Читать книгу A Novel Without a Name - William Aubrey Burnage - Страница 6

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On this same day of the double adventure of the cat-murder and the dip into the Serpentine, the sun rose as brightly upon Fenwick Park, near Dunmow, in Essex, as upon Woodbine Cottage, and Exeter House, as Dr. Shelwood's boarding-school was called; and at about the same time that these 'thrilling incidents' were occurring, a bright little damsel of thirteen was cantering along in the park on her pony Ruby. Her father was one of the wealthiest and most influential of the country gentry of Essex, and owned the magnificent estate called Fenwick Park, a place which for its natural beauty and position was the envy of the whole country round. Little Mabel, the only child of Squire Wilton, was a rich, though not fully matured type of English feminine beauty. Literally fair as a lily, her cheeks rivalled the damask of the rose, and her long, silky lashes shaded a pair of blue orbs, that fully matched the loveliness of her features. Mabel's appearance gave decided promise of her growing up one of the loveliest of England's fairest daughters. Her figure was faultless as her face; and from her gentle eyes—bright windows of the soul—beamed her pure happy spirit in glances of love and contentment. It was a beautiful picture the grand, little, bay Arab arching its neck and prancing along over the thin sleet on the carriage-way, and its fearless little rider in green cloth habit, so thoroughly enjoying the healthful exercise in the bracing morning air. A noticeable feature in the pleasing picture was Mab, a faithful greyhound attendant, who was never far off when her young mistress was out by herself, and stood in need of her protection. On over the snow they scampered along in all the wantonness of joyous innocence, the dog ever at the pony's heels to be at hand when wanted. Suddenly a warning growl from Mab attracted Mabel's attention, and glancing round, she saw the dog spring past her and rush on in front, a vigilant guard. 'Come back Mab, naughty dog! it's only the gipsies!' the little maid called reprovingly. Mab appeared for once to question the expediency of instant and passive obedience, and showed her dissent most unmistakably; but not seeing anything that could fully warrant her in disobedience, she returned to her mistress' side.

A couple of gipsy women emerged at the moment from a holly copse; and one of them called upon Mabel to stop. 'For the love of God, my little angel, come here! Thou hast a tender heart, and can pity the sorrows of a daughter of Ishmael.'

The unsuspecting child turned her pony's head towards the tramps, regardless of Mab's warning growl, and was soon by the side of the dusky medicants.

'We have tasted no bite this day, fair flower of the whiteskin! Hast thou any money about thee? A small coin thou could not miss; and it would buy bread for the hungry!' whined an ill-favored old hag in the peculiar fawning, obsequious tone of the professional beggar.

'Ah, little one, bitter is the cold; and cruelly the pangs of hunger gnaw when we can get no food! Give the poor gipsies of thy abundance, and they will pray to the Father above that thou mayst never know the misery of want!' joined in the other brown-skinned supplicant.

'Poor gipsies!' said Mabel, her tender heart melted by the beggars' pitiful tale, 'I have no money with me. I never carry my purse when I am out of a morning. If you like to go up to the house, I will go back and tell the house-keeper to give you some food and money!'

After a brief consultation apart, spoken in an undertone, the gipsy, who had first addressed Mabel, turned to her and said, 'We thank thee, little one, for thy kindness; but we cannot go to thy house, for our children are starving in the fields a full mile from here, and we must return to them now! Hast thou nothing about thee—no trinket nor trifle that we could sell to buy bread, and that thou, out of thy abundance, would not miss?'

'No, I have nothing that would be any good. Come along up to the house. It is not far, and we can make haste. You will get enough there to take home to your poor little children!'

'Time is precious to the gipsies; for their little one's may stray into the snow and get lost. Give to us, then, some trinket that we may sell, and buy food for our children, and bless thee!'

'But see, I haven't anything that would be of any use!' replied Mabel, in a tone of regretful commiseration. 'It wouldn't take long to go up to the house!'

All this time the little maid's faithful and jealous attendant, Mab, kept her distrustful eyes upon the gipsy women, watching their movements with evident suspicion, and showing by her vigilant espionage very little credence in or sympathy for their doleful tale of destitution.

'Thou hast a watch, my pretty lamb, that would buy bread for many days. Give thy watch to the gipsies, and Heaven will bless thee!' said the ugliest of the medicants.

'No, no! I couldn't part with my watch!' exclaimed Mabel, half crying at having nothing to relieve the distress of the miserable tramps, 'I couldn't part with that! It was a birthday present, mamma sent me from Paris last week! Mamma is very ill you know and away in Paris for a change of air; and I heard Dr. Leslie tell papa she might perhaps never get well again. No, no! I couldn't part with that!'

'And wouldst thou leave the gipsy and her child to die of hunger and cold in the bleak field, when the gift of a bangle like that would relieve their pressing need? Give us the watch, and the God of Ishmael shall comfort the Christian lamb, and restore to her her mother!' whined the other.

'Nay, but thou must give us the watch; for shall we starve, when we can take it from thee?' hissed the first, throwing off her mask of humble supplication on finding the fair child resolute in refusing to part with her sick mother's gift. 'Come, give it to us peacefully, or we may hurt thee in taking it!'

Mabel's colour vanished in an instant, and left her cheek, as pale as the drifted snow around. The woman's altered manner alarmed her greatly. 'No! I will not give you mamma's present!' she replied determinedly, though her lips trembled, and her heart fluttered in very terror.

'But thou wilt not be so mad as to refuse to give it when we say plainly, that we must and will have it! Come give it up quietly; it be better for thee!' said the more reckless of the two dusky hags, at the same moment snatching hold of Ruby's bridle-rein.

'I won't give up mamma's present! No, not if you kill me!' cried the terrified child, trying to break free from the gipsy's clutches; but old Sarai's grasp was too strong for her; the gipsy's bony hand held her fixed, while her confederate emboldened by the loneliness of the spot, stepped up and attempted to snatch the watch from the child's neck, but——'Oh God of Ishmael, protect me!' she shrieked the next moment, as Mab's sharp teeth fastened upon her throat; and her companion in terror at the unexpected diversion dropped the pony's rein and fled.

'Let her alone Mab, naughty dog! let her go!' Mabel called; but the dog only growled the louder, and tightened her hold upon the screaming gipsy's throat. In vain her young mistress coaxed and threatened, Mab knew best, and would not be persuaded to liberate the culprit.

'Oh dear, what shall I do! You will kill her, Mab! You will kill her!' cried Mabel, wholly unable to relieve the struggling and panting wretch; and catching sight of her father riding towards her, she turned the pony's head and urged it forward at a gallop to meet him, and beg him to return and save the gypsy. Mab, however, did not altogether relish holding the untidy and ragged gypsy in her own fastidious mouth; and the moment she thought her mistress was at a safe distance she released the prisoner, and scampered off after Ruby, and caught up to the fleet pony just as Mabel reached her father's side.

'What is the matter, Birdie!' Mr. Wilton asked anxiously, as his little daughter, pale and agitated drew up at his side.

'Oh, come quick, papa!' she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling brightly in her intense excitement, 'That naughty Mab is killing a poor gipsy down by the holly copse.'

'Bow, wow, wow!' contradicted Mab, indignantly, highly offended at the misstatement.

'Mab killing a gipsy? Nonsense, Birdie! Here she is.'

'Well, I declare!' cried Mabel, scarcely able to believe her eyes. 'She had poor old Sarai down, and was holding her by the throat a minute ago!'

'Serve her right then, I'll be bound! Mab wouldn't touch her for nothing. What had she been doing?'

'She wanted my watch to sell to buy bread, and I wouldn't give it to her; that's all,' replied Mabel, making light of the matter, now that the danger was past. Her father was a magistrate; and she was afraid he would have the gipsies put into prison, if she told him all.

'Mab doesn't like the race, they're not cleanly-looking enough for her,' replied Mr. Wilton not guessing the secret of the attempted robbery, which the benevolent little maid kept to herself to screen the hags, who so little deserved such consideration, unless indeed their tale of privation was true, in which case who shall be judged for actions performed at the stern bidding of the sternest of taskmasters, dire necessity!

'Your little adventure seems to have upset you, Birdie! We had better ride back at once; and I will send Williams to see about these gipsy rascals, who have so offended Mab. If they are in distress he shall relieve them.'

'Thank you, papa! They mast be starving, or they would never be so determined to get something!' said Mabel, eagerly.

'Determined!'

'I mean anxious, papa!' returned the tender-hearted, little lady, correcting herself. She did not want them punished, rough as they had been.

Ten minutes smart canter brought them to the stables, where Ruby and Magenta were left; and Mabel and her father turned to the house.

'A letter from France, sir!' said the governess, as they took their seats at the breakfast table.

'From mamma! Oh, be quick and open it!' cried Mabel, with ill-suppressed eagerness.

'Young ladies should never show curiosity, Miss Mabel; it is very vulgar!' observed the governess, as Mr. Wilton broke the seal of the foreign letter.

'Say, rather, very natural, Miss Archer!' said Mr. Wilton, smiling at Mabel's scared look.

'Ah, but, Miss Archer, it's hard not to be anxious, when it's mamma's!' pleaded the little girl, in extenuation of her "vulgar haste," as the prim and polished governess called every exhibition of childish feeling. 'I am in such a hurry to hear if she is better, and when she is coming home!'

'Dear mamma is much better, Birdie; and leaves, or rather did leave, Paris the day after this was posted. We must go up to London to-day to meet her at Dover, where she is to stay a few days with Lady Maud.'

'Oh, that will be glorious!' cried the delighted Mabel, utterly oblivious in her joyous excitement of the horror of the decorous Miss Archer, who looked upon all outward expression of emotion as decidedly unladylike. 'And perhaps we may see Harry Fenton, papa. His sister Fanny told me yesterday he is to spend his Christmas holidays with a school friend named Frank Seymour!'

'I don't know, Birdie, I hardly think Squire Fenton would let him stay from home during vacation. However, I don't know, so I can't say. We must go by the 3.20 train, so let's get breakfast over, as I have some business to attend to in Dunmow, before we go. Here's mamma's letter if you would like to look at it!'

'If papa?'

'Well, Birdie, of course I don't doubt but you would, so here it is; but don't let your coffee get too cold, while you are dreaming over it,' said Mr. Wilton, handing Mabel her mother's letter, and taking up the Times to set her the example of hurrying over the meal.

The breakfast was over at last, although Mabel did read her mamma's letter over at least twenty times, and her father, the whole of the Parliamentary debate on the income tax; and after the meal was concluded they separated, Mr. Wilton to give some orders to the bailiff, and Mabel to ride over to Elmgrove Hall to tell her friend Fanny Fenton of her projected journey to London. Being holiday time, there were no 'bothering lessons,' and so directly the little lady was dressed and ready, Ruby was brought round to the steps, close followed by Mab.

'I shan't want you with me, Rugby!' she said impatiently to the groom, who held the rein of a second horse, while holding Ruby ready for her to mount.

'I am sorry, Miss; but the master told me to go too. He said he was afraid of your riding so far alone,' replied the man surlily.

'O well, if papa says so, you must; but Brown Bess can't keep pace with Ruby; and I shall race all the way, mind!' she exclaimed, as the groom lifted her lightly into the saddle. The wilful headstrong girl kept her word and soon left the groom upon the broken-down Brown Bess far in the rear. An hour's hard ride brought her to Elmgrove Hall, where her little friend Fanny met her at the lodge, being herself just on the point of taking a drive with her mother and an older sister.

'You may get out of the carriage and return to the house with Mabel, if you like, Fanny!' said Mrs. Fenton, after the greeting was over, and Mabel had divulged the important news. 'As Mabel is going to London, I expert you will have a good deal to talk about before you bid her good bye.'

'I shall not have much time to spare; for we start directly after lunch,' said Mabel.

'Well, come on, May, and let's make the most of the time we shall have?' cried Fanny, springing down from the carriage; and twining her fingers in Ruby's silky mane, she walked on towards the Hall with her friend, leaving those in the carriage to pursue their own way.

'Now Fanny, there's one thing I want to tell you before I go up to London—and that's why I came over—you and I, and Harry, will always be friends, whatever your father or mine may say or think of each other,' said Mabel earnestly, after Ruby had been accommodated with a stall, and the girls repaired to the library, where a huge winter's fire of logs was burning.

'Of course we will, May; what a queer thing to say, to be sure!' replied Fanny from the opposite side of the fire, opening her soft grey eyes in surprise at the bare suggestion of a doubt upon the lasting nature of their friendship.

'I'll tell you why I said so, Fanny. I have found out, no matter how, that your father and mine are not very friendly; and if they should take it into their heads that we ought to be unfriendly too, why, I shouldn't care a bit; but would love you and—and like Harry all the same!'

'But what makes you think our fathers are not friendly?' asked Fanny, anxiously. She recollected, now that her attention had been drawn to it, several uncomplimentary things that had been said recently about the father of her little friend Mabel; and which made her feel now the more eager to have her suspicions confirmed or disproved.

'I'm not quite sure, you know; but I think it's about the elections. Your papa voted for Major Cloughton, and not for Sir Edwin Freer.'

'But that oughtn't to make any difference!'

'It oughtn't to, perhaps; but I don't know much about those things. We girls are not old enough to. But I heard the butler tell the groom that there was some quarrel or other; and he didn't know where it would end!'

'And if they are going to fall out, perhaps they won't let us see each other. Oh, that would be dreadful!' said Fanny, mournfully, and almost crying outright at the bare idea of such a calamity.

'I don't know, Fanny. Papa, didn't tell me not to come over; but I thought he didn't looked pleased. It may only be fancy, but he told the groom to come with me; and he knows I always like to come here alone!'

'Well, my dear, you and I will always be friends in spite of all the fathers in the universe!'

'And Harry too!' said Mabel, ingenuously.

'O, no fear of him! I really think so times he likes you better than all his own sisters put together!' returned Fanny in an aggrieved tone.

'Don't you forget to write and tell him, if papa does prohibit my riding over, when we come back from London!'

The conversation was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Beatrice, a younger sister of Fanny's.

'Come on Fan! Come on May! Clara and I are going to skate on the brook. Ted says it's quite firm again this morning!' she exclaimed, boisterously, as she burst into the room. Mabel laughed, and thought herself, 'Whatever would Miss Archer say, if she heard such a tomboy? She would think Beatrice was "decidedly unladylike!"'

'Very well, Beatrice, May and I will follow you directly.'

The light-hearted skater bounded away to get her sister's skates, and a pair for Mabel; and the while the two girls repeated their mutual vows to be friends for life.

The skating was so exhilarating, and thought-absorbing, that the children did not notice the passing of time; and but for the appearance of the groom, whose orders were imperative, Mabel would have certainly lost the train. He had her pony and riding-habit taken down to the brook, and getting her mounted there, and hurrying things generally, he contrived to get her home, just as her father was beginning to lose all patience.

'Tch! Tch! Mabel; there is no trusting you anywhere!' he exclaimed ill-humouredly, lifting her down, and placing her in the waiting carriage. 'When we come back I must put a stop to your visiting Elmgrove Hall. I don't like the people.'

But for her late conversation with her little friend Fanny Fenton, Mabel would have been quite overpowered by her father's words; for friendships are as deep and lasting among children as among their seniors, though in the rough busy, everyday world, people little think so. A few tears fell which she brushed hastily away and a faint smile overspread her anxious features. 'I am sorry I was so long gone, papa; but time flies so quick, you know,' she said passionately.

Observing her distress, and attributing it to his harshness, her father stooped over her and kissed her gently, saying soothingly:

'Never mind, Birdie! I dare say we shall catch the train! and, if not, we shall only have to wait twenty minutes for the next; so dry your eyes, and let the sun shine again!'

The train was caught, despite Mabel's neglect; and they reached London in due course.

'Birdie,' said Mr. Wilton, as the train shot into Euston Square, 'I have to go across to see my old friend Sir Jonas Cadman, on urgent business, so I will leave you at uncle Grey's in Kensington, first. I shall be back in the morning in time for the Dover train; and then we'll go for mamma.'

His little daughter raising no objection, Mr. Wilton took a cab, and soon deposited his treasure with Uncle Grey; and then hurried away to Cadman Villa to see his friend Sir Jonas.

'Aunt Amelia is out taking tea with Miss Letitia Vaughan, Mabel,' said Uncle Grey leading his little niece into the house. 'If you are not too tired with your journey Janet may go round with you.'

Mabel was delighted with the proposal; and cousin Janet having finished her music exercise was equally so; and in a few minutes the girls were hurrying down Kensington road to Woodbine cottage.

'Polly Seymour told me in her last letter that you are learning Italian, Janet. Isn't it awfully hard?' enquired Mabel, suddenly breaking from a description of a children's ball at Elmgrove, in which she had been pronounced the belle. 'I never saw such a girl as you, Janet—always studying! nothing but studying!'

'O, I love study, Mabel! But then I've another reason now. We are not rich now. Papa has lost nearly all his money!' replied Janet, sadly, the recollection of home troubles forcing itself upon her in spite of her determination to be cheerful.

'Uncle lost all his money?' Mabel exclaimed in astonishment, her eyes opening wide in unfeigned surprise. 'However did he do that?'

'I don't know, Mabel, I think it was investing a lot of money in some company Sir Jonas Cadman was a director in. At least, Mamma said something about that being the cause.'

'O dear! I'm so sorry!'

'Of course I'll have to prepare to earn my own living now, and to help papa!' said Janet in a tone of quiet resolve. 'Young as I am Monsieur Lafelle, my music teacher, says I am competent to take junior pupils now; and I think I can paint well enough to take portraits, and earn some money that way.'

'It must be a terrible thing to lose all your money!'

'Yes, Mabel, but not half so bad when you feel you can earn some for yourself.'

'You are a good, brave girl, Janet,' said Mabel in admiration. 'I wish I was only half as industrious and useful as you!'

'I don't know; I think you are a great deal better than me in some things; and as for being industrious, I often feel, when my music exercises are very difficult, and I get tired, that I would like to shut up the piano, and go out for a run! It's hard sometimes to be industrious, I can tell you.'

'Here we are at Woodbine Cottage. What a dear old lady Miss Letitia is!' cried Mabel, with enthusiasm, as they turned a corner and came in sight of their friend's house. 'And see, there's Polly in the garden. Won't she be surprised!'

Polly was surprised; she could scarcely believe her own eyes. 'Come in Janet, come in Mabel, Auntie will be so glad,' she said joyfully, leading the way in.

Miss Letitia and her visitor were sitting at the table, enjoying an early cup of tea, and a social gossip.

'What, Mabel, dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Grey, looking up, as the girls entered. 'This is a surprise! Why didn't you write and say you were coming; and then you wouldn't have found me out.'

'I am going with papa to Dover to-morrow, aunt, to meet mamma. She is coming home again now.'

'Dear me, who would have expected to see you, Mabel! You have just dropped in among us like a—like a sky-rocket,' said Miss Letitia, at a loss for a suitable similie.

'You must both come and stay a few days with us, dear, before you go back; for it is perhaps, the last time we shall be able to entertain you properly,' said Mrs. Grey with a sigh.

'I know, aunt, Janet told me just now. O dear, I'm so sorry.'

'It's no use fretting, is it Mabel!' said Miss Letitia, who had herself been fretting all the week about her friend's misfortune. 'Every cloud has a silver lining.'

Janet judiciously turned the conversation by asking where the boys where, a question that Mabel had been on the point of asking from the moment of entering.

'I think they've gone to see the Tower,' said Polly.

'Yes, Janet; Frank intends showing his visitor all the lions of the city during his stay. They're good boys, only they think a good deal more of their own pleasure than ours;' said Miss Letitia, who was rather hurt at Frank's not asking her to accompany them. 'But boys are all alike!'

'Frank says he don't want to be tied to any old lady's apron strings, even if she is the best aunt in the world,' whispered Polly, smiling.

'A regular Irish whisper,' laughed Frank from the door; and he and Henry entered, hot and flushed from their long walk.

After the mutual greetings were over, and the lads had taken their places at the table, 'to gather up the fragments,' as Harry said, Miss Letitia suddenly recollected the morning adventure, and called upon Frank to relate it; and that young gentleman fully willing to hear himself speak, began a high-coloured account of his dip in the Serpentine.

Mabel listened with breathless interest; and when Frank concluded his animated narrative by a generous eulogy of Harry's devoted courage, her tears fell as thickly as those of the sympathetic Polly, and she exclaimed, 'Harry was always brave, always as long as I have known him; and I have known him ever since we were little children learning to read!'

Harry blushed uncomfortably at being praised so publicly; but the pleasure he felt in hearing Mabel speak well of him was ample compensation for all; and a thrill of delight sped through his veins, as he gazed fondly upon her flushed and animated features. He did'nt care a fig for Ruth Scott, the nursemaid: not he! but here was somebody he cared a good many figs for.

The little people spent the evening as pleasantly as evenings are never spent but in the early flush of youth, in this eager spring of life; but the pleasantest evenings pass the swiftest; and soon forfeits, draughts and dominoes were put aside, and Aunt Grey declared that it was ten o'clock. The boys begged permission to see their visitors home, and that memorable walk by moonlight was one never to be forgotten by two, at least, of the children. From that walk, Frank Seymour dated his love for Mabel, and his jealousy for his preserver; and from that selfsame walk, little Polly dated her fondness for the brave and generous Harry. When they separated at Mrs. Grey's door, Frank, boy though he was, had registered a vow to win Mabel; and a sentiment of bitter jealousy, the consciousness of which pained and humiliated him, but which he could never shake off, filled his breast. That walk formed an era in Frank's life. From that moment he became noted for being the most doggedly persevering of all the pupils at Exeter House. He would, for her sake, shake off his sloth, throw aside his dreamy indolence, and battle sternly with the hard world, wrestle with it for fame and wealth. He would become a barrister; who knew, perhaps, some day, Lord Chancellor of England.

No such stirring thoughts as these filled his gentle sister's breast. In her quiet and reserved nature, to love was all she dreamt of. Nothing beyond the pleasure of feeling that she loved him entered Polly's pure, unselfish heart. As for little Mabel, Harry had been her playmate and companion from infancy almost, and she could not remember when he had not been more to her her than all else in the world, save her mother.