POVERTY VILLA.
Barnstead was a moderately large village, which had not increased in
population or size since the Middle Ages. In fact, it was less
important now than it had been in medieval times, for then several
battles, detrimental to a kingly dynasty, had been fought in its
vicinity. Now it was a quiet, somnolent spot, which had nothing to do
with the affairs of the nation; at all events, these were not
transacted within its neighbourhood. Ten miles distant, the roaring
manufacturing town of Marborough responded to the business spirit of
the century, and was connected by rail with the metropolis, but the
iron way came no further; and to reach Barnstead it was necessary to
drive or ride. For the convenience of chance visitors a coach ran
daily between the Herne Arms in Barnstead and the William Pitt Hotel
in Marborough. This was the sole link which connected the village with
the outside world.
The surrounding country was flat and alluvial and agricultural, with
prosperous farms set here and there in the extent of its plain. In the
centre of these rich cornlands, which formed the wealth of the region,
Barnstead was placed beside a sluggish little stream, too small to be
called a river. The quaint houses of the village clustered round a
beautiful minster of ornate architecture. This was St. Dunstan's
Church, and dated from Saxon times, although its design was Norman,
and the greater part of it had been built in the thirteenth century.
The Rev. Francis Chaskin, ex-cavalry officer, was its vicar, and the
living had been presented to him by Darcy Herne, squire and lord of
Barnstead Manor, and the firm friend of this soldier turned priest.
Herne Grange, the great house of the district, was situated a quarter
of a mile from Barnstead, and nestled amid the trees of its park, some
little way back from the high road leading to Marborough. Its present
owner, a man of thirty, was devoured by religious fanaticism, and was
subject to trances like those recorded of the Catholic saints. He
was tall, meagre, pale, and--so far as could be seen--quite detached
from worldly pleasures; so why such a saint should have engaged
himself to frivolous Millicent Lester was a problem which no one could
solve. Yet eight months before the beginning of this tale the ascetic
and the coquette--to describe them by their most pronounced
characteristics--became engaged, and the wedding was to take place
shortly.
Whatever Herne's reason might have been for the match, his bride-elect
made no secret that her consent was based on solely monetary grounds.
Her father was poor, her home--owing to the domineering of the
inconvenient Iris Link--was disagreeable; and to escape from these
ills she was content to become Mrs. Herne, of the Grange. Secretly she
would have preferred Lucas Lovel as a husband, as he was good-looking
and pleasant, but in the face of his avowed poverty she chose to marry
Darcy Herne. Nevertheless, she recompensed herself for this dutiful
compliance with necessity by flirting with Lovel whenever she could do
so without such behavior coming to the ears of her future husband.
With Darcy's strict views, he was quite capable of breaking off the
match did he learn of her conduct; and Milly was too anxious to
complete this rich marriage to run such a risk. So she coquetted
discreetly with Lovel, and assumed a demure demeanor when in the
saintly presence of Herne.
Who Lovel was no one knew. He had come from London with an
introduction to Herne some eight months previously; and since that
time he had remained in the village sketching and fishing, and amusing
himself at Barnstead tea-tables. After remaining a month at the Grange
he had taken rooms at the Herne Arms, and was quite accepted as a
friend and equal by the gentry in and about the village. He was dark,
and, as has before been stated, very handsome; also, he had apparently
travelled a good deal, and spoke several foreign languages excellently
well. His dress and manner were both irreproachable; and he was voted
quite an acquisition to Barnstead society. Nevertheless, he had his
detractors, and it was hinted by these that the man was an adventurer,
in search of a rich wife. But Lovel's friends always pointed out that
this could not be so, else he would have married Miss Clyde.
Selina Clyde was a masculine young woman who farmed her own lands and
looked after her own monetary affairs. She was tall, raw-boned, and
fair, with a contempt for feminine fripperies, which led her to dress
in a somewhat mannish way. Wet or dry, she was out riding or walking
over her lands, and knew all about draining, top-dressing, manuring,
and such like agricultural matters; also, she was a shrewd business
woman, and boasted with good reason that no one had ever got the
better of her in a bargain. In her farmhouse, a comfortable old
homestead some two miles on the other side of Barnstead, she dwelt
with Mrs. Drass, her former governess, who was said to be the greatest
gossip in the neighborhood. Until the appearance of handsome Lucas
Lovel, Miss Clyde had made up her mind to live and die a spinster;
but, with his advent, she had yielded to the influence and charm of
his manner to such a degree that without inquiring into his
antecedents she was quite prepared to marry him. Lovel saw this, and
in other circumstances might have seized the chance of a comfortable
future; but being in love with Milly, he wanted to make her Mrs.
Lovel, and endow her with his poverty. Miss Clyde saw this, felt
herself scorned for the frivolous beauty of the doctor's daughter, and
soon came to hate Milly with all her heart. And Miss Clyde, as
everyone knew, was an admirable hater.
For the last few days Herne had been in London on some business
connected with religious missions; and during his absence Milly had
contrived to meet Lovel once or twice in what was presumably a casual
manner. She was now coming home from the meeting at which Gran Jimboy
had prophesied misfortune; and was rather alarmed when she recalled
her promise to meet Lucas the next evening at half-past eight. She
felt that to keep such an appointment would be indiscreet.
"But I shan't go! I shan't go!" she kept saying to herself on the way
home to Poverty Villa. All the same, such was her curiosity to know if
there was any truth in Lovel's statements regarding the profligacy of
her future husband, she knew very well she would keep the appointment.
"I owe it to myself to learn the truth about Darcy before it is too
late," she said several times in order to quiet her conscience; and in
this frame of mind she arrived at the house of her father.
Poverty Villa, as Milly nicknamed the place, was a scrubby little
house with two acres of neglected ground, and was located in the
poorest part of the village. Dr. Lester should have had a flourishing
practice, but had not, for two causes; the first being that the other
medical man had been established for a longer time in Barnstead; the
second and more serious reason being that he was an habitual drunkard.
All day long he was sip, sip, sipping at brandy; and although never
aggressively intoxicated, his brain was always in a confused state,
which rendered people distrustful of his judgment in diagnosing cases
and prescribing drugs.
"It's a wonder he hasn't killed the few patients he has long ago,"
said Mrs. Drass, who made no secret of her dislike for the doctor;
"but some day he'll give someone the wrong medicine and poison him;
then he'll be hanged, and that will be a judgment on him for letting
his minx of a daughter flirt with young Lovel," the truth of which
speech being that Mrs. Drass, who was something of a toady, wanted
Milly to release Lovel from her fascinations, that he might marry
Selina Clyde.
But other people shared this opinion, and it was only of a few
patients that Dr. Lester could boast, these being mostly amongst the
poorer classes of agricultural labourers. Consequently the fees were
small, and but that Lester had a few hundreds of his own, it might
have gone hard with himself and his daughters. As it was the Lester
household was hard up for all but the barest necessities of life. Iris
Link, who managed the domestic affairs, did her best to make both ends
meet, and to present a fairly decent outside to the world; but all to
no purpose. The world of Barnstead knew the truth about Poverty Villa,
and openly pitied the trio who lived in it. But it was admitted on all
hands that Dr. Lester spent on drink what he should have devoted to
the nourishment and clothing of his daughters--or rather, his daughter
and stepdaughter.
Milly entered the house in the full expectation of having trouble with
Iris, and in this she was not disappointed. Iris met her as she closed
the door, and beckoned her into the shabby little drawing-room, where
for a moment or so the two girls eyed one another in silence. As Milly
had told Lovel, there was no kin between them, for Iris was the
daughter of the second Mrs. Lester by her first husband; and when
that lady had married the doctor she found him already provided
with a child by his first wife. Milly was twenty years of age, Iris
twenty-five; and while the first was a beautiful girl with many
admirers, the second was dark and quiet, with no grace of form or
face, and, as yet, had not gained one lover. Her small accomplishments
were quite extinguished by the brilliance and beauty of Milly. Yet
Iris possessed the better nature of the two, and would make a better
wife, in spite of her looks. The dispositions of the two girls were
antagonistic; and they disliked one another exceedingly. Only the
narrowness of their circumstances compelled them to live under the
same roof, else they would have parted long since. Luckily--as both
thought--the marriage of Milly would bring about the wished-for
separation; yet even in this there was an element of bitterness to
Iris. What that element was may be seen from the slightly acidulated
conversation which ensued.
"Really, Milly!" said Iris with a weary sigh. "I do think you might
stay at home and help me with the house. There is such a lot to do,
and Eliza"--the one servant of the Lesters--"is worse than useless."
"Then get another servant!" retorted Milly, throwing down her hat. "I
am not going to stay in on this fine day."
"What would Darcy say if he knew you were wandering about by
yourself?"
"Bother! Who cares what he says! Besides," added Milly, defiantly, "I
have not been by myself."
"Milly," cried Iris, with a dark shade on her face, "have you been
again with Mr. Lovel?"
"For the last hour, my dear."
"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
Milly laughed, and examined herself critically in the mirror over the
fireplace. She was used to the scoldings of Iris, and cared very
little for them. So long as Darcy did not hear of her flirtations with
Lovel she had no fear, and treated the expostulations of Iris and the
doctor with cool disdain. She did not trouble herself to reply to the
last remark, but continued to admire her beauty with critical eyes,
while Iris continued:
"You know Mr. Lovel is almost engaged----"
"To Miss Clyde, I suppose you mean. Oh, dear! no, he isn't! He has
just told me that he cares nothing for her and a good deal for me."
"But you are engaged to Mr. Herne."
"I am, my dear; I am!" retorted Milly swinging round on the tips of
her toes. "Don't you wish you were?"
Iris flushed crimson, for Milly knew well enough that she more than
admired the squire. "If I were," she said, evading the question, "I
should act in a more honourable way towards him."
"Pooh! pooh! A few words with Mr. Lovel won't hurt him."
"A few words, as you call them, will hurt both men. You can't marry
Mr. Lovel."
"I don't want to; nor can you marry Darcy. Look here, my love,"
continued Milly coolly: "please don't lecture me any more. If you
think Darcy ought to know, tell him about Mr. Lovel, then he'll break
off the match with me, and perhaps you'll catch him."
"I would not think of doing such a thing!" cried Iris vehemently.
"Why not? I'd do it in your place. You are too good, my dear; too, too
good!"
"I'll speak to father," said Iris, who from habit called the doctor
so.
"What good will that do? In the first place, he'll probably not be
sober; and, in the second, he's too anxious for me to marry Darcy to
tell on me. Oh, dear! I wish you were to marry Darcy, Iris; he is just
the prig for you!"
Iris looked at the fire with a frown, and not caring to trust herself
to speech, ran out of the room and into the garden. There was
something so shameless about Milly's speeches and actions with regard
to Lovel that she was almost tempted to tell Herne and prevent the
match. But then she loved Herne, and her intervention would be put
down to jealousy.
"I can do nothing, nothing," she thought; "if Mr. Lovel----"
At this moment the man himself passed slowly down the road in close
conversation with Gran Jimboy. His face was quite pale, and he looked
as though he had received a shock--as indeed he had. Mrs. Jimboy had
revealed something connected with the meeting of the next night!