Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: JANET AND THE BROKER. Frontispiece.]
JANET'S BOYS.
BY
ANNETTE LYSTER,
AUTHOR OF
"A LEAL LIGHT HEART," "NORTH WIND AND SUNSHINE,"
"THE PIANO IN THE ATTIC," "MIDSHIPMAN ARCHIE," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY W. S. STACEY.
PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE GENERAL LITERATURE
COMMITTEE.
LONDON:
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.;
43, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET. E.C.
BRIGHTON: 129, NORTH STREET.
NEW YORK: E. S. GORHAM.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. INTRODUCTORY.
II. THE ROAD TO RUIN.
III. IN LIVERPOOL.
IV. KELMERSDALE.
V. ALL THE WAY TO GATTIGO.
VI. MRS. RAYBURN'S CAP.
VII. THE BOYS' ESCAPE.
VIII. THE BABES IN THE WOOD.
IX. IN THE NEW HOME.
X. FRANK'S MESSAGE TO "MUDDIE."
XI. MRS. RAYBURN'S LETTER.
XII. FRANK'S MESSAGE REACHES "MUDDIE."
XIII. "AS WE FORGIVE."
[Illustration]
JANET'S BOYS.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
"FRED," said Mr. Rayburn to his only son, a well-grown handsome lad
of seventeen or thereabouts, "don't you think we should be much more
comfortable if we had a—if this house had a mistress?"
The speaker was a man of about sixty, but looked so fresh and hearty
that one might easily have concluded him to be much younger. The room
in which he and his son were sitting was a long, low one, well lighted
by three bay windows all on the same side; and though not a pretty
room, it used at one time to look homelike and comfortable. The room
was the same, and the furniture was the same, but the comfort and the
homelike look had vanished.
Ten years before the day on which Mr. Rayburn made this remark to his
son, comfort had departed on the death of Mrs. Rayburn, his wife and
Fred's mother.
Mr. Rayburn was the manager of Messrs. Hopper and Mason's great brewery
in a town called Hemsborough, in the northern part of Staffordshire.
He had filled this very responsible post for many years, inhabiting
the comfortable apartments over the great gateway of the brewery.
He was a very matter-of-fact man, without much sentiment about him,
and on getting his good appointment he had married, choosing his
wife carefully, with a view to being made comfortable and leading
a peaceable life. And his quiet, docile wife had never, in all her
uneventful life, had an idea beyond her simple round of womanly duties,
which she did to perfection, until her only child was about six years
old, when she suddenly took a severe illness and died in a few days.
They had been married for many years before Fred was born, and Mr.
Rayburn had no idea how to manage the child; so he sent him to school,
and got on alone as best he could. Presently the servant trained by his
wife married, and another came in her place, not trained by his wife,
or, indeed, by any one else.
Still, the poor man existed somehow, nor did any idea of a change
suggest itself to him until Fred left school, and got a clerkship in
the counting-house, living of course with his father. Judith Ames,
the servant, greatly resented the additional trouble thus given her:
particularly was she annoyed because Fred, instead of falling into
the regular round of habits which his father had adopted, and which
made him "such a quiet, dependable master, for what he did one day,
he did every day, and so a body knew where to have him." Instead of
copying his worthy father in this, Fred ran up and down the stone
stairs by which the "Gatehouse" was reached, about a dozen times every
evening, and always unexpectedly. Also, he played football and cricket,
according to the season; he took long walks, coming home muddy and
hungry, giving endless trouble, and demanding food at inconvenient
times.
Moreover, he did what his father never did. He popped into the kitchen,
surprising Judith and some friends at tea, using the best china and
partaking of a much daintier meal than ever found its way into the
master's parlour. Fred told his father that Judith was cheating him;
he complained of her dirty, untidy ways and her bad cooking, and poor
Mr. Rayburn, who had long ceased to be comfortable, now found the other
desire of his heart out of the question, for to live at peace was
impossible to one member of a family of three when the other two were
always quarrelling.
To be the son of two such prosaic people as Mr. Rayburn and his wife,
Fred was rather a surprise. He was fond of poetry—even wrote something
which he called by that name; he was fond of music, and played the
flute a little. But quite enough too. He wished to have everything nice
about him, but did not wish to take any trouble about it. He did his
work as a clerk fairly well, but he did not like it, nor throw himself
into it; he would have preferred to be a great painter, or a great
singer, or author, or a traveller—anything, in fact, "with a little
mind in it," he said to himself; and many of his poems were addressed
to his mind, with which he condoled in pathetic terms. Meantime, on the
whole, he enjoyed life very well; but he certainly wished Judith far
away pretty frequently.
On this very day on which Mr. Rayburn asked the question about a
mistress for the house, Fred and Judith had had a "row-royal" about his
boots—his best, beautiful new boots, which he had not used for some
days, and which he had found in the kitchen, uncleaned, and with the
frying-pan standing on their toes! And the dinner had been half done,
and, in fact, nothing was as it ought to be.
Now, to return to the conversation begun after dinner by Mr. Rayburn.
Fred started, and turned round to look at his father. He had been
engaged in writing the word "dust" in bold, legible letters on the
looking-glass over the mantelshelf, but he left the "t" uncrossed,
shook the dust off his finger, and stared at his father, getting very
red.
"Why, of course. Why, yes, father, I suppose we should. But I'm rather
young yet, don't you think?"
"What has your age to do with it, my boy?"
"Why, of course my—that is, when I get married some day or other, the
house will have a mistress, you know."
Mr. Rayburn laughed.
"I'm afraid we can't wait for that, Fred. I would part with Judith and
try some one else, but that I have no hope that any servant will make
us comfortable unless we went to far more trouble than I'm inclined to
take. My work is quite enough for me. No, I thought of marrying myself."
Fred looked thoughtful.
"I declare, sir," said he presently, "it might be a very good plan."
"There's only one objection against it, Fred. I can make no provision
for my wife in case she survives me; or at least only a very small
one. Your mother's money—a few hundreds—is settled on you, and the
little I have saved ought to go to you too. For, you see, you may not
get my situation when I am gone, and in that case you'll want a little
capital; for you'll hardly go on as a mere clerk all your life. But if
I state all this honestly to the lady I have in my mind, I think she
would be reasonable. She is poor, and I suspect would gladly have a
house of her own."
"Who is it, father?"
"I don't think you know her, but you must have seen her in church.
She is sister to my old friend James Thompson, with whom I go to play
backgammon every Saturday night. Her mother was Lord Beaucourt's
housekeeper, and the old lady died last year, so Miss Thompson came to
live with her brother. But Thompson has a houseful of young people, and
I fancy Miss Lydia might not be sorry to make a change. So it might be
a mutual convenience."
Fred gave his consent very graciously, expressing at the same time a
great longing to see Judith's face when the possible affliction in
store for her was first announced to her. Had he but known it, he might
have had that treat at once; he had only to open the door, at which
the excellent Judith was listening. Something in her master's manner
when he came in upon the scene about the boots had given her a fright,
and she was anxious to find out if she had anything worse to fear than
a severe scolding. She heard all! And tottering back to the kitchen,
which, contrary to the general habits of kitchens, was at the top of
the house, she sank upon a chair and began to sob.
"And such a servant as I've been to him," she moaned faintly, "such a
servant!"
Then she felt that she was an ill-used woman, and clenching her hand—a
good big hand she had, too—she said aloud—
"Miss Lydia Thompson! Miss, forsooth! Her mother wasn't a bit better
than myself, though she wears black silk and I know my place! But wait
a bit, Miss Lydia Thompson; you're not Mrs. Rayburn yet, nor shall be
if I can help it."
She sat meditating various ways of putting an end to the courtship,
which, I may remark, was not yet begun. Miss Lydia had as yet no idea
of the promotion that lay within her reach. But Judith was no witch,
and she could devise no better plan than to amend her ways, give fewer
tea-parties, cook the dinners decently, and dust the furniture; nay,
she even determined to polish Fred's boots.
But, alas! She was too late, even if she could have pulled herself
together, which I doubt; for she had fallen into very lazy, slovenly
habits. But she never had the opportunity. Mr. Rayburn was very
prompt to act when once his mind was made up. He spoke to his friend
Thompson that very night, ascertained that Miss Lydia had a very
little money of her own, and would be glad, her brother thought, to
have a house of her own too. He said also that she was a capable
housekeeper, and understood the art of cookery to an extent that was
a constant admiration to his wife and daughters; and that she was,
moreover, good tempered and easy to get on with. So Mr. Rayburn made
his plain and unromantic proposals, and was accepted after a few
hours' consideration. And before Judith had well begun her projected
reformation, she found, herself possessed of a mistress; but it was
only for a short time. In a few days after the wedding she was quietly
sent about her business, and a smart young person in white apron and
cap installed in her place. Very soon the Gatehouse resumed its old air
of sober comfort and spotless neatness, and once more peace and quiet
reigned.
I do not think that Mr. Rayburn ever had any reason to repent of his
second marriage, and yet I know that had he really understood his wife,
he would have disapproved very much of her. The second Mrs. Rayburn was
an utterly selfish woman, and had been utterly selfish all her life.
But she was far too clever to show it openly. She had ruled her mother,
but had made her rule pleasant. The good woman had sons and married
daughters, whom she would at one time have liked to help occasionally;
but she was convinced, she hardly knew how, that she ought to save
every penny for poor Lydia, the only unmarried one. At her brother's
house, Lydia had found it her best plan to be helpful and pleasant to
her sister-in-law, and had made herself very useful to the girls. And
now she saw that to stand well with Fred was her cue, and she proved a
delightful stepmother.
I must not make this part of my story too long, as it is really only
introductory, but I do not see how to make the events that follow clear
without this preparatory sketch. For about ten years the household
went on almost without a change. Fred settled down into a good clerk,
and rose in the counting-house; he still played the flute, but he no
longer wrote poetry, having, indeed, failed to find a publisher for his
laments over his wasted intellect. And, indeed, though he was a good
fellow enough, I do not think that any great waste was possible in that
matter.
He fell in love with a very nice, pretty girl, just home from school
and they were engaged with the full consent of all concerned; but Janet
Gray's father thought her too young to be married just yet, so they had
a long and very happy engagement. And then, Fred being twenty-seven
and Janet twenty, the day was fixed for their marriage, and all the
pleasant bustle of looking for a suitable house was going on, when one
day, as Fred, Janet, and Mrs. Gray were inspecting the twenty-third
house, all three very busy and happy, the messenger from the brewery
came running up the terrace, and told Fred to hurry home, as his father
was very ill. Before the young man reached home, his father was dead;
in fact, he was dead when the messenger was sent, though no one could
believe it.
Mrs. Rayburn was sincerely sorry. The life had been very pleasant to
her, and she felt that even if she found another husband she would
never like him as well. Just, too, as she was about to be rid of Fred
and his flute, and free to set about the task of convincing her husband
that at least half his savings ought in justice to be left to her. But
she was very practical, and quickly turned her mind to consider how she
could best secure her own well-being.
At first she tried to convince Fred that he ought to give up all idea
of being married for a considerable time; but poor Fred, who sorely
missed his kind old father, longed for Janet's companionship, and would
not hear of a long delay. Mrs. Rayburn felt that in a small suburban
house, with a clerk's salary and a very tiny private income, there
would be no home for her! So she set herself with the kindest zeal
to persuade Messrs. Hopper and Mason to put Fred into his father's
place. Now, it so happened that there was a young Mr. Hopper just home
from Germany, who rather wished to fill that post himself, being fond
of work, and thinking that the business might be very much increased
by more enterprising ways. But, of course, the son of one of the
principals could not live in the Gatehouse, and do all the plodding
work of the manager. So the matter ended in Fred's being appointed
manager, on the understanding that Mr. Francis Hopper was to be in a
very special manner his chief and leader.
For the months that intervened between Mr. Rayburn's death and Fred's
marriage, the widow kept house for her stepson, and made herself so
pleasant to all parties that Janet told her lover that they ought to
ask her to stay as long as she liked. So she stayed, and every one was
delighted with the nice tact with which she helped the inexperienced
young wife. Oh, she was a wonderful woman!
All the time this wonderful woman was quietly filling her purse,
looking forward to the time when Fred's family would increase, and the
Gatehouse might no longer suit her as a home. She had saved a good deal
of money from her housekeeping allowance, though no one suspected it,
because she always kept everything so comfortable. She now began to
speculate cautiously with her hoards, and thanks to a brother who was
in a stockbroker's office in London, she was very fortunate.
Little did any one think, as she sat so quietly at her work of an
evening, listening to Fred reading aloud or playing the flute, or
perhaps to the baby crying—even good babies cry sometimes—that she was
mentally gazing at the sitting-room she meant to have at some not very
distant time. She meant to live in London, and to enjoy herself; her
rooms were to be models of comfort and elegance, and were to be all
for herself; no one to please but herself, no one to flatter, no one
to humour, no flute to listen to, no baby to cry. Everything that she
liked, plenty of it, and all her very own, exclusively for her own use.
Mrs. Rayburn was deeply attached to her "own dear self."
[Illustration]
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