WEDDED FOR PIQUE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 9244, 22 December 1888, Page 3 (Supplement)

WEDDED FOR PIQUE.

BY MRS. MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of " Guy Efirlscourt's Wife," "A Wonderful tVonian," " A Mad Marriage," " One Night's Mystery," " Lost for a Woman," &c CHAPTER IX. VICTORIA RKGIA. Bkfore the end of the first week, the little heiress was thoroughly domesticated ufc Castle Chile. Everybody liked her, from Lady Agnes down to tho kitchenmaids, who sometimes had the honour of dropping her a courtesy, and receiving a gracious little smile in return. Lady Agnes had keen eyes, and reading her like a printed book, saw that the little girl was aristocratic to the core of her heart. If she wept, as she once or twice found occasion to do, it was like a little ladynoiselessly, with her handkerchief to her eyes, and her faco buried in her arm. If she laughed, it was careless, low, and musical, and with an air of despising laughter all the' time. She never romped ; she never screamed ; she was never rude. Heaven forbid ! The blue blood of the Cliffes certainly Slowed with proud propriety through those delicate veins. The girl of twelve, too, understood it all, as the duckling understands swimming, by intuition, and was as radically and unaffectedly haughty in her way as Lady Agnes in hers. She was proud of the CI ities and of their long pedigree ; proud of their splendid house and its splendid surroundings; proud of her stately grandmother, and. proudest of all, of her handsome papa. " The child is well named," said Lady Agnes, with a conscious smile. "She is Victoria—exactly like her namesake, that xld, wild, beautiful flower, the Victoria Regia." Everybody in Cliftonlea was wild to see the heiress ; the return of her lather had been nothing to this furore. ; so the white muslin and the blue ribbons were discarded for brilliant silks .:-nd nodding plumes, and Lady Agnes and Miss Shirley drove through the town in a grand barouche half buried among amber-velvet cushions, and looking like a fullblown queen and a princess in the bud. Certainly, it Mas a bewildering change for the little grey-robed pupil of the French convent. It was a sultry September afternoon, with a high wind, a brassy sun, and crimson clouds in a dull, leaden sky—a Saturday afternoon, and : half-holiday with Tom Shirley, who stood before the jwrtico of the hall-door, holding the bridles of the two ponies— his own, the other Cousin Victoria's. This latter was a perfect miracle of Arabian beauty, snowy white, slender-limbed, arch-necked, fiery-eyed, full of spirit, yet gentle as a lamb to a master-hand. It was a present from Sir Koland to the heiress of Castle Cliffe, and had been christened by that little young lady "Claude"—a title which Tom indignantly repudiated for its former one of " Leicester."

The girl and the boy wore bound for u gallop to Sir Roland's home, Cliffewood, a distance of some seven miles : and while Tom stood holding the impatient ponies, the massive hall-door was thrown open by the obsequious porter, and the heiress herself tripped out. Tom had very gallantly told her once that the rope-dancer was a thousand times prettier than she : but looking at her now, as she stood for one moment on the topmost step, he cried inwardly, "' Pcccavi .'" and repented. Certainly nothing could have been lovelier— the light, slender figure in un exquisitely fitting libit of blue ; yellow gauntlets on the fairy hands, one of which lightly lifted her flowing skirt, and the other poisintr the most exquisite of ridingwhips ; the fiery lances of sunshine dancing through the sunny curls flowing to the waist, the small black riding-hat and waving plume tied with azure ribbons ; the sunlight flashing in her bright blue eyes, and kissing tho rose tint on her pearly checks.

Yes, Victoria Shirley was pretty— very different looking girl from the pale, dim, colourless Genevieve who had arrived a little over a week before. And, as she came ;ripping down the steps, planting one dainty loot in Tom's palm, and springing easily 'Into her saddle, his boy's heart gave a quick hound, ami his pulses an electric thrill. He leaped on his own horse ; the girl smilingly kissed the tips of her yellow gauntlets to Lady Agnes in her chamber window, and they dashed away in the teeth of the wind, her curls waving behind like a golden banner. Vivia rode well— it was an accomplishment she had learned in France ; the immense iron gates under the lofty stone urch split open at their approach, and away they dashed through Cliftonlea. All the town flew to the doors and windows and gazed in profound admiration and envy after the twain as they flew by— the bold, dark-eyed, dark-haired, manly boy, and the delicate fairy, with the blue eyes and golden hair, beside him. The high wind deepened the roses and brightened the light in Vivia's eyes, until she was glowing like a second Aurora, when they leaped off their horses at the villa's gates. This villa was a pretty place—a very pretty place, but painfully new ; for which reason Vivia did not like it at all. The grounds were spacious and beautifully laid out ; the villa was a gem of gothic architecture, but it had been built by Sir Roland himself, and nobody ever thought of coming to see it. Sir Roland did not care, for he liked comfort a great deal better than historic interest and leaky roofs, and told Lady„ Agnes, with a good-natured laugh, when she spoke of it in her scornful way, that she might live in her old ruined convent if she liked, but he would stick to his commodious villa.

Now he came down the grassy lawn to meet them, and welcomed them with cordiality ; lor the new heiress was an immense favourite of his already. "Aunt Agnes thought it would do Vic pood to gallop over," said Tom, switching his boot with his whip. "So here we are. But you needn't invite us to stay, for, as | this is Saturday afternoon, you know it j couldn't be heard of." "Oh, yes," said Vic—a name which Tom had adopted for shortness, "we ought to go right back, for Tom is going to show me something wonderful down on the shore. Why, Uncle Roland, what is this ?" They had entered a high, cool hall, with glass doors thrown open at each end, showing a sweeping vista of lawns, and terraces, and shrubbery, rich with statues and portraits ; and before one of these the speaker had made so sudden a halt that the two others stopped also. It was a picture in a splendid frame of a little boy some eight years old, with long, bright curls, much the same as her own, blue eyes, too, but so much darker than hers that they seemed almost black ; the straight, delicate features characteristic of the Cliffes, and a smile like an angel's. It was really a beautiful face—much more so than her own, and the girl clasped her hands in her peculiar manner, and looked at it in a perfect ecstasy. " Why," Tom was beginning impetuously, " where did you—" when Sir Roland, smilingly, caught his arm and interposed. "Hold your tongue, Tom. Little boys should be seen and not heard. Well, Vic, do you know who that is ?" "It looks like—it does look a little doubtfully though, " like my papa." "So it does ; the forehead, and mouth, end hair are alike exactly. But it is not your papa. Guess again." " Oh, I can't. I hate guessing. Tell me who it is." " It is a portrait of my stepson, Leicester, taken when a child, and the reason you never saw it before is because it has been getting a new frame. Good-looking littlo fellow, eh ?" „ Oh, it is beautiful! It is an angel! Sir Roland and Tom both laughed, but Tom's was a perfect shout. " Leicester Cliffe an angel! Oh, ye Gods ! won't I tell him the next time I see him, mid he the veriest scamp that ever strutted !" „ ~ c,. "Nothing of the kind, Vic, said Sir Roland, as Vic coloured with mortification. " Leicester is an excellent fellow, and, when he comes home, you and he will be capital friends, I'm sure." Vic brightened up immediately. " And when will he be home., Uncle Koland?" . "That's uncertain—per at Christmas."

"Is ho old?" , L , "Considerably stricken in years, bub not quite as old as Methuselah's cat," stuck in Tom. " He is eighteen." " Does he look like that now ?" " Except that all those young lady-like curls, and the innocent expression, and those short iackets are erone. he does, and

then he is as tall as a. May-pole, or as Tom Shirley. Come in and have lunch." Sir Roland led the way. After luncheon the cousins mounted their horsos and rode to the castle. The sun was setting in an oriflamme of crimson and black, and the wind had risen to a perfect gale, but Tom insisted on his cousin accompanying: him to the shore, nevertheless.

"I won't be able to show the Dev— mean the Demon's Tower until next Saturday, unless you come now, so be off, Vic, and change your dress. It is worth going to see, lean tell you." Vic, nothing loth, flow up tho great oaken staircase to her own beautiful room, and soon reappeared in a gay silk robe and black velvet basque. As she joined Tom in the avenue, she recoiled in surprise and displeasure to see that Margaret was with him.

"Don't bo cross, Vic," whispered Tom, giving her a coaxing pinch. " She was sitting, moping like an old hen with the distemper, under tho trees, and I thought it would be only an act of Christian politeness to ask her. Come on, she won't eat you ; come on, Mag." Tom's long legs measured off the ground as if he we're shod with seven leagued boots, and the two girls, running breathlessly at his side, had wiough to do to keep up with him. The shore was about a half-mile dis taut, but he knew lots of short cuts through the trees, and before long they were on the sands anil scrambling over the rocks, Tom holding Vic's hand," and Margaret making her way in the best manner she could, with now and then an encouraging word from him. The sky looked dark and menacing, the wind raged over the heaving sea. and the surf washed the rocks far out in great billows of foam. " Look there,''saidTom, pointing to something that really looked like a autre mass of stone tower. " That's the Demon's Tower, and they call that the Storm Bar beyond it. We can walk to ic now because the tide is low, but anyone caught there at high water would be drowned for certain, unless he was an uncommon swimmer. There's no danger now, though, as the tide's very low. So make haste and come along."

But over the slippery rocks and slimy seaweed Vic could not " come along" at all. Seeing which, Tom lifted her in his arms with as much ceremony and difficulty as if she had been a kitten ; and calling to Margaret to mind her eye, and not break her neck, bounded from jag to jag, with as much ease as a goat. Margaret, slipping, and falling, and rising again, followed patiently on, and in fifteen minutes they were in the cavern, and Vic was standing, laughing ami breathless, on her own feet again.

It was in reality a tower without a top ; for some twenty feet above them they could see the dull, leaden sky, and the sides were as steep, and perpendicular, and unclimb able as the walls of a house. The cavern was sufficiently spacious, and opposite the low, natural archway by which they had entered, were half-a-dozen rough steps cut in the rocks, and above them was a kind of seat made by a projecting stone. The place was tilled with hollow, weird sounds, something between the sound we hear in sea-shells and the mournful sighing of an teolian harp, and the effect altogether was unspeakably wild and melancholy.

Again.Vic clasped her hands, this time in mingled awe and delight.

" What a place ! How the sea and wind roar among the rocks ! I could stay here for ever !"

"1 have often been here for hours on a stretch with Leicester Clitic," said Tom. " We cut those steps in the rock ; ami, when we were little shavers, he used to play Robinson Crusoe, and 1 Man Friday. We named it Robinson Crusoe's Castle ; but that was too long for every day; so the people in Lower Clitl'e—the fishing village over therecalled it the Devil's Tower. Vie, sing a song, and hear how your voice will echo round these stone walls."

"But," said Margaret, "I don't think it's safe to stay here, Tom. You know, when the tide rises it fills this place nearly to the top, and would drown us all !" "Don't be a goose, Maggie; there's no danger, I tell you ! Vic, get up in Robinson Crusoe's seat, and I'll be Man Friday again, and lie here at your feet." Vic got up the steps, and seated herself upon the stone ledge ; Tom flung himself on the stone floor, anil Margaret sat down on a pile of dry seaweed in the corner. Then Vic sang some wild Venetian barcarole that echoed and re-echoed, and rang out on the wind, in a way that equally amazed and delighted her. Again and again she sang, fascinated by the wild and beautiful echo, and Tom joined in loud choruses of his own, and Margaret listened, seemingly quite as much delighted as they, until, suddenly, in the midst of the loudest strain, shesprang to her feet with a sharp cry. " Tom ! Tom ! the tide is upon us !" Instantly Tom was on his feet, as if he were made from head to heel of spring-steel, and out of the black arch. For nearly two yards, the space below the archway was clear of the surf ; but, owing to a peculiar curve in the shore, the tower had become an island, and was almost encircled by the foaming waves. The dull day was darkening, too ; the fierce blast dashed the spray in his eyes, and in one frantic glance he saw that escape was impossible. He could not swim to the shore in that surf ; neither he nor they could climb up the steep sides of the cavern, and they Jill must drown where they were. Not for himself did he care — brave Tom never thought of himself in that moment, nor even of Margaret— only of Vic. In an instant he was back again, and kneeling at her feet on the stone floor.

" I promised to protect you !" he cried out, " and see how I have kept my word !" " Tom, is it true ? Can we not escape ?" " No ; the sea is around us on every hand and in twenty minutes will be over that arch and over our heads ! Oh, I wish I had been struck dead before I brought you here !" '•'And can we do nothing?" said Vic, clasping her hands—always her impulse. " If we could only climb to the top." Again Tom bounded to his feet. ''I will try ! There may be rope there, and it is a chance, after all!" In a twinkling he was at the top of Robinson's seat, and clutching frantically at invisible fragments of rock, to help him up the steep ascent. But in vain ; worse than in vain ! Neither sailor nor monkey could have climbed up there ; and, with a sharp cry, he missed his hold, and was hurled back, stunned and senseless, to the floor. The salt spray came dashing in their faces as they knelt beside him. Margaret shrieked, and covered her face with her hands, and cowered down ; and " Oh, holy mother, protect us !" murmured the pale lips of the French girl. And still the waters roso ! CHAPTER X. BARBARA. The Cliftonlea races were over and Well over, but at least one-third of the pleasureseekers went home disappointed. The races had been successful; the weather propitious but one great point of attraction ' had mysteriously disappeared—after the first day, the Infant Venus vanished and was seen no more. The mob had gone wild about her, and had besieged the theatre clamourously next day ; but when another and very clumsy Venus was substituted, and the original divinity was not to be found, the manager nearly had his theatre pulled down about his ears, in their angry disappointment. None could tell what had become of her, except, perhaps, Mr. Sweet—which prudent gentleman enchanted the race-ground no longer with his presence, but devoted_ himself exclusively to a little business of his own.

It was a sweltering August evening. The sun, that had throbbed and blazed all day like a great heart of fire in a cloudless sky, was going slowly down behind the Sussex hills, but a few vagrant wandering sunbeams lingered still on the open window, and along the carpetless floor, in an upper room in the Glide Arms. It was a small room, with an attic-roof stifling hot just now, and filled with reeking fuTnes of tobacco ; for Mr. Peter Black sat near the empty fireplace smoking like a volcano. There were two ladies in the room ; but, despite their presence and the suffocating atmosphere, Mr. Black kept his hat on, for the wearing of which article of dress he partly atoned by being in his shirt sleeves, and very much out at the elbows at that.

. One of these ladies, rather stricken in years, exceedingly crooked, exceedingly yellow, and with an exceedingly sharp and vicious expression generally, sat on a low stool opposite him; her skinny elbows on her knees, her skinny chin in her hands,

and her small, rat-like eyes transfixing him with an unwinking stare. The second lady—a youthful angel arrayed in faded gauze, ornamented with tawdry ribbons and tarnished tinsel—stood by the open window, trying to catch the slightest breeze : but no breoze stirred tne stagnant air of the sweltering August afternoon. It was the Infant Venus, of course —looking like anything just now, however, but a Venus, in her shabby dross, her uncombed and tangled profusion of hair, and tho scowl, the unmistakablo scowl, that darkened the pretty face. There never was a greater nonsense than that trite old adage of " beauty unadorned being adorned the most." Beauty in satin and diamonds is infinitely more beautiful than the same in linsey-wolsey, and tho caterpillar, with sulky 'faco and frowzed hair, looking out of the window, was no more like the golden butterfly, wreathed and smiling on the tight-rope, than a real caterpillar is like a real butterfly. In fact, none of tho three appeared to bo in the best of humour: the man looked dogged and scowling ; tho old woman, tierce ""and wrathful; and the girl, gloomy and sullen. They had been in exactly the same position for at least two hours without speaking, when the girl suddenly turned round from tho window, with flashing eyes and fiery face. "Father, I want to know how long we arc to be kept roasting alive in this place ? If you don't let me out, I will jump out of the window to-night, though I break my neck for it!"

" Do, and be ," growled Mr. Black, surlily, without looking up. "What have we come here for at all? Why have we left the theatre?" " Find out!" said Mr. Black, laconically. The girls eyes (lamed, and her hands clenched, but the old woman interposed. " Barbara, you're a fool! and fools ask more, questions in- a minute than a wise man can answer in a day. We have come here for your good, and—there's a knock, open the door." "It's that yellow old ogre again," muttered Barbara, going to the door. " I know he's at the bottom of all this, and I should like to scratch his eyes out—l should !"

She unlocked the door as she uttered the gentle wish ; and the yellow old ogre, in the person of the over-smiling Mr. Sweet, stepped in. Certainly he was smiling just now—quite radiantly, in fact; and his waistcoat, and whiskers, and hair, and profusion of jewellery seemed to scintillate sparks of sunshine and smile, too. " And how does my charming little Venus Unci herself this warm evening ? Blooming as a rosebud, 1 hope ?" ho began, chucking her under the chin. " And the dear old lady, quite well and cheerful, I trust? And you, my dear old boy, always smoking and enjoying yourself after your own fashion. How do you do, all ?" By the way of answer, the charming little Venus wrenched herself angrily from his grasp ; the dear old lady gave him a malignant glance out of her weird eyes, and the dear old boy smoked on with a steady scowl, and never looked up. " All silent !" said Mr. Sweet, drawing up a chair, and looking silently round. " Why, that's odd, too ! Barbara, my dear, will you tell me what is the matter ?" Barbara faced round from the window wit.li rather discomposing suddenness, not to say fierceness.

"The matter is, Mr. Sweet, that I'm about tired of being cooped up in this hot hole : and if I don't get out by fair means, I will by foul, ami that before long. What have you brought us here for ? You needn't deny it, I know you have brought us here.''

" Quite right, Miss Barbara. It was I!" " Then I wish you had just minded your own business, and let us alone. Come, let me out, or I vow I shall jump out of the window, if I break every bone in my body." " .My dear Miss Barbara, I admire your spirit and courage, but let us do nothing rash. If I have brought you here, it is for your good, and you will thank me for it one day !" "I shall do nothing of the kind; and you won't thank yourself either, if you don't let me out pretty soon. What do you mean, sir, by interfering with us when we weren't interfering with you ?" " Barbara, hold your tongue !" again the old lady sharply cut in. "Her tongue is longer than the rest of her body, Mr. Sweet, anil you mus'n't mind tier. How dare you speak so disrespectful to the gentleman, you minx'. - ''

" You needn't call either of us names, grandmother," said Barbara, quite as sharply as the old lady herself, and with a spectral Hash out of her weird dark eyes. "I shouldn't think you and father would be such fools as to be ordered about by an old lawyer, who had better be minding his own affairs, if he has any to mind !"

Mr. Peter Black, smoking stolidly, still chuckled grimly under his unshaven beard at his little daughter's large spirit; and Mr. Sweet looked at her with mild reproach.

" Genly, gently, Miss Barbara ! you think too fast ! As you have guessed it, it is 1 who have brought you here, and it is, I repeat, for your good. I saw you at the races, and liked you —and who could help doing that? —and I determined you should not pass your life in such low drudgery ; for I swear you were burn for a lady, and shall be one ! Miss Barbara, you are a great deal too beautiful for so public and dangerous a life, and, I repeat again, you shall be a lady yet!" "How?" said Barbara, a littlo mollified, like all of her sex, by the flattery. " Well, in the first place, you shall be educated ; your father shall have a more respectable situation than that of tickettaker to a band of strolling players : and, lastly, when you have grown up, I shall perhaps make you—my little wife !" Mr. Sweet laughed pleasantly, but Barbara shrugged her shoulders, and turned away with infinite contempt.

" Oh, thank you ! I shall never be a lady in that case. lam afraid ! You may -keep your fine promises, Mr. Sweet, for those who like them, and let me go back to the theatre."

" My dear child, when you see the pretty cottage I have for you to live in, and the fine dresses you shall have, and all the friends you will make, you will think differently of it. lam aware this is not the most comfortable place in the world, but I came up for the express purpose of telling you you arc to leave here to-night. Yes, my good friend Black, you will hold yourself in readiness to-night to quit this for your future home." Mr. Black took his pipe out of his mouth, and looked up for the first time. " Where's that?" he grullly asked. "Down in Tower Cliffe, the fishing village below here, and I have found you the nicest cottage ever you saw, where you can live as comfortably as a king." "And that respectable occupation of yours—perhaps it's a lawyer's clerk you want to make of me. I'm not over particular, Lord knows ! but I don't want to come to that."

My dear Black, don't be sarcastic, if you can help it. Your occupation shall be one of the oldest and most respectable — a profession the apostles followed — that of a fisherman, you know." "I don't know anything about the apostles," said Mr. Black, gruffly, " and 1 know less about being a fisherman. Why don't you set me up for a milliner, or a lady's maid at once "My dear friend, I am afraid you got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, you're so uncommon savage ; but I can overlook that and the few other defects you are troubled with, as people overlook spots on the sun. As to the fishing, you'll soon learn all you want know, which won't be much ; and as you will never want a guinea while I have one in my purse, you need never shorten your days by hard work. In three hours from now— that is, at nine o'clock — I will be here with a conveyance to bear you to your new home. And, now," said Mr. Sweet, rising, " as much as I regret it, I must tear myself away ; for I have an engagement with my lady at the castlo in half-an-hour. By the way, have you heard the news of what happened at the castle the other day ?" "How should we hear it?" said Mr. Black, sulkily. " Do you suppose the birds of the air would fly in with news ; and you took precious good caro that none should reach us any other way." True. I might have known you would not hear it ; but it is a mere trifle after all. The only son of Lady Agnes Shirley has returned home, after an absence of twelve years, and all Gliftonlea is ringing with the news. Perhaps you would like to hear the story, my good Judith," said Mr. Sweet, leaning smilingly over his chair, and fixing his eyes full on the skinny face

of the old woman. *' It is quite a romance* I assure you. A little over thirteen year's ago, this young man, Cliffe Shirley, made a low marriage with a French actress— good, very pretty, but a nobody, you know. Actresses are always nobodies !" _ "And lawyers are something worse !" interrupted Barbara, facing indignantly round. "I would thank you to mind what you say about actresses, Mr. Sweet." The lawyer bowed in deprecation to the little vixen.

"Your pardon, Miss Barbara. I hold myself rebuked. When my lady heard tho story, her wrath, I am told, was terrific. Sho comes of an old and fiery race, you see, and it was an unheard of atrocity to mix the blood of tho Cliffes with the plebeian puddle of a French actress; so this only son and heir was cast off. Then came righteous retribution for the sin against society he had committed ; the artful actress died, the young man fled into voluntary exile in India, to kill natives and do* penance for his sin ; and after spending twelve years in those pleasant pursuits, he has unexpectedly returned home, and been received by the great lady of Castle Cliffe with open arms." " Oh, grandmother," cried Barbara, with animation, " that must have been tho lady and gentleman we saw driving past in tho grand carriage yesterday. There were four beautiful horses, all shining with silver, and a coachman and footman in livery, and the lady was dressed splendidly, and the gentleman was—oh, ever so handsome ! Don't you remember, grandmother ?" Bub grandmother, with her eyes fixed as if fascinated on the cheerful face of the narrator, her old hands trembling, and her lips spasmodically twitching, was crouching away in the chimney corner, and answorotl never a word.

Mr. Sweet turned to the girl, and took it upon himself to answer. " Might, Miss Barbara. lb was Lady Agnes and Colonel Shirley ; no one else in Cliftonlea has such an equipage as that ; but your grandmother will like to hear tho rest of the story. " There is a sequel, my good Judith. The young soldier and the pretty actress had a daughter; and the child, after remaining six years in England, was taken away by its father and placed in a French convent. There it has remained ever since; and not long ago two messengers were sent to Paris to bring her home, and the child of the French actress is now the heiress of Castle Cliffe ! Miss Barbara, how would you like to bo in her place?" " You needn't ask. I would give half my life to be a lady for one day." # Mr. Sweet laughed and turned to go ; and old Judith, crouching in the chimneycorner, shook as she heard it like one stricken with palsy. "Never mind, my pretty little Barbara, you shall be one some day, or I'll not be a living man. And now you had better see to your grandmother ; I am afraid the dear old lady is not very well." [To be continued.]