Janet's boys

INTRODUCTORY.

"FRED," said Mr. Rayburn to his only son, a well-grown handsome lad of seventeen or thereabouts, "don't you think we should be much more comfortable if we had a—if this house had a mistress?"

The speaker was a man of about sixty, but looked so fresh and hearty that one might easily have concluded him to be much younger. The room in which he and his son were sitting was a long, low one, well lighted by three bay windows all on the same side; and though not a pretty room, it used at one time to look homelike and comfortable. The room was the same, and the furniture was the same, but the comfort and the homelike look had vanished.

Ten years before the day on which Mr. Rayburn made this remark to his son, comfort had departed on the death of Mrs. Rayburn, his wife and Fred's mother.

Mr. Rayburn was the manager of Messrs. Hopper and Mason's great brewery in a town called Hemsborough, in the northern part of Staffordshire. He had filled this very responsible post for many years, inhabiting the comfortable apartments over the great gateway of the brewery. He was a very matter-of-fact man, without much sentiment about him, and on getting his good appointment he had married, choosing his wife carefully, with a view to being made comfortable and leading a peaceable life. And his quiet, docile wife had never, in all her uneventful life, had an idea beyond her simple round of womanly duties, which she did to perfection, until her only child was about six years old, when she suddenly took a severe illness and died in a few days. They had been married for many years before Fred was born, and Mr. Rayburn had no idea how to manage the child; so he sent him to school, and got on alone as best he could. Presently the servant trained by his wife married, and another came in her place, not trained by his wife, or, indeed, by any one else.

Still, the poor man existed somehow, nor did any idea of a change suggest itself to him until Fred left school, and got a clerkship in the counting-house, living of course with his father. Judith Ames, the servant, greatly resented the additional trouble thus given her: particularly was she annoyed because Fred, instead of falling into the regular round of habits which his father had adopted, and which made him "such a quiet, dependable master, for what he did one day, he did every day, and so a body knew where to have him." Instead of copying his worthy father in this, Fred ran up and down the stone stairs by which the "Gatehouse" was reached, about a dozen times every evening, and always unexpectedly. Also, he played football and cricket, according to the season; he took long walks, coming home muddy and hungry, giving endless trouble, and demanding food at inconvenient times.

Moreover, he did what his father never did. He popped into the kitchen, surprising Judith and some friends at tea, using the best china and partaking of a much daintier meal than ever found its way into the master's parlour. Fred told his father that Judith was cheating him; he complained of her dirty, untidy ways and her bad cooking, and poor Mr. Rayburn, who had long ceased to be comfortable, now found the other desire of his heart out of the question, for to live at peace was impossible to one member of a family of three when the other two were always quarrelling.

To be the son of two such prosaic people as Mr. Rayburn and his wife, Fred was rather a surprise. He was fond of poetry—even wrote something which he called by that name; he was fond of music, and played the flute a little. But quite enough too. He wished to have everything nice about him, but did not wish to take any trouble about it. He did his work as a clerk fairly well, but he did not like it, nor throw himself into it; he would have preferred to be a great painter, or a great singer, or author, or a traveller—anything, in fact, "with a little mind in it," he said to himself; and many of his poems were addressed to his mind, with which he condoled in pathetic terms. Meantime, on the whole, he enjoyed life very well; but he certainly wished Judith far away pretty frequently.

On this very day on which Mr. Rayburn asked the question about a mistress for the house, Fred and Judith had had a "row-royal" about his boots—his best, beautiful new boots, which he had not used for some days, and which he had found in the kitchen, uncleaned, and with the frying-pan standing on their toes! And the dinner had been half done, and, in fact, nothing was as it ought to be.

Now, to return to the conversation begun after dinner by Mr. Rayburn.

Fred started, and turned round to look at his father. He had been engaged in writing the word "dust" in bold, legible letters on the looking-glass over the mantelshelf, but he left the "t" uncrossed, shook the dust off his finger, and stared at his father, getting very red.

"Why, of course. Why, yes, father, I suppose we should. But I'm rather young yet, don't you think?"

"What has your age to do with it, my boy?"

"Why, of course my—that is, when I get married some day or other, the house will have a mistress, you know."

Mr. Rayburn laughed.

"I'm afraid we can't wait for that, Fred. I would part with Judith and try some one else, but that I have no hope that any servant will make us comfortable unless we went to far more trouble than I'm inclined to take. My work is quite enough for me. No, I thought of marrying myself."

Fred looked thoughtful.

"I declare, sir," said he presently, "it might be a very good plan."

"There's only one objection against it, Fred. I can make no provision for my wife in case she survives me; or at least only a very small one. Your mother's money—a few hundreds—is settled on you, and the little I have saved ought to go to you too. For, you see, you may not get my situation when I am gone, and in that case you'll want a little capital; for you'll hardly go on as a mere clerk all your life. But if I state all this honestly to the lady I have in my mind, I think she would be reasonable. She is poor, and I suspect would gladly have a house of her own."

"Who is it, father?"

"I don't think you know her, but you must have seen her in church. She is sister to my old friend James Thompson, with whom I go to play backgammon every Saturday night. Her mother was Lord Beaucourt's housekeeper, and the old lady died last year, so Miss Thompson came to live with her brother. But Thompson has a houseful of young people, and I fancy Miss Lydia might not be sorry to make a change. So it might be a mutual convenience."

Fred gave his consent very graciously, expressing at the same time a great longing to see Judith's face when the possible affliction in store for her was first announced to her. Had he but known it, he might have had that treat at once; he had only to open the door, at which the excellent Judith was listening. Something in her master's manner when he came in upon the scene about the boots had given her a fright, and she was anxious to find out if she had anything worse to fear than a severe scolding. She heard all! And tottering back to the kitchen, which, contrary to the general habits of kitchens, was at the top of the house, she sank upon a chair and began to sob.

"And such a servant as I've been to him," she moaned faintly, "such a servant!"

Then she felt that she was an ill-used woman, and clenching her hand—a good big hand she had, too—she said aloud—

"Miss Lydia Thompson! Miss, forsooth! Her mother wasn't a bit better than myself, though she wears black silk and I know my place! But wait a bit, Miss Lydia Thompson; you're not Mrs. Rayburn yet, nor shall be if I can help it."

She sat meditating various ways of putting an end to the courtship, which, I may remark, was not yet begun. Miss Lydia had as yet no idea of the promotion that lay within her reach. But Judith was no witch, and she could devise no better plan than to amend her ways, give fewer tea-parties, cook the dinners decently, and dust the furniture; nay, she even determined to polish Fred's boots.

But, alas! She was too late, even if she could have pulled herself together, which I doubt; for she had fallen into very lazy, slovenly habits. But she never had the opportunity. Mr. Rayburn was very prompt to act when once his mind was made up. He spoke to his friend Thompson that very night, ascertained that Miss Lydia had a very little money of her own, and would be glad, her brother thought, to have a house of her own too. He said also that she was a capable housekeeper, and understood the art of cookery to an extent that was a constant admiration to his wife and daughters; and that she was, moreover, good tempered and easy to get on with. So Mr. Rayburn made his plain and unromantic proposals, and was accepted after a few hours' consideration. And before Judith had well begun her projected reformation, she found, herself possessed of a mistress; but it was only for a short time. In a few days after the wedding she was quietly sent about her business, and a smart young person in white apron and cap installed in her place. Very soon the Gatehouse resumed its old air of sober comfort and spotless neatness, and once more peace and quiet reigned.

I do not think that Mr. Rayburn ever had any reason to repent of his second marriage, and yet I know that had he really understood his wife, he would have disapproved very much of her. The second Mrs. Rayburn was an utterly selfish woman, and had been utterly selfish all her life. But she was far too clever to show it openly. She had ruled her mother, but had made her rule pleasant. The good woman had sons and married daughters, whom she would at one time have liked to help occasionally; but she was convinced, she hardly knew how, that she ought to save every penny for poor Lydia, the only unmarried one. At her brother's house, Lydia had found it her best plan to be helpful and pleasant to her sister-in-law, and had made herself very useful to the girls. And now she saw that to stand well with Fred was her cue, and she proved a delightful stepmother.

I must not make this part of my story too long, as it is really only introductory, but I do not see how to make the events that follow clear without this preparatory sketch. For about ten years the household went on almost without a change. Fred settled down into a good clerk, and rose in the counting-house; he still played the flute, but he no longer wrote poetry, having, indeed, failed to find a publisher for his laments over his wasted intellect. And, indeed, though he was a good fellow enough, I do not think that any great waste was possible in that matter.

He fell in love with a very nice, pretty girl, just home from school and they were engaged with the full consent of all concerned; but Janet Gray's father thought her too young to be married just yet, so they had a long and very happy engagement. And then, Fred being twenty-seven and Janet twenty, the day was fixed for their marriage, and all the pleasant bustle of looking for a suitable house was going on, when one day, as Fred, Janet, and Mrs. Gray were inspecting the twenty-third house, all three very busy and happy, the messenger from the brewery came running up the terrace, and told Fred to hurry home, as his father was very ill. Before the young man reached home, his father was dead; in fact, he was dead when the messenger was sent, though no one could believe it.