CONTRABAND
OR
A Losing Hazard.
By G. J. WHYTE-MELVILLE,
AUTHOR OF "DIGBY GRAND," "CERISE," "THE WHITE ROSE," ETC.
_NEW EDITION._
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1871.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I.--RAIN-CLOUDS 1
II.--AN ALLIANCE 10
III.--SIR HENRY HALLATON 18
IV.--AMAZONS 27
V.--A OUTRANCE 43
VI.--"TERRARUM DOMINOS" 54
VII.--FRANK 64
VIII.--JUNE ROSES 73
IX.--TOUCH AND GO 82
X.--AFLOAT 96
XI.--MANOEUVRING 107
XII.--THE SYREN 119
XIII.--SUNDAY IN LONDON 131
XIV.--POST-TIME 138
XV.--BETWEEN CUP AND LIP 147
XVI.--"A FACER" 156
XVII.--DISTRACTIONS 166
XVIII.--ATTRACTIONS 178
XIX.--A DRAWN BATTLE 188
XX.--A RECONNAISSANCE 198
XXI.--THE SOHO BAZAAR 209
XXII.--KIDNAPPING 219
XXIII.--"STRANGERS YET" 229
XXIV.--GREENWICH 241
XXV.--HOW THEY MISSED HER 248
XXVI.--IN SAMARIA 258
XXVII.--A HOUSEHOLD KATE 267
XXVIII.--"TENDER AND TRUE" 276
XXIX.--DAYBREAK 285
XXX.--"REMORSEFUL" 294
XXXI.--REPENTANT 303
XXXII.--"RECLAIMED" 312
CONTRABAND;
OR, A LOSING HAZARD.
CHAPTER I.
RAIN-CLOUDS.
"In confidence, Sir Henry----"
"In confidence, Mrs. Lascelles, of course. I think you can depend upon
_me_." And Sir Henry, as directed by a weather-beaten guide-post, turned
into a narrow lane on his homeward way, while the lady with whom he had
been riding, jogged her tired horse gently along the high road, absorbed
in thoughts, pleasant, suggestive, engrossing--not precisely in "maiden
meditation," for she was a widow--nor yet, although she was nearer
thirty than twenty, wholly "fancy free."
Mrs. Lascelles loved her horse dearly, and had been riding him with the
liberality and confidence that spring from true affection, in a
lady-like manner no doubt, and gracefully enough, but with considerable
daring, and no small expenditure of pace. The good generous animal had a
perfect right to be tired, having borne his precious burden honourably
and safely close to hounds as long as a stout old fox could live before
them, and had fairly earned the caresses she lavished on his
toil-stained crest and shoulders, while the hoof-tread of his late
companion died out in the distance. Mrs. Lascelles, I have said, loved
her horse dearly. For the first time in her life, perhaps, she was
beginning to find out she could love something better than her horse.
The light waned rapidly. Heavy clouds, gathering in the west, sailed up
steadily on the moaning wind that so often in our English winter rises
with set of sun. The day had been sad-coloured and overcast, delightful
for hunting purposes, but for every other pursuit melancholy in the
extreme, and evening was drawing on, sadder, gloomier, and more
disheartening than the day. Certain elms and ashes that skirted the high
road trembled in every leafless limb, shivering and whispering together,
as if they too were moved by ghostly forebodings of cold and darkness to
come. Why should Mrs. Lascelles have looked so radiant and happy? How
had been kindled that light in her blue eyes; and what, in the name of
chaste Diana, could have occurred during a day's hunting thus to fix and
deepen the colour in her cheek? Was it that she loved to recall the
stirring memories of the last few hours--the joyous rally of the find,
the dash and music of the hounds, the pace, the pastures, the glorious
turns and windings of the chase? Or was it that she had her own private
successes to register, her own secret triumphs to record, exulting that
she too had hunted her fox fairly in the open, and was running into him
at last?
Rose Lascelles, like many another who has squared her life to the rule
of expediency rather than right, was a woman thrown away. An ambitious
girl, in her marriage with Mr. Lascelles, now deceased, she had been
guided by her desire for social advancement, rather than by individual
preference, or even a taste for domestic life. He was young, handsome,
agreeable--a finished man of the world--thoroughly selfish; and some
women would have loved him dearly, but for Rose Vanneck he was simply
an eligible partner as heir to a good fortune and a title. So he treated
her very badly, outraged her feelings, brought all sorts of people into
her drawing-room, spent her money recklessly as his own, and finally
drank himself to death, just six months too early to make his wife a
peeress; having lived long enough, however, to leave her in the
enjoyment of as comfortable a jointure as if he had succeeded to the
title, and so far content with her lot that she appreciated the thorough
independence of her position; for who is so completely her own mistress
as a childless widow, young and attractive, with a balance at her
bankers?
It is needless to say she had many suitors. Independent of her
well-filled purse, the lady's own charms were powerful enough to collect
men of all ages, stations, and characters in her train. The clear blue
eyes so bright, so frank, might have seemed hard and cold, but for the
dark pencilled lashes that shaded their lower as richly as their upper
rims; the white even teeth would have been too broad and strong, but for
the sweet red lips that disclosed them so graciously in half-saucy,
half-confiding, and wholly winning smiles. There might have been a shade
too much of colour in her cheek, of auburn in her hair, but that health
and rich vitality so obviously imparted to each its lustre and its
bloom. There was nobility in her arched brows and regular Norman
features, just as there were grace and dignity in her tall, well-rounded
figure; nevertheless, something beyond and independent of these physical
advantages gifted her with a peculiar fascination of her own. She seemed
to bloom in the natural freshness and fragrance of a flower, a meadow,
or a landscape; bright and healthy as a cow in a June pasture, a child
from its morning tub, as Venus herself glowing and radiant, emerging
like a sunrise from the eastern sea!
Such a woman was pretty sure to obtain her full share of admiration in
any society. Perhaps nowhere would her conquest be more general and more
permanent than in the hunting-field. When she came down from London by
train for the enjoyment of her favourite amusement with the Bragford
hounds, lords, commoners, squires, yeomen, farmers, and horse-breakers,
combined in yielding her a general ovation. To break a fence for Mrs.
Lascelles; to open a gate for Mrs. Lascelles; to show Mrs. Lascelles the
narrowest part of the brook, or the soundest side of the ford, was a
pride, a pleasure, and a privilege to "all who buckled on the spur." If
Mrs. Lascelles had sustained a fall, which Heaven forbid! or otherwise
come to grief by flood or field, saddles would have been emptied,
stalwart scarlet arms been extended, and whiskers of every hue known to
art or nature, would have stood on end with dismay, ere a single hair of
that dainty auburn head should have touched the earth.
Of course they fell in love with her by scores. Of course, too, the man
who paid her least attention, the man whose whole thoughts seemed
centred in himself, his boots, his horses, and his riding, found most
favour in her wilful woman's heart. That was why to-day she had refused
point-blank to become the wife of a much younger man, rich,
good-hearted, actual partner in a bank, possible member for a county;
that was why she had imparted this refusal, "in confidence, Sir Henry,"
to the companion of her homeward ride, and gathered, from the manner in
which her narrative was received, hopes that sent the light dancing to
her eyes, the blood rising to her brain.
What she saw in Sir Henry it passes my knowledge of feminine nature to
explain. He was twenty years older than herself, grey, worn, and
withered; showing such marks of dissipation and hard living on his
sunken features as had nearly obliterated every trace of the good looks
which were now a matter of history. Twice a widower, with a grown-up
family, an impoverished estate, and not the best of characters, Mrs.
Lascelles could scarce have selected a less eligible admirer amongst the
troops of light horsemen who aspired weekly to her favour; but she had
chosen to set her heart on him nevertheless, and in her whole life had
not felt so happy as to-day, when she flung down "in confidence," the
precious pearls that had been offered her, before the unclean animal,
who should hereafter turn and rend her for her pains. Women seldom give
away their hearts unasked. When they are so liberal, I think the gift is
usually without reserve; though even if accepted, like many other
priceless things, it is rarely valued at its worth. Sir Henry never told
Mrs. Lascelles he cared for her; but habit is second nature--and he had
made so much love in his life that his manner to all women had
insensibly acquired a certain softness and tenderness, which perhaps
constituted the only charm left by a youth spent in ease,
self-indulgence, and the luxury of doing as much harm as lay in his
power. She thought, no doubt, she had at last succeeded in winning the
one heart she coveted; and undismayed by grizzled whiskers, grown-up
daughters, or an impoverished estate, rode soberly along, lost in a rosy
dream that caused the tired horse, the coming rain, the gathering night,
to seem but so many delightful ingredients of a day taken out of
Paradise express for the occasion.
Mrs. Lascelles, as behoved her sex and position, went hunting with
becoming pomp, accompanied by a groom, whose duty it was, so far as his
powers of equitation permitted, to keep close to his mistress during the
day. In addition to this functionary, other servants were disposed and
dotted about at different posts,--such as the railway station, the
country-inn, where a carriage was left with dry things, the stable where
her hunters stood, and the terminus in London, where a brougham awaited
her return.
Altogether, a day's hunting involved the employment of some half-dozen
people, and the expenditure of as many pounds. With all this forethought
it was not surprising that she should have found herself riding home at
nightfall, alone and unattended, perfectly satisfied nevertheless with
her situation, and utterly forgetful of the groom, whose horse had lost
a shoe, and who was to overtake her as soon as another had been put on.
So she patted her favourite's neck, smiled, sighed, shook her head, and
relapsed into a brown study and a walk.
The rain gave her but little warning. Two or three large drops fell on
the sleeves of her habit, then came a squall and a driving shower, such
as wets the best broadcloth through and through in less than five
minutes. Even the good horse shook his ears in mute protest; and Mrs.
Lascelles was fain to sidle him under the hedge, cowering for as much
shelter as could be got from the ivy-covered stem of a stunted pollard
tree.
People have different ideas of pleasure. For some, the most
uncomfortable incidents of the chase borrow a charm from the seductive
pursuit to which they are unavoidable drawbacks. The infatuated votary
accepts falls, lame horses, drenched garments, long rides in the dark,
considerable fatigue, and occasional peril of body, with an equanimity
marvellous to the uninitiated; and only to be accounted for by the
strange perversity of human nature when in headlong pursuit of an idea.
Perhaps, after all, the career of life is not inaptly represented by a
run with hounds. Difficulties to be surmounted and risks to be
encountered add infinitely to the zest of both. In each, there are
unremitting exertions to get forward, a constant strain to be nearer and
yet nearer some imaginary place of prominence and superiority--an
emulation mellowed by good-fellowship with those whom we like and
respect for their very efforts to surpass ourselves--a keen excitement
damped only by vague wonder that the stimulant should be so powerful, by
dim misgivings of which the fatal _cui bono_? is at the root; lastly, a
pleasing sense of fatigue and contentment, of resignation rather than
regret, when the whirl and tumult of the day are over, and it is time to
go home.
Mrs. Lascelles, sitting in a wet habit under the hedge, neither drooped
with fatigue nor shivered with cold. Her reflections must have been
strangely pleasant, for she was almost disappointed when her servant
trotted up with the lately shod horse, and touching his hat
respectfully, suggested that the weather was getting "worser"--that the
horses would catch their deaths, poor things!--that it was still five
miles to the station, and that they should proceed--he called it "shog
on"--in that direction without delay.
The groom was a sober fellow enough, but he had decided, with some
justice, that such a wetting as he was likely to encounter justified a
glass of brandy on leaving the blacksmith's shop.
His loyalty to his mistress and love for the good animals under his
charge were, doubtless, not diminished by this cordial; and while with
numbed fingers he unrolled the waterproof cape that was buckled before
his own saddle, and wrapped it round her dripping shoulders, he could
not forbear congratulating Mrs. Lascelles, that "things," as he
expressed it, "was no wuss."
"The 'osses is tired, ma'am, no doubt, an' a long trashing day it's been
for 'osses; but, bless ye, Ganymede, he won't take no notice; he'll have
his head in the manger soon as ever his girths is slacked, and they're
both of 'em as sound as when they left the stable. Ah! we've much to be
thankful for, we have! but how you're to get to the station, ma'am,
without a ducking--that's wot beats me!"
"I must take my ducking, I suppose, James, and make the best of it,"
she answered, pleasantly; "but it's going to be a fearful night. It
comes on worse every minute."
James, who had dropped back a horse's length, now pressed eagerly
forward.
"I hear wheels, ma'am," said he, "and it's a'most a living certainty as
they're going our way. If it was me, I'd make so bold as ask for a lift
inside. Ganymede, he'll lead like a child, and you'll have all the more
time to--to--shift yerself, ma'am, afore the train be due."
While he spoke, a one-horse fly, with luggage on the top, halted at her
side, a window was let down, and a pleasant woman's voice from within
proffered, to the benighted lady on horseback, any accommodation in the
power of the occupant to bestow.
It was already too dark to distinguish faces; but the stranger's tones
were courteous and winning. Mrs. Lascelles had no hesitation in availing
herself of so opportune a shelter. The flyman was off his box in a
twinkling, the lady leaped as quickly to the ground, James signified his
approval, Ganymede gave himself a shake, and in another minute Mrs.
Lascelles found herself jerking, jolting, and jingling towards the
station by the side of a perfect stranger, whose features, in the
increasing obscurity, she strove vainly to make out.
Some indefinable instinct suggested to her, however, that her companion
was young and pretty. A certain subtle fragrance which may or may not be
the result of scents and essences, but which seems indigenous to all
taking women, pervaded her gloves, her hair, her gown, nay, the very
winter jacket with which she defied the cold. The rustle of her dress as
she made room, the touch of her hand as she took sundry wraps from the
front seat of the carriage and heaped them in her guest's lap, told Mrs.
Lascelles that this errant damsel, wandering about in a hired fly
through the rain, was one for whom lances had already been broken, and
champions, it may be, laid gasping on the plain. For several seconds
she racked her brains, wondering who and what the traveller could be,
where coming from, where going to, why she had never met, nor heard of
her before.
It was not to be expected that silence between these two ladies should
last long. Cross-examining each other with great caution and politeness,
they presently discovered that they were both bound for London, and by
the same train. This coincidence involved, no doubt, a feeling of
sisterhood and mutual confidence; yet the coloured lights of the station
were already visible, and the fly was turning into its gravelled area,
ere Mrs. Lascelles could divine with any certainty the place her
companion had lately quitted.
"What a long drive it is, to be sure!" observed the latter wearily. "And
they call it only five miles to Midcombe Junction from Blackgrove!"
Mrs. Lascelles felt her heart give a jump, and she caught her breath.
"From Blackgrove!" she repeated. "Do you know Sir Henry Hallaton?"
"I _do_ know Sir Henry," replied the other with emphasis. "I know him
thoroughly!"