That Stick

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> That Stick

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

This eBook was prepared by Les Bowler.

THAT STICK

BY
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
AUTHOR OF 'THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE', 'UNKNOWN TO HISTORY', ETC.

[Picture: She was a little brown mouse of a woman, with soft dark eyes,
smooth hair, and a clear olive complexion]

London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND NEW YORK

1892

_All rights reserved_

Chap. Page

1 HONOURS 1
2 HONOURS REFLECTED 9
3 WHAT IS HONOUR? 20
4 HONOURS WANING 25
5 THE PEER 29
6 THE WEIGHT OF HONOURS 36
7 MORTONS AND MANNERS 41
8 SECOND THOUGHTS 49
9 THE HEIR-PRESUMPTUOUS 53
10 COMING HONOURS 64
11 POSSESSION 70
12 THE BURTHEN OF HONOURS 77
13 THE DOWER HOUSE 81
14 WESTHAVEN VERSIONS OF 88
HONOURS
15 THE PIED ROOK 99
16 WHAT IS REST? 107
17 ON THE SURFACE 114
18 DESDICHADO 120
19 THE DOLOMITES 129
20 RATZES 137
21 THE HEIR-APPARENT 143
22 OUT OF JOINT 147
23 VELVET 155
24 THE REVENGE OF SORDID 163
SPIRITS
25 THE LOVE 169
26 IDA'S WARNING 175
27 THE YOUNG PRETENDER 180
28 TWO BUNDLES OF HAY 187
29 JONES OR RATTLER 193
30 SCARLET FEVER 202
31 MITE 208
32 A SHOCK 216
33 DARKNESS 223
34 THE PHANTOM OF THE 230
STATION
35 THE QUEST 239
36 IDA'S CONFESSION 247
37 HOPE 252
38 THE CLUE 262
39 THE HONOURABLE PAUPER 270
40 JOY WELL-NIGH 277
INCREDIBLE
41 THE CANADIAN NORTHMOOR 284
42 HUMBLE PIE 290
43 THE STAFF 295

CHAPTER I
HONOURS

'Oh, there's that stick. What can he want?' sighed one of a pair of
dignified elderly ladies, in black silk, to the other, as in a quiet
country-town street they saw themselves about to be accosted by a man of
about forty, with the air of a managing clerk, who came up breathlessly,
with a flush on his usually pale cheeks.

'Miss Lang; I beg pardon! May I be allowed a few words with Miss
Marshall? I know it is unusual, but I have something unusual to tell
her.'

'Nothing distressing, I hope, Mr. Morton,' said one of the ladies,
startled.

'Oh no, quite the reverse,' he said, with a nervous laugh; 'in fact, I
have unexpectedly come into a property!'

'Indeed!' with great astonishment, 'I congratulate you,' as the colour
mounted in his face, pleasant, honest, but with the subdued expression
left by long years of patience in a subordinate position.

'May I ask--' began the other sister.

'I hardly understand it yet,' was the answer; 'but I must go to town by
the 5.10 train, and I should like her to hear it from myself.'

'Oh, certainly; it does you honour, Mr. Morton.'

They were entering the sweep of one of those large substantial houses on
the outskirts of country towns that have a tendency to become
boarding-schools, and such had that of the Misses Lang been long before
the days of the High School.

'Fortunately it is recreation-time,' said Miss Lang, as she conducted Mr.
Morton to the drawing-room, hung round with coloured drawings, in good
taste, if stiff, and chiefly devoted to interviews with parents.

'Poor little Miss Marshall!' murmured one sister, when they had shut him
in.

'What a loss she will be!'

'She deserves any good fortune.'

'She does. Is it not twenty years?'

'Twenty-two next August, sister.'

Yes, it was twenty-two years since Mary Marshall had been passed from the
Clergy Orphan Asylum to be English governess at Miss Lang's excellent
school at Hurminster. In that town resided, with her two sons, Mrs.
Morton, the widow of a horse-dealing farmer in the late Mr. Marshall's
parish. On discovering the identity of the English governess with the
little girl who had admired the foals, lambs, and chickens in past times,
Mrs. Morton gave invitations to tea. She was ladylike, the sons
unexceptionable, and no objection could reasonably be made by the Misses
Lang, though the acquaintance was regretted by them.

Mr. Morton, the father, had died in debt and distress, and the eldest son
had been thankful for a clerkship in the office of Mr. Burford, a
solicitor in considerable practice, and man of business to several of the
county magnates. Frank Morton was not remarkable for talent or
enterprise, but he was plodding and trustworthy, methodical and accurate,
and he had continued in the same position, except that time had made him
senior instead of junior clerk. Partly from natural disposition, partly
from weight of responsibility, he had always been a grave, steady youth,
one of those whom their contemporaries rank as sticks and muffs, because
not exalted by youthful spirits or love of daring. His mother and
brother had always been his primary thought; and his recreations were of
the sober-sided sort--the chess club, the institute, the choral society.
He was a useful, though not a distinguished, member of the choir of St.
Basil's Church, and a punctual and diligent Sunday-school teacher of the
least interesting boys. To most of the world of Hurminster he was almost
invisible, to the rest utterly insignificant. Even his mother was far
less occupied with him than with his brother Charles, who was much
handsomer, more amusing and spirited, as well as far less contented or
easy to be reckoned upon. But there was one person to whom he was
everything, namely, little brown-eyed, soft-voiced Mary Marshall.

She felt herself the happiest of creatures when, after two years of
occasional evening teas and walks to Evensong at St. Basil's, it was
settled that she should become his wife as soon as his salary should be
increased, and Charlie be in condition to assist in supporting his
mother. Ever since, Mary had rested on that hope, and the privileges it
gave. She had loyally informed the Misses Lang, who were scarcely
propitious, but could not interfere, as long as their pupils (or they
believed so) surmised nothing. So the Sunday evening intercourse became
more frequent, and in the holidays, when the homeless governess had
always remained to superintend cleaning and repairs, there were many
pleasant hours spent with kind old Mrs. Morton, who, if she had ever
wished that Frank had waited longer and chosen some one with means, never
betrayed it to the girl whom she soon loved as a daughter.

Two years had at first been thought of as the period of patience.
Charles had a situation as clerk in a shipping office at Westhaven, a
small seaport about twenty miles off, and his mother was designing to go
to keep house for him, when he announced that his banns had been asked
with the daughter of the captain and part-owner of a small trading vessel
of the port.

The Hurminster couple must defer their plans till further promotion; and
so far from helping his mother, Charles ere long was applying to her,
when in need, for family expenses.

Then came a terrible catastrophe. Charlie had been ill, and in his
convalescence was taken on a voyage by his father-in-law. There was a
collision in the Channel, and the _Emma Jane_ and all on board were lost.
The insurance did not cover the pecuniary loss; debts came to light, and
nothing was left for the widow and her three children except a seaside
lodging-house in which her father had invested his savings.

The children's education and great part of their maintenance must fall on
their uncle; and again his marriage must wait till this burthen was
lessened. Old Mrs. Morton died; and meetings thus became more difficult
and infrequent. Frank had hoped to retain the little house where he had
lived so long; but his sister-in-law's demands were heavy, and he found
himself obliged to sell his superfluous furniture, and commit himself to
the rough attendance of the housekeeper at the office, where two rooms
were granted to him.

Thus had year after year gone by, unmarked except by the growth of the
young people at Westhaven and the demand of their mother on the savings
that were to have been a nest-egg, while gray threads began to appear in
Mary's hair, and Frank's lighter locks to leave his temples bare.

So things stood when, on this strange afternoon, Miss Marshall was
summoned mysteriously from watching the due performance of an imposition,
and was told, outside the door, that Mr. Morton wanted to speak to her.

It was startling news, for though the Misses Lang were kindly women, and
had never thrown obstacles in the way of her engagement, they had merely
permitted it, and almost ignored it, except when old Mrs. Morton was
dying, and they had freely facilitated her attendance. 'Surely something
as dreadful as the running down of the _Emma Jane_ must have happened!'
thought Mary as she sped to the drawing-room. She was a little brown
mouse of a woman, with soft dark eyes, smooth hair, and a clear olive
complexion, on which thirty-eight years of life and eighteen of waiting
had not left much outward trace; for the mistresses were good women, who
had never oppressed their underling, and though she had not met with much
outward sympathy or companionship, the one well of hope and joy might at
times suffer drought, but had never run dry, any more than the better
fountain within and beyond.

In she came, with eyes alarmed but ready to console. 'Oh, Frank, what is
it? What can I do for you?'

'It is no bad news,' was his greeting, as he put his arm round her
trembling little figure and kissed her brow. 'Only too good.'

'Oh, is Mrs. Charles going to be married?' the only hopeful contingency
she could think of.

'No,' he said; 'but, Mary, an extraordinary incident has taken place. I
have inherited a property.'

'A property? You are well off! Oh, thank God!' and she clasped her
hands, then held his. 'At last! But what? How? Did you know?'

'I knew of the connection, but that the family had never taken notice of
my father. As to the rest I was entirely unprepared. My
great-grandfather was a younger son of the first Lord Northmoor, but for
some misconduct was cast off and proscribed. As you know, my grandfather
and father devoted themselves to horses on the old farm, and made no
pretensions to gentility. The elder branch of the family was once
numerous, but it must have since dwindled till the old lord was left with
only a little grandson, who died of diphtheria a short time before his
grandfather.'

'Poor old man!' began Mary. 'Then--oh! do you mean that he died too?'

'Yes; he was ill before, and this was a fatal blow. It appears that he
was aware that I was next in the succession, and after the boy's death
had desired the solicitor to write to me as heir-at-law.'

'Heir-at-law! Frank, do you mean that you are--' she said, turning pale.

'Baron Northmoor,' he answered, 'and you, my patient Mary, will be the
baroness as soon as may be.'

'Oh, Frank!'--and there was a rush of tears--'dear Frank, your hard work
and cares are all over!'

'I am not sure of that,' he said gravely; 'but, at least, this long
waiting is over, and I can give you everything.'

'But, oh!' she cried, sobbing uncontrollably, with her face hidden in her
handkerchief.

'Mary, Mary! what does this mean? Don't you understand? There's nothing
to hinder it now.'

She made a gesture as if to put him back from her, and struggled for
utterance.

'It is very dear, very good; but--but it can't be now. You must not drag
yourself down with me.'

'That is just nonsense, Mary. You are far fitter for this than I am.
You are the one joy in it to me.'

'You think so now,' she said, striving to hold herself back; 'but you
won't by and by.'

'Do you think me a mere boy to change so easily?' said the new lord
earnestly. 'I look on this as a heavy burthen and very serious
responsibility: but it is to you whom I look to sweeten it, help me
through with it, and guard me from its temptations.'

'If I could.'

'Come, Mary, I am forced to go to London immediately, and then on to the
funeral. I shall miss the train if I remain another minute. Don't send
me away with a sore heart. Tell me that your affection has not been worn
out by these weary years.'

'You cannot think so, Frank,' she sobbed. 'You know it has only grown.
I only want to do what is best for you.'

'Not another word,' he said, with a fresh kiss. 'That is all I want for
the present.'

He was gone, while Mary crept up to her little attic, there to weep out
her agitated, uncertain feelings.

'Oh, he is so good! He deserves to be great. That I should be his first
thought! Dear dear fellow! But I ought to give him up. I ought not to
be a drag on him. It would not be fair on him. I can love him and watch
him all the same; but oh, how dreary it will be to have no Sunday
afternoons! Is this selfish? Is this worldly? Oh, help me to do right,
and hold to what is best for him!'

And whenever poor Mary had any time to herself out of sight of curious
eyes, she spent it in concocting a letter that went near to the breaking
of her constant heart.

CHAPTER II
HONOURS REFLECTED

On the beach at Westhaven, beyond the town and harbour, stood a row of
houses, each with a garden of tamarisk, thrift, and salt-loving flowers,
frequented by lodgers in search of cheap sea breezes, and sometimes by
families of yachting personages who liked to have their headquarters on
shore.

Two girls were making their way to one of these. One was so tall though
very slight, that in spite of the dark hair streaming in the wind, she
looked more than her fifteen years, and her brilliant pink-and-white
complexioned face confirmed the impression. Her sister, keeping as much
as she could under her lee, was about twelve years old, much more
childish as well as softer, smaller, with lighter colouring and blue
eyes. Going round the end of the house, they entered by the back door,
and turning into a little parlour, they threw off their hats and gloves.
The younger one began to lay the table for dinner, while the elder,
throwing herself down panting, called out--

'Ma, here's a letter from uncle. I'll open it. I hope he's not crusty
about that horrid low millinery business.'

'Yes, do,' called back a voice across the tiled passage. 'I've had no
time. This girl has put me about so with Mrs. Leeson's luncheon that
I've not had a moment. Of all the sluts I've ever been plagued with,
she's the very worst, and so I tell her till I'm ready to drop. What is
it then, Ida?' as an inarticulate noise was heard.

[Picture: Frontispiece--Ma! ma!]

'Ma! ma! uncle is a lord!' came back in a gasp.

'What?'

'Uncle's a lord! Oh!'

'Your uncle! That stick of a man! Don't be putting your jokes on me,
when I'm worrited to death!' exclaimed Mrs. Morton, in fretful tones.

'No joke. It's true--Lord Northmoor.' And this brought Mrs. Morton out
of the kitchen in her apron and bib, with a knife in one hand and a bunch
of parsley in the other. She was a handsome woman, in the same style as
Ida, but her complexion had grown harder than accorded with the slightly
sentimental air she assumed when she had time to pity herself.

'It is! it is!' persisted Ida, reading scraps from the letter; '"Title
and estates devolve on me--family bereavements--elder line extinct."'

'Give me the letter. Oh, you gave me such a turn!' said Mrs. Morton,
sinking into a chair.

'What's the row?' said another voice, as a sturdy bright-eyed boy,
between the ages of his sisters, came bouncing in. 'I say, I want my
grub--and be quick!'

'Oh, Herbert, my dear boy,' and his mother hugged him, 'your uncle is a
lord, and you'll be one one of these days.'

'I say, don't lug a man's head off. Who has been making a fool of you?'

'Uncle Frank is Lord Northmoor,' said Ida impressively.

'I say, that's a good one!' and Herbert threw himself into a chair in
fits of laughter.

'It is quite true, Herbert,' said his mother. 'Here is the letter.'

A bell rang sharply.

'Bless me! I shall not hear much more of that bell, I hope. Run up,
Conny, and say Mrs. Leeson's lunch will be up in a moment, but we were
hindered by unexpected news,' said Mrs. Morton, bustling into the
kitchen. 'Oh dear! one doesn't know where one is.'

'Let her ring,' said Ida. 'Send her off, bag and baggage! We've done
with lodgings and milliners and telegraphs, and all that's low. We shall
all be lords and ladies, and ever so rich.'

'Hold hard!' said Herbert, who had got possession of the letter. 'He
doesn't say so.'

'He'll be nasty and mean, I daresay,' said Ida. 'What does he say? I
hadn't time to see.'

Herbert read from the neat, formal, distinct writing: "I do not yet know
what is in my power, nor what means I may be able to command; but I hope
to make your position more comfortable and to give my nephew and nieces a
really superior education. You had better, however, not take any steps
till you hear from me again." There, Ida, lots of schooling, that's
all.'

'Nonsense, Bertie; he must--if he is a lord, what are we?'

Hunger postponed this great question for a little while; but dinner had
been delayed till the afternoon school hour had passed, and indeed the
young people agreed that they were far above going to their present
teachers any more.

'We must acquire a few accomplishments,' said Ida. 'Uncle never would
afford me lessons on the piano--such a shame; but he can't refuse me now.
Dancing lessons, too, we will have; and then, oh, Conny! we will go to
Court, and how they will admire us!'

At which Herbert burst out laughing loudly, and his mother rebuked him.
'You will be a nobleman, Herbert, and your sisters a nobleman's sisters.
Why should they not go to Court like the best of them?'

'That's all my eye!' said Herbert. 'The governor has got a young woman
of his own, hasn't he?'

'That dowdy old teacher!' said Ida. 'Of course he won't marry her now.'

'She will be artful enough to try to hold him to it, you may depend on
it,' said Mrs. Morton; 'but I shall take care he knows what a shame and
disgrace it would be. Oh no; he will not dare.'

'She is awfully old,' said Ida.

'Not near so old as Miss Pottle, who was married yesterday,' said
Constance, who, at the time of her father's death, and at other times
when the presence of a young child was felt to be inconvenient at home,
had stayed with her grandmother at Hurminster, and had grown fond of Miss
Marshall.

'Don't talk about what you know nothing about, Constance,' broke in her
mother. 'Your uncle, Lord Northmoor, ain't going to lower and demean
himself by dragging a mere school teacher up into the peerage, to cut out
poor Herbert and all his family. There's that bell again! I shall go
and let Mrs. Leeson know how we are situated, and that I shall give her
notice one of these days. Clear the table, girls; we don't know who may
be dropping in.'

This done, chiefly by Constance, the sisters put on their hats, and
sallied forth with their astounding news to such of their friends as were
within reach, and by the time they had finished their expedition they
were convinced of their own nobility, and prepared to be called Lady Ida
and Lady Constance Northmoor on the spot.

When they came in they found the parlour being prepared for company, and
were sent to procure sausages and muffins for tea. Mrs. Morton had, on
reflection, decided that it was inexpedient to answer her brother-in-law
till she had ascertained, as she said, her just rights, and she had
invited to tea Mr. and Mrs. Rollstone and, to Constance's delight, his
little daughter Rose, their neighbours a few doors off; but as Rose was
attending classes, it had been useless to go to her before.

Mr. Rollstone was a great authority, for he had spent the best part of
his life in what he termed the first families of the highest circles. He
had been hall boy to a duke, footman to a viscountess, valet to an earl,
butler to a right honourable baronet, M.P., and when he had retired on
the death of the baronet and marriage with the housekeeper he had brought
away a red volume, by name _Burke's Peerage_, by which, as well as by his
previous knowledge, he was enabled to serve as an oracle respecting all
owners of yachts worthy of consideration. If their names were not
recorded in that book, he scorned them as '_parvenoos_,' however perfect
their vessels might be in the eyes of mariners. The edition was indeed a
quarter of a century old, but he had kept it up to date, by marking in
neatly all the births, deaths, and marriages from the _Gazette_--his
daily study. His daughter, a nice, modest-looking girl of fourteen,
Constance's chief friend, came too.

His wife was detained by her lodgers, but when he rolled in, with the
book under his arm, there was a certain resemblance between himself and
it, for both were broad and slightly dilapidated--the one from gout, the
other from wear, and the red cover had faded into a nondescript
whity-brown, or browny-white, not unlike the complexion of a close-shaven
face. He was carefully arrayed in evening costume, and was very choice
in his language, being, in fact, much grander than all his aristocratic
masters rolled into one; so that though Mrs. Morton tried to recollect
that she was a great lady and he had been a servant, force of habit made
her feel his condescension when he held out his puffy white hand; and,
with a gracious bend of his yellow-gray head, said, 'Allow me to offer my
congratulations, Mrs. Morton. I little suspected my proximity to a lady
so nearly allied to the aristocracy.'

'I am sure you are very kind, Mr. Rollstone. I had no notion--Ida can
tell you I was quite overcome--though when I came to think of it, my
poor, dear Morton always did say he had high connections, but I always
thought it was one of his jokes.'

'Then as I understand, Mrs. Morton, the lamented deceased was junior to
the present Lord Northmoor?'

'Yes, poor dear! Oh, if he had but lived and been eldest, he would have
become his honours ever so much better!'

'And oh, Mr. Rollstone, what are we?' put in Ida breathlessly, while Rose
squeezed Constance's hand in schoolgirl fashion.

'Indeed, Miss Ida, I fear I cannot flatter you with any change in your
designation. If your respected parent had survived he might have become
the Honourable Charles, but only by special grant from Her Majesty. It
was so in the case of the Honourable Frances Fordingham, when her brother
inherited the title.'

'Then at least I am an Honourable!' exclaimed Mrs. Morton.

'I am afraid not, Mrs. Morton. I know of no precedent for such honours
being bestowed on a relict; but as I understand that Lord Northmoor is no
longer in his first youth, your son might succeed to the title, and, in
that case, his sisters might be'--he paused for a word--'ennobled.'

'Then does not it really make any difference to us?' exclaimed Mrs.
Morton.

'That would rest in the bosom of his lordship,' said Mr. Rollstone
solemnly.

'I declare it is an awful shame,' burst out Ida, while Constance cooed
'Dear uncle!'

'Hush, hush, Ida!' said her mother. 'Your uncle has always treated us
handsomely, and we have every reason to expect that he will continue to
do so.'

'He ought to have us to live with him in his house in London, and take us
to Court,' said Ida. 'Oh, Mr. Rollstone, is he not bound to do that?'

And Constance breathed, 'How delicious!'

Mr. Rollstone perhaps had his doubts of the figures Mrs. and Miss Morton
would cut in society, but he contented himself with saying, 'It may be
well to moderate your expectations, Miss Ida, and to remember that Lord
Northmoor is not compulsorily bound to consult any interests but his
own.'

'If he does not, it is perfectly abominable,' cried Mrs. Morton, 'towards
his poor, only brother's children, with Herbert his next heir-apparent.'

'Heir-presumptuous,' solemnly corrected Mr. Rollstone, at which Ida
looked at Constance, but Constance respected Rosie's feelings, and would
not return her sister's glance, only blushed, and sniggered.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16