Transcriber’s note
Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation
inconsistencies have been silently repaired. A list of the changes made
can be found at the end of the book. Formatting and special characters
are indicated as follows:
_italic_
AN OPEN VERDICT
A Novel
BY THE AUTHOR OF
‘LADY AUDLEY’S SECRET’
ETC. ETC. ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. III.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
JOHN MAXWELL AND CO.
4, SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET,
1878
[_All rights reserved_]
CONTENTS TO VOL. III.
CHAP. PAGE
I. PATERNAL DIPLOMACY 1
II. MR. PIPER IS ACCEPTED 18
III. A WEDDING MARCH 30
IV. KENRICK’S RETURN 49
V. MR. SCRATCHELL GOES TO LONDON 60
VI. THE SECOND MRS. PIPER 74
VII. IN THE CHURCHYARD 88
VIII. KENRICK’S WEDDING DAY 112
IX. JILTED 122
X. MRS. PIPER’S DAY 132
XI. CAPTAIN STANDISH 154
XII. AT HER CHARIOT WHEELS 168
XIII. PLAYING WITH FIRE 183
XIV. A TURN OF FORTUNE’S WHEEL 202
XV. MR. PIPER ASSERTS HIMSELF 216
XVI. CAPTAIN STANDISH CHOOSES A HORSE 230
XVII. VANESSA’S VISIT 244
XVIII. OPENING HIS EYES 257
XIX. A SHORT RECKONING 274
XX. LET SILENCE BE ABOUT HER NAME 289
XXI. ‘BUT PROVE ME WHAT IT IS I WOULD NOT DO’ 308
XXII. FAIR STILL, BUT FAIR FOR NO ONE SAVING ME 321
EPILOGUE 343
AN OPEN VERDICT.
CHAPTER I.
PATERNAL DIPLOMACY.
‘WHAT!’ roared Mr. Scratchell, scarlet of visage, ‘you are asked to
marry a man with fifteen thousand a year, and you refuse? Did anybody
ever hear of such lunacy?’
Bella sat shivering at the paternal wrath. Mrs. Scratchell was weeping
dumbly. All the younger Scratchells were ready to lift up their voices
in a chorus of condemnation. Bella’s folly in refusing Mr. Piper was,
in their eyes, a personal injury.
‘You would not ask me to marry a man I cannot love, would you, father?’
faltered Bella; ‘a man I can hardly respect.’
‘You cannot respect fifteen thousand a year?’ cried Mr. Scratchell.
‘Then, in the name of all that’s reasonable, what can you respect?’
‘He is so rough-mannered and dictatorial,’ urged Bella, ‘so stout
and puffy. And it is really dreadful to hear him murder the Queen’s
English.’
Mr. Scratchell looked round at his assembled family with a wrathful
glare, as if he were calling upon them all to behold this ridiculous
daughter of his.
‘That ever I should have bred and reared such foolishness!’ he
exclaimed. ‘What’s that fairy tale you were reading the little ones,
mother, about the Princess and the seven feather beds? She had seven
feather beds to sleep upon, one atop of the other, and couldn’t rest
because there was a parched pea under the bottom one. There’s your
proud Princess for you!’ pointing at his tearful daughter. ‘She turns
up her nose at fifteen thousand a year because the owner of it doesn’t
arrange his words according to Lindley Murray. Why, I never had much
opinion of Lindley Murray myself, and, what’s more, I never could
understand him.’
‘Father, it isn’t a question of bad grammar. If I loved Mr. Piper, or
felt that I could teach myself to love him, I shouldn’t care how badly
he talked. But I cannot love him.’
‘Who asks you to love him?’ cried Mr. Scratchell, folding and unfolding
his newspaper violently, in a whirlwind of indignation. ‘Nobody has
made mention of love--not Piper himself, I warrant. He’s too sensible a
man. You are only asked to marry him, and to do your duty in that state
of life to which it has pleased God to call you. And very grateful you
ought to be for having been called to fifteen thousand a year. Think
what you can do for your brothers and sisters, and your poor harassed
mother! There’s a privilege for you. And if Piper should take to buying
property hereabouts, and give me the collection of his rents, there’d
be a lift for me.’
Then Mrs. Scratchell feebly, and with numerous gasps and choking sobs,
uplifted her maternal voice, and made her moan.
‘I should be the last to press any child of mine to marry against her
inclination,’ she said, ‘but I should like to see one of my daughters
a lady. Bella has been a lady in all her little ways from the time
she could run alone, and I am sure she would become the highest
position--yes, even such a station as Mr. Piper, with his fortune,
could give her. If there was anything better or brighter before
her--any chance of her getting a young good-looking husband able to
support her comfortably--I wouldn’t say marry Mr. Piper. But I’m sure I
can’t see how any girl is to get well married in Little Yafford, where
the young men----’
‘Haven’t one sixpence to rub against another,’ interrupted Mr.
Scratchell, impatiently.
‘And I know what life is for those that have to study the outlay of
every penny, and to keep their brains always on the rack in order just
barely to pay their way,’ continued Mrs. Scratchell.
Bella gave a deep, despondent sigh. It was all true that these
worldly-minded parents were saying. She was no romantic girl to believe
in an impossible future. She knew that for women of the Scratchell
breed life was hard and dry, like the crusts of the stale loaves which
she so often encountered at the family breakfast-table. What was there
before her if she persisted in refusing this high fortune that was
ready to be poured into her lap? Another rebellious family to teach--an
unending procession of verbs, and pianoforte exercises, dreary
fantasias, with all the old familiar airs turned upside down, and
twisted this way and that, and drawn out to uttermost attenuation, like
a string of Indian-rubber. If nothing else killed her, Bella thought,
she must assuredly die of those hateful fantasias, the ever-lasting
triplets, the scampering arpeggios, stumbling and halting, like the
canter of a lame horse.
Mr. Scratchell heard that long sigh and guessed its meaning. He checked
his loud indignation, all of a sudden, and had recourse to diplomacy.
The girl’s own sense was beginning to argue against her foolishness.
‘Well, my dear,’ he said, quite amiably, ‘if you’ve made up your mind
there’s no use in our saying any more about it. Your mother and I would
have been proud to see you settled in such a splendid way--the envy of
all the neighbourhood--holding your head as high as the best of ’em.
But let that pass. You’d better look out for another situation. With so
many mouths as I’ve got to feed, I can’t afford to encourage idleness.
There must be no twiddling of thumbs in this family. The _Yorkshire
Times_ comes out on Saturday. There’ll be just time for us to get an
advertisement in.’
Bella gave another sigh, an angry one this time.
‘You’re very sharp with me, father,’ she said. ‘I should have thought
you’d have been glad to have me at home for a little while, with my
time disengaged.’
‘What?’ ejaculated Mr. Scratchell. ‘Haven’t you had your afternoons for
idleness? Your time disengaged, indeed! Do you think I want a daughter
of mine to be as useless as a chimney ornament, good for nothing but to
look at?’
And then Mr. Scratchell took out a sheet of paper, dipped his pen in
the ink, and wrinkled his brow in the effort of composition.
‘Governess, residential or otherwise,’ he began, pronouncing the words
aloud as he wrote, ‘competent to impart a sound English education,
French, Italian, German, music, drawing and painting, and fancy
needlework. Able to prepare boys for a public school. Has had the
entire charge of a gentleman’s family. First-rate references.’
‘There,’ exclaimed Mr. Scratchell. ‘That will cost a lot of money, but
I think it is comprehensive.’
‘I don’t know about drawing and painting,’ objected Bella, with a weary
air. ‘I never had much taste that way. I learnt a little with Beatrix,
but----’
‘Then you can teach,’ said Mr. Scratchell, decisively. ‘If you’ve
learnt you know all the technical words and rules, and you’re quite
competent to teach. When your pupil goes wrong you can tell her how
to go right. That’s quite enough. Nobody expects you to be a Michael
Angelo.’
‘I’m afraid I shall look like an impostor if I attempt to teach
drawing,’ remonstrated Bella.
‘Would not object to a school,’ wrote Mr. Scratchell, adding to the
advertisement.
‘But I would very, very, very much object, papa,’ cried Bella. ‘I will
not go into a school to please anybody.’
‘My dear, you have got to earn your bread, and if you can’t earn it in
a private family you must earn it in a school,’ explained her father.
‘I want the advertisement to be comprehensive, and to bring as many
answers as possible. You are not obliged to take a situation in a
school simply because you get one offered you--but if your only offer
is of that kind you must accept it. Hobson’s choice, you know.’
Bella began to cry.
‘The little Pipers are very hateful,’ she sobbed, ‘but I dare say
strange children would be worse.’
‘If the little Pipers were your step-children you could do what you
liked with them,’ said Mr. Scratchell.
‘Oh, father,’ remonstrated his wife, ‘she would be bound to be kind to
them.’
‘Of course,’ replied Mr. Scratchell. ‘Within certain limits. It would
be kindness to get them under strict discipline. She could pack them
off to school, and needn’t have them home for the holidays unless she
liked. Come, I think the advertisement will do. It will cost three or
four shillings, so it ought to answer. Herbert can take it with him
to-morrow when he goes to his office.’
‘Father,’ cried Bella, desperately, ‘you needn’t waste your money upon
that advertisement. I won’t take another situation.’
‘Won’t you?’ cried Mr. Scratchell. ‘Then I’m afraid you’ll have to go
to the workhouse, which would be rather disgraceful at your age. I
won’t keep you in idleness.’
‘I’d sooner marry Mr. Piper than go on teaching odious children.’
‘You’ll have to wait till Mr. Piper asks you again,’ replied her
father, delighted at having gained his point, but too diplomatic to
show his satisfaction. ‘You’ve refused him once. He may not care
to humiliate himself by risking a second refusal. However, the
advertisement can stand over for a day or two, since you’ve come to
your senses.’
Mr. Scratchell went off to his official den presently, and Mrs.
Scratchell came over to Bella and hugged her.
‘Oh, my darling, it would be the making of us all,’ she exclaimed.
‘I don’t see what good that would be to me, mother, if I was
miserable,’ Bella responded, sulkily.
‘But you couldn’t be miserable in such a home as Yafford Park, and with
such a good man as Mr. Piper. It isn’t as if you had ever cared for
anybody else, dear.’
‘No, of course not,’ said Bella, full of bitterness. ‘That makes a
difference.’
‘And think what a lady you would be, and how high you could hold your
head.’
‘Yes, I would hold my head high enough, mother. You may be sure of
that. I would have something out of life. Beatrix Harefield should see
what use I could make of money.’
‘Of course, dear. You have such aristocratic ideas. You could take the
lead in Little Yafford society.’
Bella gave a scornful shrug. The society in Little Yafford was hardly
worth leading; but Bella was of the temper that deems it better to
reign in a village than to serve in Rome. She put on her bonnet and
went to call upon Mrs. Dulcimer. That lady was in the garden, her
complexion protected by a muslin sun-bonnet, washing the green flies
off her roses. To her sympathetic ear Bella imparted the story of Mr.
Piper’s wooing and the paternal wrath.
‘My dear, I don’t wonder that your father was angry,’ cried the Vicar’s
wife. ‘Why, Mr. Piper is the very man for you. The idea occurred to
me soon after Mrs. Piper’s death. But I didn’t mention it, for fear
of alarming your delicacy. Such a good homely creature--an excellent
husband to his first wife--and so wealthy. Why, you would be quite a
little queen. How lucky I was mistaken about Cyril! What a chance you
would have lost if you had married him!’
Bella shuddered.
‘Yes, it would have been a pity,’ she said.
And then she thought how if Cyril had loved and married her, she--who
was just wise enough to know herself full of faults--might have grown
into a good woman--how, looking up at that image of perfect manhood,
she might have learned to shape herself into ideal womanhood. Yes, it
would have all been possible if he had only loved her. His love would
have been a liberal education.
Love had been denied her; but wealth, and all the advantages wealth
could give, might be hers.
‘I really begin to think that I was very foolish to refuse Mr. Piper,’
she said.
‘My love, excuse me, but you were simply idiotic. However, he is sure
to renew his offer. I shall call and see those dear children of his
to-morrow. And when he asks you again, you will give him a kinder
answer?’
‘Yes,’ said Bella, with a long-drawn sigh, ‘since everybody thinks it
would be best.’
Everybody did not include Beatrix Harefield. Bella had not
consulted--nor did she mean to consult--her old friend and playfellow.
She knew quite well that Beatrix would have advised her against a
mercenary marriage, and in spite of all her sighs and hesitations,
Bella’s sordid little soul languished for the possession of Mr. Piper’s
wealth.
Mrs. Dulcimer was delighted at the notion of conducting a new
courtship to a triumphant issue. She put on her best bonnet early in
the afternoon, and went to pay her visit to the Park, feeling that it
behoved her to bring matters to a crisis.
Mr. Piper was at home, seated on a garden chair on his well-kept lawn,
basking in the sunshine, after a heavy dinner which went by the name of
luncheon. He had a sleek, well-fed look at this stage of his existence,
which did not encourage sentimental ideas: but Mrs. Dulcimer looked at
the big white house with its Doric portico, the stone vases full of
bright scarlet geraniums, the velvet lawn and gaudy flower-beds, the
belt of fine old timber, the deer-park across the ha-ha, and thought
what a happy woman Bella would be as the mistress of such a domain. She
hardly gave one thought to poor Mr. Piper. He was only a something that
went with the Park; like a bit of outlying land, which nobody cares
about, tacked on to a large estate.
‘I hope your dear children are all well and strong,’ said Mrs.
Dulcimer, after she had shaken hands with Mr. Piper, and they had
confided to each other their opinions about the weather. ‘I came on
purpose to see them.’
‘You shall see them all presently, mum,’ replied Mr. Piper. ‘The
schoolroom maid is cleaning ’em up a bit. They’ve been regular Turks
all this blessed morning. They’ve lost their gov’ness.’
‘Why, how is that?’ cried the hypocritical Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘Bella is so
fond of them. She is always talking of her clever little pupils.’
‘She’s left ’em to shift for themselves, for all her fondness,’ said
Mr. Piper; and then, being of a candid nature, he freely confided his
trouble to the Vicar’s wife.
He told her that he had asked Bella to marry him, and she had said no,
and upon that they had parted.
‘It was better for her to go,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t abear the sight of
her about the place under the circumstances. I should feel like the fox
with the grapes. I should be always hardening my heart against her.’
‘Dear, dear,’ sighed Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘I’m afraid you were too sudden.
A woman is so sensitive about such matters. I dare say you took that
poor child by surprise.’
‘Well, mum, perhaps I may. I’d been thinking of making her an offer for
a long time, but it may have come on her like a thunderclap.’
‘Of course it did. And, being shy and sensitive, she naturally said no.’
‘Don’t you think she meant no?’ asked Mr. Piper, swinging himself
suddenly round in his garden chair, and looking very warm and eager.
‘Indeed, I do not. She was with me yesterday afternoon, and I thought
her looking ill and unhappy. I felt sure there was something wrong.
‘Now you look here, Mrs. Dulcimer,’ said the widower. ‘I’m not going to
offer myself to that young woman a second time, for the sake of getting
a second refusal; but if you are sure she won’t say no I don’t mind
giving her another chance. I’m not a proud man, but I’ve got a proper
respect for myself, and I don’t want to be humiliated. I shan’t ask her
again unless I’m very sure of my ground.’
‘Come and take tea with us to-morrow evening,’ said Mrs. Dulcimer.
‘I’ll get Bella to come too, and you’ll be able to judge for yourself.
Bring some of your dear children.’
‘Thank you, mum, you’re very kind; but I think until some of the Turk
has been flogged out of them I’d rather not take them into company. But
I’ll come myself with pleasure, and if you like to ask Bella Scratchell
I’ve no objection to meet her.’
Mr. Piper’s olive branches now appeared, newly washed and combed, and
in their Sunday clothes. Thus attired they looked a little more vulgar
than in their every-day garments. They were all angles and sharp lines,
and looked embarrassed by their finery, which, from the corkscrew curls
at the top of their heads to the tight new shoes upon their afflicted
feet, was more or less calculated to give them pain.
Naturally Mrs. Dulcimer pretended to be enraptured with them. She
discovered in one an extraordinary likeness to his papa, in another
a striking--yes, a painfully striking resemblance to her poor dear
mamma. She asked them questions about their studies and recreations,
and having completely exhausted herself in less than ten minutes’
performance of these civilities, she rose to wish Mr. Piper and his
young family good-bye.
‘At seven to-morrow, remember,’ she said.
‘I shall be there, mum,’ answered Mr. Piper.