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HEART OF OAK: A Three-Stranded Yarn. By W. Clark Russell. 3 vols.

THE PROFESSOR’S EXPERIMENT. By Mrs. Hungerford. 3 vols.

THE WOMAN IN THE DARK. By F. W. Robinson. 2 vols.

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London: CHATTO & WINDUS, Piccadilly.

MARRIED OR SINGLE?

BY B. M. CROKER AUTHOR OF “DIANA BARRINGTON,” “A FAMILY LIKENESS,” ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. II.

LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1895

CONTENTS OF VOL. II.

[Pg 1]

MARRIED OR SINGLE?

CHAPTER XIV.A SOCIAL GODMOTHER.

The next day Lord Tony’s only sister, Lady Rachel Jenkins, arrived to call—but not for the first time—upon Miss West. She was an extremely vivacious and agreeable little woman, with dark eyes and flashing teeth. She took Madeline out with her in her own brougham, and—oh, great favour!—introduced her to her pet dressmaker. This august person viewed Miss West’s stone-coloured costume with an air of amused contempt; it was not good style; the cut of the skirt[Pg 2] was quite “out,” and she finally wound up by uttering the awful words, “Ready made.” It was not what Madeline liked, or even thought she would like, but what Lady Rachel suggested and Madame Coralie approved, that was selected.

“Your father, my dear,” patting the girl’s hand confidentially, “met me on the stairs, and we had a few words together. I’m going to show you what we do in London, and what we wear, and whom we know; and what we don’t wear, and whom we don’t know, my little country mouse!”

So the country mouse was endowed with half a dozen fine dresses chosen entirely by Lady Rachel—dresses for morning, afternoon, and evening.

“I only order six, my dear,” said her chaperon cheerily, “as the season is getting over, and these will carry you[Pg 3] on till August, if you have a good maid. Madame Coralie, we can only give you five days,” rising as she spoke.

But Madame Coralie threw up eyes and hands and gesticulated, and volubly declared that it was absolument impossible! She had so many gowns for Ascot and the royal garden party. Nevertheless, Lady Rachel was imperious, and carried her point.

“The opera mantle is to be lined with pink brocade, and you will line the cloth skirt with shot sulphur-coloured silk; and that body I chose is to be almost drowned in chiffon and silver.”

She was to be female bear-leader to this young heiress, and was resolved that her appearance should not disgrace her, and that “the old squatter,” as she called him, should be taken at his word, and made to pay and look pleasant.

[Pg 4]

The succeeding visit was to a milliner’s; the next to a shoe shop, when the same scene was rehearsed. Madeline looked on and said nothing, but made an angry mental note that she would never again go out shopping with this imperious little lady. Why, even the poorest had the privilege of choosing their own clothes! Why should this little black-browed woman, barely up to her shoulder, tyrannize over her thus? Simply because, my dear, unsophisticated Madeline, she has promised to bring you out—to be your social godmother, to introduce you to society, such as your father loveth, and to be friendly. Besides all this, she has already decided in her own mind that “you will do very well,” and are not nearly as rustic as she expected; and she has made up her mind—precisely as she did about your satin dinner-dress—that[Pg 5] you are to marry her brother. Oh, happy prospect!

Lady Rachel was Lord Anthony’s only sister—a woman of five and thirty, who, thirteen years previously, had married a rich parvenu—plain, homely, much older than herself—for his money. She had no fortune as Lady Rachel Foster, and she was not particularly pretty; so she made the best available use of her title, and changed it for twenty thousand a year and the name of Jenkins. Mr. Jenkins liked being announced as “Lady Rachel, and Mr. Jenkins;” to be asked in a loud voice, in public places, “How is your wife—Lady Rachel?” For her part, she liked her fine house, servants, carriages, and jewels; and both were, to a certain extent, satisfied with their bargain. Perhaps of late years there had been a certain amount of disappointment.[Pg 6] Lady Rachel went more and more into society, and drifted widely apart from Mr. Jenkins and his city friends. Mr. Jenkins was not considered an acquisition in her circles, which were a little rapid. He was given to understand—by deeds, not words—that he was rather a bore, and that he must not always

be expecting to be tied to the tail of his brilliant, fashionable, frivolous little wife—and then, Mr. Jenkins was jealous!

It was quite time that Anthony was married, thought his sister. He was not prepossessing in appearance. He was well known in society, and especially in her own set, as a fellow with an empty head, empty pockets, and a roving nature. He was not popular. She was aware that he had been rejected by heiress after heiress. He would not be modest and content with a plain girl, or an elderly widow, or[Pg 7] even a faded spinster on the shady side of forty! No; Lord Anthony Foster must have beauty and money to boot, and there was no bidding for his coronet in the quarters these came from. Prudent mammas had set a mark against his name, and where his attentions would have been welcomed, he turned up his nose, and talked in a high moral manner about the sin of marrying one’s grandmother. His affectionate sister had vainly suggested one or two ladies that she had thought suitable, but until now Lord Tony had been too difficile, and her pains had gone for nothing!

But now, oh, joy at last, he had found a girl almost, as one might say, to order—young, accomplished, ladylike, very pretty, and very rich.

Lady Rachel already considered Madeline her sister-in-law, and had already[Pg 8] selected her own gown for the wedding, so far ahead do some active, imaginative natures throw their mental life. There was nothing to wait for. Tony was willing—the old squatter was willing—and the girl—well, she was willing, of course.

Madame Coralie’s dresses came home punctually, and were all that the most fastidious could desire, in fit, style, colour, and cut. Madeline spent the whole afternoon, in the retirement of her own room, slowly trying on all six, one after the other, with ever-increasing approbation. The climax was an oyster-white satin, with a turquoise velvet and silver bodice—a dream of a dress, to quote the enraptured Josephine.

Madeline had an æsthetic appreciation of herself as she stood before a glass and contemplated the slim figure, white[Pg 9] rounded arms, the rich glistening skirt, the exquisitely moulded bodice. Could this apparition be the same young woman who had humbled herself before Mrs. Kane, and carried up her own coals? What a difference dress made—in self-respect and self-importance! Dress, as she now realized it, was a powerful engine in cultivating one’s own self-esteem. Yes, a silk-lined skirt could impart a surprising amount of confidence! She glanced over one shoulder, then over the other, then looked full at her reflection, and said to herself, with a smile, “I do love pretty clothes!”

[Pg 10]

CHAPTER XV.MR. JESSOP DOES HIS DUTY.

Lady Rachel and Madame Coralie, between them, soon metamorphosed the appearance of Miss West. She took to her elegant dresses and mantles and tea-gowns with astonishing facility; also to her landau and pair, victoria and cobs, diamonds, dignities, and the last fashion in dogs—a Chinese spaniel. It was not a specimen of animal she especially admired; but her father paid a long price for Chow-chow, because he was the rage, and he looked well on the back[Pg 11] seat of the victoria. Yes, Madeline was remarkably adaptable; she developed a predilection for all the sensual accessories of colour and perfume. She also developed a fastidious taste at table, and a rare talent for laying out money.

And what of Laurence Wynne during the time that his wife is revelling in luxury?

He has been making rapid strides on the road to recovery; he is almost well; and the end of his sojourn with the friendly farmer’s family is now drawing perceptibly near. He has letters from Madeline, as she finds means to post them with her own hands—letters full of descriptions of her new life, her new friends, and all the wonderful new world that has been opened to her view.

She, who was never at a dance, excepting at the two breaking-up parties at[Pg 12] Mrs. Harper’s, has been living in a round of gaiety, which has whirled faster and faster as the season waned—thanks to Lady Rachel’s introductions and chaperonage; thanks to her beauty, and her father’s great wealth.

Miss West has already become known—already her brilliant colouring and perfect profile have been noted by great and competent connoisseurs. Her face was already familiar in the park.

Luckily for her, dark beauties were coming into fashion; in every way she was fortunate. Her carriage was pointed out in the Row; her table was littered with big square monogramed envelopes and cards of invitation, far too numerous for acceptance. And Miss West, the Australian heiress as she was called, had opened many doors by that potent pass-key, a pretty face, and admitted not only[Pg 13] herself, but also her proud and happy parent.

Madeline does not say all this in so many long sentences to Laurence; not that he would be jealous, dear fellow! She knows him better than that; but she is sensible that there is a certain incongruity between their circumstances just at present, and she will not enlarge on her successes more than is absolutely needful. Yet a word drops out here and slips in there, which tells Laurence far more than she supposes. Besides this, Laurence is no fool. He can draw inferences; he can put two and two together—it is his profession. Moreover, he sees the daily, society, and illustrated papers, thanks to Mr. Jessop, who has given a liberal order to his news-agent, believing that his gifted friend, who always lived at high brain-pressure,[Pg 14] must be developing into a state of coma in his rural quarters, among cows and pigs and geese.

Laurence reads the letters between the lines. He reads society’s doings, and in the warm June and July evenings, as he strolls about the fields alone, has plenty of leisure for reflection. These are not very happy times for Laurence Wynne. He has found some consolation in work. One or two articles from his pen have made their way into leading reviews, and been praised for their style, substance, and wit. A short sketch of a country tragedy has added another feather to his cap. In these long, lonely, empty days, he had given ample time and brain-work (his best) to these vivid articles, readily scanned in a quarter of an hour. They recalled his name; at any rate, people began to remember[Pg 15] Laurence Wynne—a clever chap who made a foolish marriage, and subsequently lived in a slum, and then nearly went and died. Apparently, he was not dead yet! There was a good deal of vitality in him still, and that of a very marketable description. Success, however small, breeds success, and a little sun began to shine on Laurence Wynne at last. He was asked to contribute

articles to the Razor and the Present, two of the most up-to-date periodicals. He was well paid—cash down. He was independent once more, and he felt as if he would like to go out into the fields and shout for joy.

Now and then he ventured to write to his wife—to Miss West, 365, Belgrave Square; and Miss West eagerly snatches the letter from under a pile of society notes, in thick fashionable envelopes,[Pg 16] plunges it into her pocket, and reads it greedily alone; for although she is a little bit carried away by admiration, money, and power, yet a letter from Laurence puts all these pleasures completely into the shade, as yet.

This is his last that she holds in her hand, written after long meditation, and with many a pause between the sentences. He had turned out an article for the Razor in half the time.

“Holt Hill Farm.”

“My dearest Madeline,”

“Your welcome letter is at present lying before me; and now that the household is asleep, and that there is not a stir on the premises, nor a sound, except the loud ticking of the kitchen clock, I sit down to write to you without fear of being disturbed, for this, my dear[Pg 17] Maddie, is going to be an important epistle. I am sincerely glad to hear that you are so happy; that your father shows that he has affection for you; that you and he are no longer strangers, but getting on together capitally. I hope his tenderness will be able to survive the news you have to tell him, and must tell him soon—the fact, in short, that you are married. I can quite understand how you are dreading the evil moment, and can fully enter into your feelings of shrinking reluctance to dispel this beautiful new life, this kind of enchanted existence, by just one magic word, and that word to be uttered by your own lips. But if you are adverse to mentioning this one word—which must be spoken, sooner or later—let me take the commission on myself. I will speak to

your father. I will bear the full blast[Pg 18] and fury of his indignation and disappointment. After all, we have nothing to be ashamed of. If I had known that you were the heiress of a millionaire, I would never have ventured to marry you—of that you may be sure. But, under other circumstances, it was different. In the days when you had neither father nor home, I offered you my home, such as it was. There was no disparity between our two walks in life, nothing to indicate the barrier which has subsequently arisen between us.

“Maddie, we have come to the cross-roads. You will have to choose one way or the other. You will have to choose between your father and me—between riches and poverty. If your father will not listen to the idea of your having changed your name, you must let me testify to the fact; and if he shuts his[Pg 19] doors on you afterwards, you are no worse off than a year ago. If I thought you would ever again have such a terrible struggle to live as you experienced last winter, I would not be so barbarous, so cruel, as to ask you to leave your present luxurious home. But things look brighter. I am, thank God, restored to health. I have a prospect of earning a livelihood; our dark days are, I trust, a thing of the past. I am resolved to set to work next week. I cannot endure the idea of living in idleness on your father’s money; for although the whole of our stay here has cost less than you say he has recently given for a dog, still it is his money all the same—money for your education, money diverted from its original use, money expended on a fraud. Of late I

have not touched it, having another resource. I only wish I could replace every[Pg 20] halfpenny. Let us have an end of this secrecy and double-dealing. And now that we have once more got a foothold on life, and the means of existence, I believe I shall be able to scramble up the ladder! Who knows but you may be a judge’s wife yet! I wish I could give you even a tithe of the luxuries with which you are now surrounded. I would pawn years of my future to do it. But if I cannot endow you with diamonds and carriages, I can give you what money cannot buy, Maddie, an undivided heart, that loves you with every pulse of its existence.

“Now I have said my say. I only await a line from you to go at once to town, and lay bare our secret to your father. It is the right thing to do; it is, indeed. You cannot continue to live this double life—and your real home is[Pg 21] with your husband and child. It is now three months and more since you drove away down the lane with Farmer Holt—three long, long months to me, Maddie. You have had ample time to make an inroad on your father’s affections. You can do a great deal in that way in less than three months. If he is what you say, he will not be implacable. You are his only child. You tell me that he thinks so much of good blood and birth—at least in this respect the Wynnes should please him. He will find out all about us in Burke. We were barons of the twelfth century; and there is a dormant title in the family. The candle is just out, and I must say good-bye. But I could go on writing to you for another hour. The text of my discourse, if not sufficiently plain already, is, let me tell your father of our marriage.[Pg 22] One line will bring me to town at once.

“I am, your loving husband, “Laurence Wynne.

“Do not think that I am complaining that you have not been down here. I fully understand that your father, having no occupation, is much at home, perhaps too much at home, and can’t bear you out of his sight—which is natural, and that to come and go to the Holt Farm would take four hours—hours for which you would be called on to account. And you dared not venture—dared not deceive him. Deceive him no longer in any way, Maddie. Send me a wire, and he shall know all before to-morrow night.”

Madeline read this letter over slowly, with rapidly changing colour. Some[Pg 23] sentences she perused two or three times, and when she came to the last word, she recommenced at the beginning—then she folded it up, put it into its envelope, thrust it into her dressing-case, and turned the key.

She was a good deal disturbed; you could read that by her face, as she went and stood in the window, playing with the charms on her bangle. She had a colour in her cheeks and a frown upon her brow.

How impatient Laurence was! Why would he not give her time? What was three months to prepare papa? And was it really three months? It seemed more like three weeks. Yes, April; and this was the beginning of July.

Her eyes slowly travelled round the luxurious apartment, with its pale blue silk hangings, inlaid satin-wood furniture,[Pg 24] and Persian carpet, her toilet-table loaded with silver bottles and boxes, a large silver-framed mirror, draped in real lace, the silver-backed brushes, the cases of perfume; and she thought with a shudder of the poor little room at No. 2, with its rickety table, shilling glass, and jug without a handle. Deliberately, she stood before the dressing-table, and deliberately studied her reflection in the costly mirror. How different she looked to poor, haggard, shabby Mrs. Wynne, the slave of a sick husband and a screaming baby, with all the cares of a miserable home upon her young shoulders; with no money in her purse, no hope in her heart, no future, and no friends!

Here she beheld Miss West, radiant with health and beauty, her abundant hair charmingly arranged by the deft-fingered Josephine, her pretty, slim[Pg 25] figure shown off by a simply made but artistic twenty-guinea gown; her little watch was set in brilliants, her fingers were glittering with the same. She had just risen from a dainty lunch, where she was served by two powdered footmen and the clerical butler. Her carriage is even now waiting at the door, through the open window she can hear the impatient stamping of her six-hundred-guinea horses.

She was about to call for an earl’s daughter, who was to chaperone her to a fête, where, from previous experience, she knew that many and many a head would be turned to look after pretty Miss West; and she liked to be admired! She had never gauged her own capacity for pleasure until the last few months. And Laurence required her to give up all this, to rend the veil from her secret,[Pg 26] and stand before the world once more, shabby, faded, insignificant Mrs. Wynne, the wife of a briefless barrister!