Isabel Leicester

C >> Clotilda Jennings >> Isabel Leicester

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"You must find her, John, and bring her back. Go, you have your orders;
you must find her. Arthur is dead, and he has sent his wife to me, and I
must take care of her--that is all I can do for him now."

"Ah, that's the way with them secret marriages," soliloquized old John.
"What in the world made Mr. Arthur act so, I wonder, and his governor so
indulgent?"

"Yes we will find her, and she shall have the green room, not
Arthur's--no, not Arthur's. Love her for his sake, he says; aye that I
will," murmured his lordship, as he paced the room. "Too late, old man,
too late, too late."

CHAPTER XXI.

"I declare it's a shame," cried Emily throwing a letter on the table.
"I can't think what Everard means, it's positively unkind, I shall write
and tell him so," she continued endeavoring in vain to repress the tears
of vexation that would not be restrained. "I would not have believed it
of him, indeed I would not--what will Harry think, I should like to
know."

"What is the matter," asked Grace and Isabel at the same time.

"Read this and you will see," she replied--Grace read--

DEAR EMILY,--You will, I know, be sorry to hear that I cannot be
home for the Xmas. festivities, nor for the wedding; I am as sorry
as you can possibly be, dear Emmy, but circumstances, over which I
have no control, make it imperitive that I should remain away,
therefore, pray forgive my absence, nor think it unkind.

"It is outrageous" said Grace folding the letter carefully. "Mamma will
not allow it I am certain, and I cannot imagine any reason that could
prevent him coming if he chose. You had better get mamma or papa to
write, people will think it so strange."

"I don't care what people think, it's Harry and ourselves" replied Emily
hotly, "I will write and tell him that I won't be married this Xmas. if
he don't come--'there.'

"How absurd" returned Grace contemptuously.

"Do you mean it" inquired Isabel gravely.

"Oh that is another thing" replied Emily coloring, but I shall say so,
and try the effect."

"It cannot be his wish to stay away" said Isabel thoughtfully.

"It is the strangest thing I ever knew," replied Grace.

"Isabel felt very uncomfortable, for somehow she could not help thinking
that she might be the cause, (as, once, Everard had been very near the
forbidden subject, saying that it was quite a punishment to be under the
same roof, unless there was some change in their position, toward each
other.

"She was sorry that he had not said so before Isabel had replied, and
that very day, told Mrs. Arlington that she wished to leave, as soon as
she could meet with another governess. Mrs. Arlington asked her reasons.
But Miss Leicester would give none. Then Mrs. Arlington requested that
Miss Leicester would reconsider the matter, but Miss Leicester refused
to do so. Then Mrs. Arlington insisted, saying that she would except her
resignation, if at the end of the week she still wished it, though they
would all be sorry to part with her.

Everard of course heard what had taken place, and immediately made it
his business to alter that young lady's determination, protesting that
he had said nothing to make her pursue such a course. He forced her to
admit that it was solely on his account that she was leaving, and then
talked her into consenting to withdraw her resignation at the end of the
week, promising to be more careful not to offend in future.) She wished
very much that she could spend this Xmas. with Mrs. Arnold, but this was
impossible, as she had promised Emily to be bridesmaid.

"Then you don't think it would do to say that," Emily said inquiringly.

"It would seem childish" returned Isabel.

"And have no effect," added Grace.

"Coaxing would be better you think."

"Decidedly," said Isabel laughing.

"The begging and praying style, might answer" returned Grace scornfully,
"he always likes to be made a fuss with, and all that nonsense, if the
children do but kiss him, and call him a dear kind brother and such like
rubbish, he will do almost anything."

Now Grace don't say the children, when you mean me, interposed Emily,
I will not hear a word against Evvie, so don't be cross. I know you
always were a little jealous of his partiality for me."

"I am not cross, nor did I say anything against Everard," retorted Grace
haughtily "and as for partiality, where is the favouritism now."

"Oh well, I shall write such a letter that he can't but come."

"I wish you success with all my heart," returned Grace more good
naturedly, while Isabel gazed silently out of the window.

* * * * * * * *

"No answer to my letter yet, is it not strange said Emily as she joined
Isabel in her favourite retreat, the conservatory, "what do you think
about it, it makes me positively unhappy."

"Shall I tell you what I think" asked Isabel passing her arm round Emily
and continuing her walk.

"Do please, for you can't think how disagreeable it is, when Harry asks,
when Everard is coming, to have to give the same stupid answer, I expect
to hear every day."

"I don't think you will."

"Oh Isabel."

"No, I do not think he will write, but just quietly walk in one of these
days!"

"Do you really think so," asked Emily, her face radiant.

Isabel gave an affirmative nod.

"What makes you think so, Isabel?"

"I don't know, but I feel sure he will," she replied, turning away her
face.

"Isabel."

"Well, dear," said Isabel, with heightening color, still keeping her
face turned away, "tell me, was it because of you that Everard would not
come home."

"I don't know."

"Then you think, perhaps, it may be."

"It is very foolish to think so."

"Then you do think so," said Emily, archly.

"Oh, miss, I have found you out at last. What a sly one you are. I have
been watching you a long time, and thought you all unconscious how it
was with a certain party who shall be nameless. Oh I'm so glad."

"Glad that your brother is so unhappy?" Oh, Emily!

"No; glad that he need be so no longer."

"How do you mean?"

"How do I mean! Why how obtuse you are, Isabel."

"You run on too fast."

"Oh, not much. I found out how it was on his part long ago, and I shall
not be long before I tell him the result of my observations elsewhere."

"Tell him what?" asked Isabel, aghast,

"To go in and win," replied Emily, saucily.

"Emily, Emily! what are you saying--what do you mean?"

"Mean?" replied Emily, with a saucy nod, "to help on my pet scheme a
little, that's all."

"You never mean to say that you intend to--"

"Oh, but I do, though."

"Emily, if you dare!" cried Isabel, indignantly.

"Ah, but I shall."

"You shall not," said Isabel, grasping her arm, "you do not know what
you are about."

"Yes I do, perfectly well, and you will both thank me hereafter."

"Stop a moment; what is it you intend to tell him?"

"Only what I have found out--that all is as he wishes, so he need not be
afraid."

"You have not found out any such thing."

"Oh, have I not though?"

"Decidedly not. All you have discovered is, that I had some foolish idea
that it might possibly be on my account that he was not coming home.
That is all you could honestly tell him, and you will do more harm than
good if you do; depend upon it, you will only make matters worse by
interfering."

"Well, if it is to do no good, I would rather that he did not know I had
found out his secret, but keep it as I have done."

"Since when?" asked Isabel.

"Last spring, when we had to leave you on the rock, but of course I did
not let him see it."

"Then do not enlighten him now, you will only make him uncomfortable."

"You are right, but come tell me since when did you know."

"I have known a long time."

"But does he think you know."

Isabel was silent.

"Come, miss, how did you find out?"

"Don't, Emily," said Isabel, entreatingly.

"How did you know--did he tell you?"

"Is this generous?" asked Isabel, with burning cheeks."

"You don't mean to say that you refused him?" said Emily, turning her
blue eyes full upon Isabel, "that would be too cruel."

"Be quiet, Emily," implored Isabel.

"I see how it is now. Oh, Isabel, how could you?"

"Remember, Emily, I have told you nothing; you have found out my secret;
keep it better than you did your brother's."

"Oh, Isabel, I am sure I kept that well enough."

"Not so well as you must keep this. I am very, very sorry, for I feel
that I have not been sufficiently watchful, or you would I not have
suspected it. And he would be justly angry if he knew."

"Well, under the circumstances it would make no difference to you if he
was."

Isabel bit her lip and was silent, then said, "Emily, dear Emily,
promise me that you will try to forget this conversation, and never
mention it to any one."

"But Isabel when was it."

"I will answer no questions on that subject" more than enough has been
said already.

"What a rage Grace would be in, if she knew, well, well, I have my own
ideas."

"Have you indeed, and pray what would Grace be in a rage about if she
knew," asked a well known voice close to them.

Both young ladies started and crimsoned. "You see Emmy I could not
resist that letter, so here I am for a few days."

"Isabel was right" cried Emily triumphantly, "she said you would come
quietly in, one of these days."

"What made you think so," he asked.

"I felt sure of it, I cannot tell why, but I had a presentiment that you
would."

"May I hope that the wish was the origin of the thought," he said in a
low tone, as Emily turned to caress his dog, Hector.

"Certainly" she answered laughing. "I would not have Emily disappointed
on any account."

"Such a true prophet ought to be rewarded, don't you think so Emily,"
said Everard presenting Isabel with the first and only flower of a rare
foreign plant.

"I cannot accept it," replied Isabel, "the reward is more than the
prediction was worth."

"Oh no, it is not, I am sure you earned it," cried Emily clapping her
hands, and running off with Hector for a romp.

"Surely you will not refuse a flower" said Everard.

"But why that flower."

"Because it is the best."

"For that very reason, I cannot accept it."

"You are over scrupulous Miss Leicester."

"No, only prudent."

He looked hurt, "you will not refuse" he urged.

"I dare not accept it."

"Why."

"What would they think."

"If the truth,----, that the flower I valued most, I gave to the one I
loved best."

"Are you not venturing on forbidden grounds" asked Isabel with glowing
cheeks.

"Isabel you are cruel."

"I do not wish to pain you."

"Then accept my flower."

"No, were I to do so, I could only take it to your mother saying that
you wished it preserved."

"Would you do so Isabel," he exclaimed reproachfully.

"I should be obliged to do so, if I took it."

"Is it only this one you refuse."

"Or any other equally valuable and scarce."

Gathering a choice little bouquet he said "you will not refuse this
Isabel."

"Miss Leicester if you please sir," she replied as she took the flowers,
and hastened to the schoolroom. While Everard stood for a moment lost in
thought, then went to pay his respects to his mother, and present the
rejected flower, to the bride elect.

This was the last evening they would be alone, to-morrow the guests were
to arrive. Isabel did not always join them at dinner, and this evening
she intended to spend in the schoolroom to finish the reports, which Mr.
Arlington always liked to have when the holidays began, giving the
children leave to go in the drawing-room. But the best plans cannot
always be carried out. Isabel received a message from Mrs. Arlington
requesting her to join them at dinner, accompanied by a threat from
Harry, that if she did not they would all adjourn to the schoolroom,
of course she had to comply. However the evening passed off very
pleasantly, Everard was so much occupied with his mother and sisters,
that with the exception of making her sing all his favourite songs, he
paid even less than usual attention to Isabel.

CHAPTER XXII.

The children are on tiptoe of expectation, anxiously waiting the arrival
of the Mornington's, and numerous other guest's. Now the wished for
moment has come, what a delightful stir and confusion it has occasioned.
Rose is in ecstasy, and Amy wild with glee, even the quiet Alice seemed
to have caught the infection. It was to be a regular old fashioned Xmas.
Eve. All sorts of games and odd things, snap dragon, charades (for which
Harry and Lucy were famous) magic music, dancing, and even blindmans
buff was proposed but was over-ruled by the quieter members of the
party. 'Santa Claus' sent a bountiful supply of presents down the
chimney that night, which caused great merriment next day. For ladies
got smoking caps, and cigar-cases; while gentlemen received workboxes,
thimbles, and tatting-needles. Peter got a jester's cap and bells, which
he vowed was a dunce's cap intended for Rose, to that young lady's great
indignation. Tom had a primer, and a present for a good boy, and May
received a plain gold ring at which they all laughed very much, to May's
excessive annoyance. After breakfast they all went to church, and then
all who chose went to see the school children, who were enjoying
themselves immensely over their Xmas. fare. Then the sleighs were had
out for a glorious drive over the frozen snow, but Isabel refused to
join the party, preferring to stay quietly at home. To practise anthem's
with Everard, Grace said. Isabel had no such idea, but for all that they
did sing some anthems with the children, as Everard, who had taken a
very active part in the arrangements for the Sunday School feast, was
not of course one of the sleighing party, and returned some time before
them. The children sang very nicely, doing great credit to Isabel's
teaching, for which she was highly complimented by Everard.

"They ought to be much obliged to you, as they bid fair to surpass both
Grace and Emily," he said.

"Pray don't let Miss Arlington hear you say so, or she will never
forgive me."

"Oh never fear, she would not believe it, but I will be careful, as she
is already dreadfully jealous of you."

"Of me, how can she be, why should she."

"She has cause enough," he replied warmly, "but she should be more
magnanimous."

"I don't think it possible, I cannot imagine she could be so silly."

"It is plain enough to me, that she is."

"I don't see it, I confess."

"'Where ignorance is bliss,' he replied, with one of his usual
penetrating glances. "Yours must be a very happily constituted mind to
be so unconscious of all things disagreeable."

"Not quite so unconscious as you imagine, but I advise you not to fish
into troubled waters."

"Still waters run deep, you mean," he replied.

"Unfathomable," she said, and followed the children to the dining-room,
for they had gone there to see if the decorations were completed.
A right merry party sat down to dinner, sixty in number, all relations
or old friends. Here is Tom's description of the wedding nest day, which
he sent his friend:

DEAR DICK,--We are having jolly times here--rare fun on
Christmas-eve, I assure you. But the best of all was my brother's
wedding; eight bridesmaids, all as beautiful as sunshine. (I was a
best-man, of course.) The bride looked magnificent--(between you
and I, Dick, he has made a very good choice)--the rain and
sunshine style. I can't say I understand that kind of thing, but
on such occasions it tells immensely. (I admire one of the
bridesmaids amazingly, but mum's the word, mind.) But to speak of
the wedding. Governor Arlington is a liberal old fellow. Champagne
like water, and everything to match.

Your's truly, T. M.

Elm Grove was scarcely the same place to Isabel when Emily was gone. She
toiled on diligently with the children, but she found teaching anything
but pleasant. Often after a tedious day, when tired and weary, she would
gladly have laid down to rest her aching head and throbbing temples.
Mrs. Arlington would request that she would join them in the
drawing-room. Isabel did not consider herself at liberty to refuse,
besides she did not wish to encounter Mrs. Arlington's frowns next day;
and even when they were out, and she congratulated herself upon being
left in peace, Mr. Arlington (who seldom accompanied hem) would ask her
to sing some songs, or play a game of chess, and of course she had to
comply. This kind of life was very irksome to Isabel--so different to
what she had been accustomed to. She strove bravely with her fate, but
in spite of all her endeavors she often cried herself to sleep she felt
so desolate and alone. She had no home: there was no hearth where she
was missed, or her coming anxiously looked for. Then she would grieve
bitterly over the bright home she had lost, and the happy days gone, it
seemed, for ever; and then in the morning be angry with herself for her
ingratitude, remembering the blessings she still enjoyed, and how much
worse off she might be, and strive to be contented. A fresh cause for
disquietude arose, Grace evidently was jealous of her. Grace was
handsome, but she was aware that Isabel was more attractive. Grace sang
well, but she also knew that Isabel sang better, her voice was richer,
fuller, more melodious. She said that Isabel always wanted to show off,
and would look very incredulous and neutral when Isabel's performances
were praised. One gentleman in particular was very enthusiastic in his
praises. "But professional people are different you know," returned
Grace.

"Oh indeed, I was not aware that Miss Leicester was a professional
singer," he replied.

"Not a professional singer, she teaches singing," said Grace thinking
she was going a little too far.

"Indeed, where did you make her acquaintance, may I ask, you seldom hear
such a splendid voice."

"Oh she is our governess," replied Grace.

Turning to Isabel he said "you have a very fine voice Miss Leicester, if
you were to make your debut at one of our best operas, you would make
your fortune."

"I have no such idea," said Isabel, the indignant tears starting to her
eyes, "that is the last thing I should thing of doing, she added with a
reproachful look at Grace," but Grace seemed to be enjoying the whole
thing amazingly.

"I do not suppose that you have thought of it or you certainly would not
be a governess, with such a career open to you; with very little
training you might command almost any salary." Isabel was excessively
annoyed. "I assure you my dear young lady that it is worth your
consideration he continued.

"You mean well, no doubt, Mr. Bandolf, and I thank you for your kind
intentions; but the matter requires no consideration, I could not
entertain the idea for a moment" returned Isabel, and bowing coldly
opened a book of prints.

"You should not let pride prevent your worldly advancement," he added,
which only made her more angry than ever. For all this I have to thank
Miss Arlington she thought, and her feelings toward that young lady, at
that moment, were not the most charitable.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"No I am sure it never answers at least not in most cases and in ours it
would not I am convinced; but I had a pretty hard battle about it I
assure you Ada."

"I had no idea until now that they wished it" returned Ada. "but I am
very glad you did not agree to it."

(The matter under consideration was, if it were desirable that young
couples should reside with the parents of either; but Charles Ashton
knew his mother's disposition too well, to subject his wife to it,
though he was a very good son and loved his mother. He had no wish, nor
did he consider himself at liberty to place his wife in a position that
he knew might make her very unhappy. Nor did he think that such an
arrangement would promote domestic bliss. He was a particularly quiet
easy going fellow, very averse to exertion of any kind and seldom
troubled himself to oppose any arrangements, usually agreeing to any
proposition for the sake of peace and quietness. But for all that he had
a will of his own, and when he had once made up his mind, nothing on
earth could move him. Before he married he gave the matter careful
considertion, and came to the conclusion that it must never be--never
Ada would be his wife, and no mortal should breathe a word against her
in his hearing--therefore it must never be. Having come to this
conclusion he waited until the subject should be broached by either of
his parents, knowing very well that when that topic should be discussed,
then would come the tug of war, and he was not at all anxious for it. It
soon came however, his father proposed that he should bring his bride
there, saying, "there is plenty of room for all." But Charles was not so
sure of that, and feared that the house might possibly become too hot to
hold them, but merely stated quietly that he had decided otherwise. Then
arose a perfect storm, but he was firm. His mother asked with her
handkerchief to her eyes, if she was to lose her boy altogether. While
Lord Ashton requested to be informed what his plans might be.

"To live in England" he answered.

"What might be his objection to Ashton Park."

He had nothing to say against Ashton Park, but he wished to reside in
England.

Very well, they would go to England, and all live together, that would
be charming Lady Ashton said.

"He should like them to live in England, but as to living together, that
was out of the question," Charles replied.

"Whereupon Lady Ashton was highly offended and very angry. Charles was
quiet, but firm, all they could urge was useless, he would not hear of
it.) "It might answer in Arthur's case" he returned, by the way Ada is
it not strange we have never heard anything of them, poor Louisa,
I suppose boarding school did not answer her expectations, as she left
it so soon."

"Can you wonder at it, situated as she was."

"It was natural no doubt, and Arthur could be so winning, he always was
a favourite with the ladies."

"Oh well, he is a nice fellow you must admit."

"I don't deny it, I always liked him very much, but still I think that
sort of thing, is not right, but he always was impetuous, never
considered anything, but just acted on the spur of the moment, and he is
very soft hearted" he added laughing. "I wonder if the old gentleman
knows it."

"Your mother was always ambitious for him, don't you remember how afraid
she was about Isabel" asked Ada.

"Yes, and the daughter of his tutor does not come up to the mark."

"I should think her own daughter's child might at all events."

"But she never regards her in that light, never will I fear."

"Somebody wishes to see you Sir, very particularly please," said
Thomson.

"Who is it? Thomson."

"Don't know I'm sure Sir, she would not give any name, but is very
anxious to see you, I said you were engaged, but she replied I that she
must see you to-night, it was very important."

"What sort of a person is she?" asked Ada.

"A lady madam, quite a lady I should say, only in trouble, she says she
knew master in America."

"I must see her, I suppose, where is she."

"In the study, sir."

The stranger was standing by the fire-place, as he entered she made an
impatient gesture for him to close the door, then threw herself at his
feet passionately imploring him to help and protect her, and throwing
aside her thick vail, disclosed the features of Louisa, but so altered
that he was perfectly shocked and amazed. He could scarcely believe that
the haggered emaciated being before him, was indeed the pretty,
impulsive, fiery, Louisa, but such was the case, and anger, compassion
and indignation filled his heart, as he listened to the recital of her
misfortunes.

As the reader is already acquainted with a portion of Louisa's story,
we will not repeat it here, but only record such circumstances as have
not appeared in these pages. On arriving at her grandfather's she
encountered a storm of angry abuse, and was driven from the door with a
stern command never to return, as she had forfeited all claims upon him,
and might die in a ditch for all he cared. She managed to get about a
mile from the house, and then overcome with fatigue and misery she sank
down exhausted.

How long she remained there she had no idea, when she recovered she was
among strangers, who were very kind. She had had a brain fever, and was
in the hospital When asked for the address of her friends, she replied
that she had none. But afterward she remembered that her Uncle Charles
had always been kind to her, and had occasionally procured her little
indulgences from her stern, cold-hearted, grand-mother, and that it had
been mainly through his interference that she had been sent to school.
She therefore determined to seek his aid, and accept a small loan from
the doctor, to enable her to do so, long and weary had the journey been,
and she implored Charles not to send her away. She knew she said that it
would not be for long, and entreated him to let her die in peace.

Charles assured her that she should want for nothing, and commended her
for coming to him, and expressed in no measured terms his disapprobation
of his father's cruel conduct, but was abruptly silenced by Louisa
falling senseless on the floor. His violent ringing of the bell, brought
not only the servants, but Ada also, to his assistance; medical aid was
quickly procured. That night her child was born, and when morning
dawned, Louisa lay still and cold in that last long sleep from which no
mortal could awake her. Sleep in thy marble beauty, poor little Louisa,
and perhaps that sad fate may soften the hearts of thy cruel
grandparent. Oh not as it has been fulfilled did the dying Evangeline
understand the promise made with regard to the little Louisa. Oh how
often was the stillness of the night broken by the bitter sobs of the
desolate little orphan whose aching heart sought for love in vain. Then
can we wonder that when this lonely one, did find one to love, that she
should willingly listen to his persuasions in hopes of a happy future,
rather than endure any longer such a cheerless existence.

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