The Life Of Thomas Wanless, Peasant Part 6

Naturally a career of this kind cost much, and soon Lady Harriet was driven to her wits' end to find her son the means he demanded, and at the same time to hide his extravagance from his father. The old man was growing stupid, but not on the side of lavishness. On the contrary, he clung to his money the more tenaciously, the more he felt that, and all other earthly goods slipping from him, and woke to snappish inquisitiveness when his name was wanted at the bottom of a cheque.

For a time Cecil's mother smuggled considerable sums for her boy through the household accounts, and by pinching herself in the matter of new clothes and jewels, managed to keep him afloat. But soon his wastefulness went far beyond the range of such petty expedients. From hundreds his losses grew to thousands, and she was in despair. Again and again did she beseech her darling to be careful, to restrain himself, to have pity on her grey hairs. She might as well have prayed to the church steeple. Cecil abused her, and told her that he would have money, get it how he might; if she did not give it him the Jews would, and it would be the worse for her. Sometimes she thought she must tell his father, but the courage and truth of heart were alike wanting for a course so open.

Once she threatened Cecil with this dreaded alternative, and he wrote back that he did not see why she could not put his father's name to a cheque, and be done with it. And he spoke of the old man's grasping tendencies in terms unfit for transcription.

Verily, Nemesis was overtaking this poor woman, and bitter care had become her familiar friend, though she knew hardly the fringe of her son's iniquity. He weltered in a pool of corruption, caring for n.o.body, loving no one but himself, despising natural affection, trampling it under his feet with the unconsciousness of a demon, and crying for money, money, as a horse leech seeks for blood. Such are some of the characteristics of the family under whose roof the daughter of Thomas Wanless now found herself, a stranger, bewildered with the splendour around her, and the signs of a wealth greater than her imagination had ever conceived.

CHAPTER IX.

TELLS AN OLD, OLD STORY.

Sarah Wanless did not quite suit the housekeeper, Mrs. Weaver, as still-room maid. She was not sufficiently acquainted with the work, and got flurried when the deputy tyrant of the household scolded her, which, after the first few days, was many times a-day. So, after a month of this purgatory, she was transferred to the nursery as under-nurse to the children of Lady Harriet's daughter, Mrs. Morgan. There her position was in some respects improved, though the head nurse was a woman of vulgar instincts, and given to nagging, as women verging on forty, face to face with old maidhood, often are. Doubtless she had had her sorrows and disappointments, and felt that the world had been unkind to her--a feeling which justifies much unloveliness here below in other folks than old maids.

However, Sally endured her lot in hope, and soon began to find a certain pleasure in her work, for she liked children. There were two boys and a girl, the girl being youngest, and at this time two years old. The drudgery was, therefore, less severe than if there had been babies in arms, and, as the children were not naturally ill disposed, though imperious as became their birth, they and the new nurse soon got on very well together. Part of every fine day was spent out of doors, and that also helped to make petty troubles bearable. It is only bitter care and sorrow that seem heavier under G.o.d's sky than within four walls. At first the upper nurse always formed one of the party, and was rather a nuisance in her persistent endeavours to check what she called "ungenteel beayvour." Her voice was a chorus ever intruding with "Master Morgan, you mustn't do this," or, "Miss Ethel, you shocking girl, don't beayve so," and the key did not conduce to harmony, but, like every other discord in the world, it deafened the ears that heard, and the young ones enjoyed themselves in spite of it.

Nor did this drawback last long, for, some three months after Sarah entered the nursery, fate, or the spirit of mischief, ordered things so that the head nurse once more fell in love. The object of her mature affection was the new farm bailiff, a gigantic Welshman some few years her junior, and the prosecution of their courtship made the presence of Sarah inconvenient. As a stroke of policy, therefore, she was often sent off with the two elder children to wander through the park and gardens, or into the woods, as the whims of the children or her own might dictate, while the "baby," as the youngster was still called, went with the other nurse in quest of Mr. Peac.o.c.k. Then Sarah was in bliss. She danced along with the little ones, singing as she went, romped around the old park trees or through thickets, and often brought her charges home splashed and dirty, with their clothes all torn, but in a state of delight not to be described. And the scoldings that ensued did not somehow hurt Sarah's feelings much. Life was strong within her, and her heart was light.

All this time, in fact, Sally Wanless was developing into a lovely woman. Her slim, rather lanky figure grew rounder and increased in gracefulness. Her face, ah! how many a lordly dame would have envied her, would have thanked Heaven for a daughter with such a face! It was impossible to look on it and not be struck with its beauty. Her complexion was fair like her mother's, but her features resembled her father's. The face was a fine soft oval, the nose aquiline, the brow perhaps narrower than strong intellect demanded, but high and open, and the eyes of greyish blue were large and full of dancing mirth. A certain sensuousness lay hid in the lines of the mouth, but it betokened rather an unformed character than a bent of disposition. Under the right guidance, Sally's mouth might yet grow as firm in its lines as her father's. Poor la.s.s, would she get that guidance?

Well, well, think not of evil now. Try rather to picture this fair peasant maiden in your mind. Behold her all innocent as she is, romping through the park with the children, dressed in her clean, neat, print gown, with her rich brown hair perhaps broken loose and tossing about her shoulders as she runs. .h.i.ther and thither, chased by the shouting little ones. And as you look, remember that this fair la.s.s was but a peasant's child, born to serfdom at the best. Between her and those children there was hardly a human bond.

Think not of evil, I have said; and yet at this very time much evil was at hand for poor Sally. Just as I have set her before you, all rosy and bright with exercise, she ran full tilt one day almost into the arms of Captain Cecil Wiseman. The captain was lounging along with his gun under his arm, smoking a pipe of wonderful device, and with a couple of setters at his heels, who barked half in surprise at the sudden apparition. Sarah came rushing from behind a clump of rhododendrons, and almost fell at the Captain's feet, through the violent wrench she gave herself to avoid a collision. Cecil Wiseman opened his heavy eyes, stared in impudent wonder for a moment, and then, as if moved to involuntary respect by what he saw, doffed his hat, and mumbled something or other, Sally did not wait to hear what. Blushing all over her already flushed face, she darted off to hide her confusion, followed by the shouting children, from whom she had been fleeing.

After that meeting the captain suddenly found his nephews and niece interesting. He condescended to play with them so often, that his mother began to take heart. Her son was going to turn out a fine fellow, after all, and, poor boy, she had perhaps been too hard on him for his wild oat sowing. It was part of the education of gentlemen in his position, and, no doubt, contributed to endow them with that contempt for the feelings of the common people proper to aristocrats. So Lady Harriet was happier. Her son found means to come home oftener, and stayed longer when he did come. He even took some interest in the affairs of the estate, went to church occasionally, and asked some of the farmers'

names.

Never for a moment did Cecil's mother imagine that he was merely engaged in stalking down the under nurse of his sister's children, and that the greater the difficulty he experienced in doing so, the more his pa.s.sion incited him to acts of apparent self-denial. He grew an adept in hypocrisy in order to put the girl, his mother, everyone, off the scent, and it became positively astonishing to see how his habits changed, and his wits sharpened, under the stimulus of this now exciting hunt. He displayed cunning and ingenuity of device worthy of a better cause.

In early summer, for example, he spent whole mornings teaching the two elder children to ride, walking or trotting with them all round the park, and to all appearance heedless of the nurse girl, who was left alone with the youngest, when her superior chose to be elsewhere. At other times, if he met her with the children, which was often enough,--it seemed to be always by chance,--he would be busy discussing horticulture with the gardener, fishing, or going for a row on the pond, off to the warren to shoot, always occupied, and always ready to express noisy surprise at finding the "pups" there, as he called the little ones. When he went on wet days to play in the children's room, it was always in company with his sister, who, however, was usually driven off within a few minutes of her entrance, by the row that "Uncle"

systematically started.

All this and much more, Captain Cecil Wiseman, the n.o.bly born aristocrat, put himself to the trouble to do, and suffer, in order that he might work the ruin of an innocent, unsuspecting, country maiden. For long, he had no apparent success, for Sally Wanless was shielded by her very innocence, and she was also very shy, so that it was most difficult to get near her. By degrees, however, she became familiar with the Captain's face and figure, and his presence ceased to be either repulsive to her or to frighten her. Not very tall, heavy in make, and, with fluffy, sodden features, and a skin already over red from dissipation, Captain Cecil was by no means an attractive person. His voice, too, was harsh, and his eye evil. For all that, patience and cunning carried the day. Labouring incessantly to throw the girl off her guard, he succeeded, and as soon as he had done so, he knew the game to be in his own hands. It is a terrible mystery this power which evil-minded men gain over women. They fascinate them, as snakes are said to fascinate birds, till they become powerless, and fall helpless and abandoned into the jaws of destruction.

By slow degrees then the captain drew Sally into his power, and seduced her. He had stalked his game, with more than a hunter's patience, but he triumphed. Bewildered, surprised, horrified, the poor girl scarcely knew what had befallen her, felt only a vague dread and consciousness that somehow, for her, the world was all altered, that where joy and hope had been, there was now the ashes of a burnt-out fire. Ah, poor young la.s.s, this squire's son, this n.o.ble captain of Her Majesty's Dragoon Guards, had done his best to destroy you, body and soul, and boasted of the deed. In proportion, as the task was hard, he exulted at his success.

To destroy the life of a virtuous girl was almost a greater triumph to him than to be first in at the death of a fox. To win this triumph he had stooped to lies black as h.e.l.l, and cared not. His end gained, his interest in his victim at once sank, and soon he hated the sight of her sad, tear-swollen face. Ah, G.o.d! that these things should be, and men have no shame for the shameless seducer, no horror of his blasting career.

But had this maiden no guilt, then? Yes, she had guilt of a kind. She was inclined to be vain of her beauty, and her betrayer fastened on that weakness. His flattery pleased her, till she grew, half unconsciously, proud that so fine a gentleman as this captain creature should notice her. This pride begat conceit and a foolish confidence in herself that made her betrayal easy. After what her parents had taught her, she ought to have known better. True pride, a jealous care for her womanhood, should have possessed her. Instead of that she grew giddy, and so was allured to her destruction, like the moth to the candle. Thus far she was guilty; but wilt thou condemn her, O censor? And if so, what of the man? Is it not strange that he, so much more guilty, should go scatheless; that to "society," as the froth at the top insolently calls itself, this base creature, this loathsome seducer, should be as good as ever? For him the lofty mothers of the aristocracy would have no censure, in him their daughters, should whispers of his deeds reach their ears, would have a livelier interest. Amongst most people he would bear repute as a "man of gallantry," a "dreadful lady-killer;" at worst, a "rake" of the dirt-heroic kind that heightened rather than otherwise his eligibility as a match for the fairest of the daughters exhibited for sale in the markets of Belgravia and Mayfair. A man that could ruin a country maiden and then fling her from him, all heedless of her broken heart, with no more thought of her than if she had been a dead dog, must, in the view of society, be a man of spirit. As for the ruined one--faugh! speak not of a thing so repulsive. Let her die in the street.

CHAPTER X.

BRINGS THE READER BACK TO THE RESPECTABILITIES OF THE PARSONAGE.

After the high-born Captain Cecil Wiseman had accomplished his purpose, Sarah Wanless lost her attraction for him. With a fiendish guile he had tracked her down, and now that the chase was over, the victory won, why should he bother himself further? Sarah's beauty was not less; nay, was rather enhanced by the new sadness that shaded her face; but the Captain hardly looked at her again. These confounded wenches were so given to whimpering, and this serene aristocrat hated "scenes." Had Sally been bold and of brazen iniquity, like many of the stained ones he knew in the greenrooms of London theatres, she might possibly have held this l.u.s.t-consumed reptile a little longer in her power, but being only a simple village maiden slowly awakening to the horror of the fate that had befallen her, the sight of her tearful face made him avoid her. What had he to do with the consequences of sin and folly? Was not the world bound to make his vices pleasant to him?

This thoroughbred captain in Her Majesty's Dragoon Guards left Sally then, and sought other attractions, his appet.i.te whetted by his success.

Even as he snared Sarah Wanless his roving eye had sighted other game.

The vicar's wife, Mrs. Codling, had several daughters whom, like a judicious mother, she was anxious to marry well. These the Captain had deigned to notice somewhat in the course of his long visits at the Grange while Sally's destruction was in progress. At church more than once his greedy eye had rested on the vicar's pew with a hard gaze of admiration, and on week days his footsteps had begun to stray towards the vicarage often enough to set Mrs. Codling's brain a-scheming. It would be indeed a triumph, she felt, if the heir of Squire Wiseman could be got to marry one of her daughters. But that was a job which needed the most delicate handling, for if Lady Harriet got wind of her designs, the consequences would be more than Mrs. Codling felt able to face. At the best the parson's daughter would have been considered no fit match for so great a personage as this ill-doing guardsman, but, as things were, the very idea of such a marriage would have been received at the Grange with unutterable scorn.

Times were in many ways changed with the vicar since that day now long past, when his soft, fat hands were uplifted in holy repulsion of the horrible rabbit-slaying criminal who stood before him doomed. For one thing he had gathered a family around him, and for another he had been overtaken by poverty--a poverty that came of greed. The living of Ashbrook was worth in money about 250 a year, and there was a good vicarage with a large garden and paddock, so that altogether Mr.

Codling was as well off in the country as he would have been with 500 a year in town. To this income, itself above starvation point many degrees, Mrs. Codling had added an income of nearly 2,000, which made the home more than comfortable. A contented man would have been very happy with such a provision, judged even by the standard of the _Spectator_, which admires Christianity with a well filled purse, but Mr. Codling wanted more, like most parsons. One would think from the eagerness shown by such to possess themselves either of rich wives or of large incomes made out of nothing, that somehow Christianity and poverty are things that cannot exist together. Luxury is certainly essential to the true faith of the majority of modern parsons. Without it they shrivel up, grow morose, full of evil thoughts, such as envy and malice, and instead of an example are a warning.

Parson Codling, then, took the common clerical fever. During the railway mania he saw men spring suddenly from poverty to great wealth, and very soon came to the conclusion that nothing would be easier than for him to do as they did. Entirely ignorant of the game of speculation, Codling took to speculating with the fearlessness of a master in the art, and following a common rut of fortune, he for a time succeeded. One land speculation in which he joined, and where the shareholders of a new line of railway were fleeced of fabulous thousands, cleared him, it was said, about 1800, and he did well with sundry purchases of shares. Naturally, success made him bolder. He bought anything and everything, became an expert user of stock exchange slang, and deeply versed in the "rigs"

and dodges of the share market. Some of the squires around began to envy him, others cursed him for a nuisance, but still he made money, and no doubt would have gone on making it indefinitely had somebody always been found ready to buy when he wanted to sell. Unluckily for him, the day came when he could not sell at any price, and as he had been lifted clean off his feet by the elation of his early speculative successes, he only came back to the hard earth to find himself ruined. The crisis of 1847 did not break out without much foreshadowing to prudent men, but to the Rev. Josiah Codling it came like the trumpet of doom. Till the very last he clung to the hope that a rise in the share markets would set him free. That fatal October therefore pa.s.sed like a whirlwind, leaving Codling stripped of all he had previously made and some 40,000 in debt.

To save him from public exposure and disgrace, his wife had to part with nearly all her property in Worcester, and they were glad, ultimately, to escape with as much as yielded about 200 a-year beyond the value of the living. Had all the creditors been fairly paid they would not have retained a penny, but Codling struggled and wheedled, and, it is said, shed copious floods of tears over his hard fate, until pitying people let him go.

Such an untoward end of the glorious visions in which the vicar had indulged naturally embittered his home circle. Mrs. Codling could not forgive her lord for ruining her, and took to reviling the poor wretch early and late. The miserable fellow would have borne his misfortunes ill enough even if sympathised with. Being reviled, he bore them not at all. He drowned them in drink. At first he stupified himself with brandy; but that proving too dear for his means, he relapsed to gin, and led a sodden existence.

All too late his wife saw the blunder she had made, and tried to wean him back to sobriety. Failing in that, her pride and cunning came to the rescue. She smothered her tears and veiled her sorrows before the world, hiding at the same time her husband's infirmity as much as possible from the public eye. The lot was hard, her punishment severe, but she braced herself to it with a woman's patient courage, and straightway opened her heart to new hopes and dreams of better days to come. Henceforth the aim of her life must be to get her four daughters settled in life. Alas! the settlements would need to be humbler now than those she had once dreamed of. The tables of the great ones of the parish were not now open to them as they had been before her money had gone, and before Codling took to drink. There was not even a barrack in the neighbourhood, with its successive bevies of foolish young officers to prey upon--only Leamington with its dawdling crowds of n.o.bodies. Ah, well, the most had to be made of the opportunities that offered.

These being the circ.u.mstances of the family at the vicarage, this the mental att.i.tude of Mrs. Codling, who could wonder that her soured spirit rose once more within her with a feeling akin to grat.i.tude towards a merciful providence, when Captain Wiseman came in her way? Despair had sometimes nearly marked her down for his prey, and lo! here was the Prince of the fairy tale. Dresses were forthwith obtained for the girls such as they had not worn for years, for happily their mother had still a few jewels left which she could p.a.w.n or sell. And being handsome girls--two of them particularly so--they soon attracted a good deal of the roving guardsman's attention. At first a little flirtation with them gave a pleasant variety to his existence, rendered just a little monotonous by the labour of stalking down Sally Wanless. The shrewd mother contrived that his opportunities should be frequent. The old pony chaise was furbished up anew and the girls took to driving the fat, wheezy, old pony about the country in a manner new and far from agreeable to it. In this way they managed to cross the Captain's trail much after his own style with Sally. During that winter he hunted a good deal, and the Codling girls developed an enthusiasm for the sport which made them haunt meets far and near. Months before the Captain flung Sarah from him he had thus become familiar with the sight of these girls, and no sooner was she well destroyed than he began to develop a preference for the youngest but one--Adelaide or Adela Codling. Miss Adela was a buxom, roystering, kind of girl, of handsome features, light brains, and abundant animal spirits. Already, though but nineteen, she had a reputation amongst her acquaintances of being what the pump-room gossip of Leamington styled "fastish." She affected _outre_ fashion in dress, and was always ready to lead a revolt against established proprieties. To play the boisterous hoyden at a harvest home or farmer's Christmas dance, where she could scandalise all the sober domestic virtue of the parish and make every buxom farmer's la.s.s wild with jealousy by her extravagant flirtations with the young men, delighted Miss Adelaide beyond measure.

This free young lady was most to the Captain's taste of all the four, but her mother felt disappointed at the preference. It not only left the eldest girl out in the cold, but made Mrs. Codling's task more dangerous. Adela had no prudence, and unripe plans might become known to Lady Harriet through her folly. Besides, her ladyship would probably be harder to persuade into accepting Adela as a daughter-in-law than any of the other three.

So thought the prudent, anxious mother; but she was too wise to interfere. A risk must be taken in any case, and she resolved to let the captain have his way, bracing herself to greater vigilance and higher flights of matrimonial diplomacy than ever. And she found a much more efficient ally in the Captain than she had expected. Men, in her opinion, were never prudent in love matters, but this man was as cautious as a diplomat on a secret mission. It did not suit him any more than Mrs. Codling that his mother should scent danger in his visits to the vicarage. In such a place as Ashbrook and in ordinary circ.u.mstances all their care would have gone for nothing; but, happily for their plans, her ladyship did not go out much now, and called seldom on any of her neighbours. Her husband, the estate, her miserable son, any one of them would have given her grief or work enough to keep her well at home.

When she went abroad, therefore, it was generally for an hour's drive out and home, or to Leamington or Warwick on business.

Just now she was struggling hard not to lose the dream of hope that had for a short time gladdened her heart about her boy, and was failing in the effort. Notwithstanding his long visits to the Grange, his demands for money continued to be insatiable. He always put his necessities down to the bad conduct of the Jews. They had got him fast, he said, and would give him no peace. But as bill after bill got paid, only to be succeeded by a new crop, Lady Harriet began to doubt the truth of this tale, and in her unhappiness shut herself up more than ever. The Captain had only to spend a little of the money wrung from his mother in bribing her maid, and he was free to destroy all the women of the parish if he chose.

CHAPTER XI.

REVEALS THE SORROWS OF A MERE PEASANT MAIDEN.

Lady Harriet did not even hear of her son's ongoings with Sally Wanless, though to the menials of her household and the gossips of the village they had furnished for months back one of the most delightful and engrossing topics of conversation that the oldest among them had ever been permitted to share in. It was better than the most sensational romance of the _London Journal_; for was not this drama being acted out before their very eyes? They took the same delight in it, though keener and deeper, that they would have taken in any sport involving the death of the weaker creature, and few among them cared in the least for the girl whose danger they failed not to see. Among the young her beauty excited envy, and they virtuously rejoiced that her pride would yet bring her sorrow. All, young and old, loved an intrigue for itself; and would not have spoiled their sport for the world. The servants at the Grange carried their tales to the village, and the village gossips drew together in the fields, on the road, by the pump, at cottage doors, to roll the sweet morsel of scandal under their tongues.

All this time Sarah's parents were kept in ignorance of what was afoot.

Neither dreamt of danger to their daughter, because neither was aware of the fiend who pursued her. As for Sarah herself, she behaved better after she had begun to feel the spell of the Captain's fascination upon her than before; was more demure and obedient. This she was half unconsciously, half from a wish to propitiate her father and mother in view of she knew not what.

Pausing not to think, heedless of the smiles and whispers, the nods and winks that greeted her wherever she went, all of them signs full of warning to one disposed to alarm, free, happy-hearted Sally Wanless plunged into the abyss.

Ruined and forsaken, she came to herself only to find that she had entered a new world. Sorrow and darkness dwelt within where light had been; and around her all was changed. The silent hints of her fellow servants gave place to open taunts and scorn. None pity a fallen woman so little as her fellow women, and Sally's fellow servants were not long in making her life an unrelieved agony. The bloom forsook her cheek, her step became listless, her eyes dull and sunken. She literally withered before her tormentors, and they pitied her not.

A change so great soon attracted the attention of her parents, especially as for a little time her manner in her visits to them became suddenly dashed with recklessness. The wretched girl, in trying to be her old self, was, like a bad actor, overdoing her part. Her parents grew uneasy, and the uneasiness gave place to alarm when Sally grew pale and silent. Afraid to speak, hoping it might be some cross in love matters, which most young la.s.ses experience, both her father and mother yearned after their daughter. At length the accidental discovery of some trumpery trinket of the Captain's, which Sally wore round her neck, led to the revelation of all their daughter's peril and loss, although the knowledge came too late.

The ribbon by which the trinket hung had become loose, and it fell on the floor. Before Sally could pick it up, her mother's hand was on it.

Holding it to the light, she found that it was a gaudy looking locket, and instantly demanded where Sally had got this. Taken by surprise Sally answered at once,

"From Captain Wiseman."