The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel

"He's the selfishest man," said Mrs. Preedy, "is that Mr. Dumbrick, as ever I clapped eyes on-keeping things to hisself in that way! It's a good job he ain't married; he'd torment the soul out of a poor woman."

Meanwhile, this selfishest of men was sitting in his cellar, with the Duchess on his knee.

"Duchess," he said, in a tone which denoted that he wished to engage her serious attention, "this is a most unexpected and mysterious occurrence. Since I've been in Rosemary Lane, I've received altogether three letters-about one every ten years-and here you are at your age beginning to bother the Post Office. You're commencing early, Duchess."

The Duchess nodded languidly. The letter, not being something nice to eat, was of no interest to her.

"The question is," continued Seth, who seemed to have lost for the time his decision of character, "what is in this letter, and who sent it? It's a good handwriting, and there can't be any mistake about its being for you."

"Open it, Daddy," said Sally.

"There's no hurry, Sally. Don't let us meet trouble halfway. Duchess, do you love Daddy Dumbrick?"

"Oh, yes," sighed the Duchess, closing her eyes, and leaning back in Seth's arms.

"You don't want to leave him?"

"No," murmured the Duchess.

"Because you see, Sally, the world'd seem a different place to me, not half so good as it was, if anything was to occur as'd take the Duchess away from us."

"No one shall," cried Sally, beginning to share Seth's fears, "no one can!"

"I don't know that," said Seth, with an apprehensive observance of the letter; "they sha'n't if I can help it. If I had plenty of money, which I haven't, you, me, and the Duchess'd steal away one night from Rosemary Lane, and'd go and live in the country, where nobody'd know us, and where we could see green fields and flowers, and breathe the fresh air from morning to night. For that's what our precious wants. Green fields and fresh air'd soon pull her round, and we'd live there happily all our lives."

"Like gipsies, Daddy."

"Yes, Sal, like gipsies."

"That would be nice," said Sally; adding wistfully, "but it can't be, Daddy, can it?"

"No, it can't be, unless a shower of gold was to come down through the ceiling-and that's not likely. Let's see what's in the letter."

Had he suspected it to contain gunpowder he could not have broken the seal more timidly. It was a letter without an envelope, folded in the old-fashioned way, and when it was opened, a thin paper enclosure fluttered to the ground. In his anxiety Seth did not notice what had escaped, and he turned the letter this way and that, without meeting with any writing but the address. Singular as it was, he experienced a feeling of relief at this dispersal of his fears.

"Here's something dropped, Daddy," said Sally, in a tone made almost gay by the change of expression in Seth's countenance.

Seth took the enclosure from Sally's hands. It was a Bank of England note for ten pounds.

"Why, it's money!" he exclaimed.

"Money!" cried Sally.

"Yes, Sally, money." He glanced up at the ceiling with an air of comical wonder. "We're in Tom Tiddler's ground, Sally."

"No, no," cried Sally, clapping her hands in glee, "it didn't drop from there. It dropped out of the letter."

"That's more wonderful, then, than all the rest put together. Out of the letter! There's not a letter in the letter, Sal-not one, from A to Z." He laughed aloud, and Sally laughed in sympathy. "I don't care where this comes from, nor why it has come. What I know is, it's the brightest bit of good luck that ever happened to a man. This piece of paper's a looking-glass, my child. Look at it-what do you see in it?"

Literal Sally, looking at the bank-note, as Seth held it open before her, began at the beginning.

"There's a picture of a lady with a wand in her hand-"

"Britannia ruling the waves. Is that all you can see in it?"

"No; there's-what funny letters, Daddy! I never saw any like 'em before. There's B-a-n-k, Bank-"

Seth took up the word, and read the note from beginning to end, and then repeated his question, "Is that a l you can see in it?"

"That's all, Daddy."

"Sally, I'm cleverer than you. I take the note, and put it before me like this- Stop a minute." The Duchess had fallen asleep in his arms, and he placed her gently on the bed. "Now we can get along. I look at the note like this, and I see-yes, I see a coach, with you and me and the Duchess sitting on the top of it."

"O Daddy!"

"Here we go, driving into the country. Such a ride, Sally! I see green fields and flowers and fresh air for our darling in it-"

It was with difficulty that Sally kept herself still to hear the rest.

"I see two weeks of green fields and fresh air for our darling in it. And I'm not quite sure that I don't see the sea. Do I see the waves creeping up, Sally?"

"I don't know-oh, do you see 'em, Daddy, do you?"

"It's got a little bit cloudy about here" – tracing an imaginary line with his finger-"but it'll clear up soon. And, Sally, I see something still better in it. I see roses for our Duchess's cheeks in it, sparkles for her eyes, lightness for her foot. Kiss the note, Sally. I never thought I should come to worship Mammon, but I do worship him now, with all my heart."

"Daddy," said Sally, struck with a sudden fear, "is it a good un?"

The alarming suggestion caused Seth to run out of the place, as though he were running for his life, and this display of excitement on his part was so novel that the neighbours who were still waiting in the street for news concerning the letter came, first to the usual conclusion that the house was on fire, and next to the more appetising one that Seth Dumbrick had suddenly gone mad. He was a long time absent, for it was no easy matter to get a ten-pound note changed in Rosemary Lane. There were hundreds who had never seen such a thing, and to whom a sight of it would have been an eighth wonder of the world. At the end of an hour Seth returned in a calmer mood, with a fistful of gold, which he let fall, piece by piece, on the table, before Sally's wondering eyes. She, who never experienced a pleasure, new or old, without desiring that her idol should share it, caught up the Duchess, crying: "Look, Duchess, look!" The Duchess stretched forth her hand with eager delight, and the children sat close to the table, playing gleefully with the bright pieces, Seth standing at their back, looking at them and at the gold, with one hand resting on the Duchess's shoulder, and the other rasping his chin. His declaration that he did not care where the money came from was not ingenious. If he had wished, he could not have banished so singular an adventure from his mind, and the more he thought of it the more it puzzled him. He had no friend who was likely or able to commit an action so quixotic; neither had Sally. Turning his attention to the letter again, he held it up to the light and peered closely at it, in the endeavour to discover a clue. Then it came into his mind that there was a kind of colourless ink with which persons wishing to communicate secretly could write, and which heat alone would render visible, and he placed the paper to the fire without arriving at any satisfactory result. He could not detect even the scratch of a pen. It was the most unsolvable of riddles. "I am afraid I must give it up," he said to himself, but he could not give it up. With the subject still in his mind, he ascended to his stall to finish some work he had in hand before he started on the contemplated holiday. During his work, a hundred ingenious theories started up, all to be dismissed but one, which took strong possession of him. "Some rich person," he thought, "perhaps a lady who once had a pretty child, that she was ashamed to call her own, has seen the Duchess by chance, and has fallen in love with her beautiful face, because it reminds her of old days. Then she finds out the Duchess's name; then she discovers that the Duchess has been ill; and then she sends a present of money in this mysterious way." The sentiment attaching to this fanciful speculation rendered it peculiarly attractive to Seth. "We'll put it down to that," he mused; "stranger things have happened in the world." So he put it down to "that," and produced some pleasant mental pictures out of the fancy.

When the midday meal was over, he said, "Duchess, this money's for you. It's been sent because you've got a pretty face, and pretty hands, and bright eyes. And it's going to take us into the country, where the flowers are all a-growing and a-blowing, and where you'll get strong and lively again."

"Then it will come true," cried Sally, "what you saw in the ten-pound note!"

"It will come true, Sally, if we're alive to-morrow." An ecstatic silence followed, broken by Sally.

"Then you know who sent the money, Daddy!"

"It was sent by a lady-as handsome a lady as ever you clapped eyes on, Sally."

"And you've seen her?"

"Well-hum! – yes, I've seen her." And here Seth rubbed his forehead, denoting that he meant he had seen her in his mind's eye-a salve to his conscience.

"Where does she live?" asked Sally, whom it was difficult to stop, when she commenced to make inquiries on an interesting theme.

"She lives in-hum! – in Fairyland."

"Oh, where's that?"

"Don't ask any more questions. You'll see a bit of it to-morrow."

CHAPTER XVI

The following day a sensation was created in Rosemary Lane by the circumstance of Seth Dumbrick's stall being closed, and by a written notice pasted outside, to the effect that he might be expected to return in the course of two or three weeks.

"From the day as Seth Dumbrick give that party to the children," said Mrs. Preedy, holding forth in front of the cellar to a knot of eager listeners, "down in that cellar" – with finger ominously pointing-"from that day I begun to suspect him, and to feel sure as there was something wrong I says to him on that very day, Strange things is often done down in cellars,' says I; and then I told him that I wouldn't let my Jane go to his party unless I were invited, no, not if he filled my apron with diamings. 'Perhaps,' says I, with mind full of misbegivings, 'perhaps you've got ghosts and skiletons down in your cellar, Mr. Dumbrick;' and as true as I'm a living woman, he says to me upon that, 'My cellar is full of ghosts, Mrs. Preedy,' says he; 'my cellar is full of ghosts,' he says."

This narrative imparted a more intense interest to the position of affairs, and imagination ran riot on the contents of the cellar, which became gradually filled with the bones and limbs of murdered persons-Seth Dumbrick's victims, who had been artfully decoyed down the steps and made away with.

"And it shows the wickedness of mankind," said one woman, especially disposed to the horrible, "to think of the way he's kept it secret all this time."

Other imaginative phases relating to Sally and the Duchess, who were pictured as being either murdered or chained to the wall and left to starve, soon became popular; and ears were pressed to the shutters to catch the groans of the children.

"I can hear something!" cried Mrs. Preedy; which instantly caused the knot of women to declare that, for humanity's sake, the cellar should be broken into and the children rescued. Whether they would have proceeded to this extremity is not certain, and perhaps it was fortunate that the form of Dr. Lyon was at that moment seen approaching them.

"O doctor! O doctor!" cried Mrs. Preedy; and stood before him, pressing her sides, and gasping for breath in her agitation.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Preedy?" asked the doctor. "Spasms?"

"No, sir; oh! no, sir," she replied, still palpitating. "The children! the children!"

"What children?"

"Our beautiful Duchess, sir, and Sally, that we're all so fond on!"

"Well?"

"Down there, sir! Murdered! I heard a groan jest as you come up."

"Which proves," said the doctor, realising the position of affairs, "that they can't be murdered. Mrs. Preedy, do you read your Bible?"

"I hope so, sir, I'm sure," answered Mrs. Preedy in a tone of virtuous injury.

"I hope so too. Do you forget what it says? 'Do unto others as you would others should do unto you.' Seth Dumbrick has gone into the country with the children, for the sake of the Duchess, who needs fresh air to bring her back to health. And here's the key of his place, which he left with me early this morning. Let me give you a piece of advice, Mrs. Preedy."

"I shall be very grateful, sir, I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Preedy, trembling, not knowing what trouble she might have brought upon herself.

"Go home, then," said the doctor in a grave tone, "and for the future attend more to your own affairs and less to other people's. In plainer words, mind your own business."

"Well, I'm sure!" gasped Mrs. Preedy, as Dr. Lyon stalked away. But she obtained no sympathy from her neighbours, who were only too ready to lay the blame on some one, and who, with justice-for she was the most zealous scandalmonger in Rosemary Lane-laid it upon Mrs. Preedy's shoulders. So that for once the right scapegoat suffered. Mrs. Preedy went home in an oppressed state of mind, a sadder if not a wiser woman; and the neighbours generally, to show how guiltless they were, became enthusiastic in their praises of Seth Dumbrick; though it must be confessed they bore him in their hearts a little grudge for having disappointed them of a grand and awful sensation.

In the meantime, unconscious of the excitement he had created, Seth Dumbrick, with the Duchess and Sally by his side, was sitting on the top of an empty wagon returning to the country, with the driver of which he had bargained for the ride.

It was a fine day, and the delight of the children was unbounded. The fresh air, the clear atmosphere, the dreamy clouds, the beautiful fields, were revelations to them. Occasionally they passed an estate, stone-walled from vulgar eyes, over which, being seated at such an elevation, they could see into the carefully-tended gardens and orchards; and more frequently they passed the prettiest of gardens belonging to humbler folk, the colour and beauty of which were as lovely and charming as Nature could produce, to gladden heart and eye. The driver of the wagon was in no hurry; he had some sixty miles to go, and he worked for no hard taskmaster; he was an old man, and merciful to his cattle, having a love for them, as could easily be seen-all of which circumstances were as precious as gold to the holiday-seekers, for it gave them leisure to see and enjoy. The wagon was a new wagon, of which Seth made joyous capital, saying it had been built especially for them to ride in on this brightest of all bright days. Overhearing the remark, the driver said that that was a likely thing, too, for things happened pretty much as they were ordained to happen-leastways, that was his experience; and said it as though he had high authority for the doctrine. The bells on the harness supplied the music, varying most delightfully according to the pace; for, to please the children, the old driver occasionally smartened the horses into a trot, which they appeared to enjoy as much as they enjoyed the leisurely amble with which they traversed the greater part of the road. He was a kindly old fellow, with a face like a ribstone pippin, and with hands as hard and brown as knotted oak-hands which could be soft and gentle, also, and were, when he pinched the cheek of the Duchess. She, always susceptible to fondling and caressing, looked into the old man's face and smiled, so winsomely as to make him pensive.

"Yours?" he inquired of Seth Dumbrick.

"No," replied Seth, in a low tone, so that the children should not hear; "not exactly. I've adopted her. An orphan."

"Ah!" said the driver; "then she's yours;" glancing at Sally.

"No, I've no children of my own."

"Never been married?"

"No. You're a family man, I can see."

"Thirteen of 'em;" adding, in response to the look of astonishment on Seth's face, "Not too many, not one too many."

"Are they all at home?" asked Seth.

"No; they're here and there;" with a wave of his hands cloudwards, sufficiently comprehensive to denote that his brood were scattered over the face of the earth. "We're a travelling family, you see. I've been a wagoner ever since I was a lad. My youngsters took after me, and travelled further-two to America, one to China, one to Australia; and another" – this with a wistful look into the clouds, yearningly eager to fix the spot-"God knows where. But," he added, with a brighter air, "they're all doing well, most of 'em. I've no occasion to work, but I couldn't live without a whip. I'd like to die with one in my hand. Then, I love the English roads. You're fond of 'em, too, I can see."

"They are very beautiful," said Seth, "to us especially, who see but little of 'em. I haven't been out of London for fifteen years. And this little girl" – with a kindly pressure of Sally's arm-"has never in her life seen the country till now."

Sally's eyes sparkled a rapturous confirmation. This holiday was, indeed, a revelation to her soul; she saw beauty of which she had hitherto had no knowledge or comprehension; and as she sat on the wagon, with one arm fondly caressing the Duchess, whose head was lying on her bosom, she wished that she and those she loved could go jogging along in this way for ever and ever.

CHAPTER XVII

It was nearly noon when the driver said:

"I'm about as peckish as a man-especially a wagoner-can afford to be. Come up, Daisy! Do your best, Cornflower!"

Thus urged, Daisy and Cornflower, regarding the smack of the whip in the air as the merriest of jokes, broke into their smartest trot, and did their best, smelling hay and water in the near distance. The bells jingled gaily, and Sally and the Duchess looked eagerly ahead. So smart was the pace that within a few moments they saw a house of accommodation for man and beast, at the door of which a number of men and women were gathered to welcome them. The driver was evidently well known, and a favourite, and when he pulled up, willing hands assisted him to take the harness from the horses.

"An hour's spell here," he said to Seth Dumbrick, as he lifted the children to the ground, tossing them in the air, after the manner of a man accustomed to children. "If you're going to eat, you'd best take the little girls to the back of the house, and enjoy it regular country fashion. To think," he added, pinching Sally's happy face, "of never seeing the country till now!"

With a jug of beer and some cold meat and bread, Seth and his girls made their way to the garden at the back of the inn, where, sitting in a natural bower, upon seats built round the trunk of an apple-tree, they enjoyed the most delicious meal of their lives.

"We're getting our roses again," said Seth Dumbrick, gazing with unalloyed pleasure on the beautiful face of the Duchess. "Now, what we've got to do is to wish that the minutes won't fly away."

But fly away they did, and in less than no time the old wagoner summoned them to the road.

"Unless," he said jocosely, "you want to be left behind."

"I'd like to be," sighed Sally.

In front of the inn, where the horses stood ready for their work, the landlady met them, with flowers and kisses and kind words for the children; and when they were lifted into the wagon, they found that a quantity of sweet hay had been thrown in by the thoughtful wagoner-kind marks of attention which met with grateful and full-hearted acknowledgments. On they went again, gazing wistfully at the inn and the pleasant people standing about it, until they were out of sight. On they went, in a state of dreamy happiness, through the new world of peace and beauty, into which surely trouble could never enter. Every turn of the road disclosed fresh wonders, and a mighty interest was attached to the smallest incidents; – every queerly-shaped tree, every garden, every cottage, every mansion, that came into view; cows drinking from a distant pool; a mother with her baby in her arms, standing at a window framed in ivy; old men and women hobbling about the grounds of a charitable institution; two truant school-boys racing and shouting with wild delight, with no thought of the terrors to come when their fault was discovered; a man asleep under a hedge, and a woman sitting patiently by his side; a lady beautifully dressed, who paused to look at the children; a group of gipsies; a groom riding towards London at full speed; – one and all formed enduring and interesting pictures, and added to the pleasures of the ride.

"Where do we stop?" asked Seth Dumbrick of the wagoner.

"At The World's End," replied the wagoner; "we'll make it at five o'clock, I reckon."

He was a shrewd calculator. As a church clock chimed five, he pointed with his whip to an old-fashioned inn, lying off from the roadside some hundred yards away, saying that was The World's End, and that they would put up there for the night, and start again early in the morning. As he spoke, they were nearing a pair of massive iron gates, through the open work of which could be seen a curved carriage-drive, lined with great elms. Straight and tall and stately, they presented the appearance of a giant regiment drawn up in lines to do honour to those who passed between.

"That's a grand place," observed Seth.

"It's the finest estate for many a mile round," said the wagoner.

"It has got a name."

"Oh, yes. Springfield it's called."

Seth Dumbrick listened. The estate was so built round with walls and trees that the carriage-drive was the only part open to the gaze of the passer-by. A faint sound of laughter-the laughter of the young-floated to his ears.

"It isn't so solemn as it looks," said Seth.

"There's a lot of company at Springfield," rejoined the wagoner. "They're spending a fine time, I reckon."

"The master must be a rich man. Is he a lord?"

"He'll be one some day they say. He's a great lawyer."

In another moment the horses stopped at The World's End, and showed by a merry jingle of their bells that they knew the day's work was done. It was still broad daylight, and Seth set so much store upon the children being as much as they could in the open air, that, after arranging for the night's accommodation at The World's End, he and Sally and the Duchess started for a walk through the country lanes. There was sufficient beauty within the immediate vicinity of The World's End to engage their attention and admiration, and Seth, fearful of over-fatiguing the Duchess, so directed his steps as to keep Springfield always in view-whereby he was sure that he was never very far from the inn in which they were to pass the night. It thus happened that they frequently skirted the immediate boundaries of the estate-here formed by a close-knit hedge through which a hare could not have made its way, here by a natural creek, with stalwart trees on the Springfield side, here by a stone wall, in lieu of a more natural defence against encroachment. It was a quiet and peaceful evening, and after a couple of hours of almost restful sauntering, so little of labour was there in their mode of going about, they came suddenly upon a narrow lane, bounded by a broken hedge. The prospect was so pretty, and the glimpse of green trees forming an archway some twenty yards distant was so inviting, that Seth, without a thought of trespass, lifted the Duchess and Sally over the hedge, and followed them. A gipsy woman, sitting within the shadow of the arch of trees, would probably have called for no special attention, had not the Duchess-upon whom the flashing eyes, the dark sunburnt face, stern and sombre in its aspect, the shining black hair but slightly covered with the usual red handkerchief, and the generally bold air which pervaded the woman, produced an effect little less than terrifying-clasped Seth's hand in fear, and strove to pull him back.

"Don't be frightened, Duchess," said Seth, soothing; "it's only a gipsy."

None but the closest observer, and one, too, on the watch for signs, could have detected the slightest variation of expression on the woman's face. To all appearance, she was entirely unconscious of the presence of the holiday party; but her quick ears had caught very distinctly every word uttered by Seth, and her quick sense, sharpened from her birth to certain ends conducive to the earning of sixpences in an unlawful way, had already placed a construction upon them which might lead to profit. Without raising her eyes, she noted the composition of the party, and waited for the course of events to bring her into action. Seth's soothing tone quieted the Duchess's fears, and his words excited Sally to a most wonderful degree. She had never seen a real gipsy; she had heard of them and of their occult powers of divination, and now one was before her, endowed with the mysterious and awful power of prophecy and of seeing into the future. The opportunity was too precious to be lost. She clasped her hands, and with a beseeching look at Seth, cried: