Mere Chance

Ada Cambridge

Description

Shortly after getting married, English-born author Ada Cambridge set sail for Australia, where she would live for most of the rest of her life. The experience proved to be a formative one in terms of her literary career, as many of her essays and novels focused on aspects of life "down under." The novel A Mere Chance focuses on the social debut of a plucky young lady named Rachel Fetherstonhaugh, who makes a splash in the stuffy upper echelons of Melbourne high society.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 août 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776528806
• Langue: English

Extrait

A MERE CHANCE
A NOVEL
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ADA CAMBRIDGE
 
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A Mere Chance A Novel First published in 1882 ISBN 978-1-77652-880-6 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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VOLUME ONE Chapter I - A Marshal Neil Rose Chapter II - Family Counsels Chapter III - Mr. Kingston's Question Chapter IV - The Answer Chapter V - So Soon! Chapter VI - A Rash Promise Chapter VII - Two Love Letters Chapter VIII - How Rachel Met "Him" Chapter IX - A Black Sheep Chapter X - Outside the Pale Chapter XI - Mr. Dalrymple Has to Consult Gordon Chapter XII - "Oh, if They Had!" VOLUME TWO Chapter I - Another Rash Promise Chapter II - The Beginning of Troubles Chapter III - "Where there was Never Need of Vows" Chapter IV - After the Ball Chapter V - Rachel's First Visit in Melbourne Chapter VI - In Mrs. Hardy's Store-Room Chapter VII - "He Has Come Back" Chapter VIII - "The Light that Never was on Sea or Land" Chapter IX - Eleven P.M. Chapter X - Mrs. Reade's Advice Chapter XI - Until Christmas Chapter XII - "The Ground-Whirl of the Perished Leaves of Hope" Chapter XIII - Rachel on the Philosophy of Marriage VOLUME THREE Chapter I - A Parable Chapter II - "When Yule is Cold" Chapter III - A Discovery Chapter IV - "To Meet Mr. And Mrs. Kingston" Chapter V - A Crisis Chapter VI - Mrs. Reade Meets Her Match Chapter VII - Good-Bye Chapter VIII - Consolation Chapter IX - Reparation Chapter X - Fulfilment Chapter XI - Conclusion
VOLUME ONE
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Chapter I - A Marshal Neil Rose
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A few years ago there was a young débutante in Melbourne whose namewas Rachel Fetherstonhaugh. She had risen upon the social horizonsuddenly, like a new star—or, one might almost say, like a comet, sounusually bright was she, and so much talked about; and no one quiteknew where she had come from. Mrs. Hardy had introduced her as herniece—everyone knew that—but there were sceptics who, having neverheard of female relatives previously (except the three daughters, whohad married so well), declared that she might be "anybody," picked upmerely for matchmaking purposes—it being well understood that Mrs.Hardy had for an unknown period sustained life, figuratively speaking,upon the stimulus of matrimonial intrigues, and had now no moredaughters to provide for.
That this pretty creature had been unseen and unsuspected until the lastMiss Hardy, as Mrs. Buxton, was fairly away on her honeymoon, and almostimmediately after had been introduced to society as Mrs. Buxton'ssuccessor, was a kind of circumstance that seemed, of course, bound tohave a mystery at the bottom of it. But, as a matter of fact, there wasno mystery. Rachel Fetherstonhaugh was a bona-fide niece, and herentrance into the Hardy family at a particular juncture could be quiteeasily accounted for.
Her father had been Mrs. Hardy's brother—a good-for-nothing, unluckybrother, whose clever brains could do anything but earn money, and whosepockets could no more hold it than a sieve could hold water—a brotherwhom, long ago, before she had become rich and fastidious, Mrs. Hardyhad loved, and served, and worked for, but whom, of late years, shehad—with some mild self-reproach for doing so—ignored as far aspossible.
This man had married a girl without a penny, as such a man was certainto do; and his wife had left him a widower, with an only child, a fewyears afterwards. Since then, for fifteen years, he had rambled aboutfrom place to place, seeking his fortune in all kinds of visionary andimpracticable schemes, whose collapse one after the other, neverdeterred him from fresh enterprises, until a sunstroke closed the listof his life's many failures at the early age of forty-five.
A formal little note was sent by his orphan daughter to Mrs. Hardy toannounce this sad event; and for half an hour after receiving it thebereaved sister was inconsolable, tormenting herself with unavailingregrets for her neglect of "her own flesh and blood," and withharrowing reminiscences of loving early years.
At the end of that time, however, she had made many generous plans forher dead brother's child, which cheered and comforted her; and in timethese gave place to the prudent, unemotional dictates of worldly wisdom.Mrs. Hardy dried her tears, bought herself a black bonnet, and stole outof town in a surreptitious fashion, to see what manner of niece had beenthrown upon her hands.
She pictured to herself what the child's life had probably been—themotherless child of a vagabond speculator, who had lived veryindifferently by his wits; and the most she hoped for was to find her araw bush girl, rudimentally educated, and uncontaminated by the lowsociety in which she had been brought up. For such a niece she hadmapped out what seemed to be a suitable career—that of a nurserygoverness in some distant colony; and she had resolved to be a goodfriend to the girl, to set her up in clothes, and to see that she nevercame to want or misfortune if by any reasonable means it could behelped.
To her intense surprise her young relative turned out to be a remarkablypretty and refined young woman, obviously accustomed to the decorous andreticent poverty of people who had "seen better days" and appreciatedthe fact, and not raw in any sort of sense, though diffident and shy;the kind of young woman, indeed, who, it was evident at a glance, wascapable under good management of bringing honour and glory upon thefamily.
The result was as above indicated. Rachel Fetherstonhaugh, instead ofbeing sent into obscurity to earn her bread, was adopted in the sight ofall men as a daughter of the house—that great white house at Toorak,which had achieved local fame for its profuse entertainments, its socialdiplomacies, and its three great marriages.
Her father's debts were paid; her wardrobe was supplemented with thevery best style of new clothes—less expensive, but more becoming, thanany that Mrs. Buxton and Mrs. Buxton's sisters had worn; and by and byewhen, having got over the first shock and grief of her father's death,she made her appearance in public, and began to take an interest in hernew life, she found herself, to her great astonishment, a personage—ifnot the personage—in the society around her.
It must be said, and not to her discredit, I hope, that MissFetherstonhaugh liked being a personage very much indeed. She had grownup a sensitive little gentlewoman, full of delicate thoughts and tastes,in the midst of dull, uncultured people of sordid cares and occupations,and of uncongenial surroundings of all sorts; and the mere physicalenjoyment of her changed circumstances, in which everything was orderly,and dainty, and plenteous, and "nice," was something like the enjoymentthat a flower must feel when the sun shines.
And the sudden discovery that certain shy conjectures about herpersonal appearance (which she had hardly had leisure or heart to attendto) were confirmed by the best authority—to know herself a pretty girl,and to see that society paid her homage accordingly—this was anexperience that no woman born, being in possession of her faculties,could help delighting in. And having all the grateful consciousness ofthe value of life and its good things that nature gives to the young andhealthy, unspoiled by artificial sentiment, her delight was unbounded,and consequently unconcealed.
Rachel Fetherstonhaugh was, as her uncle said, "A modest, good girl,with no nonsense about her." All the same, she was proud and glad of herfair, clear-cut features, and her pensive, large, sweet eyes that werefull of tender suggestions, for which no authority existed when shelifted them meekly to an admirer's face; and that figure which with allits slenderness had the curves of beauty everywhere, and those waves ofruddy auburn hair.
"I am so glad I am not plain," she once said to her cousin, Mrs.Thornley (who strange to say did not repeat the remark to all herfriends with disparaging comments, but responded confidentially with asympathising kiss, and said she could quite understand it). "I havealways thought that it must be the most charming thing in the world tobe a really pretty woman. And now I know it."
On a grey afternoon in the beginning of May this young lady wasenjoying the luxury of a slow drive up and down Collins Street,shopping with her aunt. She nestled in a soft corner of a well-appointedVictoria, with a great rug of native bearskins about her knees, showingher delicate fresh face, like a well-hung picture, to the crowd ofpassers-by on the pavement, and yet sitting just enough above them tosee into the shop-windows over their heads; and she felt—though she didnot formulate the sentiment—perfectly happy and satisfied.
If the truth must be told, she found the sight of more or lesswell-dressed men and women, streaming up and down the busy street, moreinteresting than the most lovely landscape she had ever seen. She tookas much pleasure in the exquisite fit of her gloves as in the exquisitecolour and fragrance of a Marshal Neil rose that she wore in herbutton-hole; and she had never seen a moonrise or a sunset that hadfascinated her more than that sealskin jacket in Alston and Brown'swindow, which she observed was exactly the size for her. It is not,therefore, to be supposed that she is a heroine unworthy of the name.
At Alston and Brown's Mrs. Hardy stepped out of her carriage for perhapsthe fifth time. She was a very large, masculine kind of woman, with aremarkably fine Roman nose, of which she was excessively proud,