as soon as the coast was clear, he spoke out. Jessy did not receive the honor kindly. She tossed her pretty head in violent rage; the idea, she said, ot her marrying him. Jessy had never flirted with John Drench since the Aberystwith journey, or encouraged him in any way’~that much was certain. There ensued unpleasantness at the farm. J\lr. Page decidedly approved of the suitor; he alone had perceived nothing of Susan’s hopes; and, perhaps for the first time in his life, he spoke sharply to Jessy. John Drench was not to be despised, he told her; his father was a wealthy man, and John would have a substantial portion; more than double enough to put him into the largest and best farm in the country; Mr. Drench was only waiting for a good one to fall in, to take it for him. No; Jessy would not listen. And as the days went on and John Drench, as she said, strove to push his suit on every opportunity, she conceived, or professed, a downright aversion to him. Sadly miseiable indeed she seemed, crying often; and saying she w’ould rather go out to be a lady’s raaia to some well-born lady than stay at home to be persecuted. Miss Susan was in as high a state of rapture as the iniquity of false John Drench permitted; and said it served the man right for making an oaf of himself.