Copyright Story. THE LOVELY JOSKIN

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIV, Issue 4, 26 January 1910, Page 55

Copyright Story. THE LOVELY JOSKIN

By'

MURRAY GILCHRIST.

Author of “ Passion the Plaything,” “A Peakland Faggot,” Eta.

(j 1 T FTER midnight the fine haze re--1 I solved into heavy rain. Chloe's I I chamber overlooked the square courtyard of the inn; at the sound of the downpour she stole on tiptoe to the window, drew aside the curtain of gay chintz., and knelt on tire sill. A clock in the gallery struck one — she had heard the striking of the t’aree hours that had passed since her step-mother had insisted upon her retiring. "You must rest well, my sweet one,” the lady had said. "My brother will in all probability be here in another hour; but ’tis not etiquette that you should see him so late. Your father’ (she pointed with complacency to where her spouse lay asleep in an armchair) —"your father and I will receive him. Most pleasant dreams, my Chloe. None can wish you better than I do. And pray remember that nry brother, Mr. Delamere, is a cadet of noble family, and heir to a fine fortune made in the East Indies!” The girl had striven to touch her father’s heart, had nul l? her minis’.rations more tender, her voice more cajoling than ever. But Sir llojer Lovejoy was too sodden with wine to heed much; he only stroked her hair with a puffy hand, and declared that he who got her for wife’d get a prize indeed. "Egad, a nutbrown maid, same as was her poor mother! \ nutbrown maid on milk and honey fed. And madam’s chosen her own brother—a bachelor, who'll have more than his weight in gold! Ah, Chloe, Chloe, 'tis the 'uriousest world gentleman of honour e’er du elt in!” Then, his wife’s eyes’, being turned away, he had drunk —at- one-draught—-another pint of wine, and had fallen a-weeping a-hiccoughing; and mine host and a tapster had been cillefl- to convey him gently to the fourposc bed in the Whistle-jacket Chamber. At elevn o’clock, old Mince, who .had been abigail to Sir Roger's first wife, crept up to the girl’s chamber. She bad been dismissed for the night; but she came now bubbling with excitement. An ancient virgin of a romantic turn, who was given—amongst her fel-low-servants —to long quotations from Pamela and Clarissa Harlowe. “Lord bless us all, dearest miss,” she said; “but you should ha’ been abed, getting your beauty sleep' Yet here I find vou dressed and wakeful as can be!” She made a feint of departing; but Chloe, realising that she had something on her mind, laid a hand on her sleeve. “I know that you have something to tell,” she said. “So, pray, good Mince, keep me not in suspense, nor yourself in misery.” Mistress Mince cried out upon her—she was enchanted to be sure; nay, the young beauty knew as much magic as Mother Sawyer, the white witch who lived just outside Sir Roger's gates. Nay, she couldn’t reckon ' Miss Chloe up, not she! Mercy on us, to think as the pretty dear knew kind old Mince had some news! And so on, good soul, till Chloe affected no desire to listen, and thus brought her at once to reason. “ ’Tis news that would set any wait-ing-woman a-bursting,” she said. “I was sitting hi the parlour her ladyship had hired for me and her own maid (a poor, miserable soul as ever lived!) -—when I heard a coach and four draw up in the yard, and, peeping through the window, watched a gentleman alight. He'd a black servant with him —one who cringed like a spaniel . . , nay. the fellow was like to ebony itself!” “And the gentleman was Mr. Delaniere, my stepmother’s brother, whom we’ve come half-way to town to meet,” said young Chloe coldly. “Since you describe things so well, Mince, you may tell me what he is like!” Mince clasped her hands and smiled, amiably. “Soane would say he's handsome,” she replied, “and some would •wear otherwise; but 1 would simply

and with a truthful tongue protest that I have seen worse.” At this Chloe shuddered and turned her face from the light. She knew her woman well enough to be certain that if the stranger had one redeeming feature, she would have spoken in his favour. When Mince was lukewarm one might rest assured that the subject v.rs hopeless. ”1 verily believe that this Mr. Dclanieret is some monster of strangeness,’’ she said uneasily. “I wish, Mince, that you could devise some means for me to look upon him. Since ’tis niy stepmother’s will that I should wed her brother (and I am certain that she moans it in kindness, since my poor father can give me no dower), ’tis only proper that I should accustom myself t-o the sight- of him at once.’’ Mince departed at once, to return soon with word that a small door on the first landing opened into a musicians’ gallery that ran from end to end of the great parlour where her ladyship sat with Mr. Delamere. “They’re at the further end. and the peeping-spot’s in darkness,” she explained. If you don your dark green cloak and draw the hood over your face ’twill be impossible for ’em to see you. But go softly, my precious miss; for if my lady knew as I’d plotted with you in this

fashion, she’d quickly set me trudging!” She opened the door <•* a satinwood wardrobe that had seen better days in some noble house, and took out a fringed mantle of rich emerald silk. This she placed on Chloe’s shoulders, covered her russet hair with the hood, took off her slip/pers; fearing that the clicking of wooden heels might betray her curiosity; then finger on lip. led the way down the deserted gallery. whence three steps descended to an oaken balcony. Chloe drew the hood closer, so that nought of her face save her eyes was visible; then, not stealthily, but with a delicate grace moved down and passed to the twisted balustrade. For some moments the halo in so large a place—the candles stood on a small table where wine and food were spread—bullied her gaze; then her heart began to beat with such violence that she almost swooned as she made her way back to the gallery, where she stumbled into Mince’s outstretched arms. The gentleman, to say the lea-t, was singularly unprepbsse- 4 ng. He was obese in the extreme, with legs like wellfilled bags of Hour, and large splay feet. It was not his figure, however, that filled poor Chloe with su.h distaste; it was his visage—so small that a man might almost have covered it with his hand—and with a tansy-coloured skin that glistened like porcelain. His eyes protruded so oddly that they seemed about to fall upon his cheeks. His nose was bottleshaped, his lower jaw projected a good fingerbreadth, and one temple was disfigured with a hairy port-wine mark. Mince, greatly troubled by the sight o.f her consternation, slipped an arm around her waist and drew her back to the bedchamber, where she administered a wineglassful of the unparalleled Hungary Water, without which cordial ladies of quality never travelled. “A most terrible figure of a man!” sighed Chloe, when her faintness had

passed. * r F.«r all the world like the tortoise our worthy parsun keeps in hia garden!” A while later she sent Mime away again, and beside the rushlight, her eyes dosed, her lipts tightly pressed, wondering how she might extricate herself from a predicament that was most hateful, and which promised to be even dangerous. Sir linger had wedded her stepmother only a few months ago; but already tiie lady bad diown her*edf capable of having her own way in everything -he A young city madam, whose first husband had been thrice Lord Mayor, ami had left her a very pretty fortune. O.f the Delamere family there was no question—she wa- a daughter of Squire Delamere, of Delamere Chase; but her manner ha 1 acquired somewhat of the rich and overlwaring citizen. Sir linger and Chloe had met her at the Bath, an I she ha.l purchased, the jovial baionct by paying his debts and settling on him a certain income for his cockfighting expense*. Chloe she had chosen at the very first for her os’ yet unknown brother who. mu. h younger than herself, was but just returning from the Grand Tour. When the dock stru.k one. Chloe, whose excitement had grown too extreme for her to rest, rose from the window trill, and began to pace from end to end of the chamber, an 1 did not quieten until the skies lightened for daybreak. At- times she put her hands between the iron bars of the open casement, and cooled them in the pleasant downfall. But when the sun. feeble and watery, rose, it seemed as if the trouble* of the night all pa* -el away —a* if indeed she were no longer a weak and unite- -ided girl, fresh with all the wonder of youth. ■‘l*ll e’en take matters in my own hands.” she said with a laugh that was almost gay. ‘•This Delamere. were he king of all the world, should never have

Dio fur wife. The gods grant me wit to find a way to I letter fortunes!” The rushlight guttered and sent out a vile odour; ?’i< Iroppid the extinguisher on the blackening wick. As she did this the sleeve of her negligee caught in the handle of a drawer, which, being ill fitted as inn drawers usually are, clattered with all its contents to the door. It obviously contained the Sunday clothes of mine hostess’ son, who, to judge from the size of each article, must be a lad of fifteen or sixteen. There was a coat of dark green broadcloth, a vest of fawn-coloured kersemere sprigged with shamrocks, and breeches of palest grey nankeen. A vivid colour rose to Chloe’s round cheeks; her eyes sparkled; her lips parted to show' the prettiest of teeth. “By the little cupids!” she said under her breath. ‘‘Here’s a way out if I but dare!” Then she continued to empty the drawer, bringing to light a box that held a muslin stock, a pair of neat ribbed stockings, buckled shoes, and a pointed beaver. “The good lad will perforce stay away from church this Sunday,” she murmured. “Like as not he’ll never know till the day —and ’tis but Tuesda morn yet. üßt if so be ’tis possible, they shall be sent home ere then, (though sure one never knows what may happen! Tn any case, there'll be a surprise for him when he opens this drawer, since I’ll leave for him my figured damask negligee. But, Lord!—” she fell a-laughing again—“my stepmother may pay, since ’tis her doing that 1 leave the place in so strange a fashion!” She began to deliberate—as she had often deliberated of ’late—concerning a haven of refuge, and at last decided in favour of an ancient kinswoman of her mother's, who dwelt, so she had ■ heard, in a lonely grange that rose from a concave of Kinderscout. Patience Cuthbertson was the lady's name; ever since Chloe had learned to write, she had sent this spinster a letter for Christmas, and had in return received small presents, such as garnet shoulderknots. tamboured handkerchiefs. and fans whose satin displayed engravings of Cipriani's masterpieces. With her, although site knew nothing of the lady ■beyond this excliange of courtesies, she was quite satisfied that she would receive shelter, and. if needed be, concealment for as long as it pleased her to keep away from her own folk. She whipped off her clothes quickly, and in a very few minutes presented a Tichlv-coloured picture of a lovely joskin She stood before the long, spotted mirror, moved her arms this way and that touched her forehead in obsequious fa-hion. and realised that unless her hair were clipped or hidden, every wayfarer would know her for a lass. Her first impulse was to cut off as much as need be. her second to tie it in a knot nt the crown, and wear the hat firmly jy.essed down. Fortunately, however, as she lifted the hat there fell from the interior a black bobwig, with hair crisp and fresh as though but just taken from Dobbin’s mane. She slipped it on. paused for a while, aghast at the change it wrought; then pressed her hands tn her side, lest that her peals of mirth might rouse the house. When she had grown more used to her quaint appp.irame. she found her road-book, and consulted l>nth map and index in the hope of finding some way of reaching Mi.-tress Cuthbertson’s demesne. It was only with considerable difficulty that she discovered the easiest route, whit h passed by way of Derby, of Matlock. of Bakewfdl. and then into the High Prak. She had—her stepmother being not illiberal some few guineas in her purse; by means of these she could travel in comparative comfort. On rcdetiion. she wrote a few lines of explanation to the landlady, enclosed in the folded paper a guinea, then left it with her negligee in the drawer. Half an hour later, when she had donfi. 1 the youth’- shoe- after well pad<lin/ the toes s]»e unlatched the door, >to!e very gently to Mince’s chamber, where -hr found the tender soul sleeping happily, with an brave a snore as any alderman. She felt some compunction in leaving one -o devoted without a w.ird of farewell; and although she knew herself indiscreet, she wrote anoth< r me-sagc. vhith -he placed upon the pillow. Then -he ki»sed the frill of snowy nightcap, descended the •tair- on tiptoe, and after some curious wanderings, found a -ide door, whence • of eluue aUtixs U*

the garden. The rain had set free the fragrance of the flowers; a light wind came from the west; the river that bounded one side was in flood, its waters foaming and peat-laden. Chloe sought unavailingly for some way of reaching the highway, but found that the only gate opened into the stable yard, where the post-boys slept in the lofts above the stalls. She climbed at last to the top of an artificial mound, and with no little trepidation contrived to draw herself to the coping of the boundary wall, whence, with a prayer for safety, she let herself to the coping of the boundary wall, whence, with a prayer for safety, she let herself descent to a mounting-block of red sandstone, and then—after a breathing space—to the white limestone road, which the storm had left inch-deep in mud. There was a pleasant border of green grass on either side; on this, taking off her beaver (which was dangerously loose in t]ie fitting), she ran as quickly as her dainty breeding would allow in the direction of the rising sun. which was already shooting rays across the valley. But, alas! the way was all sodden, and at each step the water rose high as her

ankles. She carried her road-book in one hand, and paused to consult the frequent fingerposts, regarding them with a pretty intolerance after the first mile or two, since they bore no mention of her destination. The sunlight grew stronger and stronger: and being unaccustomed, as any girl of her time, to walking, she soon felt somewhat overcome, and, seeing a stile on the left where a bypath entered a wood, she determined to leave the road and rest a while. A mountain stream ran there in a narrow ravine, its banks all white with stitchwort. Before Chloe had gone many yards she stumbled and fell gracefull}’ enough upon the gnarled root of an ancient yew, where, finding herself in a restful position, she prepared to stay, with no attempt to rise. And there, before another five minutes had pa-sed, she snuggled up against the bole, and with a little restful murmur—her nights had been very restless of late —she fell fast asleep. She dreamed that by enchantment she had been turned into a poor pitiful hare, and that she was being pursued across country ny<y ellow hound with liver-coloured

spots. Iler course was towards a precipice—there was absolutely no chance of escape. She heard the brute’s panting breath, and shrieked aloud in anticipation of the meeting of fangs in her tender flesh. Fear wakened her; she sat up with a start, and found that the sun was already high in the heavens. She bathed her fevered face in the stream, realised with distress that -she was exceedingly hungry, then stole back to the road, and. as far as possible keeping in the shade of the trees, made her way to the next posting-house—one that bore the sign of a fiddler, and the legend “Hark to melody.” There a fat serving-wench who was whitening the steps of the lobby dropped her clout and gaped as foolishly as if in sober truth she had never seen a handsome lad in her life. . “I will have breakfast,” said Chloe, in as gruff a voice as she could command. “and that quickly. Pray give my order at once.” “Sir to you!” said the maid, who now held both wet hands to her bosom. “What would your honour require?” “A dish of chocolate and as many almond biscuits—” began Chloe. Then

she flushed wonderfully, and, mindful of men’s ways, ordered a tankard of homebrewed ale, and some ripe cheese and bread. But the lass, whose mouth opened ever wider and wider, did not budge. Her eyes grew round as crown pieces, her rich red disappeared, her chin began to tremble. “Come,” said Chloe. “I have no time to waste, and I must on with my journey. Are you mad or moonstruck to stare The maid recovered herself somewhat, then with many a look over her shoulder went indoors to the bar, and there whispered into the ear of a comely landlady, who came forward at onee, pressing lips closely together. “Please you to come this way, good—gentleman.” she said mincingly. “And I promise you shall have all that you require.” Wherewith she conducted her along the lobby, and then, with a sharp movement, flung open the door of a parlour that was full of bright sunlight. “Here, sir,” said mine hostess, with a laugh—"here, sir, is, unless 1 be much

mistaken, the person you're a-seekin® of!" Chloe gave a little ery as a gentleman rose from the oval table, on which were placed-a fine sirloin, a brown loaf, and a bottle of wine. The girl turned hastily to escape; but her eyes caught a strange reflection in a convex mirror, and simultaneously both hands rose to the back of her head. In her slumber the bobwig had shifted forward, and her glorious hair, loosened, had fallen down upon her shoulders. And never for one moment had she suspected that there was ought extraordinary in her appearance! “Pray, Mistress Chloe,” said the gentleman, who was but a few years her elder, and, moreover, remarkably handsome, “Pray, Mistress Chloe, what hast against me?” She found something vastly charming in his laughing impudent face; he was so good to look at that she could not even frown. “Sir, you have the advantage of me,” she began. “Your father, Mistress Chloe, and I are brothers-in-law. This morning, arriving late through my horse failing l-ame, my sister in alarm tells me that you have fled ail through fear of me. Sure you need not be so scared; give but the word, and I’ll never come into your sight again.” “The ugly man,” faltered Chloe. “1 thought that he was my stepmother’s brother.” The gentleman clapped his hands. “My godfather and uncle,” he said, “who hearing that your party was on the road, made his way at once to the inn to bid all come to his house at Wolfnote, which lies twenty miles away. A better soul never breathed!” “You’ll own that he’s ugly,” said Chloe, then bit her lip. “Not in my eyes,” he replied. “Come, mistress, I bid you give but the word, and I’ll offend you no longer with my presence. Your poor father’s abed at his inn prostrate from shock—my siste’s posting in one direction in search of you —ray uncle in another. Your abigail is in peril of becoming a Niobe. I came hither in a closed carriage—with command to take you back—if I found you, willy-nilly. But' I’m not of those who regard women as chattels, and if you wish you may go your way for me.” Chloe felt momentary pique, then, after one look into his mirthful eyes, gave him her hand. He kissed it very gallantly, and held it long. “I don’t know,” said the girl. “I don’t know but that I go back without' complaint.” .