The Long Vacation

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  And deemed themselves a shameful part Of pageant which they cursed in heart.--SCOTT.

  Dolores was waiting till the Christmas term to go to her college.The fame of her volcanic lectures had reached Avoncester, and she wasentreated to repeat them at the High School there. The Mouse-trap hadnaturally been sent to Miss Vincent, the former governess, who hadbecome head-mistress of the High School at Silverton, and she wrote anurgent request that her pupils might have the advantage of the lectures.Would Dolores come and give her course there, and stay a few days withher, reviving old times?

  Dolores consented, being always glad of an opportunity of trying herwings, though she had not the pleasantest recollections connected withSilverton, but she would be really glad to see Miss Vincent, who hadbeen always kind to her. So she travelled up to Silverton, and found thehead-mistress living in cheerful rooms, with another of the teachers inthe same house, all boarding together, but with separate sitting-rooms.

  Dolores' first walk was to see Miss Hackett. It was quite startling tofind the good old lady looking exactly the same as when she had come toluncheon at Silverfold, and arranged for G. F. S., and weakly stood upfor her sister nine years previously, those years which seemed ages longago to the maiden who had made the round of the world since, while thelady had only lived in her Casement Cottage, and done almost the samethings day by day.

  There was one exception, however, Constance had married a uniondoctor in the neighbourhood. She came into Silverton to see her oldacquaintance, and looked older and more commonplace than Dolores couldhave thought possible, and her talk was no longer of books and romances,but of smoking chimneys, cross landlords, and troublesome cooks, and thewicked neglects of her vicar's and her squire's wife. As Dolores walkedback to Silverton, she heard drums and trumpets, and was nearly sweptaway by a rushing stream of little boys and girls. Then came before heran elephant, with ornamental housing and howdah, and a train of cars,meant to be very fine, but way-worn and battered, with white and piebaldsteeds, and gaudy tinselly drivers, and dames in scarlet and blue,much needing a washing, distributing coloured sheets about the grandperformance to take place that night at eight o'clock, of the Sepoy'sDeath Song and the Bleeding Bride.

  Miss Vincent had asked Miss Hackett to supper, and prepared herself andher fellow-teacher, Miss Calton, for a pleasant evening of talk, butto her great surprise, Dolores expressed her intention of going to theperformance at the circus.

  "My dear," said Miss Vincent, "this is a very low affair--not Sanger's,nor anything so respectable. They have been here before, and thelodging-house people went and were quite shocked."

  "Yes," said Dolores, "but that is all the more reason I want to go.There is a girl with them in whom we are very much interested. She waskidnapped from Rockquay at the time this circus was there. At least I amalmost sure it is the same, and I must see if she is there."

  "But if she is you cannot do anything."

  "Yes, I can; I can let her brother know. It must be done, Miss Vincent.I have promised, and it is of fearful consequence."

  "Should you know her?"

  "Oh yes. I have often talked to her in Mrs. Henderson's class. I couldnot mistake her."

  Miss Hackett was so much horrified at the notion of a G. F. S. "businessgirl" being in bondage to a circus, that she gallantly volunteered to gowith Miss Mohun, and Miss Vincent could only consent.

  The place of the circus was an open piece of ground lying betweenSilverton and Silverfold, and thither they betook themselves--MissHackett in an old bonnet and waterproof that might have belonged toany woman, and Dolores wearing a certain crimson ulster, which she hadbought in Auckland for her homeward voyage, and which her cousins hadchosen to dub as "the Maori." After a good deal of jostling and muchscent of beer and bad tobacco they achieved an entrance, and sat upon ahard bench, half stifled with the odours, to which were added those ofhuman and equine nature and of paraffin. As to the performance, Doloreswas too much absorbed in looking out for Ludmilla, together with thefear that Miss Hackett might either faint or grow desperate, and comeaway, to attend much to it; and she only was aware that there was ageneral scurrying, in which the horses and the elephant took their part;and that men and scantily dressed females put themselves in unnaturalpositions; that there was a firing of pistols and singing of vulgarsongs, and finally the hero and heroine made their bows on theelephant's back.

  Miss Hackett wanted to depart before the Bleeding Bride came on, butDolores entreated her to stay, and she heroically endured a littlelonger. This seemed, consciously or not, to be a parody of the ballad ofLord Thomas and Fair Annet, but of course it began with an abduction onhorseback and a wild chase, in which even the elephant did his part,and plenty more firing. Then the future bride came on, supposed tobe hawking, during which pastime she sang a song standing upright onhorseback, and the faithless Lord Thomas appeared and courted her withthe most remarkable antics of himself and his piebald steed.

  The forsaken Annet consoled herself with careering about, taking a lastleave of her beloved steed--a mangy-looking pony--and performing variousfreaks with it, then singing a truculent song of revenge, in pursuanceof which she hid herself to await the bridal procession. And as thebride came on, among her attendants Dolores detected unmistakably thoseeyes of Gerald's! She squeezed Miss Hackett's hand, and saw littlemore of the final catastrophe. Somehow the bride was stabbed, and fellscreaming, while the fair Annet executed a war dance, but what becameof her was uncertain. All Dolores knew was, that Ludmilla was there! Shehad recognized not only the eyes, but the air and figure.

  When they got free of the crowd, which was a great distress to poor MissHackett, Dolores said--

  "Yes, it is that poor girl! She must be saved!"

  "How? What can you do?"

  "I shall telegraph to her brother. You will help me, Miss Hackett?"

  "But--what--who is her brother?" said Miss Hackett, expecting to hear hewas a carpenter perhaps, or at least a clerk.

  "Mr. Underwood of Vale Leston--Gerald Underwood," answered Dolores. "Hisfather made an unfortunate marriage with a singer. She really is hishalf-sister, and I promised to do all I could to help him to find herand save her. He is at Oxford. I shall telegraph to him the first thingto-morrow."

  There was nothing in this to object to, and Miss Hackett would not bepersuaded not to see her to the door of Miss Vincent's lodgings,though lengthening her own walk--alone, a thing more terrible to herold-fashioned mind than to that of her companion.

  Dolores wrote her telegram--

  "Dolores Mohun, Valentia, Silverton, to Gerald Underwood, TrinityCollege, Oxford. Ludmilla here. Circus. Come."

  She sent it with the more confidence that she had received a letterfrom her father with a sort of conditional consent to her engagement toGerald, so that she could, if needful, avow herself betrothed to him;though her usual reticence made her unwilling to put the matter forwardin the present condition of affairs. She went out to the post-officeat the first moment when she could hope to find the telegraph officeat work, and just as she had turned from it, she met a girl in a dark,long, ill-fitting jacket and black hat, with a basket in her hand.

  "Lydia!" exclaimed Dolores, using the old Rockquay name.

  "Miss Dolores!" she cried.

  "Yes, yes. You are here! I saw you last night."

  "Me! Me! Oh, I am ashamed that you did. Don't tell Mr. Flight."

  There were tears starting to her eyes.

  "Can I do anything for you?"

  "No--no. Oh, if you could! But they have apprenticed me."

  "Who have?"

  "My mother and Mr. O'Leary."

  "Are they here?"

  "Yes. They wanted money--apprenticed me to this Jellicoe! I must makehaste. They sent me out to take something to the wash, and buy somefresh butter. They must not guess that I have met any one."

  "I will walk with you. I have been telegraphing to your brother that Ihave found you."

  "Oh, he was so good to me! And Mr. Flight,
I was so grieved to fail him.They made me get up and dress in the night, and before I knew what Iwas about I was on the quay--carried out to the ship. I had no paper--nomeans of writing; I was watched. And now it is too dreadful! Oh, MissDolores! if Mrs. Henderson could see the cruel positions they try toforce on me, the ways they handle me--they hurt so; and what is worse,no modest girl could bear the way they go on, and want me to do thesame. I could when I was little, but I am stiffer now, and oh! ashamed.If I can't--they starve me--yes, and beat me, and hurt me with theirthings. It is bondage like the Israelites, and I don't want to get tolike it, as they say I shall, for then--then there are those terriblesongs to be sung, and that shocking dress to be shown off in. My motherwill not help. She says it is what she went through, and all have todo, and that I shall soon leave off minding; but oh, I often think Ihad rather die than grow like--like Miss Bellamour. I hope I shall (theyoften frighten me with that horse), only somehow I can't wish to bekilled at the moment, and try to save myself. And once I thought I wouldlet myself fall, rather than go on with it, but I thought it would bewicked, and I couldn't. But I have prayed to God to help me and spareme; and now He has heard. And will my brother be able--or will he chooseto help me?"

  "I am sure of it, my poor dear girl. He wishes nothing more."

  "Please turn this way. They must not see me speak to any one."

  "One word more. How long is the circus to be here?"

  "We never know; it depends on the receipts--may go to-morrow. Oh,there--"

  She hurried on without another word, and Dolores slowly returned to MissVincent's lodgings. Her lecture was to be given at three o'clock, butshe knew that she should have to be shown the school and class-rooms inthe forenoon. Gerald, as she calculated the trains, might arrive eitherby half-past twelve or a quarter past four.

  Nervously she endured her survey of the school, replying to the commentsas if in a dream, and hurrying it over, so as must have vexed thosewho expected her to be interested. She dashed off to the station, andreached it just in time to see the train come in. Was it--yes, it wasGerald who sprang out and came towards her.

  "Dolores! My gallant Dolores! You have found her!"

  "Yes, but in cruel slavery--apprenticed."

  "That can be upset. Her mother--is she here?"

  "Yes, and O'Leary. They sold her, apprenticed her, and these people useher brutally. She told me this morning. No, I don't think you can get ather now."

  "I will see her mother at any rate. I may be able to buy her off. Whereshall I find you?"

  Dolores told him, but advised him to meet her at Miss Hackett's, whomshe thought more able to help, and more willing than Miss Vincent, incase he was able to bring Ludmilla away with him.

  "Have you heard from my father?"

  "Yes--what I expected."

  "But it will make no difference in the long run."

  "Dearest, do I not trust your brave words? From Trieste I hear that theendeavour of Benista to recover his wife is proved. There's one step ofthe chain. Is it dragging us down, or setting us free?"

  "Free--free from the perplexities of property," cried Dolores. "Free tocarve out a life."

  "Certainly I have wished I was a younger son. Only if it could have comein some other way!"

  Dolores had to go to luncheon at Miss Vincent's, and then to deliver herlecture. It was well that she had given it so often as almost to know itby heart, for the volcano of anxiety was surging high within her.

  As she went out she saw Gerald waiting for her, and his whole mien spokeof failure.

  "Failed! Yes," he said. "The poor child is regularly bound to thatJellicoe, the master of the concern, for twenty-five pounds, the finethat my uncle brought on the mother, as O'Leary said with a grin, andshe is still under sixteen."

  "Is there no hope till then?"

  "He and O'Leary declare there would be breach of contract if she leftthem even then. I don't know whether they are right, but any amount ofmischief might be done before her birthday. They talk of sending her toBelgium to be trained, and that is fatal."

  "Can't she be bought off?"

  "Of course I tried, but I can't raise more than seventy pounds at theutmost just now."

  "I could help. I have twenty-three pounds. I could give up my term."

  "No use. They know that I shall not be of age till January, besidesthe other matter. I assured them that however that might end, my uncleswould honour any order I might give for the sake of rescuing her, butthey laughed the idea to scorn. O'Leary had the impudence to intimate,however, that if I chose to accept the terms expressed, 'his wife mightbe amenable.'"

  "They are?"

  "Five hundred for evidence on the previous marriage in my favour; butI am past believing a word that she says, at least under O'Leary'sdictation. She might produce a forgery. So I told him that my uncle wasinvestigating the matter with the consul in Sicily; and the intolerablebrutes sneered more than over at the idea of the question being inthe hands of the interested party, when they could upset that meddlingparson in a moment."

  "Can nothing be done?"

  "I thought of asking one of your old ladies whether there is a lawyer orPrevention of Cruelty man who could tell me whether the agreement holds,but I am afraid she is too old. You saw no mark of ill-usage?"

  "Oh no. They would be too cunning."

  "If we could help her to escape what a lark it would be!"

  "I do believe we could" cried Dolores. "If I could only get a note toher! And this red ulster! I wonder if Miss Hackett would help!"

  Dolores waited for Miss Hackett, who had lingered behind, and told heras much of the facts as was expedient. There was a spice of romance inthe Hackett soul, and the idea of a poor girl, a G. F. S. maiden, in thehands of these cruel and unscrupulous people was so dreadful that shewas actually persuaded to bethink herself of means of assistance.

  "Where did you meet the girl?" she said. Dolores told her the street.

  "Ah! depend upon it the things were with Mrs. Crachett, who I knowhas done washing for people about on fair-days, when they can't do itthemselves. She has a daughter in my G. F. S. class; I wonder if wecould get any help from her."

  It was a very odd device for a respectable associate and member of G. F.S. to undertake, but if ever the end might justify the means it was onthe present occasion. Fortune favoured them, for Melinda Crachett wasalone in the house, ironing out some pale pink garments.

  "Are you washing for those people on the common, Melinda?" asked MissHackett.

  "Yes, Miss Hackett. They want them by seven o'clock to-night veryparticular, and they promised me a seat to see the performance, miss, ifI brought them in good time, and I wondered, miss, if you would object."

  "Only tell me, Melinda, whom you saw."

  "I saw the lady herself, ma'am, the old lady, when I took the things."

  "No young person?"

  "Yes, ma'am. It was a very nice young lady indeed that brought me downthis pink tunic, because it got stained last night, and she said herorders was to promise me a ticket if it came in time; but, oh my! ma'am,she looked as if she wanted to tell me not to come."

  "Poor girl! She is a G. F. S. member, Melinda, and I do believe youwould be doing a very good deed if you could help us to get her awayfrom those people."

  Melinda's eyes grew round with eagerness. She had no doubts respectingwhat Miss Hackett advised her to do, and there was nothing for it butto take the risk. Then and there Dolores sat down and pencilled a note,directing Ludmilla to put on the red ulster after her performance, ifpossible, when people were going away, and slip out among them, joiningMelinda, who would convey her to Miss Hackett's. This was safer than forGerald to be nearer, since he was liable to be recognized. Still it wasa desperate risk, and Dolores had great doubts whether she should eversee her red Maori again.

  So in intense anxiety the two waited in Miss Hackett's parlour, wherethe good lady left them, as she said, to attend to her accounts, butreally with an inkling or more of the state of affair
s between them.Each had heard from New Zealand, and knew that Maurice Mohun wassuspending his consent till he had heard farther from home, both asto Gerald's character and prospects, and there was no such absoluterefusal, even in view of his overthrow of the young man's position, asto make it incumbent on them to break off intercourse. Colonial habitsmodified opinion, and to know that the loss was neither the youth's ownfault nor that of his father, would make the acceptance a question ofonly prudence, provided his personal character were satisfactory. Thusthey felt free to hold themselves engaged, though Gerald had further totell that his letters from Messina purported that an old priest had beentraced out who had married the impresario, Giovanni Benista, a nativeof Piedmont, to Zoraya Prebel, Hungarian, in the year 1859, whenecclesiastical marriages were still valid without the civil ceremony.

  "Another step in my descent," said Gerald. "Still, it does not provewhether this first husband was alive. No; and Piedmont, though a smallcountry, is a wide field in which to seek one who may have cut allconnection with it. However, these undaunted people of mine are resolvedto pursue their quest, and, as perhaps you have heard, are invited tostay at Rocca Marina for the purpose."

  "I should think that was a good measure; Mr. White gets quarry-menfrom all the country round, and would be able to find out about thevillages."

  "But how unlikely it is that one of these wanderers would have keptup intercourse with his family! They may do their best to satisfy thegeneral conscience, but I see no end to it."

  "And a more immediate question--what are we to do with your sister ifshe escapes to-night? Shall I take her to Mrs. Henderson?"

  "She would not be safe there. No, I must carry her straight to America,the only way to choke off pursuit."

  "You! Your term!"

  "Never mind that. I shall write to the Warden pleading urgent privatebusiness. I have enough in hand for our passage, and the 'Censor' willtake my articles and give me an introduction. I shall be able to keepmyself and her. I have a real longing to see Fiddler's Ranch."

  "But can you rough it?" asked Dolores, anxiously looking at his delicategirlish complexion and slight figure.

  "Oh yes! I was born to it. I know what it was when Fiddler's Ranch wasfar from the civilization of Violinia, as they call it now. I don't meanto make a secret of it, and grieve your heart or Cherie's. She has hadenough of that, but I must make the plunge to save my sister, and ifthings come round it will be all the better to have some practicalknowledge of the masses and the social problems by living among them."

  "Oh that I could make the experiment with you!"

  "You will be my inspiration and encouragement, and come to me in duetime."

  He came round to her, and she let him give her his first kiss.

  "God will help us," she said reverently; "it is the cause of uprightnessand deliverance from cruel bondage."

  The plans had been settled; Gerald had arranged with a cab which wasto take him and his sister to a house five miles out in the country, ofwhich Miss Hackett had given the name, so that they might seem to havebeen spending the evening with her. Thence it was but a step to thestation of a different railway from that which went through Silverton,and they would go by the mail train to London, where Ludmilla couldbe deposited at Mrs. Grinstead's house at Brompton, where Martha couldprovide her with an outfit, while Gerald saw the editor of the 'Censor',got some money from the bank, telegraphed to Oxford for his baggage,and made ready to start the next morning for Liverpool, whither he hadtelegraphed to secure a second-class passage to New York for G. F. Woodand Lydia Wood, the names which he meant to be called by.

  "The first name I knew," he said, "the name of Tom Wood, is far morereal to me or my father than Edgar Underwood ever could be."

  He promised that Dolores should have a telegram at Clipstone by the timeshe reached it, for she had to give her second lecture the next day,and was to return afterwards. All this had been discussed over and overagain, and there had been many quakings and declarations that the schemehad failed, and that neither girl could have had courage, nor perhapsadroitness, and that the poor prisoner had been re-captured. Gerald hadmade more than one expedition into the little garden to listen, andhad filled the house with cold air before he returned, sat down in aresigned fashion, and declared--

  "It is all up! That comes of trusting to fools of girls."

  "Hark!"

  He sprang up and out into the vestibule. Miss Hackett opened thedoor into the back passage. There stood the "red mantle" and MelindaCrachett. Gerald took the trembling figure in his arms with a brotherlykiss.

  "My little sister," he said, "look to me," then gave her to Dolores, wholed her into the drawing-room, and put her into an arm-chair.

  She could hardly stand, but tried to jump up as Miss Hackett entered.

  "No, no, my poor child," she said, "sit still! Rest. Were you followed?"

  "No; I don't think they had missed me."

  She was so breathless that Miss Hackett would have given her a glass ofwine, but she shook her head,

  "Oh no, thank you! I've kept the pledge."

  The tea-things were there, waiting for her arrival. Dolores would havehelped her take off the red garment, but she shrank from it. She hadonly her gaudy theatrical dress beneath. How was she to go to Londonin it? However, Miss Hackett devised that she should borrow the littlemaid-servant's clothes, and Gerald undertook to send them back whenMartha should have fitted her out at Brompton. The theatrical costumeMiss Hackett would return by a messenger without implicating MelindaCrachett. They took the girl up-stairs to effect the change, and restoreher as much as they could, and she came down with her rouge washed off,and very pale, but looking like herself, as, poor thing, she alwaysdid look more or less frightened, and now with tears about her eyelids,tears that broke forth as Gerald went up to her, took her by the hand,and said--

  "Brighten up, little sister; you have given yourself to me, and I musttake care of you now."

  "Ah, I do beg your pardon, but my poor mother--I didn't know--"

  "You don't want to go back?"

  "Oh no, no," and she shuddered again; "but I am sorry for her. She hassuch a hard master, and she used to be good to me."

  Miss Hackett had come opportunely to make her drink some tea, and thenmade both take food enough to sustain them through the night journey.Then, and afterwards, they gathered what had been Ludmilla's sad littlestory. Her father, in spite of his marriage, which was according to thelax notions of German Protestants, had been a fairly respectable man,very fond of his little daughter, and exceedingly careful of her, thougheven as a tiny child he had made her useful, trained her to singing anddancing, and brought her forward as a charming little fairy, when it wasall play to her.

  "Oh, we were so happy in those days," she said tearfully.

  When he died it was with an injunction to his wife not to bring upLudmilla to the stage now that he was not there to take care of her.With the means he had left she had set up her shop at Rockquay, andthough she had never been an affectionate mother, Ludmilla had beenfairly happy, and had been a favourite with Mr. Flight and the schoolauthorities, and had been thoroughly imbued with their spirit. Achange had, however, come over her mother ever since an expedition toAvoncester, when she had met O'Leary. She had probably always contriveda certain amount of illicit trade in tobacco and spirits by means ofthe sailors in the foreign traders who put into the little harbour ofRockquay; but her daughter was scarcely cognizant of this, and would nothave understood the evil if she had done so, nor did it affect her life.O'Leary had, however, been the clown in Mr. Schnetterling's troupe, andhad become partner with Jellicoe. The sight of him revived all Zoraya'sBohemian inclinations, and on his side he knew her to have still greatcapabilities, and recollected enough of her little daughter to be surethat she would be a valuable possession. Moreover, Mrs. Schnetterlinghad carried her contraband traffic a little too far, especially wherethe boys of the preparatory school were concerned. She began to fear thegauger and the policeman, an
d she had consented to marry O'Leary at theAvoncester register office, meaning to keep the matter a secret untilshe could wind up her affairs at Rockquay. Even her daughter was kept inignorance.

  Two occurrences had, however, precipitated matters. One was the stirthat Clement had made about the school-boys' festival, ending inthe fine being imposed; the other, the discovery that the graceful,well-endowed young esquire was the child who had been left to probablebeggary with a dying father twenty years previously.

  Jellicoe, the principal owner of the circus, advanced the money for thefine, on condition of the girl and her mother becoming attached to thecircus; and the object of O'Leary was to make as much profit as possibleout of the mystery that hung over the young heir of Vale Leston. Hisrefusal to attend to the claim on him, together with spite at hisuncle, as having brought about the prosecution, and to Mr. Flight forhesitating to remunerate the girl for the performance that was to havebeen free; perhaps too certain debts and difficulties, all conspired tooccasion the midnight flitting in such a manner as to prevent the circusfrom being pursued.

  Thenceforth poor Lida's life had been hopeless misery, with all herwomanly and religious instincts outraged, and the probability of worsein future. Jellicoe, his wife, and O'Leary had no pity, and her mothervery little, and no principle; and she had no hope, except that releasemight come by some crippling accident. Workhouse or hospital would bedeliverance, since thence she could write to Mrs. Henderson.

  She shook and trembled still lest she should be pursued, though MissHackett assured her that this was the last place to be suspected, and itwas not easy to make her eat. Presently Gerald stood ready to take herto the cab.

  Dolores came to the gate with them. There was only space for a ferventembrace and "God bless you!" and then she stood watching as they wentaway into the night.

  CHAPTER XXVIII. -- ROCCA MARINA