Mrs. George Croft Huddleston - Bluebell

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BLUEBELL

_A Novel_

BY MRS. G.C. HUDDLESTON

1875

[Transcriber's note: These images were taken from Early Canadian Online
and there are several pages where the text is missing on the images.
These have been marked "unreadable."]

Yet we shall one day gain, life part,
Clear prospect o'er our being's whole,
Shall see ourselves, and learn at last
Our true affinities of soul.

_Acknowledgment_

The Publishers have to acknowledge their great indebtedness to MR.
DAVISON, President, and MR. DAVY, Secretary, of the Toronto Mechanics'
Institute, who, on being applied to, kindly gave to them for publication
the only copy of this Work, which, so far as they knew, was in Canada at
the time, and which the Directors of the Institute, with a commendable
spirit of enterprise, had secured for their Library.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. SWEET SEVENTEEN

II. BERTIE

III. GENTLE ANNIE

IV. SATURDAY AT HOME

V. A WOODLAND WALK

VI. VISITORS

VII. THE GARRISON SLEIGH CLUB

VIII. FIXING UP A PRANCE

IX. CROSS PURPOSES

X. TOBOGGINING

XI. EFFECTS OF TOBOGGINING

XII. THE LAKE SHORE ROAD

XIII. NORTHERN LIGHTS

XIV. THE TRYST

XV. AN ENIGMATICAL LETTER

XVI. DETECTED

XVII. DID YOU PROPOSE THEN?

XVIII. LYNDON'S LANDING

XIX. CALF LOVE

XX. THE PRINCE PHILANDER

XXI. A PERILOUS SAIL

XXII. AT LAST

XXIII. LOLA'S BIRTHDAY

XXIV. LITTLE PITCHERS

XXV. CHANGES

XXVI. CROSSING THE HERRING POND

XXVII. HARRY DUTTON

XXVIII. ROUGH WEATHER

XXIX. BLUEBELL'S DEBUT IN THE OLD COUNTRY

XXX. NO CARDS

XXXI. BROMLEY TOWERS

XXXII. THE SPRING WOODS

XXXIII. LORD BROMLEY INTERVIEWS DUTTON

XXXIV. HARRY GOES TO THE BALTIC

XXXV. A DISCOVERY

XXXVI. IN DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED

XXXVII. AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE

XXXVIII. OLD HEAD ON YOUNG SHOULDERS

XXXIX. THE LOAN OF A LOVER

XL. THE MINIATURE

XLI. A LOCK OF HAIR

BLUEBELL

CHAPTER I.

SWEET SEVENTEEN.

I see her now--the vision fair,
Of candour, innocence, and truth,
Stand tiptoe on the verge of air,
'Twixt childhood and unstable youth.

It was the "fall" in Canada, and the leaves were dying royally in purple,
crimson and gold. On the edge of a common, skirting a well-known city of
Ontario, stood a small, rough-cast cottage, behind which the sun was
setting with a red promise of frost, his flaming tints repeated in the
fervid hue of the Virginian creeper that clothed it.

This modest tenement was the retreat of three unprotected females, two of
whom were seated in silent occupation close to a black stove, which
imparted heat, but denied cheerfulness. The elder was grey and tintless
as her life,--harsh wisdom wrung from sad experience ever on lips thin
and tight, as though from habitually repressing every desire. The
younger, a widow, was scarcely passed middle age, small of stature, but
wizened beyond her years by privation and sorrow.

A smell of coal-oil, that most unbearable of odours, pervaded the
interior of the cottage, revealing that the general servant below in
lighting the lamp had, as usual, upset some, and was retaining the aroma
by smearing it off with her apron.

Presently a quick, light step tripped over the wooden side-walk, a shadow
darkened the window, and a vision of youth and freshness burst into the
dingy little parlour.

A rather tall, full-formed young Hebe was Theodora Leigh, of that pure
pink and white complexion that goes farther to make a beauty than even
regularity of feature; her long, sleepy eyes were just the shade of the
wild hyacinth; indeed, her English father always called her "Bluebell,"
after a flower that does not grow on Transatlantic soil.

But they were Irish-eyes, "put in with a dirty finger," and varying with
every mood. Gooseberry eyes may disguise more soul, but they get no
credit for it. Humour seemed to dance in that soft, blue fire; poetry
dreamed in their clear depths; love--but that we have not come to yet;
they were more eloquent than her tongue, for she was neither witty nor
wise, only rich in the exuberant life of seventeen, and as expectant of
good will and innocent of knowledge of the world as a retriever puppy.

Apparently, Miss Bluebell was not in the suavest of humours, for she
flung her hat on to one crazy chair, and herself on another, with a
vehemence that caused a sensible concussion.

"My dear, how brusque you are," said Mrs. Leigh, plaintively.

"So provoking," muttered Bluebell.

"What's gone wrong with the child now?" said Miss Opie, the elder
proprietress of the domicile.

"Why," said Bluebell, "I met the Rollestons, and they asked: me to their
picnic at the Humber on Friday; but how _can_ I go? Look here!" and she
pointed to a pair of boots evidently requiring patching. "Oh, mother!
could you manage another pair now? Miss Scrag has sent home my new
'waist,' and I can do up my hat, but these buckets are only fit for the
dusthole."

Mrs. Leigh sighed,--"A new pair, with side-springs, would cost three
dollars. No, Bluebell, I can't indeed."

"I might as well be a nun, then, at once," said the girl, with tears in
her voice; and a sympathetic dew rose in Mrs. Leigh's weary eyes at the
disappointment she could not avert from her spoiled darling.

"Bluebell," said Miss Opie, "if you read more and scampered about less,
your mind would be better fortified to bear these little reverses."

"Shut up!" muttered Bluebell, in the artless vernacular of a school-girl,
half turning her shoulder with an impatient gesture.

The entrance of the tea-things created a diversion, but the discontented
girl sat apart, while the hideousness of her surroundings came upon her
as a new revelation. Certainly, in Canada, in a poverty-stricken abode,
taste seems more completely starved than in any other country.

Bluebell, in her critical mood, noted the ugly delf tea-things, so badly
arranged; the black stove, four feet into the room, with its pipe running
through a hole in the wall; the ricketty horsehair chairs and wire blind
for the window, "gave" on the street, where gasping geese were diving in
the gutters for the nearest approach to water they could find.

Scarcely less repugnant were the many-coloured crotchet-mats and
anti-macassars with which Miss Opie loved to decorate the apartment; nor
was a paper frill adorning a paltry green flower-vase wanting to complete
the tasteless _tout ensemble_.

The evening wore on; Mrs. Leigh proceeded with the turning of an old
merino dress; Miss Opie adjusted her spectacles, and read _Good Words_.
Bluebell sat down to the piano and executed a selection from Rossini's
'Messe Solennelle' with force and fervour.

"You play very well, child," said Miss Opie.

"That is fortunate," said Bluebell, "for I mean to be a governess."

"You mean you want a governess," retorted the other. "Why, what in the
world do you know?"

"More than most children of ten years old. I might get a hundred dollars
a year. Mamma, I could buy myself new boots then."

"You are nothing but a self-willed child yourself, unable to bear the
slightest disappointment," said Miss Opie.

"Never mind," said Mrs. Leigh, coaxingly; "I'll see if I cannot get you
the boots. They will give me credit at the store."

"No, no; I know you can't afford it; they were new last April. Mamma is
oil to your vinegar, Aunt Jane."

"And you the green young mustard in the domestic salad--hot enough, and,
like all ill weeds, growing apace."

"Then it is field mustard, and not used for salad," said Bluebell,
anxious for the last word. And, escaping from the room, went to place
some bones in the shed, for a casual in the shape of a starving cur, who
called occasionally for food and a night's lodging.

About twenty years ago, when this melancholy Mrs. Leigh was a lovely
young Canadian of rather humble origin, Theodore Leigh, a graceless
subaltern in the Artillery, had just returned from leave, and, going one
day to the Rink, was "regularly flumocksed," as he expressed it, by the
vision of Miss Lesbia Jones skimming over the ice like a swallow on the
wing. And when she proceeded to cut a figure of 8 backwards, and execute
another intricate movement called "the rose," his admiration became
vehement, and, seizing on a brother-officer he had observed speaking to
her, demanded an introduction.

"To the 'Tee-to-tum'? Oh, certainly."

Miss Lesbia was very small, and wore the shortest of petticoats, which
probably suggested the appellation.

Fatigued with her evolutions, she had sunk with a pretty little air of
_abandon_ on the platform, and her destiny, in a beaver coat and cap, was
presented by Mr. Wingfield.

After this, a common object at the Rink was a tall young man, in all the
agonies of a _debut_ on skates, and a bewitching little attendant sprite
shooting before and around him, occasionally righting him with a fairy
touch when he evinced too wild a desire to dash his brains against the
wall.

At all the sleighing parties, also, Miss Lesbia's form was invariably
observed in Mr. Leigh's cutter, with a violet and white "cloud" matching
the robe borders and ribbons on the bells; and he and the "Tee-to-tum"
spun round together in half the valses of every ball during the winter.

Perhaps, after all, the attachment might have lived and died without
exceeding the "muffin" phase, had not the "beauty," Captain of the
battery cut in, and made rather strong running, too, partly because he
considered her "fetching," and partly, he said, "from regard to Leigh,
who was making an ass of himself."

Jealousy turned philandering into earnest. Theodore went straight to the
maiden aunt, with whom Miss Jones resided, and, after most vehement
badgering, got her consent to a private marriage within three days. The
poor spinster, though much flustered, knowing his attentions to Lesbia
had been a good deal talked about, felt almost relieved to have it
settled respectably, though so abruptly.

On the appointed day, having obtained a week's leave, Theodore, with his
best man, the last joined subaltern, dashed up to the church-door in a
cutter, just in time to receive Lesbia and her bewildered chaperone.

After the ceremony, they started off for their week's honeymoon to the
Falls; and the best man, absolved from secrecy, spread the news through
the regiment.

Theodore had scribbled off the intelligence in reckless desperation to
his father, of whom he was the only child, and Sir Timothy Leigh, a proud
and ambitious man, never forgave the irrevocable piece of folly so
cavalierly announced to him.

Theodore received a letter from the family lawyer, couched in the terms
of sorrowful reprehension such functionaries usually assume on similar
occasions.

"It was Mr. Vellum's painful duty to inform him that Sir Timothy would
decline to receive him on his return to England; that two hundred a year
would be placed annually to his credit at Cox's; but the estates not
being entailed, that was the utmost farthing he need ever expect from
him."

Such was the gist of the communication, and Theodore, hardened by his
father's severity, and unable to bear the privations of a narrow income,
absented himself more and more from their wretched lodgings, and tried to
drown his cares by drinking himself into a state of semi-idiocy.

There is little more to relate of this ill-starred marriage, of which
Bluebell was the fruit; for soon after her birth young Leigh was killed
by being upset out of a dog-cart.

Driving home with unsteady hands from mess one night, he collided with
a street car, which inevitably turned over the two-wheeled vehicle.
Theodore was pitched out, his head striking on the iron rails, and never
breathed again.

Whatever grief Sir Timothy may have felt at his son being snatched from
him, unreconciled and unforgiven, did not show itself in mercy to the
widow.

Mr. Vellum was again in requisition, and proposed, on behalf of Sir
Timothy, to make Mrs. Leigh a suitable allowance on condition that she
remained in Canada, and delivered over the child to her grandfather, to
be brought up and educated as his heiress. In case these terms were
refused, she would continue to receive annually two hundred a-year; but
no farther assistance would be granted.

Lesbia, in her loneliness and bereavement, was heart-broken at this
unfeeling proposition, and Bluebell being too young for a choice, she
consulted the voice of Nature alone, and refused to part with her child.

The maiden aunt, Miss Opie, willingly received them. She had a mere
pittance, and lived in a boarding house; but, by joining their slender
purses, they took the cottage in which we find them.

Thus in extreme poverty was Bluebell reared until her seventeenth year,
though by personal privation Mrs. Leigh sent her to _the_ school _par
excellence_; attended by most of the girls in the city, whether their
parents were "in" or "out" of society. Bluebell having the _prestige_ of
an English father, own son of a baronet, and military into the bargain,
was considered in the former class, and included at an early age in the
gaieties of the winter.

A new friend, who had been particularly kind to her, was Mrs. Rolleston,
wife of the Colonel of a regiment quartered there, and to her Bluebell
repaired to make sorrowful excuses for the projected picnic, and also to
confide the scheme that possessed her mind of earning money as a musical
teacher or nursery governess.

Mrs. Rolleston felt half inclined to laugh at the unformed impulsive
child, who was such a pet in their household, but seemed far too babyish
and unmethodical to be recommended for any situation; yet remembering her
mother's straitened circumstances, and that the girl probably wanted some
pocket-money, she listened sympathetically, and promised to turn it over
in her mind.

Music she knew Bluebell thoroughly understood and excelled in. She had
for years received instruction gratis from the organist at the Cathedral,
who, originally attracted by her lovely voice singing in the choir, took
her up with enthusiasm, and taught her harmony and thorough bass. Thus,
instead of only practising a desultory accomplishment, she was able to
compose and arrange her tuneful ideas correctly.

A dark striking-looking girl interrupted them. This was Cecil Rolleston,
the eldest daughter of the house, or rather she stood in that relation to
the Colonel, being the offspring of his first wife.

"Come out and play croquet, Bluebell," said she; "the children are having
a game; they only let me go on condition of bringing you,"--and she led
the way through the window into a charming garden, with large shady
maple-trees just beginning to drop their deep-dyed, variegated leaves on
the turf; the bluebirds were already gone, but the red and ashen-hued
robin, nearly the size of a jay, still rustled through the boughs.

A little white dog, with a ribbon on, was holding a ball within its
feathery toes, and playing with it as a cat does a mouse; a gardener was
refreshing the thirsty flowers, which had outgrown their strength; and
Fleda, Estelle, and Lola, twelve, eleven, and nine, were playing croquet
with the zest of recent emancipation from lessons.

The governess, a dark, sallow expositor of the arts and sciences, also
wielded a mallet, and Cecil and Bluebell completed the six.

The sides were pretty equally cast, and the combatants were in a most
interesting crisis of the game, when Colonel Rolleston entered the
garden.

He was a very handsome man, and as is often the case with the only male
in a family of women, so studied and given in to by all his female
_entourage_, that he would not have been pleased, whatever their
occupations, if he were not immediately rallied round by a little court
of flatterers.

"Estelle," said the governess, "offer your papa your mallet, and ask him
to be so kind as to play with us." The child's face lengthened; she had
not much hope of his refusing it, but advanced with her request.

"Must I?" said the Colonel.

"Oh, yes!" said the chorus of voices; "be my partner--be mine."

"Don't tear me to pieces among you," said he, with a deprecating gesture.

"Take Bluebell on your side, papa," cried Cecil; "she is very good, and
we'll keep Miss Prosody, who is equally so."

And thus they proceeded, the Colonel radiant with every successful
stroke, and blaming mallet, ball, and ground when otherwise, reiterating,
"I can't make a stroke to-day."

Bluebell was very fond of the Colonel, who liked pretty faces about him,
and had been kind to her; but she could not resist a slight feeling of
repulsion at what she considered an abject maneuver of Miss Prosody's.
His ball, by an unskilful miss, was left in her power; her duty to her
side required her to crack it to the other end of the ground, but a
glance at the irritable gloom of his countenance induced her to discover
it to be more to her advantage to attack one rather beyond, and,
judiciously missing it left her own blue one an easy stroke for him.

The shadows dispersed, and, all playfulness, the Colonel apostrophized
his prize, which he succeeded in hitting. "Here is my little friend in
blue; shall I hurt it? no, I will not harm it." By-play of relief and
gratitude on the governess's part, as he requited her amiability by
merely taking two off, leaving his interesting friend in blue unmoved.

This naturally did not enhance the interest of the children who felt it
was not the game of croquet that was being played. Cecil, replying with a
laughing glance to the indignant eye-telegraphy of Fleda, began to play
at random; and Bluebell and Lola, not finding much antagonism from the
other side, soon pulled the Colonel through his hoops and won the game.
After which, Bluebell retraced her steps across the common, accompanied
part of the way by Miss Rolleston, to whom she also confided her
governess's projects.

Cecil was very fond of her; she had few companions, and her sisters were
mere children. All the time the younger girl was talking, she was
silently revolving a plan. It so happened this Cecil was in rather
independent circumstances for a young lady, maternal relative having left
her a legacy at twelve years old which, by the time she was twenty-one,
would bring in a thousand a year.

In the mean time, she drew half that sum annually, and, of course,
contributed to the domestic expenses. How much pleasanter it would be for
Bluebell to live with them than with strangers. She might be _her_
musical teacher; singing duets even brought out her own voice
surprisingly; it would be delightful to practise together; the children
had no taste for music, neither did Mrs. Rolleston care for it. Besides,
she felt a generous pleasure in the prospect of assisting her friend,
poor Bluebell, who often had to deny herself a mere bit of ribbon from
want of a shilling to pay for it. It might require a little management at
home, so she would not hint at it yet, and, with a warm caress and a gay
farewell nod, they separated.

Next morning, Mrs. Leigh, still engaged in the resuscitation of the
merino dress, was surprised by a visit from Mrs. Rolleston. That lady,
for a wonder, considering her errand, had come alone, for it was seldom
that any little domestic arrangement was entered on without the personal
supervision of the Colonel.

However, there was a counter-attraction at barracks this morning, and
having, so to speak, held a board on Cecil's proposition, and opposed,
argued, and thoroughly talked it over, Mrs. Rolleston was empowered to
suggest to Mrs. Leigh a plan for taking Bluebell into their family as
musical companion to Cecil and nursery governess to Freddy, the heir
apparent, aetat. four. The poor little lady did not seem much elated at
the proposal. "I know my child will wish it," she said. "I can give her
no variety, no indulgences, and she is of an age when occupation and
society are a necessity to her. I sometimes feel," she murmured, with
a sigh, "that I have stood in her light by not agreeing to her
grandfather's conditions."

A look of curiosity from Mrs. Rolleston elicited an explanation, and she
heard for the first time the whole history of Bluebell's antecedents.

"Why," cried she, much excited, "I remember that Sir Timothy before I
married; there are so many Leighs, it never struck me he might be your
father-in-law. I recollect hearing he had disinherited his son, but he
has adopted a grandnephew, which, I am afraid, looks bad for Bluebell."
And she listened with renewed interest to Mrs. Leigh's diffuse
reminiscences, while her _protege_ appeared to her in a new and romantic
light, and she pictured half-a-dozen possibilities for her future.

From a miniature of the graceless Theodore which Mrs. Leigh produced,
there could be no doubt of the resemblance to his daughter in air and
feature; the long sleepy eyes were identical, though the slightly
insolent expression of Theodore's was, happily, wanting.

"He was the best of husbands," whimpered the widow, on whose placid
mind the shortcomings of the dissipated youth seemed to have left no
impression; "but he was hardly treated in this world, and so he was taken
to a better."

Before Mrs. Rolleston left, it was arranged that Bluebell was to make her
first essay in governessing on Freddy Rolleston, her Sundays to be spent
as often as possible with her mother; and ere another week had passed,
she and her effects were transferred to the Maples.

A bed was made up for her in a little room of Cecil's and the tuition of
Freddy carried on in the nursery; for Mrs. Rolleston having some doubts
as how the amateur and professional governess might amalgamate, avoided
letting her entrench on Miss Prosody's premises.

That lady, indeed, was disposed to look upon her with suspicion
and incipient dislike. She had always been treated with great
consideration--quite one of the family, and cared not for "a rival near
her throne." Who was Bluebell that she should be made so much of?--a
little nursery governess with no attainments, and yet Cecil's inseparable
companion! She was a prime favourite with the Colonel, whose "ways" she
had made a judicious study of, and treated with considerable tact. He
always mentioned her as "that dear invaluable creature, Miss Prosody."
She could occasionally put an idea into his mind which he mistook for his
own, as, for instance, when he observed to his wife,--"What a pity that
girl has such a preposterous name, and that you all have the habit of
calling her by it. The other evening that idiot, young Halkett must needs
say, 'What a lovely pet name!' I can tell you I took him up pretty short.
You really must not have her down so much, if these boys think they may
talk nonsense to her."

Mrs. Rolleston was rather surprised at the irritation with which this was
said; to be sure she had heard Miss Prosody, previous to young Halkett's
foolish remark, lamenting that Bluebell "did not show more reserve with
gentlemen guests, and that she put herself so much on an equality with
Cecil." The Colonel was a domestic man, and liked cheerfulness at his
fireside, of which he himself was to be the centre and inspiration;
anything approaching bad spirits, silence, or headaches he always
resented.

Bluebell was well enough as contributing to the liveliness of the little
society--a pretty smiling young girl is seldom _de trop_; but then she
must be satisfied without lovers, whose presence the Colonel considered
subversive of all rational comfort.

Good-natured Mrs. Rolleston pursued the even tenor of her way, the
Colonel's fidgets had a soporific effect on her nerves and created
no corresponding alarms; her idol, Freddy, was satisfied with the new
administration, and ceased to wage internecine warfare with his nurse;
and certainly the unwonted tranquillity consequent was a decided boon to
the rest of the household.

CHAPTER II.

BERTIE.

In the greenest growth of the Maytime
We rode where the roads were wet;
Between the dawn and the daytime
The spring was glad that we met.
--Swinburne.

Two or three months passed, the bluebirds and robins had all
disappeared, and the snow-birds, hardy scions of the feathered tribe
capable of withstanding the rigours of a Canadian winter, were alone to
be seen. The Rinks had been flooded, and skating was going on with
vigour; the snow was not quite in a satisfactory state as yet; but a few
sleighs jingled merrily about with their bright bits of colour, the
edging of fur robes and ribbon on the sleigh bells. A general impulse of
joyful anticipation ran through all the young people as winter unlocked
her stores of amusement, and the keen sabre-like air, so bracing and
exhilarating, stirred the life in young veins, and set their spirits
dancing with exuberant vitality.

The Rollestons, who had only come out in the spring, were attracted with
everything. Not a sleigh passed but there was a rush from the children to
the window, and Colonel Rolleston, who was building one, received fresh
suggestions about it most days from his excited family.

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