Englefield Grange Part 35

"I'll fetch a tray, sir," said nurse, as she followed her young mistress to the stairs, and said--

"Oh! Miss Clara, I'm so sorry you've left the table; it will only make matters worse, and cause unhappiness between your papa and Mrs.

Franklyn."

"I could not help it, nurse. Why should she interfere, and it vexes me so to see papa give way to her; he has a right to have his own children with him, I should think."

Nurse sighed; she had not forgotten her promise to the dying mother, that she would take care of her little Albert, and Mr. Franklyn for once was firm in opposing his wife's wishes to leave the nurse behind in Australia.

The first Mrs. Franklyn, soon after Clara's birth, had engaged as nurse Jane Simmons, an emigrant, who had been delighted to find in her young mistress the daughter of a gentleman who resided at Kilburn near her own native home. For nearly fifteen years, therefore, she had been the much-loved nurse of Mr. Franklyn's children, and during his widowhood they were almost entirely under her care.

Jane knew her master's character well; she was not surprised, therefore, when he told her about twelve mouths after his first wife's death that he intended to marry a lady of large property, and begged her to prepare his girls for the change. It was not, however, a very easy matter; indeed, Clara expressed herself in strongly rebellious terms, and Mabel shed many bitter tears at the prospect of having a stepmother.

A less sensible woman might have encouraged this rebellion, but Jane reminded them of what their mother would have said--not only that it was a duty they owed to their father to treat his wife with respect, but also for the memory of their mother to endeavour to increase his happiness.

Under such influence the children of f.a.n.n.y Franklyn were ready to receive their stepmother with respect and even affection. But the lady Arthur Franklyn had chosen to supply the place of his lost wife, possessed none of her qualities to endear her to his children.

A native of Australia, a childless widow, who at the death of her husband became mistress of a large fortune, handsome, stylish, and accomplished, whatever could Arthur Franklyn wish for beyond this. So he thought with his usual impulsiveness, but he soon found his mistake.

Mrs. Franklyn was very unfit to manage a high-spirited girl like Clara, and far too selfish and harsh in her treatment of the little gentle Mabel, whom her father often found in tears of real distress. Altogether Arthur Franklyn felt that he would have to pay dearly for the money brought him by his second wife.

He was at last obliged to humble himself to his eldest daughter to obtain peace.

"Clara," he said one day when he found her alone in the drawing-room, "you appear to resent my second marriage; do you know that anxiety for my children is the sole reason for my marrying again."

"Oh! papa," said Clara, "how can that be? Mrs. Franklyn isn't in the least like our own dear mamma, and I shall never be able to love her."

"Clara," he said, "when I married your stepmother I was on the brink of ruin; you and your brother and sister would have been turned out of doors homeless and penniless; by my second marriage I obtained property which has saved you all. Clara, cannot you love your father well enough to forgive him for placing another in the position of your dear mother for the sake of her children?"

"Papa, O papa!" said Clara, "oh! I did not know all this;" and she threw her arms round his neck as she said, "you must forgive me, papa, and I will try to behave properly to my new mamma; I will indeed."

"Thank you, my daughter," he replied, as he pressed her to his heart, and thought with pain of her dead mother; "but, Clara, you must not mention to any one what I have told you of my affairs."

"Papa, I will not," she said, and Mr. Franklyn knew he could trust his eldest daughter.

This appeal to Clara, although not quite truthful, for a time brought peace, but new troubles were arising to show her father that a deviation from a straightforward and honourable path is sure, sooner or later, to bring its own punishment.

He had led the present Mrs. Franklyn to believe that his position was that of a man of independent means, and the ready cash she had at her bankers was given up to him with perfect confidence. But when he asked her to touch her capital on the plea of wis.h.i.+ng to obtain a partners.h.i.+p in a lucrative business, difficulties arose which could only be overcome by a visit to England. Mrs. Franklyn had never yet drawn any but the interest of her money, and on examining her late husband's will it was found that to touch the capital without the consent of her trustees was out of her power.

One of these trustees resided in England. Mrs. Franklyn would not allow her husband to go alone. Indeed it would have been useless for him to do so, but he was only too glad of an opportunity to take his children to England and leave them in the care of their grandfather and uncle.

While they were discussing the matter came the news that Mrs. Halford, after several months of pain and suffering, had followed her daughter to the grave; yet this did not deter Arthur Franklyn from his purpose.

"There is Kate Marston still at Englefield Grange," he said to himself; "and she is quite as clever a manager as poor f.a.n.n.y's mother was. If I get Louisa's money into my own hands, as I hope to do, I can pay the old gentleman handsomely for my children; and they are better away from their stepmother. I don't quite like parting with my little Al, but I suppose I must," and the father sighed at the memory of early days at Englefield Grange.

And now they are in England and at breakfast at the hotel, where Mrs.

Franklyn's serenity has been disturbed by the appearance of little Albert.

"Clara will entirely spoil that child if you allow her to indulge him in this manner, Arthur."

"Never mind now, my dear," was the reply, "we have no time to discuss the subject. What do you wish me to do about a house or apartments? that is the first thing."

"I thought you talked of taking a house furnished," she said. "I hope not in London, however, it appears so noisy and crowded, and almost sunless, even on a May morning."

"There are some beautiful spots in the suburbs, Louisa, and I was going to propose that we have an open carriage, and drive down to Kilburn if you have no objection. We are sure to find furnished houses in that direction, and I should like to be near the children's relations. We can put off business till to-morrow."

Mrs. Franklyn readily agreed to this arrangement. Certainly it was a drawback to have all those children with her in the carriage, but that would not be for long, and perhaps they would remain at Englefield Grange, at least until Arthur had chosen a house.

After this, breakfast was quickly finished, a carriage ordered, and the young people, full of happiness, made hasty preparations for a delightful ride through wonderful London, of which they had heard so much.

On entering the room with her little brother before starting, Clara advanced to Mrs. Franklyn and said,--"Mamma, I did not mean to be rude when I left the breakfast-table this morning, but I am so fond of my little brother Ally, please forgive me."

"It is of no consequence, Clara, if you prefer to breakfast in the nursery you can always please yourself."

Clara turned away without a reply. She had not lost her power of self-control, yet she had great difficulty in repressing the tears or an angry reply. A feeling of mortification that she had so humbled herself for nothing arose in her heart. The time came when she remembered having done so with thankfulness.

What a delightful ride that was. Over London Bridge, with its crowds of vehicles, and its continued stream of pa.s.sengers. Omnibuses, waggons, carts, carriages, every sort of conveyance delaying their progress through King William Street, Cheapside, Holborn, and Oxford Street, till they reached Hyde Park Corner, and turned up the Edgware Road.

Yet the frequent delays had been an advantage to them, especially at the Mansion House, with the Royal Exchange and the Bank in sight. Again before entering Newgate Street, the view of St. Paul's and the Post Office, and afterwards the grim prison itself, from which the street is named.

Arthur Franklyn could remember sufficient of London to enable him to point out objects of interest as they drove on, although the Holborn Viaduct and the Thames Embankment were not then in existence. But when they at last approached Kilburn, so many recollections crowded upon him that he became silent, scarcely replying to the eager inquiries of the children till the carriage stopped at the gate of Englefield Grange.

"I will go in alone first, Louisa," he said hurriedly. "I must prepare my aged father-in-law for such a large party."

He was gone before she could raise an objection, and in a few moments a strange servant opened the door, and, startled by his pale face, showed him into a small reception room, and went to call Mr. Henry.

He stood listening to the old familiar sounds; the clock had just struck twelve, and the eager voices in the playground at the back brought to his memory the time when he had been as happy and as eager as those he now listened to, and a little dark-eyed girl would stand watching for him at the garden gate with a flower, or a bon-bon, or a something which she had brought for "dear Arty." So deep, so painful were these memories, that when the door opened, and he turned his white face to meet his brother-in-law, the family likeness was so strong that he could only hold out his hand and say, "Henry, I know it is Henry!" and then burst into a violent fit of sobbing.

At first Henry Halford felt quite bewildered. He had not reached his eighth birthday when Arthur and f.a.n.n.y sailed for Australia, yet a sudden flash of recognition, added to the letter received from Arthur that morning, recalled his brother-in-law to his memory.

"It is Arthur Franklyn," he exclaimed; "my dear sister's husband," and for a few moments Henry Halford was himself too much overcome to speak, or do more than press the hand of his brother-in-law as he held it.

"Everything here reminded me so strongly of _her_," said Arthur, at last rousing himself, and already ashamed of the impulse, which, like all his other impulses, was so evanescent. "My wife and the children are at the door," he added. "How is the dear old father? I came in alone to prepare him, and the old place and its memories knocked me over."

"You need not fear bringing them in," said Henry, as Arthur rubbed at his face and tried to remove all traces of his emotion. "My father is in feeble health, but his mind and memory are clear. He will be overjoyed to see the children."

A few minutes longer, and then the greyheaded old man had fondly welcomed his daughter's children, and kindly greeted her successor.

Mrs. Franklyn showed herself at her best, and won the good opinion of both father and son.

It was arranged that they should all stay and partake of the schoolroom dinner to give the horses a rest, and then Kate Marston made her appearance.

She was not slow to recognise Arthur, who was a few years younger than herself. The sixteen years had changed them both, but Arthur more than Kate Marston.

Old Dr. Halford was the first to remark this with the plain-speaking of age, which is almost childlike in its character.

"You are as comely as ever, Arthur," said the old-fas.h.i.+oned gentleman, "but you have changed more in the sixteen years than Kate."

"No wonder, uncle," exclaimed Kate, "only think of all he has gone through, besides having the care of these motherless children. I have n.o.body to be anxious for but myself; no husband for me, thank you." And while she spoke, with a deep blush on the still fresh complexion, and a bright smile, Arthur could not help owning to himself that Time had dealt very gently with Kate Marston.