Mollie's Prince: A Novel

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

  CHAPTER I.

  IN THE LIME AVENUE.

  "Thou knowest my old ward;--here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me."--_King Henry IV._

  "An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn."--_King Henry IV._

  In this age of transition and progress, when the pleasure-seeker, likethe Athenian of old, is for ever searching for things new and strange;when old landmarks are ruthlessly demolished, and respectableantiquities are shelved in outer darkness; then to some conservativeminds it is refreshing to stumble upon some old-world corner, fragrantwith memories of the past, and as yet untouched by the finger of thedestroyer.

  Cleveland Terrace, Chelsea, is one of these spots--the cobwebs ofantiquity seem to cling with the vines to the tall, narrow old houses,with their flagged courtyards, and high, iron gates and small, uselessbalconies. There is something obsolete, old-fashioned, and behind theage in the whole aspect of the place.

  One could imagine some slim, demure damsel in a short-waisted gown, notlong enough to hide the dainty shoes and sandals, with a huge bonnetdisguising a pyramid of curls, tripping down the few worn steps andacross the road, on her way to join her friends at Ranelagh.

  Just opposite is Chelsea Hospital, with its scarlet and blue-coatedpensioners, basking in the sunshine; grand old veterans who have growngrey with service, their breasts decorated with the medals they havewon--some in a hale, green old age, others in the sear and yellow leaf,toothless, senile, tottering slowly but surely towards their long home.

  One reads a whole page of history as one gazes at the worn, wrinkled oldfaces; ah! they have been young once, but now the battle of life isnearly over for them; the roll-call will only sound once more in theirears. Let them sit in the sunshine and tell their old stories, and fighttheir battles over again in the ears of some admiring recruit. How theirdim eyes sparkle with senile enthusiasm! "There were two of the blackdevils, but I bayoneted them one after another--spitted them like larks;and serve them right, too. That's where I got this medal;" and here afit of asthmatic coughing impedes the bloodthirsty narrative.

  One can imagine the thrilling tales told round the fire towards night asthe grim old warriors nestle cosily in the high wooden settle, whileenvious comrades watch them from afar. How heavily the poor wooden legsstump through the long, echoing corridors! Grey hairs, old wounds, thechill stiffness of decrepit age--well, thank God for their peacefulharbourage, where the weary limbs can rest in comfort.

  There is a sweet old spot just where the long Lime avenue leads to oldRanelagh, adjoining the little plots of garden ground cultivated by thepensioners. One golden afternoon in September, when a fresh, pleasantbreeze was rippling the limes, a girl in brown came down the avenue,and, as she tripped past the gnarled and twisted tree-boles, theslanting sunbeams seemed to meet and envelop her, until her shabby frockbecame like Cinderella's robe, and the green and golden banners overheadwere a canopy of glory above her.

  Who does not know the beauty of a lime avenue in the early autumn, whenthe very air is musical with faint soughing, and every leaf adds itstiny, vibrating voice to the universal symphony--when children and birdsand sunshine, and all young living things, seem to have their own way,and play in unison.

  The girl was coming up from the river in the direction of old Ranelagh,and she was walking with so light and airy a step that one could haveimagined it set to music--for her feet, which were very small andpretty, though, alas! shabbily shod, seemed scarcely to touch theground.

  She was small, almost childish in stature, with a thin, erect littlefigure, and a pale oval face, framed in short, curly hair, and at firstsight people always called her plain: "an insignificant, puny littlething"--that was what they said until they saw her eyes--and they werethe most wonderful and _spirituelle_ eyes in the world. And after thatthey were not so sure of the plainness.

  For comparisons are odious, and there is no hard and fast rule withrespect to feminine beauty; at least, tastes differ, and here and therea Philistine might be found who would be ready to swear that dark_spirituelle_ eyes, brimful of intelligence and animation, with amirthful sparkle underneath, were worth a score of pink-and-whitebeauties, in spite of their fine complexions and golden hair.

  Just at the end of the avenue two old pensioners were sitting; and atthe sight of them, and at the sound of their raised voices, the girlbegan smiling to herself. Then she stepped quietly across the grass,picking her way daintily, until only a tree divided her from the oldmen; and there she stood shaking with silent laughter.

  "I tell you it is a lee, Jack; there were three of them, as sure as myname is Fergus McGill. Look here"--and here the speaker rose stiffly tohis feet. He was a tall old man, with a long grey beard, and thepinned-up sleeve and the filmy look of the sightless eyes told their owntale. His breast was covered with decorations and medals, and in spiteof his high cheek-bones, his massive, almost gigantic, figure and grandface would have become an Ajax.

  His companion was a short, sturdy man, with a droll physiognomy; hislight, prominent blue eyes had the surprised look of a startled kitten,and he had a trick of wrinkling his forehead as he talked until hiseyebrows disappeared; and when he took off his cocked hat his stubbygrey hair looked as stiff as Medusa's crest of snakes.

  Wide-awake Jack was the name by which his mates accosted him--in realityCorporal Marks. He, too, was decorated, and had a wooden leg, which hefound useful in conversation, when emphasizing some knotty point. He wastapping the ground pretty smartly at this moment, as he cut himselfanother quid of tobacco.

  "Lees!" he returned, in a huffy voice, "it is the truth and nothing butthe truth, and I'll take my oath to that."

  But here a little peal of girlish laughter interrupted him. These twoold men loved each other like David and Jonathan, or Damon and Pythias,or like any other noble pair of friends, and would have died for eachother, and yet would wrangle and argue and spar fifty times a day; andthe chief bone of contention was a certain episode--on an Indianbattle-field half a lifetime before.

  Human nature is sadly faulty--and even in Chelsea Hospital there weremischievous spirits; and on cold, windy nights, when old bones ached,and there was general dullness, and the draughts made one shiver andhuddle round the fire--then would one or another slyly egg on SergeantMcGill--or Corporal Marks--with some such question as this:

  "Was it three of them Sepoys that McGill bayoneted before he got thatsword-thrust--or only two?"

  Or perhaps more cunningly and artfully,--

  "I wish I had nabbed two of those dratted Sepoys like McGill. Marks cantell that story best----"

  "Two, John Perks!" interrupted McGill, wrathfully, "it was three that Ikilled with my own hand, and the third was so close to me that I couldsee the whites of his eyes--and the devil's smile on his wickedlips--and I laughed as I ran him through, for I thought of those poorwomen and children--and it is the goot English I am speaking, for I haveforgotten the Gaelic, I have lived so long in the land of theSassenachs--not but what the Gaelic is milk and honey in the tongue thatspeaks it."

  When that little mocking laugh reached their ears, both the old menreddened, like children discovered in a fault. Then they drew themselvesup and saluted gravely; but the girl's eyes were full of mirth andmischief.

  "Aren't you ashamed of yourselves, you two, quarrelling over a silly oldbattle, that every one else has now forgotten? One would think you wereheathens, and not Christians at all, to hear you talk in that sanguinarystyle." The girl's voice was deep, but very clear and full, and therewas a curious timbre in it that somehow lingered in one's memory--it wasso suggestive of sweetness and pathos.

  "Are you fery well, Miss Ward? Ah, it is always a good thing when onehas the joke ready,"--and Sergeant McGill's tone was full ofdignity,--"but it is not quarrelling that we are after, Miss Ward--onlya little difference of opinion."

  "Yes, I know. But what does it matter, McGill, how many of those poorwretches you kil
led?" But she might as well have spoken to the wind.

  "It was three, Miss Ward," returned McGill, obstinately; "and if you hadseen the sight that Jack and I saw you would not be calling them poor,for they were the devil's sons, every one of them, and their hearts wasblack as sin, and it was the third man that I got by the throat; andwhen Jack came up----" But here the girl shrugged her shoulders, and alittle frown came to her face.

  "Yes, I know, but please spare me those horrible details," and then shelaughed again; but there were tears in her eyes. "I daresay there weremore than three if the truth were known. Corporal, why do you vex himwith contradiction? If you were in another part of the field how couldyou know what he did?"

  "Ah, it is the goot English that Miss Ward speaks," murmured McGill; butCorporal Marks struck in.

  "Hold your tongue, McGill--you are like a woman forargifying--argle-barking, as Sergeant Drummond calls it--from noon tonight. This was how it was, Miss Ward. Our company was scattered, and Ifound myself suddenly in the corner of the rice-field where McGill was.There was a barricade of dead Sepoys round him, and he had his foot onone of them, and had got another by the throat; and then----" But aperemptory gesture stopped him. "Thank you, I have heard enough; but Iam inclined to take McGill's part, for how could you see clearly in allthat smoke and crowd? Come, let us change the subject. I owe yousixpence for those flowers that you brought yesterday, for my sistertells me that she never paid for them."

  "No, Miss Ward, and there was no sixpence owing at all. I left theflowers with my duty."

  "Ah, but that is nonsense, Corporal," returned the young lady quickly."I will not rob you of all your lovely flowers."

  "It's not robbing, Miss Ward," replied McGill, in his soft thick voice."It is a pride and pleasure to Jack that you take the flowers, for it isthe goot friend you have been to us, and the books you have read, andthe grand things you have told us, and what are roses and dahliascompared to that?"

  "Well, well, you are a couple of dear old obstinate mules, but I loveyou for it; but please do not argue any more. Good-bye, Sergeant.Good-bye, Corporal," and the girl waved her hand, and again the old mensaluted.

  "They are two of the most pugnacious, squabbling old dears in the wholehospital," she thought, as she walked quickly on. "I wonder which ofthem is right? Neither of them will yield the point." And then shesmiled and nodded to a little group that she passed; and, indeed, fromthat point to Cleveland Terrace it was almost like a Royal progress, somany were the greetings she received, and it was good to see how the oldfaces brightened at the mere sight of the girl.

  Presently she stopped before one of the tall old houses in ClevelandTerrace, and glanced up eagerly at the vine-draped, balconied windows,as though she were looking for some one; but no face was outlinedagainst the dingy panes. Then she let herself into the dim little hall,with its worn linoleum, from which all pattern had faded long ago, andits dilapidated mahogany hat-stand with two pegs missing, and an oddassortment of male and female head-gear on the remaining ones, and thenshe called out, "Mollie! Mollie!" finishing off with a shrill, sweetwhistle, that made an unseen canary tune up lustily.

  And the next moment another whistle, quite as clear and sweet answeredher, and a deliciously fresh voice said, "I am in the studio, darling."And the girl, with a wonderful brightness on her face, ran lightly upthe stairs.

  "Oh! what an age you have been, Waveney! You poor dear, how tired andhungry you must be?" and here another girl, painting at a small table bythe back window, turned round and held out her arms.

  When people first saw Mollie Ward they always said she was the mostbeautiful creature that they had ever seen; and then they would regardWaveney with a pitying look, and whisper to each other how strange itwas that one twin should be so handsome and the other so pale andinsignificant.

  But they were right about Mollie's beauty: her complexion was lovely,and she had Irish grey eyes with dark curled lashes, and brown hair withjust a dash of gold in it; and her mouth was perfect, and so was herchin and the curves of her neck; but perhaps her chief attraction wasthe air of _bonhomie_ and unconsciousness and a general winsomeness thatcannot be described.

  "Where is father, Mollie?" asked Waveney; but her eyes looked round theroom a little anxiously. "Ah, I see the picture has gone;" and then alook of sorrowful understanding passed between the sisters.

  "Yes, he has taken it," almost whispered Mollie, "but he will not beback yet. Ann is out--she has gone to see her mother; so I must go andget your tea. Noel is downstairs;" and, indeed, at that moment acracked, boyish voice could be heard singing the latest street melody,and murdering it in fine style.

  Mollie rose from her chair rather slowly as she spoke, and then--ah, thepity of it!--one saw she was lame--not actually lame so as to requirecrutches; but as she walked she dragged one leg, and the awkward,ungraceful gait gave people a sort of shock.

  Mollie never grew used to her painful infirmity, though she had had itfrom a child; it was the result of accident and bad treatment; a sinewhad contracted and made one leg shorter than the other, so that shelurched ungracefully as she walked.

  Once in the night Waveney had awakened with her sobbing, and had takenher in her warm young arms to comfort her.

  "What is it, Mollie darling?" she had asked, trembling from head to footwith sympathy and pity.

  "It means that I am a goose," Mollie had answered. "But I could not helpit, Waveney. I was dreaming that I was at a ball, and some one, quite agrand-looking man, in uniform, had asked me to dance, and the band wasplaying that lovely new waltz that Noel is always whistling, and we werewhirling round and round--ah, it was delicious! And then something wokeme and I remembered that I should never, never dance as long as I live,or run, or play tennis, or do any of the dear, delightful things thatother girls do;" and here poor Mollie wept afresh, and Waveney criedtoo, out of passionate love and pity.

  Mollie did not often have these weak moments, for she was a brightcreature, and disposed to make the best of things. Every one hadsomething to bear, she would say with easy philosophy--it was her cross,the crook in her lot, the thorn in her side; one must not expect onlyroses and sunshine, she would add; but, indeed, very few roses had asyet strewn the twins' path.

  When Mollie had lumbered out of the room, Waveney folded her arms behindher and paced slowly up and down, as though she were thinking out someproblem that refused to be solved. It was really two rooms, divided atone time by folding-doors; but these had been taken away long ago.

  It was a nondescript sort of apartment, half studio and halfsitting-room, and bore traces of family occupation. An empty easel andseveral portfolios occupied one front window; in the other, near thefireplace, was a round table, strewn with study books and work-baskets.Mollie's painting table was in the inner room.

  A big, comfortable-looking couch and two easy chairs gave an air ofcosiness and comfort, but the furniture was woefully shabby, and theonly attempt at decoration was a picturesque-looking red jar, in whichCorporal Marks' flowers were arranged. Presently Waveney stoppedopposite the empty easel, and regarded it ruefully.

  "It will only be another disappointment," she said to herself, with asigh. "Poor father, poor dear father! And he works so hard, too!Something must be done. We are getting poorer and poorer, and Noel hassuch an appetite. What is the use of living in our own house, andpretending that we are well off and respectable and all that, and we arein debt to the butcher and the coal-merchant; and it is not father'sfault, for he does all he can, and it is only because he loves us sothat he hates us to work." And then she sat down on the couch as thoughshe were suddenly tired, and stared dumbly at the vine-leaves twinklingin the sunshine; and her lips were closed firmly on each other, asthough she had arrived at some sudden resolution.