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A Tragedy in Black and White and Other Stories
[Chapter I]
Major Darrell was a retired Indian officer, who, having served his country for many years without reaping any more profitable harvest than a scanty crop of laurels, found himself, when a middle aged man, in much the same predicament as the well-known “Old woman who lived in a shoe;” namely, he had so many children he didn't know what to do. Indeed, he was in some respects more unfortunate than that praiseworthy matron, most of his family being too old to be disposed of in the summary manner in which that Spartan dame treated her offspring, and even the younger members clamoured for bread with their broth.
The only child whose future gave him no anxiety, was his second son Dick. That youth was the fortunate possessor of a rich and generous godfather, who did not think that his sponsorial obligations had been admirably fulfilled when he had promised to renounce the world, the flesh, and the devil on his godson's behalf, and had further presented him with a Bible and a silver mug as outward and visible signs of that promise.
When Major Darrell, in India, wrote to his old schoolfellow, Richard Egerton, in England, asking him to stand godfather to his second son, the answer he received was a very characteristic one.
“Dear Darrell,
“I shall be delighted to act as godfather to your boy. Had you asked me on behalf of a daughter, I should have been obliged, on principle, to decline, as I have come to the conclusion that it is mere waste of breath promising to page 6
me, and eventually become my partner in the estate. Don't be afraid of despoiling my daughter, she inherits money from her mother, and besides I expect to save a good deal during the next fifteen years. Let me know what you think of this plan.”
Of course, Mrs. Darrell was delighted at the offer, thinking it would conduce to the success of her own little scheme, and she persuaded her husband, who had some scruples on the subject, to accept it. So when Dick was six years old, he was sent to England, where he lived for a short time with relations and then went to school. He used to write to his godfather, who expressed himself quite satined with his letters and the school reports. He was not a specially clever boy, but very bright and a great favourite.
When he was about fourteen, his father sold out of the army and settled with his family in a village in Devonshire.
The next noteworthy event was the sudden arrival in England of Mr. Egerton and his daughter Dolores. They went, of course, to stay at the Darrells, with whom the little girl was left while her father was away on business; Mrs. Darrell taking a motherly interest in the child, not only for her own sake, but as a possible wife for Dick. Dolores, though by no means plain, was at present too thin and sallow to be a pretty child, her only beauty being her huge dark eyes. She was very delicate, indeed it was chiefly on account of her health that her father had come to England, and she was therefore unable to join in the somewhat rough games favoured by the younger Darrells and their neighbours, Squire Fenton's children. In fact, Dick, who was at home for the holidays, confided to his great ally, Sylvia Fenton, that he thought Dolores was a muff. Lest, however, he should be unjust, he added:
“But, of course, it isn't her fault, poor little creature. You can't expect anything else from half a foreigner”—alluding to Dolores' Spanish blood—for Dick was a sturdy John Bull, and regarded all who were unfortunate enough not to be English with a mixture of pity and contempt.
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“Of course, she can't help it,” agreed Sylvia readily, “and it must be dreadful to be foreign and always ill; but do you know, Dick, nurse says she wishes I would take pattern by Dolores and behave like a little lady. She, nurse I mean, says I am to mend my frocks myself now,” glancing ruefully at a long tear in her print dress.
“Never mind what nurse says; you are worth twenty of Dolores. Here, pin up your frock anyhow, and come along. I found such a patch of blackberry bushes yesterday, and I wouldn't tell anybody but you.”
So away they went, leaving Dolores gazing wistfully after them, and wishing from the bottom of her heart that she had golden hair and blue eyes, and that she could run and climb trees like Sylvia: “Because, then, perhaps Dick would like me as much as he does her.”
Soon afterwards, Mr. Egerton took his daughter up to London to see the doctors, and then they returned to their West Indian home. But before they left, it was settled to everyone's satisfaction that in three years' time, when Dick was eighteen, he should go and try life on a sugar plantation.
During the three years, which passed quickly and uneventfully, Dick worked hard, for he meant to get on in the world, and being a sensible fellow, he realised that to do so necessitated more exertion on his part than merely sitting down to wait till the good things of life dropped into his mouth.
At last his eighteenth birthday had come and gone, he had written to Mr. Egerton telling him of his departure from England, he had been to London with his father to select his outfit, and his last day at home had come. It happened to be a Sunday and Dick had spent the afternoon saying good-bye to his friends the Fentons. He contrived to get Sylvia by herself for a moment and whispered to her, “Be at the lower garden gate to-morrow morning about seven o'clock, I want to speak to you.” Sylvia nodded, and Dick turned away to make arrangements as to correspondence, &c., with Jim Fenton, a lad of about his own age.
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Next morning Dick was punctual to his appointment. It was a lovely summer morning, and Dick often, when melting beneath a tropical sun, thousands of miles away, recalled the delicious freshness of the air, and the blithe songs of the birds. Presently Sylvia appeared. She was now just sixteen and a very pretty girl, with a delicate complexion, blue eyes and golden hair, which had excited the envy of Dolores Egerton three years before. But that morning she looked pale and had dark circles under her eyes, a fact which Dick observed and commented on.
“You've been crying,” he said bluntly.
“Yes, I know I have, it is so hateful you're going away,” answered Sylvia, simply. “But it wasn't all on your account, Dick. You will think I am very silly, but I had such an awful dream last night. I thought I was sitting in a strange room in front of the looking-glass and I felt there was someone else in the room, and yet I could see nobody. But presently I knocked something off the table and I stooped to pick it up, and when I looked in the glass again, there was the most frightful face looking over my shoulder. I tried to scream but I couldn't, and I tried to move but I couldn't, and then it raised its hand; only just then I woke shaking with fright. It does not sound very bad now,” she added apologetically, “but it was awful at the time.”
“ickled onions,” said Dick, practically: “You know you had cold beef and pickled onions for supper last night, after church, so I don't see what else you could expect but nightmare. But never mind that now, Sylv., I want you to promise to marry me some day when I've made my fortune. I think I have a very good chance of getting on, and I shall work all the harder if I think I am working for you. You don't care about anyone else, do you dear?”
“Why, of course not, Dick. You know I like you better than anyone else, better even than Jim.” Jim being her favourite brother.
“But do you think you are fond enough of me to marry me? You see, Sylv. I must be away five or six years, and
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very likely you will see somebody you like better. If you do, you must let me know, but I shall always love you just the same.”
“I'm sure I shall never like anyone more than you, Dick dear. But perhaps you may change your mind and want to marry somebody else. There's Dolores, you know, she must be awfull, pretty, judging by her photograph, and she was always fond of you.”
“Dolores, indeed,” said Dick contemptuously. “Her photograph is pretty, certainly, but nothing like yours. No fear of my falling in love with her, Sylvia. Now that is settled, don't you think you might give me a kiss, and I want a bit of your hair, it is such a lovely colour.”
Sylvia accorded both gifts with a very good grace, and then Dick said he must go home or he would be missed. They agreed to keep their engagement secret for fear of being laughed at as silly children, but they were to correspond through the medium of Sylvia's brother Jim. So the boy and girl lovers parted, strong in their youthful love, and hardly thinking of the years that would pass before they met again, and the changes that must take place in so long a time.
Dick got home without being missed, and after bidding his family farewell, (a work of time), he and his father started for Liverpool, whence Dick was to sail. Here his father took leave of him, and Dick found himself fairly launched in the world, to sink or swim.
His voyage was not remarkable in any way, but he thoroughly enjoyed it; making friends with the whole crew from captain to cabin boy, and with the only other passenger, an elderly man who, having spent the greater part of his life on a plantation, had just made a trip home to see his relations. From him Dick learnt a good deal about life on the West Indian Islands, and found also that he lived not far from the Egertons’. Of course he asked Mr. Dakin if he knew them.
“Yes,” answered that gentleman, “I do, intimately in fact. You have fallen on your feet my lad. Eden is one of the most paying properties on the island and Egerton is
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a real good fellow, while his daughter promises to be the loveliest girl in the place. In a year or two, every man from 16 to 60 will be in love with her, you too most probably. And you will have plenty of opportunity to make yourself agreeable, living in the same house. Now there is a chance for you, my boy. Who knows? Perhaps-Miss Dolores may fall in love with you.”
“I'm sure I hope she won't,” said Dick naively.
The old planter roared with laughter.
“Well!” said he, “you are the first young fellow I ever met who hoped the prettiest girl in the country would not favour him. But you will change your mind when you see her.”
“Oh no! I shan't,” answered Dick gravely. “You see, (it's a secret, but I'm sure I can trust you), I am engaged to the dearest girl in the world. Her people don't know it, nor do mine, but when I'm getting on well and have good prospects, I am going home to marry her.”
“How old is she? if it's not an impertinent question,” asked Mr. Dakin.
“Just sixteen, two years younger than I am. But it will probably be about six years before we are married.”
“And do you expect her to wait for you all that time?”
“Certainly I do,” replied Dick indignantly. “She promised she would. I did tell her though, that if she liked anyone better than me she was not to consider herself bound. But I'm not afraid, I know she will be true to me.”
“Poor children!” muttered the planter to himself, then continued aloud, “Well, my boy, I hope you and your little girl will be happy. I suppose I am not to breathe a word of this?”
“No, please don't, we should only be laughed at. And we are rather young perhaps,” said Dick modestly. Then the conversation dropped, nor was the subject renewed for the rest of the voyage, till they parted at the end of it.
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“Good-bye, Dick,” said Mr. Dakin. “Go on and prosper my lad, and remember that you have an object in life. Nothing steadies a young man so effectually. Remember me to Egerton and the fair Dolores. I shall come over soon to see you all.”
Dick shook his friend's hand heartily, and set about collecting his various belongings. On landing he had received a note from Mr. Egerton, telling him to stay the night in the little sea-port town and that he would be sent for next day. So he took a room in an hotel, and then walked about the town, thoroughly enjoying the novelties of the scene. After he went indoors, he wrote a couple of letters, one to his mother and one to Jim Fenton, enclosing a tiny note to Sylvia. Next day he was up betimes, but early as he was, he had scarcely finished his breakfast when a light waggonette drawn by a couple of spirited horses and driven by Mr. Egerton, drew up at the door. A hearty greeting passed between Dick and his godfather.
“Now, what luggage have you? Put your portmanteau in here, and show José what else there is and he will see that it comes up to-morrow with the stores. That's right, jump in, we are going to lunch with some neighbours of ours. Dolores has been staying with them, and we'll pick her up there and take her home.”
“How is Dolor— I mean Miss—” stammered Dick, not quite sure if he were to continue on the old familiar terms.
“You need not be so ceremonious,” laughed Mr. Egerton, seeing his dilemma, “Call her Dolores, she always speaks of you as Dick. She is as well as she ever is,” he continued, growing serious. “But I fear she will never be strong, she is too like her—.”
He stopped abruptly, and Dick, who had learnt from Mr. Dakin that Mrs. Egerton had died of consmuption, not knowing quite what to say, wisely remained silent.
Presently Mr. Egerton roused himself, and asked after Major Darrell and his family. Dick told all the home news, and then gave an account of his voyage, delivering Mr. Dakin's message.
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“Yes, Dakin is a capital companion and a shrewd man. He is a neighbour of ours. Now, there is the place where we are going to stop for an hour or two;” pointing with his whip to a low white building which had just become visible. “It belongs to a Spanish family called Guzman, connections of my wife. Magdalena, the youngest girl, is a great friend of Dolores.”
Soon they stopped in front of the house and alighted. Dick was presented to a dark, rather stout lady with the remains of great beauty, to a tall, thin gentleman who courteously bade him welcome, and to several pretty dark-eyed girls, amongst whom he looked vainly for Dolores.
“Where is my little girl?” asked Mr. Egerton as soon as the introductions and greetings were over.
“Dolores! she was here a minute or two ago, I think she is shy.” Answered one of the girls, laughing.
Just then the door opened and Dolores appeared. Dick instantly decided that her photograph did not do her justice. In a subsequent letter home, he said so, adding: “she is simply lovely. I had no idea that any girl could have such glorious eyes. Perhaps they look so big because her face is small and rather pale, but they are such a colour! Don't be jealous, dear,” (he was writing to Sylvia) “you know I like blue eyes best, but her's are wonderful.”
In spite of this reassuring statement, Sylvia did feel a jealous pang, which was not soothed by overhearing a remark made to her mother by Mrs. Darrell, to the effect that she should not be at all surprised if Dolores and Dick made a match. “It would be so very appropriate, my husband and Mr. Egerton being such old friends, you know. They used to play together as boy and girl and I do believe in marrying young, don't you? Besides, then the property need not be divided.”
Sylvia might have spared herself her bitter forebodings. Although Dick greatly admired Dolores, and as he learnt to know her grew to love her as a sister, he never for an instant swerved from his love for his blue-eyed maid.
But to return to the Egertons and Dick. After a rest of three or four hours, they took their deparature for Eden,
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which was about an hour's drive further on. When they were starting, Dick was rather surprised to see a remarkably gaunt and hideous negro woman come out of the house and establish herself with great composure in the waggonette. Mr. Egerton noticed his astonished look and said: “That is Dolores' nurse who has been with her ever since she was a baby. She is very ugly, but the most devoted creature breathing, she cannot bear to let her child, as she calls Dolores, out of her sight.” Then addressing the woman, he continued, “Here is someone elso for you to look after, Mamie. I know you like taking care of people, only don't neglect your little mistress.”
Mamie smiled, showing a brilliant set of teeth, and murmured, more to herself than in answer to her master, “Could never neglect Miss Dolores.”
They drove on through the most lovely scenery for about an hour, Mr. Egerton pointing out various objects of interest. Then the road took a sharp turn, and they found themselves close to the sea but at some height above it. Half-a-mile further, and they drew up before a low, one storied house built in two sides of a square, and with a deep verandah all round it. No sooner did they stop than what seemed to Dick to be a countless swarm of negroes, appeared to welcome them. Mr. Egerton gave the reins to a grinning youth who rejoiced in the name of Lucifer, and hurried to help his daughter down; then turning to Dick, he exclaimed: “Welcome to Eden, my boy. I hope it will be your home for many a year. Now we will go in and wash our hands, and then you will be glad of some dinner.”
After this important ceremony was over, Mr. Egerton asked Dick if he smoked, and receiving an answer in the affirmative, proposed that they should adjourn to the verandah for coffee and a pipe. Here Dolores joined them for a short time but retired early on the plea of fatigue. Mr. Egerton went away to give some orders, and Dick was left by himself to gaze at the loveliest scene be thought he had ever set eyes on.
The house was built on a natural terrace with just enough room left in front for a lawn, smoothly sloping to the edge of the terrace, the side of which was thickly covered with
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native shrubs. At the foot were gardens, evidently extensive and well cared for; then came a belt of forest, and beyond again, at some little distance lay the sea. All was flooded with the brightest, clearest moonlight; and as Dick lounged in a long wicker chair, lazily puffing at his pipe, he thought that the original Eden could scarcely have been fairer, and that for his part, only Sylvia's presence was necessary to make it Paradise indeed.
Next morning, Mr. Egerton took Dick over the estate, introduced him to the manager, a shrewd, elderly Scotchman named MacPherson, and initiated him into his new duties. He was to be a sort of assistant to MacPherson, and to make himself acquainted with all the details of the work, with a view to being eventually manager himself.
There is no need to enter into any particulars as regards Dick's life for the next six years. He worked hard, doing all he had to do thoroughly and carefully, so that MacPherson took a great liking to him and sang his praises diligently to Mr. Egerton, who grew very fond of the lad, at first for his father's sake, and afterwards for his own. As for Dolores, she used to wonder how life had ever been supportable before Dick came. They were the greatest friends; Dick, truth to say, treating her as a sister or cousin. They often talked about the Darrells and the Fentons; Dolores taking great interest in Dick's home letters which he generally gave her to read. Several times he was on the point of confiding to her his engagement to Sylvia, but an undefined feeling always prevented his doing so. He heard regularly from Jim Fenton and there was always an enclosure from Sylvia. One birthday she sent him a present of a small gold locket with a photograph of herself in it. This he henceforward were on his watch-chain, and though Dolores noticed it directly, she did not like to ask whence it came.
His affection for Dolores won him the affection of Mamie, who regarded him as second only to her young mistress, and her one hope and belief was that the two would marry. Such, indeed, was the general opinion, though it was never spoken of openly. Truly, Master Dick's lines had fallen in pleasant places.