By Birth a Lady

“Well,” said Max, sinking back into his old way, “I’ve got a plan for that too – one that will give but little trouble, and so I don’t mind telling you.”

“Well – quick, tell me!” cried Laura.

“Bai Jove! how excited you are!” said Max, laughing insolently, and taking evident delight in probing his sister’s wounds. “Charley is hard at work trying to find out her address.”

“Yes, yes!” cried Laura, pressing her hand to her side.

“And he’ll be sure to find it sooner or later.”

“Yes, yes!” cried Laura pitifully, her eyes flashing with jealous hate the while she stood before her brother, the style of woman who, had she lived at an earlier period, would have gladly taken a leaf from the book of Lucrezia Borgia, and ridded herself of her rival.

“Well,” said Max coolly, “I said he’d be sure to find it out, didn’t I?”

“Max – Max! why do you torture me?” cried Laura. “Tell me how you will manage, when you say that you will leave him to find out what should be yours to do, if there is to be any faith in your promise!”

“Faith! – yes, bai Jove, you may have faith in me! And there, I won’t hurt your feelings any more. Charley will find out the address, and so shall I.”

“But how?” cried Laura passionately, stamping her foot.

“How? Why, bai Jove, I shall watch him!”

Volume Two – Chapter Six.

The New Home

John Dudgeon was right. Ella Bedford’s luggage was directed to Mrs Brandon’s, Copse Hall, Laneton, to reach which, unless a fly had been engaged to convey her across country, Ella had to go up to town by one line, and then take her ticket by another. This she did, and reached Copse Hall, a gloomy-looking dwelling, late one evening, her heart sinking as the station fly conveyed her down a muddy lane, on the Croppley Magna road. The hedges were heavy, and the trees seemed all weeping – drip, drip, drip – while an occasional gust of wind drove the rain against the fly window.

Cold, sombre-looking, and bare was the house; and feeling that the refuge she had sought by means of advertising would be to her as a prison, Ella descended from the fly. A tall hard-looking footman opened the door, and kept her standing on the mat of a great bare hall, whose floor was polished oak, and whose ornaments were a set of harsh stiff-backed chairs, that looked as if they had been made out of old coffin boards, while the cold wind rushed through and shut a door somewhere in the back regions with an echoing bang.

“There’ll be a row about that,” said the hard-faced footman, as he set down the second trunk and closed the door, and the flyman drove off. “Missus hates the doors to bang, and they will do it when the wind’s in the south. You’re to come in here, please, Miss – Bedford, isn’t it?”

Trembling, in spite of her efforts to be calm, Ella responded to his query, and then followed the footman to a great gaunt-looking door. He opened it, and announced, “Miss Bedford.” She advanced a few steps, seeing nothing for the blinding tears that would stand in her eyes – tears that she had much difficulty to keep from falling. Then the door was closed behind her, and she felt two warm soft hands take hers, and that she was drawn towards a great glowing fire.

“Why, my dear child!” said a pleasant voice, “you are chilled through. Come this way.”

Then, as in a dream, she felt herself placed in a soft yielding easy-chair, her bonnet and mantle removed, the same soft hands smoothing back her hair, and then, as a pair of warm lips were pressed to hers, the same voice said gently:

“Welcome to Copse Hall, my love! I hope it will prove to you a happy home.”

Ella started to her feet as those words thrilled through her; words so new, so tender, so motherly, that she could no longer restrain her feelings, but threw herself, sobbing violently, upon the gentle breast that seemed to welcome her; for two arms pressed her tightly there for a few moments. Then there were soothing whispers, soft hands caressing her; and at last Ella was seated calm and tranquil at Mrs Brandon’s feet, feeling that, after the storms of the past, a haven of safety had been reached; and long was the converse which followed, as ingenuously Ella told all to her new friend, whose hand still rested on, or played with, the soft glossy bands of hair.

“We will not make a host of promises,” said Mrs Brandon cheerfully; “but see how we get on. You were quite right to leave there: and I had such a kind letter from the Reverend Henry Morton, that I was glad to secure your aid for my children’s education.”

“Mr Morton was very, very kind,” said Ella, “and offered me a home when poor mamma died; but I thought that I ought to be up and doing, though I did not expect so much trouble at the outset.”

“Trouble, my child,” said Mrs Brandon softly, – “the world is full of it;” and Ella, looking up, glanced at the widow’s weeds. “Yes, seven years ago now,” she continued, interpreting Ella’s glance. “But the troubles here could be lessened, if we studied others more and self less. But there, bless me, you haven’t seen the children!” and jumping up, she rang, and the hard-faced footman appeared.

“Tell Jane to bring in the young ladies, Edward,” said Mrs Brandon; and, five minutes after, two bright happy-looking girls of eight and ten came running in. “There, my dears, that is Miss Bedford – your new governess.”

The two girls went smiling up to offer their hands and kiss her, the younger clinging to her, and reading her face with a curious childish gaze.

“They are both totally spoiled, Miss Bedford,” said Mrs Brandon, gazing fondly at her children; “and they’re behindhand and tomboyish, and will give you no end of trouble. But you must rule them very strictly; and as they’ve not been quite so bad to-day, they may have tea with us this evening.”

The girls clapped their hands, and over that pleasant meal it seemed to Ella that she must have been there for months; while, when Mrs Brandon accompanied her to her bedroom that night – a snug pleasant chamber, with a fire, books, and a general aspect of comfort – and left her alone with the sense of the warm kiss on her lips – a friendly pressure on her hand, Ella sank upon her knees, and the tears would for a while flow – tears this time, though, of thankfulness for the refuge she had found.

Two days of happiness had passed like a dream, in spite of sad thoughts and an undefined dread that all was too bright to last, when, seated in the drawing-room with Mrs Brandon, Ella’s heart leaped, and then the blood seemed to rush to her heart, for the clangour of the hall bell proclaimed a visitor. The next minute the hard footman entered with a card upon a salver.

“Gentleman wishes to see Miss Bedford,” he said; and Ella with trembling hand took the card, to read thereon:

“Mr Charles Vining, Blandfield Court.”

Volume Two – Chapter Seven.

Mrs Brandon’s Receptions

Mrs Brandon made no movement as the card was handed to Ella; but a look of firmness seemed imperceptibly to sweep across her pleasant matronly face, and one skilled in physiognomy would have said that she was waiting anxiously to see how the young girl would act, under what threatened to be very trying circumstances. Then, glancing at Ella, she saw her standing, pale as ashes, with the card in her hand.

“Where have you shown the gentleman, Edward?” said Mrs Brandon.

“Breakfast-room, ma’am,” said the hard footman.

“Very good; you need not wait,” said Mrs Brandon; and the next moment they were alone, when, with pleading eyes, Ella held out the card.

“Indeed, indeed, ma’am, I could not help this,” she whispered. “I hoped that my retreat would not have been known.”

“My dear child,” said Mrs Brandon kindly, “I do not blame you;” and she also rose and passed her arm round Ella’s waist. “But you would like to see him?”

“No, no, no!” cried Ella hastily. “I must not – I would rather not – it cannot be! I hoped to have been left here in peace, and free from persecution. I cannot see him; I must never see him again.”

“You wish, then, that Mr Charles Vining should be told that you decline to see him, and you beg he will not call again?” said Mrs Brandon softly, as she drew the fair girl nearer to her.

“I would not willingly hurt him,” said Ella hoarsely; “but I have told you all, and what else can I do? It can never be!”

“My child,” said Mrs Brandon tenderly, “I don’t know how it is, but you seem to have even in this short time made yourself occupy the place of a daughter. You are quite right, and this gay gallant must be checked and kept in his place. We cannot have hawks here to flutter our dovecot. I will go and see him – that is, if it is indeed your honest wish and desire that he should see you no more.”

“Yes, yes, it is indeed!” said Ella, with a sob that tore its way from her breast. “I can never see him more.”

Mrs Brandon made a movement to leave the room, but Ella clung to her.

“Do you repent of what you have said?” Mrs Brandon quietly asked.

“No, no!” said Ella half hysterically: “but – it is very kind of you to see him – but – but you will speak gently to him – you will not be harsh or cruel; for he is good and noble, and true-hearted and manly, and I believe he feels all this deeply.”

Mrs Brandon smiled incredulously, but there was pity in her words as she bent over Ella, and tried to calm her.

“Is it really then like that, my poor, weak, gentle little dove?” she whispered. “Has he then made so firm a footing in this poor soft yielding heart? But you are quite right; you must not see him, and the soreness will soon wear off. You do not know the ways of the world, and of these gay, insidious, smooth-tongued gallants, born with the idea that every pretty face beneath them in station, forsooth, is to minister to their pleasure. I see – I see; and I don’t blame you for believing all he said.”

“But I think you mistake his character,” said Ella pleadingly.

“Perhaps so,” said Mrs Brandon, smiling; “but will you leave your welfare in my hands, Ella?”

It was the first time Mrs Brandon had called her by her Christian name, and the young girl looked up with, a sad sweet smile.

“I am very young, very helpless, and quite alone in the world,” she said softly; “and I have met here with kindness such as I have not before known since they died. I was so happy, so hopeful, so trustful that happier days were coming; and, indeed. I wish to be grateful.”

Mrs Brandon kissed her again, and made a movement once more to leave; but Ella made a clutch at her hand.

“Shall I stay?” said Mrs Brandon softly. “Will you see him yourself?”

Ella was silent for a moment, for there was a great, a wild struggle in her breast; but she conquered, and drawing herself up, she stood, pale and cast-down of eye, with one hand resting on a chair-back.

“Do I understand you, Miss Bedford?” said Mrs Brandon.

“Yes, yes,” said Ella, in a calm sad voice. “I must never see him again.”

Mrs Brandon moved towards the door, and laid her hand upon the lock, making it rattle loudly as she turned to gaze at Ella; but the latter never moved; and as the door closed, Mrs Brandon’s last glance showed her Ella pale and motionless as a statue.

“Now for this lordly gallant!” muttered Mrs Brandon, as she stood for a moment in the gaunt hall; “now for this sportive disturber of young hearts! If I had my will,” she exclaimed, her handsome matronly features flushing up, “I’d have them all banished – I would!”

Then, with a firm step, and her head drawn back, she crossed the hall, threw open the door, and entered the room where Charley Vining was impatiently walking up and down.

Volume Two – Chapter Eight.

Mrs Brandon’s Receptions: First Visitor

Charley Vining started as, instead of Ella Bedford, he was confronted by a tall, handsome, middle-aged lady, who bowed stiffly, and motioned him to a seat, taking one herself at the same time.

“I have the pleasure of addressing – ?” said Charley inquiringly.

“Mrs Brandon,” was the reply.

“And Miss Bedford is not ill, I trust?” said Charley anxiously.

“Miss Bedford has requested me, as her particular friend, to meet you, and answer any questions upon her behalf.”

“But she will see me, will she not?” said Charley earnestly. “Her leaving us was so sudden – I was taken so by surprise. You say, madam, that you are her friend?”

Mrs Brandon bowed, and Charley wiped the dew from his forehead.

“May I then plead for one interview, however short?”

Mrs Brandon frowned, and then rising, she stood with one hand resting upon the table.

“Young man,” she said firmly – and Charley started as she looked down almost fiercely upon him, “you are the son of Sir Philip Vining, I believe?”

“I am,” said Charley, slightly surprised.

“A worthy old country squire, whose name is known for miles round in connection with kindly deeds.”

“My father,” said Charley proudly, “is, in every sense of the word, a gentleman.”

“Then why is not his son?” said Mrs Brandon fiercely.

“Me? Why am not I?” said Charley, in a puzzled voice.

“Yes, sir, you!” exclaimed Mrs Brandon angrily. “Why should not the only son be as the father?”

“Because,” said Charley proudly, once more, “it does not befall that there should be two such men for many generations.”

“It seems so,” said Mrs Brandon bitterly; “but the son might learn something from the father’s acts.”

“Good heavens, madam! what does this mean? What have I done that you should speak to me thus?” cried Charley earnestly.

“What have you done!” exclaimed Mrs Brandon, standing before him with flashing eyes. “You pitiful coward! you base scoundrel! how dare you come before me with your insidious, plausible, professing ways – before me, a mother – the wife of an English gentleman, who would have had you turned out of the house! Silence, sir!” she exclaimed, as Charley rose, now pale, now flashed, and looked her in the face. “You shall hear me out before you quit this room. I say, how dare you come before me here, and parade your interest, and the trouble you are in because she has left the Elms? Do you think I do not know the ways of the world – of the modern English gentleman? You pitiful libertine! If I were a man, my indignation is so hot against you, that I should even so far forget myself as to strike you. Could you find no pleasanter pastime than to insinuate your bold handsome face into the thoughts of that sweet simple-minded country girl – a poor clergyman’s daughter – a pure-hearted lady – to be to her as a blight – to be her curse – to win a heart of so faithful and true a nature, that once it has beaten to the command of love, it would never beat for another? I can find no words for the scorn, the utter contempt, with which you inspire me. But there, I will say no more, lest I forget myself in my hot passion; but I tell you this, she has been here but a few hours, and yet, few as they are, they have been long enough to show me that she is a pearl beyond price – a gem that your libertine fingers would sully. She has won from me a mother’s love, I may say; and wisely trusting to me, she bids me tell you that she will see you no more!”

“She bade you tell me this?” said Charley hoarsely; “and have you poisoned her ears against me thus?”

“Poisoned her ears!” exclaimed Mrs Brandon, forgetting her rôle in her excitement, “poor, innocent, weak child! She believes you to be perfection, and but a few minutes since was imploring me to be gentle with the gay Lothario who has so basely deluded her, though she had the good sense and wisdom to seek another home. What – what!” cried Mrs Brandon, “are you so hardened that you dare smile to my face with your nefarious triumph?”

“Smile!” said Charley slowly, and in a strange dreamy way; “it must be then the reflection of the heart that laughs within me for joy at those last words of yours. Mrs Brandon,” he exclaimed, firing up, “but for the proud knowledge that your accusations are all false, the bitter lashing you have given me would have been maddening. But you wrong me cruelly; I deserve nothing of what you say, unless,” he said proudly, “it is wrong to purely love with my whole heart that sweet gentle girl. Mrs Brandon, you are a woman – you must once have loved,” he cried almost imploringly. “What have I done that I should be treated so? Why should she meet me always with this plea of difference of worldly position? You see I am not angry – you have made my heart warm towards you for the interest you take in her. It may be strange for me to speak thus to you, a stranger, but you broke down the barrier, and even if it be simple, I tell you that I am proud to say that I love her dearly – that I can know no rest till she is mine. Indeed, you wrong me!” he cried, catching her hand in his. “Intercede for me. This indignation is uncalled for. Yes; look at me – I do not flinch. Indeed my words are honest!”

Mrs Brandon gazed at him searchingly, but he did not shrink.

“I am no judge of human hearts,” said Charley earnestly, as he continued pleading; “but my own tells me that one so easily moved to indignation in a righteous cause must be gentle and generous. You have shown me how you love her, and that, in spite of your cruel words, draws me to you. Think of my pain – think of what I suffer; for indeed,” he said simply, “I do suffer cruelly! But you will let me see her – you will let me plead my own cause once more, as I try to remove the impression she has that a union would blight my prospects. It is madness! But you will let me see her?”

For the last five minutes Mrs Brandon had been utterly taken aback. Prejudging Charley from her own experience, she had emptied upon his defenceless head the vials of her wrath, while ever since the first burst of indignation had been expended, the thought had been forcing itself upon her that she had judged rashly – that she was mistaken. No frivolous pleasure-seeking villain could have spoken in that way – none but the most consummate hypocrite could have uttered those simple sentiments in so masterly a fashion. And surely, her heart said, this could be no hypocrite – no deceiver! If he were, she was one of the deceived; for his upright manly bearing, his gentle appealing way, the true honest look in his eyes, could only have been emanations from a pure heart; and at last, overcome by her emotion, Mrs Brandon sank back in her seat, as, still grasping her hand tightly, Charley stood over her.

“Have I, then, wronged you?” she faltered.

“As heaven is my judge, you have!” cried Charley earnestly. “I never loved but one woman before.”

“And who was that?” said Mrs Brandon anxiously.

“My dead mother; and her I love still!” said Charley earnestly.

“Mr Vining,” said Mrs Brandon, “I beg your pardon!”

“What for?” cried Charley; “for showing me that Miss Bedford has found a true friend? Heaven bless you!” he said; and he raised her hand to his lips before turning away and walking to the window.

At the end of a minute he was back at her side.

“Mrs Brandon,” he said, “will you also be my friend? Will you act as counsel and judge for us both? I will leave my fate in your hands. Think quietly over it all, talk to Ella, and see what is right. You will not judge me wrongly again,” he said, smiling.

“I cannot think calmly now,” she said; “I am agitated and taken aback. I thought to castigate a libertine, and I have been, I fear, lacerating the heart of a true gentleman! Go now, I beg of you!”

“But you will let me see her once – but for a minute?” pleaded Charley.

“No!” said Mrs Brandon firmly. “It is her wish, and mine, that you should not see her now.”

“Now!” said Charley, catching at the word. “Then I may call again – to-morrow – the next day?”

“No!” said Mrs Brandon thoughtfully; “no! be content. I am but a weak woman, and I have shown myself to be no judge of human character. I must have proof and the words of others; when, if you come scatheless from the ordeal, I will be your friend.”

“You will!” cried Charley joyfully, as he caught her hands in his; and then what more he would have said was choked by his emotion. “When may I come again?” he said at last.

“To see me?” queried Mrs Brandon smilingly.

“Yes,” replied Charley, with a sigh.

“This day week,” said Mrs Brandon. And five minutes after Charley’s mare was galloping at such a rate that her rider did not see the grinning face of Max Bray peering at him from over a hedge. In fact, Charley saw nothing but his own thoughts till he reached the Court, where he encountered his father on the steps.

“Where have you been?” said the old gentleman sternly, but with a shade of sadness in his voice.

“To Copse Hall, Laneton,” replied Charley boldly.

“Is that where Miss Bedford now resides?” said the old gentleman, watching the play of his son’s features.

“Father,” said Charley, “I never deceived you yet.”

“No, Charley,” said Sir Philip with trembling voice. “Is it there?”

“Yes!” replied the young man; and he turned away.

Volume Two – Chapter Nine.

Mrs Brandon’s Receptions: Second Visitor

Mrs Brandon returned to the drawing-room after Charley Vining’s departure, to find Ella as she had left her, standing cold and motionless, supporting herself by one hand upon the chair-back, but ready to confront Mrs Brandon as she entered the room.

“Has he gone?” whispered Ella, with a strange catching of the breath.

“Yes,” said Mrs Brandon, who watched her keenly; and then, as a half-suppressed sob forced itself from the wounded breast, Ella turned and began to walk slowly from the room.

“My child!” whispered Mrs Brandon, hurrying to her side, and once more passing a protecting arm around her.

Ella turned her sad gentle face towards Mrs Brandon with a smile.

“Let me go to my own room now,” she said. “You are very good. I am very sorry; but I could not help all this.”

Mrs Brandon kissed her tenderly, and watched her as she passed through the door, returning herself to sit thoughtfully gazing at the floor, till, taking pen, ink, and paper, she wrote three hurried notes, and addressed them to various friends residing in the neighbourhood of Blandfield Court. One will serve as an example of the character of the others. It was addressed to an old intimate and schoolfellow – Mrs Lingon; and ran as follows:

“My dear Mrs Lingon, – Will you kindly, and in strict confidence, give me your opinion respecting the character and pursuits of a neighbour – Mr Charles Vining. I have a particular reason for wishing to know. With kind love, I am yours sincerely, Emily Brandon.”

The answers came by the mid-day post on the second afternoon, when, Ella being pale and unwell, one of the upper servants had been sent with the children for their afternoon walk.

Mrs Brandon was evidently expecting news; for, after sitting talking to Ella in a quiet affectionate way for some time, she rang the bell, and the hard footman appeared.

“Has not Thomas returned from Laneton with the letter-bag?”

“Just coming up the lane as you rang, ma’am,” said the man, who then hurried out, to return with several letters, three of which Mrs Brandon read with the greatest interest and a slight flush of colour in her cheeks, when, with a gratified sigh, she placed them in a desk, and closing her eyes, leaned back quiet and thoughtful, till her musing was interrupted by the reappearance of the footman, with salver and card.

“Gentleman wishes to see Miss Bedford,” said the man, handing the card.

“Not the same gentleman?” exclaimed Mrs Brandon excitedly, and as if annoyed at what she looked upon as a breach of faith.

“No, ’m; ’nother gentleman – a little one,” said the hard footman.

“That will do,” said Mrs Brandon quietly; and the man left the room, as, with the colour mounting to her cheeks, Ella handed the card just taken.

“Mr Maximilian Bray,” said Mrs Brandon, glancing at the delicate slip of pasteboard, enamelled and scented. “That is the Mr Bray you named?”

Ella bowed her head, and then, as if transformed into another, she said hastily,

“Mrs Brandon, I think you give me credit for trying to avoid this unpleasantly; you know I cannot help these calls. It will be better,” she said huskily, “that I leave here, and at once.”

“Give you credit? Of course, child!” said Mrs Brandon quietly. “Sit down, you foolish girl. So, this is the dandy – the exquisite! I think we can arrange for his visiting here no more. That is,” she said playfully, “unless you wish to see him.”