EVERYDAY LIFE LIBRARY No. 4
Published by EVERYDAY LIFE, Chicago
MY MOTHER'S RIVAL
By CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME
Author of "Dora Thorne," "The Belle of Lynn," "The Mystery of ColdeFell," "Madolin's Lover," "Coralie," Etc., Etc.
CHAPTER I.
I have often wondered if the world ever thinks of what becomes of thechildren of great criminals who expiate their crime on the scaffold. Arethey taken away and brought up somewhere in ignorance of who or whatthey are? Does some kind relative step forward always bring them upunder another name?
There is great criminal trial, and we hear that the man condemned todeath leaves two daughters and a son—what becomes of them can any oneliving say? Who meets them in after life? Has any young man ever beenpointed out to you as the son of Mr. So-and-so, the murderer? Has anyyoung woman been pointed out to you as his daughter?
It is not long since all England was interested in the trial of aso-called gentleman for murder. He was found guilty, condemned andexecuted. At the time of the trial all the papers spoke of his littleson—a fair-haired little lad, who was as unconscious of all thathappened as a little babe. I have often wondered what became of him.Does he hear his father's name? Do those with whom he lives know him fora murderer's son? If he goes wooing any fair-faced girl, will she beafraid of marrying him lest, in the coming years, she may suffer thesame fate his mother did? Does that same son, when he reads of criminalsand scaffolds, wince, and shudder, and grow sick at heart?
And the daughters, do they grow old and die before their time? Do theyhide themselves under false names in silent places, dreading lest theworld should know them? Does any man ever woo them? Are they ever happywives and mothers?
I have thought much on this subject, because I, who write this story,seem to the world one of the most commonplace people in it, and yet Ihave lived, from the time I was a child, in the midst of a tragedy darkas any that ever saddened this fair land.
No one knows it, no one guesses it. People talk of troubles, ofromances, of sad stories and painful histories before me, but no oneever guessed that I have known perhaps the saddest of all. My heartlearned to ache as the first lesson it learned in life.
When I think of those unhappy children who go about the world with sodark a secret locked in their hearts, I think of myself, and what I holdlocked in my heart.
Read for yourself, dear reader, and tell me if you think there have beenmany fates in this world harder than mine.
My Name is Laura Tayne, and my home Tayne Abbey, in the grand oldCounty of Kent. The Taynes were of good family, not very ancient—thebaronetcy is quite a modern one, dating from George the First—but TayneAbbey is one of the grandest old buildings in England. Whenever I lookedat it I thought of those beautiful, picturesque, haunted houses that onesees in Christmas annuals, with Christmas lights shining from the greatwindows. I am sorry to say that I know very little of architecture. Icould not describe Tayne Abbey; it was a dark, picturesque, massivebuilding; the tall towers were covered with ivy, the large windows werewreathed with flowers of every hue. In some parts of sweet, sunny Kentthe flowers grow as though they were in a huge hothouse; they did so atTayne Abbey, for the front stood to the west, and there were years whenit seemed to be nothing but summer.
The great oriel windows—the dee