THE
HOUSE ON THE MARSH.
A ROMANCE.
BY
FLORENCE WARDEN
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1, 8, and 5 BOND STREET.
1884.
CONTENTS.
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
THE HOUSE ON THE MARSH.
CHAPTER I.
“Wanted, a Governess; must be young.” I cut out the advertisement
thus headed eagerly from the _Times_. I was eighteen, and my youth had
been the great obstacle to my getting an engagement; now here was some
delightful advertiser who considered it an advantage. I wrote to the
address given, enclosing my photograph and the list of my
qualifications. Within a week I was travelling down to Geldham,
Norfolk, engaged to teach “one little girl, aged six,” at a salary of
thirty-five pounds a year. The correspondence had been carried on by
my future pupil’s father, who said he would meet me at the station at
Beaconsburgh, the market-town nearest to Geldham.
It was about five o’clock on an afternoon in early August that I sat,
trembling with excitement and fright, at the window of the
railway-carriage, as the train steamed slowly into Beaconsburgh
station. I looked out on to the platform. There were very few people
on it, and there was no one who appeared at all like the gentleman I
had pictured to myself as my future employer. There were two or three
red-faced men who gave one the impression of being farmers, and at one
end there were two young men engaged in securing a large mastiff,
which was bounding about in great excitement at sight of the train. I
got out and spoke to the station-master.
“There is Mr. Rayner himself, ma’am,” said he, pointing towards the
two young men with the dog.
One of them was now looking about, as if in search of somebody; and I
walked timidly towards him. He seemed puzzled as his eyes fell upon
me; then suddenly he raised his hat.
“Miss Christie?” he said interrogatively, growing very red.
“Yes,” said I, bowing and blushing too.
“Will you come and show me which is your luggage?”
I was surprised and rather confused to find Mr. Rayner so much younger
and less self-possessed than I had expected. I followed him and
pointed out my boxes.
“The dog-cart is waiting outside,” said he; “let me carry your bag.”
I followed him through the station. Three or four big dogs began
jumping up upon him and upon me as we came out.
“Down, Rover! Down, Luke! Get down, Tray!” said he, raising his voice.
I had noticed what a very pleasant rich voice he had when he first
spoke to me, and now I remembered how particular he had been in his
letters about my music; so I concluded that Mr. Rayner sang. He helped
me into the dog-cart, carefully wrapped me up with a rug, and then,
instead of getting in himself, patted the neck of the brown mare, who
turned her head and put her nose into her master’s hand. I was trying
to get over my bewilderment. Of course I might have expected that the
father of my six-year-old pupil would not be the middle-aged
gray-haired man I had pictured to myself; but for him to be a man who
did not look more than three or four and twenty was a surprise; and to
find him so shy and deferential did not seem quite right, considering
our respective positions. He was big and broad, and rather massive,
had dark hair and mustache, gray eyes, and a kind simplicity of
expression, which perhaps, I thought, with his habit of blushing, made
him look younger than he was. He left the mare and stood by me again.
“I am afraid you will find the country dull. You will miss the gayety
of London.”
“I haven’t led a very gay life,” said I; “I don’t think poor people
are very gay anywhere.”
“But you have not been shut up in a schoolroom before. I can’t think
how you will stand it. I always hated schoolrooms; and it’s a fact
that I was never in a school without being told that I was a disgrace
to it.”
Mr. Rayner did not seem much distressed as he made this confession.
“I dare say you were great at cricket, or rowing, or--or--fighting,”
I hazarded, feeling that some rejoinder was expected.
“No, I wasn’t. I remember giving a boy a black eye once for calling me
a dunce. He was quite right, you know. And I remember being surprised
that I hurt him so much; for I generally got the worst of it in a
fight. They used to say it took a good deal to rouse me; and I didn’t
do much harm when I was roused,” he added, laughing.
“I hope your daughter does not share her father’s dislike of school
routine,” I broke out anxiously.
He started and looked up at me, coloring vividly, and then said, with
some amusement in his tones--
“Did you take me for Mr. Rayner?” The next moment he seemed sorry for
my evident confusion, and added, looking away, “My name is Reade. Mrs.
Rayner sent her brougham for you; but a wagon ran into it and took one
of the wheels off; so I put my cart at your disposal. I hope you don’t
mind driving in a thing like this?”
“Oh, no!” I said.
“That was Mr. Rayner on the platform with me,” he went on. “His dog
rushed out just as the train came up, and he asked me to see to your
luggage while he held him. I don’t know why he is so long.”
As he spoke, Mr. Rayner himself came out of the station, letting his
mastiff loose at the door. I saw in a moment that he was a few years
older than my companion, and that, while they both wore round hats and
Norfolk jackets, he bore the impress of town breeding as clearly as
Mr. Reade did that of the country. He was slight, well made, with
delicate features and a dark golden beard and mustache. He came up,
raising his hat, and shook hands with me.
“You have been marvelling at the barbarism of Norfolk-manners, Miss
Christie, and asking ‘When is the next train back to London?’ But I
have been warned by my wife not to make my reappearance at home
without a certain parcel from the ‘Stores’ which has been due at this
station about ten days, but has, for some unaccountable reason, failed
to turn up hitherto. By the way, I hope my sprightly young friend has
been entertaining you well?”
“Miss Christie took me for you, Mr. Rayner,” said Mr. Reade, shyly
reddening again.
“And has now to suffer the awful disappointment of finding that Mr.
Rayner is an old fogy after all. Miss Christie, forgive my gray hairs.
You will find me a great deal more trustworthy than any of these gay
deceiving Norfolk lads. Now, Laurence, my boy, if you want us to get
home before the mist rises, we had better start.”
Mr. Rayner sprang up behind; Mr. Reade got up in front by my side, and
took the reins; and off we started, with the five dogs bounding,
barking, and growling along the road as we went. We had to drive right
through Beaconsburgh; up a long hill to the market-place, which was
lively and busy, as it was market-day; down another long hill, lined
with the dreary old houses of the _élite_ of a provincial town; past
a tan-yard, over a small bridge crowded with cattle returning from
market, and then along two miles of straight willow-bordered road over
a marsh. The scenery was not particularly pretty; but I had never
lived in the country, and everything was new and interesting to me.
Mr. Rayner was occupied at the back with letters and papers, and Mr.
Reade at my side listened to my comments with flattering interest and
appreciation.
“How beautifully green everything is!” I remarked presently.
“Yes, rather too green,” Mr. Reade rejoined ruefully. “We have had a
wet summer, and now we are going to have a wet autumn, I believe, and
this place will be nothing but a swamp.”
“Don’t set Miss Christie against the place, Laurence,” said Mr. Rayner
rather sharply.
We passed through a low-lying village--some of the houses of which
were flooded in winter, Mr. Reade told me--up a hill, down a hill, and
up another sloping road, at the side of which stretched the marsh
again.
“There is the Alders, Miss Christie,” said he, pointing with his whip
to a pretty red house, half covered with ivy and surrounded by trees,
which stood below the road, on the borders of the marsh.
“Here, Laurence, I’ll get down and take the short cut,” said Mr
Rayner.
There was a foot-path which led from this point of the road straight
to the house through a couple of fields and a plantation. After Mr.
Rayner had alighted, Mr. Reade and I drove on by the road.
“What a lovely place!” I cried enthusiastically.
My companion remained silent.
“And, oh, what a beautiful pond! I do believe it has water-lilies!” I
exclaimed, turning round half breathless at such a glorious discovery.
“I wouldn’t have that stagnant water near my house for my children to
play about for something!” said he, in an energetic growl which
surprised me.
I said no more until we drove slowly down the sloping carriage-drive
through the trees which led to the house; then again my admiration
broke out.
“Oh, how delightfully cool it looks, with the ivy all over it to keep
out the hot sun!”
“Yes, and to keep in the cold moisture, Miss Christie. That ivy hasn’t
been cut for the last five years; and it ought to be torn down
altogether to make the place fit to live in. It is no better than a
pest-house!” he went on, getting more and more excited. “I wouldn’t
let a laborer live in it!”
“A laborer won’t have a chance until my lease is up, Laurence,” said
Mr. Rayner dryly, coming out of a path among the trees. And the two
men exchanged looks which showed that at the bottom of their hearts
they were not friends.
But then it was not likely that Mr. Rayner would care to hear his
beautiful home called a pest-house!
We drove slowly down to the hall door, which was open, and a gaunt
untidy-looking servant came out and carried in my boxes. Mr. Reade
helped me down and stood by me, apparently examining the harness,
while I looked in an ecstasy of admiration at the dark red house
thickly covered with ivy, and at the gray stone portico, the pillars
of which were stained with picturesque patches of green, while the
capitals were overgrown with soft bronze and brown moss. Then he
seized a moment, when Mr. Rayner was speaking to the servant, to stoop
and say to me quickly, in a low voice--
“Don’t let them put you near Mrs. Rayner’s room.”
I could not answer, could not ask why, for the next moment he was
calling out good-by to Mr. Rayner, and, raising his hat to me, was
walking by the side of the dog-cart up the steep drive that led
through the garden to the road. I was sorry he was gone. I wanted to
ask what he meant by his strange warning, and to thank him for his
kindness. A distressing sense of loneliness came over me. Mr. Rayner,
who had grown grave and silent and deeply occupied with his letters
during the last part of the drive, had gone into the house forgetting
to invite me in; the servant had disappeared with my last box. Instead
of following her, I stood watching the dog-cart and its owner out of
sight, until a harsh woman’s voice startled me.
“Won’t you come in? I’m to show you to your room.”
It was the gaunt servant who addressed me. I turned, blushing, and
followed her into a low long hall, dark, cool, and old-fashioned, such
as the outside of the house had prepared me for; up an oak-lined
staircase; through a few of those short and inconvenient passages
which abound in old houses that have been added to from time to time,
to a corner-room, shabby, dark, and bare-looking, where my boxes were
already installed. I sat down on one of these, the only friendly
things I had about me, and began to cry. Somebody might at least have
come to the door to meet me! I thought of Mr. Reade’s words, and began
to wonder with a new sense of dread what Mrs. Rayner was like. Was she
an invalid? Was she--mad? If not, why had she left the correspondence
about her child’s governess entirely to her husband? My tears dried
slowly as I went on puzzling myself uselessly about this mystery which
must be so very soon solved; and I was scarcely ready when the servant
returned to tell me that tea was waiting for me. But my curiosity was
only to be sharpened. Tea was prepared for me alone, the servant
saying that Mr. Rayner was busy, and had had his taken into the study.
Not a word about Mrs. Rayner--no sign of a pupil! So great were my
anxiety and curiosity that I forgot how hungry I was, and in a few
minutes I had finished my tea, and was standing by the window looking
out into the garden.
It was not yet seven o’clock and a bright summer evening. A light
breeze had sprung up and was swaying the tops of the trees that grew
thickly round the house. On the side of the dining-room a mossy lawn
stretched from the roots of the trees right up to the French windows.
I opened one of these and went out. I had never been in such a
beautiful garden before. The grass was soft and springy and well kept;
there were no stiff beds of geraniums and verbenas, but under the
trees and against the house, and wherever there was a spare corner,
grew clumps of Scotch and monthly roses, Canterbury bells, prince’s
feather, and such simple flowers. The house was built on the very
border of the marsh, at the bottom of a hill which sloped down,
covered with trees, towards the dining-room side of the house. I made
my way round to the front and the moss-grown portico--from here one
caught glimpses of the marsh through the thick trees. I followed a
grass-path cut through them, facing the front of the house, until I
came to the pond which had excited my admiration from the dog-cart.
Here the vegetation grew unchecked. The water was half covered with
smooth green duckweed and water-lilies, and the reeds and rushes,
which grew tall and thick round the margin, had encroached much upon
the little sheet of water. The path I had followed was continued
through the trees, within a few feet of the pond, to the outer edge of
the little wood which enclosed the house and garden; there a few rough
steps over the fence connected it with the foot-path along the borders
of the marsh, which joined the road at the descent of the hill. This
was the short cut by which Mr. Rayner had reached the house before us
that afternoon.
I had turned back towards the garden, and was close to the pond, when
I heard a low crooning sound which seemed to come out of the ground at
my feet. Looking about, I saw sitting among the reeds, at the very
edge of the water--so close to it that her little shoes kept slipping
in the moist yielding earth--a tiny elfish-looking child, about two
years old, in a dirty white frock and pinafore, with a small pale
wrinkled face and thin straight red hair, who rocked herself to and
fro and went on with her monotonous chant without seeming at all
disturbed by the appearance of a stranger. She only stared at me,
without altering her position, when I told her that she must not sit
so near the water, or she would fall in and be drowned; but, when I
stooped to lift her up, she proved her humanity by screaming loudly
and reproaching me in baby language too indistinct for me to
understand. I supposed her to be the child of the gardener or of some
neighboring cottager, and, not quite knowing what to do with her, I
carried her, still screaming, to the house, where I met the servant
whom I had already seen.
“I found this child sitting with her feet nearly in the pond!” I said
tragically.
“Oh, yes, miss, there’s no keeping her away from the pond! She’s there
pretty nearly all day by herself. Come now, Mona, it’s time for you to
go to bed. Dirty little girl, look at your pinafore!”
She took the child from me, thankful to have been spared the trouble
of hunting and catching the little wild thing, and carried her off,
leaving me wondering whether my pupil would be as eerie a creature as
her sister. As there was nothing to invite me to stay indoors, I went
out again, this time to explore the side of the house which faced the
marsh. Here the grass grew untrimmed and rank up to the very walls;
and, as I made my way through it, my feet sank from time to time into
little unseen pools and swamps, which wetted them up to the ankles
after a few steps. However, I went on as carefully as I could, past a
tangle of shrubs, yew-trees, and straggling briers, until, pushing
aside the low-hanging branches of a barberry-tree, I found myself
within a few feet of a window so heavily shaded by gnarled and knotted
ivy that for a few moments I did not notice a woman’s face staring at
me intently through the glass. As soon as I caught sight of the sunken
face and large lustreless gray eyes, I knew, by her likeness to the
child at the pond, that this was Mrs. Rayner. I retreated in as
leisurely a manner as I could, trying to look as if I had not seen
her; for there was something in the eager, hopeless stare of her eyes
as mine met them which made me feel like a spy.
I crept back into the house and up to my room, unpacked my boxes, and
sat down to write to my mother an account of my journey and arrival. I
did not tell her quite all that I had seen, or all the strange
impressions this first evening had made upon me. I felt very anxious
to communicate them to somebody; but my mother was a gentle nervous
woman, whom I had already, young as I was, learned to lead rather than
be led by; I knew that the least suggestion of mystery would cause her
an agony of doubt and anxiety about her child which I could not allay
by letter; so I contented myself with a description of the picturesque
beauty of the place and of Mr. Rayner’s kindness. I had to finish this
by candle-light, and, when I had ended, I rose and went to the window
to give one more look at the scene under a new aspect. My window, I
afterwards found, was over the one at which I had seen Mrs. Rayner’s
face; it was high enough from the ground for me to have, through the
gaps between the trees, a good view of the marsh and the hills beyond.
A low cry of admiration burst from me as I looked out. Over all the
wide expanse of marsh, which seemed to stretch for miles on either
hand, lay a white mist, rising only a few feet from the ground, but so
thick as to look like a silver lake in the moonlight; a range of hills
two or three miles off seemed to mark the opposite shore. The mist was
dense under my window, too, on the very grass that I had waded through
a couple of hours before. As I looked out and tried to imagine little
fairy boats in the elders which rose here and there out of the
mist-hidden marsh, a shiver passed over me; and I drew in my head with
a sudden change of thought.
“How cold it is! Mr. and Mrs. Rayner must be devoted admirers of the
picturesque to live in a house that must be so very damp!”