by L. T. Meade
young gentleman! there's nocounting on that--but of course Wyn might take to that line in the end,and be a gentleman's valet."
"And Mr Alwyn, that Wyn was named after, haven't never come home?"
"Never--nor never will, to my thinking. The place is like to come toMiss Geraldine, unless Mr Cunningham leaves it to Mr James, hisnephew." Mrs Warren was only relating well-known facts, as shedelivered herself of this piece of dignified gossip with some pride evenin the misfortunes of the great family under whose shadow she lived, andMrs Stroud sighed and looked impressed.
"Well," she said, "small and great have their troubles, and Mr Alwynwere no better than Harry, and where one is the other's likely to be."
"I've always felt a regret," said Mrs Warren, "that we couldn't takebetter care of Harry when he was sent to us here. And I've beenthinking, Elizabeth, that if John Whittaker would trust us with FlorenceI should be glad to have her here for a time, and see if I could makeanything of her. It would be a change, and if she's got with idlegirls, it would separate her from them."
"Well, there'd be no streets here for her to run in," said Mrs Stroud."You're very kind, Charlotte, but I doubt you don't know what a handfulthat there girl is!"
"I've seen a good many girls in my time," said Mrs Warren, smiling,"though my Bessie is a quiet one; and if she finds herself a bit dull atfirst, it's no more than she deserves, by your account of her, poorthing!"
"I believe my brother 'll send her off straight," said Mrs Stroud."It's downright friendly of you, Charlotte, and Florrie shall come, if Ihave to bring her myself."
Mrs Warren was a kind and conscientious woman; but she would hardlyhave proposed to burden herself with such a maiden as Florence wasdescribed to be but for circumstances which had always dwelt on her mindwith a sense of regret and responsibility. When Harry Whittaker had, ashis aunt put it, made Rapley too hot to hold him, he had been sent toAshcroft to try if his cousin could make him fit for an under-keeper'splace, alongside of his own son Ned. Harry's spirit of adventure andactive disposition were not unfitted for such work, and the plan lookedhopeful.
At that time Ashcroft Hall had been a gayer place than it was now. MrCunningham was still a young man, taking his full share in society, andhis two sons were active, high-spirited youths of sixteen and twenty,devoted to sport and to amusements of all kinds. Alwyn, the eldest, wasat home at the time when Harry Whittaker was sent to Ashcroft. He hadthe sort of grace and good-nature which wins an easy pardon, at any rateamong old friends and dependents, for a character for idleness andextravagance, and naturally he and his brother were intimate andcompanionable with the young keepers, side by side with whom they hadgrown up. It was quite new to Harry Whittaker to spend long days in agentleman's company, fishing and shooting, joining in conversation, andoften sharing meals together; but he contrived, with tact, to adapthimself to the mixture of freedom and deference with which his cousintreated the young squires.
It was a happy relation, and one which is often productive of much goodto both parties; but neither Alwyn Cunningham nor Harry Whittaker wasgood company for the other. Alwyn took a fancy to the saucy, sharp lad,and encouraged him in talcs of mischievous daring, and Harry was quickto perceive that, as he put it, "the young gentleman was not so mightyparticular after all."
A good deal went on that was not for the good of any of the lads, and atlast came a great crash, the particulars of which no one except thoseactually involved ever knew.
There was an old house near Ashcroft Hall called Ravenshurst, which hadthe reputation of being haunted. It belonged to a Mr and MrsFletcher, who came there occasionally with their one daughter andentertained the neighbourhood. At last, on the occasion of a greatball, there was an alarm of the Ravenshurst ghost, a pursuit, and, itwas said, a discovery that Alwyn Cunningham, assisted by HarryWhittaker, had played a trick. The affair was hushed up, and no oneever knew exactly what had happened; but a little girl had beenfrightened into serious illness, and at the same time some valuablejewels belonging to Mrs Fletcher had disappeared.
All that was known to the Ashcroft public was that Harry Whittaker wasbrought before Mr Cunningham and other magistrates the next morning onthe charge of having stolen the jewels, but that the case was dismissedfrom absolute want of evidence, and also on Alwyn Cunningham declaringon oath that Harry Whittaker had never been near the place from whichthe jewels had disappeared. Ned Warren was out of the scrape, havingbeen with his father all night. All that he could or would say of thematter was that he had told Harry that "it wasn't their place tofrighten the gentlefolk, whatever Mr Alwyn might say," and had so keptout of the affair.
But the lost jewels were never found, and the exact mode of theirdisappearance was never clearly known outside the families of thoseconcerned, and the magistrates who had refused to commit HarryWhittaker. But after that interview neither Alwyn Cunningham nor HarryWhittaker had ever been seen in Ashcroft again. It was known that theyoung gentleman and his father had had a desperate quarrel, and that MrCunningham never intended to forgive him.
In spite of Alwyn's oath and the magistrates' decision, the loss of thejewels hung over the memory of the two foolish youths with a cloud ofsuspicion. Most of the Ashcroft people thought that young Whittaker hadstolen them, and had been screened by Alwyn Cunningham.
Mr Fletcher, the owner of the jewels, soon after died, and the familyin the natural course of things left Ravenshurst at the end of theirtenancy.
Whether Edgar Cunningham had had any share in the practical joke or knewanything of the fate of its authors no one could tell, for shortly afterhis health had failed from an unexplained accident in which his spinehad been injured, and he had been an invalid ever since.
Since those events Ashcroft Hall had been a very dull and dreary place.
Mr Cunningham went very little into society, and only entertained a fewold friends in the shooting season. Mr Edgar found what interests hecould for himself, when his health allowed him to pursue any interestsat all; and the girl, Geraldine, lived entirely apart from her fatherand brother, under charge of a governess who had been with her for manyyears.
Mr Cunningham was not popular or intimately known. The vicar ofAshcroft was a stranger, who had come to the place since the break-up atthe Hall, and was only on terms of distant courtesy with itsinhabitants, excepting with little Geraldine, who was brought up by hergoverness to the ordinary village interests of a squire's daughter.
CHAPTER FIVE.
A NEW EXPERIENCE.
Mrs Stroud and Mrs Warren before they parted arranged the details ofFlorence's proposed visit. She was to come for three months, duringwhich time her father was to pay a small sum for her board, and put herentirely in the hands of her cousin, Mrs Warren. If the latter thoughtfit, she would send her to learn "the dressmaking" in the village, andif she did not choose to trust her out of her sight, she could teach herdairy-work, and employ her as seemed best. At the end of three months,if Florence behaved herself, and appeared likely to be of any use, asituation in a superior line of service should be found for her, and ifshe proved incurably troublesome it was always possible to send herhome.
"Well, Charlotte," said Mrs Stroud, "'tis a work of charity, and I hopeyou won't repent undertaking of it."
"I'd be sorry to think that another of those young things was to bethrown away," said Mrs Warren. "There was a deal to like in poorHarry. Maybe he's doing well in foreign parts, and has pushed himselfup again; but that's what a girl never can do, once she lets herself go.I'll try my best for Florence."
If anything could have set Florence against any scheme, it would havebeen the fact that it was proposed for her benefit by her Aunt Stroud;but she dearly loved novelty, and, being of an active temper, wasgetting very tired of hanging about at home with nothing to do, and witha general sense of being in disgrace; so when Mrs Stroud arrived fullof the idea, so far from opposing it, she rushed upstairs at once, andbegan to turn over her things to see if they were fit for her visit.
"I'
m sure, Aunt Lizzie," said Matty gratefully, "it's a real kindness ofanyone to take Florrie. I couldn't say how tiresome she is, withnothing to do. I know she isn't growing up the sort of girl she oughtto be, and yet I don't see how to help it."
"Well, she's got a chance now, Martha Jane. No one can say I don't domy duty by my nieces. I always have, and I always _shall_, until I seeyou all comfortably settled in life, which it is every girl's duty tolook to."
"I don't think it's a girl's duty to think of anything of the sort,"said Martha colouring angrily.
"It ain't her duty to be forward and peacocky, Martha Jane," said MrsStroud impressively, "far from
