The Secret of Whitmore Chase.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume XII, Issue 496, 29 July 1867, Page 1

The Secret of Whitmore Chase.

A TALE OF ENGLAND & AUSTRALIA. By 11. E. Lee, Author of “A Tangled Skein.” WHITTEN TOR THE HAWKE’S BAY WEEKLY TIMES. The right of translation is reserved by the auihur. ' CHAPTER I. Hitis 'V’V tub “ convivial owls” club. Iff> v IEAIt the spot at Brompton afterwards ’ / occupied by the Great Exhibition of 18(12, stood, some years ago, a public At 3 house, bearing the sign of the “ Cromwell’s 6 Head,” so called from its proximity to | Cromwell Lane, formerly the neighborhood of the Lord ’Protector’s residence. Brompton, at the time of which we are speaking, presented a vast diti’erenee from its present appearance. The fostering energies of the lamented Prince Consort, who aimed at making it the successful rival of Belgravia, had not yet been manifested, and the place was merely known as a marketgarden district, supplying those mountains of vegetable produce which daily found their way to the great market of Covcnt Garden. The “ Cromwell’s Head” was one of those inns peculiar to the roadsides of England. A huge sign swinging before the house bore the truculent visage j of “ Old Noll,” the traditionary wart on his nose l , having received ample justice at the hands of the artist; while a couple of benches in front of the door afforded a lounge to the market garden laborers disposed to test the quality of mine host’s tap. Here the village politicians swore eternal enmity to the Tories, and propounded Radical doctrines which would probably have puzzled “ Wat Tyler Cox,” or Duueombe, and ideas concerning the ballot and manhood suffrage which would have cheered the, hearts of Berkeley and Bright. Within, the house, with its sanded floor, neat bar, and board bearing the announcement of “ A Good Dry Skittle-Ground,” was no exception to the generality of its class. The burly host sat composedly in the bar, smoking industriously a long clay pipe, leaving the business to the care of his bustling better-half and the barmaid. As the latter plays an important part in our narrative, we will attempt to describe her. Ellen Needham was about twenty years of age,. She was very fair, having deep blue eyes and long! curls of that peculiar flaxen color which brightens to gold in the sunlight. Her stature was rather above the medium, but her graceful ligure, gave her the appearance of being exquisitely proportioned. The faint colour in her cheek presented 1 a beautiful contrast to the exquisite fairness of her | skin, though some regarded if as an indication of i the presence of that insidious destroyer, consump-j tion. Ellen's manners were gentle and retiring, j and very uulitted for the occupation to which necessity had forced her.

The poor girl had been left an orphan at an early age, and there appeared no prospect for her but the workhouse ; that miserable resort, so dreaded by the pour, that numbers have ehosen starvation in preference to it. In this emergenev Newcombe, the proprietor of the “ Cromwell’s Head,” volunteered to take charge, of the child. The parish ollicers, glad to he relieved of the harden of her support, joyfully acceded to the ropiest, and Neweomhe placed her at school, intending to adopt her. having no children of his own. His wife, however, manifested a great dislike to Ellen ; and though ail her eiforts to induce tier husband to return the child into the custody of the parish were, in vain, she succeeded in gaining his consent to Ellen's assistance in the business of the inn, as soon as her age permitted; where she made the pour girl as uncomfortable as she could possibly he.. Ellen, however, having naturally a sweet temper, bore all uncomplainingly, though she often wept in secret at the hardness of her lot, and certainly had every incentive to change it if she could obtain a chance of doing so. Unfortunately that chance was soon to present itself.

The “Cromwell’s Head’’ was one day visited by a young artist possessing some of the proclivities of the celebrated George Morlaud, (who used to pay a trilling drinking score with one of bis inimitable sketches, thrown off on the spot, and eagerly collected at extravagant prices by the rojuosrcnii when flip bibulous artist had terminated his dissipated career.) Like Morlaud, George Luscomhe preferred a tavern debauch to the society of the wise and intellectual ; and being delighted with the rural position and excellent liquors of the “ Cromwell's Head,” he soon paid another visit, accompanied by a party of his Loudon friends, equally fond of a “ spree,” consisting of medical students, men about town, and aspirants for the dignity of 11. A., though their present mode of life seemed likelv to result in a

“ hanging committee” of another kind. At length these worthies organised themselves into a club, to which they gave the anomalous name of the “Convivial Owls,” meeting once a month, anddis cussing the respective merits of Millais and Prith, Pre-Raphaelites and the “ old fogey” style, over copious libations, which generally ended in a Bacchanalian revel, sometimes followed by that agreeable amusement occasionally indulged in by the German students, of throwing everything moveable the apartment contained out of the window.

It was the evening on which these individuals were expected to hold their meeting, and all was bustle and preparation at the “ Cromwell’s Hoad.” In a private room the table was laid for supper, and The landlady regarded it with admiration. Behind her stood the grinning “ Boots,” joyous in ji he uni icipalluu of sundry half-crowns from the ! guests. | ” I think that will do soliloquised Mrs. Ncw--1 combe, putting the finishing touch to the arrangej meats by fixing an enormous stuffed owl to the back of the chairman’s seat, “ it’s a’most time they were here. You had better remove the fire-irons, last time, trying to balance it on the poker.” “ All right, mum Jack replied, “ but I'd better take the chairs, too, ’cos Mr Whitmore broke two on ’em doin’ of lus Grecian staffers and he indulged in a chuckle. “ Ellen ! Ellen ! drat that girl, she’s always out of the way I” cried the landlady, “ Oh! here you are at last. See that the bedrooms are all ready; 1 expect some of the gents won’t be fit to go home to-night; run down now, there they are,” as a vehicle stopped at the door, and a confused noise of laughing and talking was heard below

The new comers were eight in number ; all young men, and apparently most of them had already indulged in a glass in honor of the occasion.

“ This way, geulleme* said Mrs Newcombe, leading the way upstairs, “ All right, old lady,” replied Luscombc, a tall, fair young man, flashily attired, “ we know the owl’s perch, don’t we, my boys ?” A laugh followed this very feeble joke. “ Let’s have supper at once said Luscombe, and Mrs Newcombe left the room.

“ I beg to move that our worthy President do take the chairsaid one of them, with mock solemnity.

“ Hear 1 hear 1 In with you, Whitmore,” was the general response.

The individual thus unanimously called upon at once took the seat at the head of the table. He was a tall, fair young man, very handsome, but around his month lingered an expression of indecision which gave to an acute physiognomist the idea of a weak, irresolute mind, easily swayed by circumstances. Such was, in fact, the character of Philip Whitmore. He was oue of those unfortunate beings often described as not knowing their own minds ; with him the impulse of the moment was everything, the past or future nothing. He was the elder sun of a wealthy Westmoreland baronet, and consequently presumptive heir to the estate, which was not, however, entailed. Having been brought up in the district of the Lakes, and accustomed to the magnificent scenery and associations, he had mistaken an appreciation of the beautiful for artistic inspiration, and intimated to his father his desire of becoming an artist. The proud old baronet was horrified at the request. His son, the heir to Whitmore Chase and eight thousand a year, to become a “ beggarly dauber !” for so the irascible old Tory termed the profession which has produced Lawrence and Eastluke. At length a compromise was effected; Philip‘was to visit the studio of Crake, A.R.A., (the celebrated landscape painter), and become proficient as an amateur, on condition of entering the Guards at the expiration of two years. Philip Whitmore was not long in London before he found that an immense amount of tedious drudgery is necessary before any eminence in painting can be attained. His vacillating disposition recoiled from the toil to be endured ; and he sauntered idly from one studio to another, talking art gossip, or taking part in the festive amusements of his young companions. His father, Sir Bryan, heard of these proceedings ; but considering anything better for his son than devotion to art, supplied Philip liberally with money, hoping that a season in town u..glit banish his fancy fur the brush.

Naturally disposed to take life easy, and having always at command an article occasionally scarce among his friends, “ the needful,” Whilmore was unanimously elected the president of their revels, and his vanity was flattered by the choice, fur he was one of those who would rather bo first in a village than second in Rome. Here w hile he possessed money, he wa: sure of 1 is liironc remaining undisturbed ; added to which, a more powerful motive influenced his visits to the “Cromwell’s Head. ”

After the supper was over, and the cloth removed, pipes and cigars were placed on the table, w hih in (font of Whitmore steamed an enormous bowl of w hiskey-punch, w hich lie at once proceeded to ladle out to the company. When this bowl had been replenished, tongues wa re loosened, wall a running fire of conversation took place which would have done honor to the Tower of Babel.

“Order!” at length Whitmore shouted, lapping the table with his ivoty hummer. Silence was immediatelv restored.

“ Gentlemen,” said the president, rising, “ I iiavc a (uast to propose whieli I am -an* will obtain your approbation. It is usual on such occasions to commence with a round of loyal ami patriotic sentiments, but we ignore them ; we arc cosmopolites, wanderers, Zmyari, if 1 may use the term, owning no rulers but tie- hanging committee ol'.lhe Academy, and having for our motto, ' art loitan, ri/tj lnc'i'is.' Therefore, remembering this motto, especially the ri/a i/vr/.t, I call upon you to make the most of your time, and drink success to ’he ‘ Convivial Owl?,’ our noble selves!” This sentiment was received with three times three: and when the applause had somewhat subsided. Whitmore called upon Lnseomhe for a son:;. “The Owl ! the Owl!” shouted half-a-dozen voices ; and after clearing Ills throat w.th a pass of punch, Luscumbc sang the, following delectable ditty— THE OWL. I. Though each poet may cudgel his rhymo-slriclcen And rave of his Cupids and loves ; [pale, Though he ring ot the eagle of Jupiter great, Or Venus attended by doves; I heed not his trash—there's a bird wiser far. One solemn as monk in his cowl, He roameth at night ’neatli the mom's silver car. For the king of all birds is the Own. u. He liidcth all day in the bushes so dense, (hike a brigand when hatching a plot) Till night cometii on, for he hath too much sense The victim to fall to a shot. But when twittering chirpers to roost homeward j And the watch-dog commeueeth his growl, [lly I He soarcth abroad with his gloom-ptcrciug eye For the king of the night is the Ovn„ ur. Then let us all borrow a pattern from him, Nor rise with the lark in the morn ; We heed not the maxims of monitors grim, Their musty old proverbs we scorn. Drink deep, boys! till L’hcebus illumines the day; Then as jolly we sit cheek by jowl, We’ll toss off a bumper ere parting, and say All uight wo'vo boon up with the Owl 1

This song, which—ns the newspapers say—was rapturously applauded, was hut the precursor of a round of others, mud what with the singing, chorussing, smoking, and—though last, certainly not least—-drinking, some of the company began to manifest decided symptoms of having taken enough, or ton much, ami to ulmk like veritable owls in the sunlight. Each man was too fully occupied with himself to remark Ids neighbour's proceedings; had this not been the case, any person who had taken the trouble to watch Whitmore would have seen that, contrary to his usual custom, he scarcely touched the liquor, lie filled his glass, it is true, when ladling out the punch all round, but he took an unobserved opportunity of returning its contents to the bowl betore him : while he occasionally gave an impatient, uneasy giar.ee alms .vaiCti. “ Come, Whitmore,” Luscomhe said, “it is your turn, my boy ; give us something a la little Robson, or any other selection from the classics.” At that moment Whitmore, who had paid no attention to this speech, heard three slow, distinct taps at the door. .Tie hurriedly left his chair, and saying to Luscomhe “ I will return in a few moments,” quitted the room. Outside the door he encountered Ellen Needham. “ Quick!” she excitedly exclaimed, “ here is my answer to the note you gave me to-night. I cannot stay, I shall be missed directly and she sped away.

[ A liitmore placed the unopened note in his | pocket, and returned to his seat. He was spared the necessity of singing, for during his absence an animated discussion had arisen between two of the respecting tue relative merits or Power’s matter being one on which all present considered themselves qualified to express an opinion, a noisy argument was the result.*

“Bosh P’said .Luscombe, as Whitmore reseated himself, “ you may talk a Jong as you like of Power and his productions, but lie is no more to be compared with Gibson than Nick Muggles, the pugilist, with Michael Angelo’s David.” This comparison created a laugh, as its author intended, and soothed a somewhat angry debate. “ You fellows are awful cads continued Luscombe. Can’t you sink the shop for once, raid enjoy yourselves ? If you don’t like the ‘ Slave’ or the 'Venus’ go and beat them, if yon can, but don’t drag them in to interrupt our harmony. I will give you a ditty, by way of shutting up your discussion.”

At length two or three of the company, who intended returning to town, rose; Whitmore and Luscombe were of the number. The former made an excuse ; bout seeing to their vehicle, and after requesting his friend to collect the return party, left the room, and went into the stables, where the old ostler was putting the horses to the drag. “Here, Jack,” said Whitmore, “go into the house and get me a couple of cigars, and keep the change ;” and he tossed the old man a crown. “ All right, sir,” replied Jack, hobbling away, H hen alone, Whitmore tore open the note lie had received from Ellen, and ran his eye hastily ! over it. It was as follows

“ Dear Philip,—You ask me to leave that which, however uncomfortable, is still a home, to become your wife; but you also say that the marriage must be a secret oue, m consequence of the necessity of keeping your father in dgnorauco of the matter. Unhappy as lam here, I will not be the cause of dissension between a parent and his child—a breach that might result in a final separation. If you love me as yon have led me to believe, you will wait patiently for better times ; if you will not do this, I freely release you from your promise. “ Li.i.en."

“ Confusion 1” muttered Whilmore, “it is deuced hard that she draws back like this, when I risk so much for her. I must send her another letter, upbraiding her ; that is the way to work upon her feelings. I wonder what my worthy dad would say if he knew I was on the brink of marriage with a barmaid ? Well, the old boy must soon go off, and I must keep Ellen quiet until then, if that prying brother of mine doesn’t find it out.”

The ostler here returned, followed by Luscombe and two others.

“ Ashmead, Lakeman, Lowe, and Calvert remain belaud,” said Luscombe, laughing; “they are as drunk as Chirr, and ready to pitch into any one who offers to move them from under the table.”

“ I’lease your honours, I’ll sec ’em to bed all right said" (lie ostler, “ M ell, take care of them, Jack;” said Whitmore, “jump in, buys ; that will do, my man, give them them heads ;” and away went the drag up the Brompton Road towards Whitmore’s rooms in Hyde Park Gardens. “ M hat makes yon so dull to-night, old fellow ?” Luscombe asked, as they dashed along Piccadilly. “ Is anything the matter r”

“ Nothing whatever ;” Whitmore replied, with a forced laugh ; am! he lashed the horses viciously, proving the serenity of his. temper. | Lnseomhe smiled. “ There’s something in the' wind, my boy,” he said; “but i’ui not curious.' Time will show.” (To he confi/tt-rif.J