THE HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY.
_The Hampstead Mystery._
A Novel.
BY
FLORENCE MARRYAT,
AUTHOR OF ‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘VÉRONIQUE,’ ‘MY OWN
CHILD,’ ‘MY SISTER THE ACTRESS,’ ‘HOW LIKE
A WOMAN,’ ‘PARSON JONES,’ ETC., ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. I.
LONDON:
F. V. WHITE & CO.,
14 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1894.
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
CHAPTER I., 1
CHAPTER II., 25
CHAPTER III., 46
CHAPTER IV., 75
CHAPTER V., 97
CHAPTER VI., 123
CHAPTER VII., 145
CHAPTER VIII., 171
CHAPTER IX., 198
CHAPTER X., 218
THE HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY.
_The Hampstead Mystery._
CHAPTER I.
‘Once for all,’ exclaimed Mr Crampton, bringing down his broad fist
heavily upon the table, ‘once for all, I tell you, _I will not have
it_.’
At this terrible assertion, Mrs Crampton shivered as if she had been
struck, and Aunt Clem silently dissolved into tears. Henry Hindes, of
all the party, alone preserved his composure. He leaned back in his
chair, carefully trimming his filbert nails with a penknife, as if the
affair under discussion were not of the slightest moment.
‘Of course you will not have it,’ he said after a pause to Mr Crampton,
‘no man in his senses would. Mr Frederick Walcheren has money and good
looks, but there his claims to admiration end. The first you do not
require for your daughter, and the second would have no weight with
anyone but a woman. To place against these supposed advantages, Mr
Walcheren is a young man of dissolute habits, and lavish expenditure.
You should hear what his cousin, Philip Walcheren, says of him.’
‘I want no one’s opinion but my own,’ replied Mr Crampton vehemently.
‘Jenny will have all my money by-and-by, and she shall marry no man
that will make ducks and drakes of it. Besides, he isn’t good enough
for her in any way. He thinks, I suppose, because his family have been
a set of idle scoundrels for centuries past, while my progenitors have
been working to support their children, that his is the better of the
two, but I don’t see it. Besides, if he were the heir to the Crown,
he shouldn’t have my daughter. He’s a Roman, that’s more than enough
for me. I’ll have no Papists in my family. I hate the whole crew, with
their cunning, underhand ways. If Jenny won’t give this Walcheren
fellow over, I’ll lock her up on bread and water till she comes to her
senses again.’
As neither of the ladies made any answer to this threat, Mr Hindes
interfered again.
‘Surely,’ he said with an incredulous smile, ‘Miss Crampton will not
dream of opposing your wishes in this particular, when so much depends
upon her obedience. What can she see in this young man to attract her,
above others of his kind; she who has a crowd of admirers wherever she
goes, and is the acknowledged beauty of Hampstead? I believe, Crampton,
that you are alarming yourself without cause. Miss Crampton means
nothing serious. She is merely amusing herself with the sight of young
Walcheren’s infatuation for her.’
‘It’s more than that,’ returned the older man; ‘I’ve forbidden the
girl to dance with him when she meets him out, or to receive him here
during my absence. And now, her mother tells me, she met them riding
together yesterday afternoon, and has intercepted a letter from him
to Jenny, in which he writes as though they were promised to each
other. What am I to do? I can’t be always at my daughter’s elbow, and
her mother can’t go galloping all over the country after her. It is
disgraceful to think that a young lady of twenty can’t be trusted to
behave herself properly as soon as she is out of her parents’ sight!’
‘Don’t you think you are making rather a mountain out of a molehill?’
inquired Henry Hindes, in the same calm way. ‘Doubtless, Miss Crampton
is young and thoughtless, and, if I may venture to say so--perhaps just
a wee bit spoilt; but is that any reason that you should suspect her
of impropriety? And, after all, is there anything wrong or unusual in
a lovely girl being followed and persecuted by her admirers? Perhaps,
if the truth were known, Miss Crampton might be as well pleased to get
rid of Mr Walcheren as you would be.’
At this juncture, Mrs Crampton took heart of grace to put in her oar.
‘Oh, thank you, dear Mr Hindes!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am sure you are
right. That is, I feel certain that Jenny cares no more for Mr
Walcheren than for anyone else. She is a trifle wilful and does not
brook contradiction well--I acknowledge that--and perhaps papa and I
have spoilt her a little; she is such a darling, you know, that it is
very difficult not to spoil her--but she would never really oppose our
wishes. Papa has only to speak to her--’
‘Nonsense!’ interposed Mr Crampton gruffly. ‘I have spoken to her a
dozen times already, and she laughs in my face and disobeys me as soon
as my back is turned. But this business has gone far enough, and I mean
to put a stop to it. Where is the girl?’ he continued, turning to his
wife; ‘go and tell her I wish to speak to her at once!’
‘My dear, she has not risen yet. I do not suppose she is awake!’
‘And it is past eleven,’ said her husband.
‘Yes; but remember how late she was up last night. I don’t think we
were home till past two o’clock.’
‘Whilst she was dancing with this young jackanapes, I conclude, and
letting him make eyes at her! Well! it is for the last time, I can tell
Miss Jenny that! If she disobeys me again, I’ll take her right away
from Hampstead, and she shall never see it till the fellow’s dead, or
married. No Papistical grandchildren for me! I can tell her that!’
‘Oh, Mr Crampton!’ cried his wife, with affected horror.
‘Yes, it is “Oh! Mr Crampton,”’ repeated the old man angrily, mimicking
her thin tones, ‘and it’ll be “Oh! Mrs Crampton,” if you don’t take
care. It’s more than half your fault! You should look better after
your daughter, and then these unpleasantries wouldn’t happen. But you
let her have her own way in everything. She just rules you and Miss
Bostock, and then you leave me to rectify your errors. It isn’t fair on
either me or the child!’
Mrs Crampton and her sister, Miss Bostock, familiarly known as Aunt
Clem, were now weeping in concert.
‘I am sure,’ sobbed the mother, ‘I’ve done everything in my power,
short of turning Mr Walcheren out of doors, to prevent his calling here
so often, because I knew you didn’t wish it, John. Last time he came
I would not order up tea, until Jenny made such a point of it that I
could not refuse. And when the dear child rides, or drives, you know it
is impossible for me to supervise her actions.’
‘You should go with her,’ grumbled her husband.
‘Oh! dear! I wouldn’t sit behind those cobs of hers for all the world!
It frightens me to see her drive them. And she won’t come out in the
barouche with Aunt Clem and me. She laughs at the very idea. She is so
very high-spirited, you see. She must have her own way in everything!’
‘Well, go and fetch her here,’ said Mr Crampton shortly; ‘I must speak
to her before I go to town.’
‘But if she is not dressed, my dear,’ remonstrated his wife.
‘Tell her to dress at once and come to me! Now, no nonsense, or I’ll
pull her out of bed myself.’
The two women flew from the room to prevent so awful a contingency, and
the men were left alone. They were partners in the well-known firm of
Messrs Hindes & Crampton, wool-staplers in the city.
Henry Hindes, although much the younger of the two, was head of the
business, having inherited his share through the death of his father.
He was a man of about five or seven and thirty, smooth and solid
looking, but much more polished in manners and appearance than his
partner. His fair, thin hair was parted in the middle, and combed
close to his head. He possessed a powerful brain and a good knowledge
of business. His blue eyes, straight thick nose, and smiling mouth,
gave him a benevolent and cordial look, which made him a favourite in
society. He was always perfectly dressed, and was proud of his white
hands and filbert nails.
People who wished to do business with the firm, always preferred to see
the senior partner to the junior, because the former was so _suave_ and
courteous, and the latter so rough and curt.
But Mr Crampton was the tenderer-hearted man of the two, though he
did not show it so much. His private purse-strings were always open
to help a disabled workman, or to head a subscription for the widows
and orphans of those who were removed by death. He was a man of
strong views, however, and a somewhat obstinate temperament, and this
business of his daughter and Mr Frederick Walcheren had disturbed him
very much. A Scotchman by birth, and brought up as a Nonconformist,
he had a righteous horror of Popery, and everything connected with
it. On this account alone he had, from the first, discountenanced the
acquaintanceship of Mr Walcheren with his family; and to find that his
daughter had, in express opposition to his wishes, made an intimate
friend of the young man, wounded him in his tenderest point. He sat
very gloomy and silent after his wife and sister-in-law had left the
room, and Mr Hindes tried his utmost to make him regard the matter in a
more hopeful light. For years he had been as intimate in the domestic
circle of the Crampton family, as he was with his partner in the city,
and was regarded as their nearest friend by them all.
‘This is a matter that only requires a few words of explanation to set
it right, Crampton,’ he remarked, ‘so it’s no use looking so black
about it. You must allow that you and your wife have rather given Miss
Jenny her own way, and naturally she clings to it. But she loves you
both too much to wilfully oppose you.’
‘I hope so, I hope so!’ replied the old man. ‘But spoilt children are
not always the most grateful, Hindes. I trust that Jenny may listen, as
you say, to reason, but I would rather appeal to the young man himself.
Perhaps, if he knew that we will never give our consent to her marrying
a Papist, he might see the advisability of giving up the pursuit.’
‘I will speak to him, if you empower me to do so,’ said Hindes,
eagerly. ‘He is sure to be at the Bouchers’ dance to-night. I did not
intend to go, but I believe Hannah wishes to do so, and the opportunity
will be an excellent one, particularly if Miss Crampton is to be there,
and carries out your prohibition with respect to dancing with him. He
will sulk and sit out, and I shall be able to give him a hint as to
your disapproval of his suit.’
‘Do so, Hindes, and I shall be exceedingly obliged to you,’ replied Mr
Crampton. ‘And, if that fails, we must take Jenny away, for, by hook or
by crook, I am determined to shake that young fellow off.’
‘Hannah is going with the little ones to Broadstairs next week. What do
you say to Miss Crampton accompanying her? You know how fond my wife is
of your daughter, and she would watch over her like a mother. At all
events, it is worth thinking of.’
‘It would be a capital plan,’ said Mr Crampton; ‘but why are you going?’
‘Because it is time one of us was at the office, my dear fellow; and,
since you are about to speak to your daughter on this subject, it is
just as well I should be out of the way. I shall see you later in the
afternoon, but don’t hurry on my account. And I shall not forget to
speak to Mr Walcheren this evening. I shall not spare him, I promise
you, but lay it on as thick as I know how, and, if he doesn’t like
it, he must do the other thing. By the way, I know the cousin, Philip
Walcheren, as well as their mutual director, Father Tasker, so, if
the young man won’t hear reason, I will appeal to them. There is one
convenience about these Papists, you can generally wield them through
their directors.’
‘Yes, the silly fools!’ said Crampton contemptuously. ‘They’re afraid
to say their lives are their own if the priests say they’re not. Pooh!
call them _men_. They’re more like a flock of silly sheep, who run
baa-ing after their shepherd.’
‘In that case,’ replied Mr Hindes, smiling, ‘I’m afraid Mr Frederick
Walcheren must be one of the lost sheep, for, from all I hear, he does
not trouble the church, nor the director of his conscience much. But
I’ll do my level best to bring him to hear reason in this instance. _Au
revoir._’
And, with a nod and a smile, he was gone.
‘He’s a true friend,’ thought Mr Crampton to himself, as he took up the
_Times_, and tried to possess his soul in patience until the appearance
of his daughter.
Meanwhile, Mrs Crampton and Miss Bostock were making their way,
timidly, towards the young lady’s bedroom. In the ante-chamber they
encountered her maid, employed in sewing.
‘Is Miss Crampton awake yet, Ellen?’ demanded her mother.
‘Oh! no, ma’am, I haven’t heard a sound of her, and she begged me
particularly not to call her till she rung. She was terrible tired, she
said, and didn’t wish to be disturbed.’
‘I’m sorry, Ellen, but I’m afraid I must wake her now. It’s past
eleven, and her papa particularly wishes to see her before he leaves
for the city,’ replied Mrs Crampton.
‘Oh, dear! I’m sure I don’t know what she’ll say,’ remarked the maid,
as she re-applied herself to her work, and looked as if she was glad
the task had not fallen to her.
The two ladies entered the adjoining bedroom on tip-toe, and as if
they feared the result of the least noise. It was one of the most
perfectly-arranged chambers a young girl could desire, and it was
pre-evident that its furnishings had been selected with the greatest
care, and for someone who was much loved and treasured. The walls
and chintzes were all of palest pink, the woodwork of white enamel,
and the hangings of lace. On the walls were hung a selection of
photographs, chiefly of dogs and horses, for Miss Crampton’s tastes
ran in that line, and the low, walnut-wood bookcase was filled with
the best authors. Everywhere were signs of profusion and luxury, for
the Cramptons were rich and spared no expense for this one beloved
child, who made all the joy of their lives. The toilet table was
covered with silver and cut glass, and on the mantelpiece stood a
handsome clock and candelabras of Sevres china; but the fairest sight
in all the room was Jenny Crampton herself, as she lay, flushed,
dishevelled and palpitating on her bed, one of the most beautiful
specimens of work that ever proceeded from the Creator’s hand. It was
difficult to believe that the two plain women who stood gazing at her
from the foot of the bed, could be her nearest blood relations. The
questions of hereditary resemblances and non-resemblances are amongst
the most anomalous in Nature. Whence did Jenny Crampton inherit her
perfect features and colouring? Her father was a type of the average
middle-class Englishman. He had a broad-set, muscular figure, with legs
too short for his size, a florid complexion, with thick bushy eyebrows,
a heavy nose, and a long upper lip. His small grey eyes were shrewd,
but honest and benevolent-looking, and his hands and feet were large
and coarse. His wife and her sister might have stood, with a little
caricaturing, for the Frenchman’s notion of an ‘English Mees.’
Mrs Crampton had the shapelier and more matured figure of the two, and
her soft brown eyes, attenuated nose, and weak drooping mouth, might
once have been styled pretty, but they both possessed the same tall,
flat frames, with sloping shoulders, long hands and feet, and limp,
lustreless hair. In what enchanted moment, then, had such progenitors
given life to such a lovely creature, as lay asleep upon the bed before
them? Her rounded dimpled arms were thrown restlessly above her head
(for it was summer weather), and were half hidden by the mass of light
chestnut hair, that strayed over her pillow. Her tints were those of a
maiden-blush rose. From her neck and shoulders to her flushed cheeks,
her skin was of one uniform texture, of a pale cream, just touched
with pink. Her lips were slightly parted as she slept and showed the
row of white teeth within. The lashes of her eyes lay thick and long
upon her cheeks; and those eyes, when open, formed, perhaps, the very
chief of her attractions. They were long, limpid eyes, of a light
hazel colour, and with the startled expression in them of a deer or
a child; eyes which made strangers think that Jenny Crampton was one
of the most innocent of God’s creatures upon earth, but which changed
considerably in expression when Jenny’s wishes were in any way crossed,
or her requests disregarded. From the time when she was a lovely little
child (the only one they had ever kept since its earliest infancy)
Mr and Mrs Crampton had learned to dread the clouding over of those
beautiful orbs, and the pouting of those pretty lips. It was in their
power to gratify every wish of their child, and so they gratified
themselves at the same time by avoiding anything so distressing to them
as her tears. Everyone had combined to spoil Jenny Crampton from her
babyhood, and by this time the young lady was pretty well beyond all
control. The father acceded to her every request, however unreasonable
or extravagant; and the mother and aunt only lived to worship her.
Even poor Aunt Clem, who was the standing butt for Jenny’s ridicule,
or the mark for her ill-humour, considered herself well repaid for all
her patience and endurance if the spoilt beauty gave her an occasional
hasty kiss (or rather peck) on her cheek, or her cap, or wherever it
might chance to fall, or honoured her by a request to tie her sash,
or do a commission for her. This was the sort of education the poor
girl had received to enable her to face the rebuffs of the world. But,
though her bringing-up had been very faulty, there was no mistake
about her beauty. Far or near, all round Hampstead and its environs,
there was not a girl who could vie in good looks with old Crampton’s
daughter, and, as her father was known to be a very wealthy man, Jenny
had more admirers than she could count on her ten fingers. But, of them
all, none had really appealed to her senses but Frederick Walcheren.
The Cramptons and Aunt Clem had a tough time before them.
‘How lovely she is!’ sighed Miss Bostock, as an intuition of their
presence, even through her dreams, made Jenny turn restlessly and throw
herself into another becoming attitude on the other side of the bed.
‘Yes! indeed, Clem; but I’m afraid I must rouse her,’ whispered Mrs
Crampton. ‘Papa is really vexed about this business, and, if she
doesn’t see him at once, I fear he may be more so. Jenny, my darling!’
she continued, going round to the girl’s side and laying her hand
gently on her shoulder, ‘Jenny, dear love, wake up; there’s a dear!
Papa wants to see you before he goes into the city.’
‘Eh! what?’ said the girl drowsily, as she turned away, ‘it’s not time
to get up yet. I’m so sleepy.’
‘But, Jenny, love, try and rouse yourself,’ repeated her mother, rather
tremblingly, ‘your father wants you, dear. He won’t keep you long. You
need only put on a tea-gown and can come back and finish your toilet
afterwards. Come Jenny, make an effort, love, for papa won’t be denied.’
The girl opened her big hazel eyes then, and stared stupidly at her
aunt and mother.
‘You here, mamma!’ she ejaculated, ‘and Aunt Clem! What on earth is the
matter? Is the house on fire?’
‘No! no! dear, of course not, but papa wants to speak to you for a
minute before he leaves home.’
‘Then he must wait till he comes back,’ replied Jenny, as she closed
her eyes again, ‘for I’m a great deal too sleepy to see anyone. Go
away, do! mamma, and leave me alone. It’s a shame to go waking me in
this way, when you know I was dancing up to three o’clock this morning.’
‘I know, darling, I know!’ said Mrs Crampton, almost weeping, ‘and I
wouldn’t have done it for the world, only papa insisted on it, and you
know what he is when he’s set on having his way. Jenny, my dear; do try
and rouse yourself a little, for papa says if you don’t go down and see
him, he will come up here and pull you out of bed himself.’
At this intelligence, Miss Crampton did see fit to open her eyes a
little wider, and sit up in bed. Perhaps her conscience warned her what
this unusual severity on the part of her father might portend, but she
looked exceedingly cross as she did so.
‘I never heard such nonsense in all my life,’ she exclaimed, ‘what can
he have to say to me, that will not keep till dinner time? I can’t
be down for half an hour, at anyrate, so papa must wait my pleasure.
Where’s Ellen? She must come and help me dress! My goodness me, Aunt
Clem,’ she broke off suddenly, as she caught sight of that lady’s
sympathetic features regarding her wistfully from the foot of the bed,
‘don’t stand there goggling at me like a stork on one leg, or you’ll
drive me out of my senses. Go and call Ellen, do! If I’m to see papa,
someone must dress me. I don’t suppose he wants me to walk downstairs
in my night-dress, though he is in such a hurry.’
‘No! no! love, of course not!’ returned her mother, hastily. ‘Clem!
call Ellen, and tell her Jenny is going to get up. Now, darling! what
can I do to help you?’
‘Nothing,’ replied her daughter peevishly, ‘unless you will give papa
a dose of morphia to keep him quiet till I can dress myself. What _is_
all this mystery about? Why can’t you say why the old gentleman is so
desirous of my company this morning. He is not in the habit of dragging
me out of bed, after a ball, at this unearthly hour.’
‘It is nearly twelve o’clock, my dear!’ said Mrs Crampton evasively.
‘What of that? I ordered my trap to be round at four this afternoon,
and told Ellen particularly that she was not to come near me till I
rang. You know the Bouchers’ dance is on to-night, and a nice figure I
shall look at it if I do not have my sleep out first.’
‘Well, dear,’ replied her mother, soothingly, ‘you can come to bed
again, if you think fit, in the afternoon. You know _I_ wouldn’t have
disturbed you for all the world, but gentlemen are not always so
considerate. And your father insisted upon my doing so, so what could I
say?’
‘What’s the row about?’ repeated Jenny, as her maid began to brush out
and twist up her superabundant hair.
But Mrs Crampton was too discreet to say all she knew before a servant.
‘Oh! it’s nothing particular, my love, and your father had best tell
you himself. You needn’t be afraid, he loves you too dearly ever to
scold you, whatever you may do or say.’
‘Oh! I’m not afraid of the old man!’ rejoined the young lady; ‘only
he’d better not go too far with me. I can guess what all the fuss is
about, mamma, and I’ve got a will of my own, as well as he has. If
papa is going to lecture me about Mr--’
‘Now, dear, don’t mention any names,’ interposed Mrs Crampton quickly,
‘for it may only lead to mischief. Your papa must tell you his own
business, and I’m sure you’ll do all in your power to fall in with his
wishes.’
‘I’m not so sure of that,’ replied the young lady, with a _moue_.
‘Here, Ellen, give me my blue tea-gown! My hair will do very well, for
I shall most likely be in bed again in half an hour. Go down, whilst
I’m with Mr Crampton, and fetch me some chocolate and a piece of toast,
and let it be ready when I come back. Now! mamma, we’ll go and beard
the old lion in his den.’