Cursed by a Fortune

“Something – wrong?” faltered Kate.

“Yes, miss,” said the woman in an ill-used tone. “The tea wasn’t strong enough, or the sole wasn’t done to your liking.”

“Don’t think that, Mrs – Mrs – ”

“Plant’s my name, miss – Sarah Plant, and Becky’s Becky. Don’t call me Mrs, please; I’m only the servant.”

“Well, do not think that, Sarah Plant. Everything has been particularly nice, only I have no appetite this morning – I mean, to-day.”

“You do mean that, miss?”

“Of course I do.”

“Thank you kindly, miss. I did try very hard, for master was so very particular about it. He always is particular, almost as Mr Jenour was; but this morning he was extra, and poor, dear, old master was never anything like it. Then if you please, miss, I’ll send Becky to clear away, and perhaps you’d like to go round and see your new house. I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction.”

“My new house?”

“Yes, miss; master said it was yours, and that we were to look upon you as mistress and do everything you wished, just as if you were his daughter come to keep house for him. This way please, miss.”

Kate was ready to say that she wished to sit down and write, for her heart was full of self-reproach, and she longed to pour out her feelings to her old confidential maid; but the thought that it would be better perhaps to fall in with Garstang’s wishes and assume the position he had arranged for her to occupy, made her acquiesce and follow the housekeeper out of the room.

The woman touched a bell-handle in the hall, and then drew back a little, with a show of respect, as her eyes, still eagerly, and full of compassion, scanned the new mistress she had been told to obey.

“Will you go first, ma’am?”

“No: be good enough to show me what it is necessary for me to see.”

“Oh, master said I was to show you everything you liked, miss – I mean, ma’am. It’s a dreadfully dark day to show you, but I’ve got the gas lit everywhere, and it does warm the house nicely and keep out the damp.”

Kate longed to ask the woman a few questions, but she shrank from speaking, and followed her pretty well all over the place until she stopped on the first floor landing before a heavy curtain which apparently veiled a window.

“I hope you find everything to your satisfaction, ma’am – that the house has been properly kept.”

“Everything I have seen shows the greatest care,” said Kate.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said the woman, and her next words aroused her companion’s attention at once, for the desire within her was strong to know more of her new guardian’s private life, though it would have been, she felt, impossible to question. “You see, master is here so very seldom that there is no encouragement for one to spend much time in cleaning and dusting, and oh, the times it has come to me like a wicked temptation to leave things till to-morrow; but I resisted, for I knew that if I did once, Becky would be sure to twice. You see, master is mostly at his other house when he isn’t at his offices, where he just has snacks and lunches brought in on trays; but it’s all going to be different now, he tells me, and the house is to be kept up properly, and very glad I am, for it has been like wilful waste for such a beautiful place never hardly to be used, and never a lady in it in my time.”

“Then Mrs Garstang did not reside here?”

“Oh, no, ma’am! nor old master’s lady neither – not in my time.”

“Mr Garstang’s father?”

“Oh, no, ma’am: Mr Jenour, who had it before master, and – and died here – I mean there,” said the woman, in a whisper, and she jerked her head toward the heavy curtain. “It was Mr Jenour’s place, and he collected all the books and china and foreign curiosities. I’ll tell you all about it some day, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” said Kate, quietly. “I will go down to the library now; I wish to write.”

“There’s pen, ink and paper in there, ma’am,” said the woman, jerking her head sideways; “and you can see the little lib’ry at the same time.”

“I would rather leave that till another time.”

“Hah!” came in a deep low sigh, as if of relief, and Kate turned quickly round in surprise, just catching sight of the face with the handkerchief bound round it that she had seen before.

It was drawn back into one of the rooms instantly, and Kate turned her questioning eyes directly upon the housekeeper.

“It’s only Becky, ma’am – my gal. She’s been following us about to peep at you all the time. I did keep shaking my head at her, but she would come.”

“Is she unwell – face-ache?” asked Kate.

“Well, no, ma’am, not now. She did have it very bad a year ago, but it got better, and she will keep tied up still for fear it should come back. She says it would drive her mad if it did; and if I make her leave off she does nothing but mope and cry, so I let her keep on. She’s a poor nervous sort of girl, and she has never been right since she lost the milkman.”

“Lost the milkman?” said Kate, wonderingly.

“He went and married someone else, ma am, as had money to set him up in business. Females has a deal to put up with in this life, as well I know. Then you won’t go and see the little lib’ry to-day, ma’am?”

“No, not to-day,” said Kate, with an involuntary shiver which made the woman look at her curiously, and the deep sigh of relief came again from the neighbouring room.

“Cold, ma’am?”

“Yes – no. A little nervous and upset with travelling,” said Kate; and she went down at once to the library, took a chair at the old-fashioned morocco-covered table, glanced round at the well-filled bookcases, and the solid rich air of comfort, with the glowing fire and softened gaslight brightening the place, and taking paper stamped with the address she began to write rapidly, explaining everything to her old maid, pleading the urgency of her position for excuse in leaving as she had, and begging that “dear old nurse” would join her at once.

She paused from time to time to look round, for the silence of the place oppressed her; and in her nervous anxious state, suffering as she was from the feeling that she had done wrong, there were moments when she could hardly refrain from tears.

But she finished her long, affectionate letter and directed it, turning round to sit gazing into the fire for a few minutes, hesitating as to whether she should do something that was in her mind.

There seemed to be no reason why she should not write to Jennie Leigh, but at the same time there was a something undefined and strange which held her back from communication; but at last decision had its way, and feeling firmer, she turned to the table once more and began to write another letter.

“Why should I have hesitated?” she said, softly; “I’m sure she likes me very much, and she will think it so very strange if I do not write.” But somehow there was a slight deepening of tint in her cheeks, and a faint sensation of glow as she wrote on, her letter being unconsciously couched in very affectionate terms; while when she had concluded and read it over she found that she had been far more explanatory than she had intended, entering fully into her feelings, and the horror and shame she had felt on discovering the way in which her cousin had been thrown with her, detailing his behaviour; and finally, in full, the scene in which Mr Garstang had protected her and spoken out, to the unveiling of the family plans.

“Pray don’t think that I have acted foolishly, dear Jenny,” she said in a postscript. “It may seem unmaidenly and strange, but I was driven to act as I did. I dared not stay; and beside being in some way a relative, Mr Garstang is so fatherly and kind that I have felt quite safe and at rest. Pray write to me soon. I shall be so glad to hear, for I fear that I shall be rather lonely; and tell your brother how grateful I am to him for his attention to me. I am much better and stronger now, thanks to him.”

The glow in her cheeks was a little deeper here, and she paused with the intention of re-writing the letter and omitting all allusion to Doctor Leigh, but she felt that it would seem ungrateful to one to whose skill she owed so much; and in spite of a sensation of nervous shrinking, the desire to let him see she was grateful was very strong.

So the letter was finished and directed.

But still she hesitated, and twice over her hand was stretched out to take and destroy the missive, while her brain grew troubled and confused.

“I can’t think,” she said to herself at last with a sigh; “my brain seems weary and confused;” and then she started from her chair in alarm, for Garstang was standing in the room, the thick curtains and soft carpet having deadened his approach; and in fact, he had been there just within the heavy portiere watching her for some minutes.

Chapter Twenty Six

Pages 172 and 173, the first two pages of Chapter XXVI, are missing from the scan. We will continue to try to find what was upon them.

the best way, but it was the best way that offered, was it not?”

“Of course; yes,” she said eagerly.

“Yes, decidedly it was,” he said, still speaking in the same quiet, thoughtful way. “You set me thinking, too, my dear, whether I have done right by you in bringing you here. Yes,” he said, turning upon her sharply, “I am sure I have, if I treat it as a temporary asylum. Yes, it is right, my child: but perhaps we ought to set to at once – if you feel equal to it, and now that we have time and no fear of interruption – and go over what distant relations or what friends you have, and invite the most suitable, that is to say, the one you would prefer – always supposing this individual possesses the firmness to protect you. Then he or she shall be sent for, and you shall go there.”

“I do not wish to be ungrateful to you, Mr Garstang.”

“You ungrateful! It isn’t in your nature, my dear. But what do you think of my suggestion?”

“I think it is right, and what I should do,” she replied.

“Very well then, you shall do it, my dear child; but you cannot, of course, do it to-night. It is a very important step, and you must choose deliberately, and after due and careful thought. In the meantime, Great Ormond Street is your temporary resting-place, where you are quite safe, and can make your plans in peace. As for me, I am your elderly relative, and we, I mean Mrs Plant and I, are delighted to have the monotony of the place relieved by your coming. Now, is this right? – does it set your little fluttering heart at rest?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr Garstang. I – I am greatly relieved.”

“Very well then, let us set all ‘the cares that infest the day,’ as the poet has it, aside, and have a calm, restful evening. You need it, and I must confess that I do not feel in my customary fettle, as the country folk call it. Why, you look better already. I see how it is. Your mind is more at ease.”

She smiled.

“That’s right; and by the way, man-like I did not think of it till I reached my office to see some letters. I did tell Mrs Plant to try and make everything right for you here, but it never occurred to me that a lady is not like a man.”

She looked at him wonderingly.

“I mean that a man can get along with a clean collar, a tooth-brush, and a pocket-comb, while a lady – ”

He stopped and smiled.

“Now, look here, my child,” he said, “I will leave you for a few minutes while you ring and have up Mrs Plant. You can give her what instructions you like about immediate necessities, and they can be fetched while we are at dinner. Other things you can obtain at leisure yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr Garstang,” said Kate, with the look of confidence in her eyes increasing, as she rose from her seat and laid her hands in his.

“No, no, please don’t,” he said, with a pleasant smile, as he gently returned the pressure of her hands, and then dropped them. “Let’s see, dinner in half an hour.” He looked at his watch. “Don’t think me a gourmet, please, because I think a good deal of my dinner; for I work very hard, and I find that I must eat. There, I’ll leave you for a bit.”

He laid his book on the table, nodded and smiled, and walked out of the room, while with the tears rising to her eyes Kate stood gazing after him, feeling that the cloud hanging over her was lightening, and that she was going to find rest.

She rang, and Sarah Plant appeared with her head on one side, looking more withered than ever, and to her was explained the needs of the moment.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the woman, plaintively; “of course I’ll go, only there’s the dinner, and if I wait till afterwards the shops will be shut up. I don’t think you or master would like Becky to wait table with her face tied up, and if I make her take the handkerchief off she’ll go into shrieking hysterics, and that will be worse. And then – would you mind looking out, ma’am?”

She walked slowly across to the window, and drew aside one of the heavy curtains.

Kate followed her, looked, and turned to the woman.

“Draw up the blind,” she said.

There was a feeble smile, and a shake of the head.

“It is up, ma’am, and it’s been like that all day – black as pitch. Plagues of Ejup couldn’t have been worse.”

“Oh, it is impossible for you to go,” said Kate, quickly. “What am I to do?”

“Well, ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind, I think I could tell you. You see, master come to this place when Mr Jenour died, and there hasn’t been a thing taken away since. It’s just as it used to be when Mrs Jenour was alive, years before. There’s drawers and drawers and wardrobes full of everything a lady can want; and there’s never a week goes by that I don’t spend hours in going over and folding and airing, and I spend shillings and shillings every year in lavender. So if you wouldn’t mind – ”

Sarah Plant did not finish her sentence, but stood looking appealingly at the visitor.

“It is impossible for you to go out, Mrs Plant.”

“Sarah, if you wouldn’t mind, ma’am, and it’s very good of you to say so.”

“Well, then, Sarah,” said Kate, smiling, and feeling more at ease, “you shall help me to get over the difficulty. Now go and see to your duties. I do not wish Mr Garstang to be troubled by my visit.”

“Troubled, my dear young lady! I’m sure he’d be pleased to do anything. I’m not given to chatter and gossip, and, as I’ve often told Becky, if she’d been more obedient to me, and not been so foolish as to talk to milkmen, she’d have been a happier girl. But I can’t help telling you what I heard master say this morning to himself, after he’d been giving me my orders: ‘Ah,’ he says, quite soft like, ‘if I had had a child like that!’ and of course, miss, he meant you.”

Speaking dramatically, this formed Sarah Plant’s exit, but Kate called her back.

“Would you mind and see that these two letters are posted? Have you any stamps?”

“There’s lots, ma’am, in that little stand,” said the woman, pointing to the table; and a couple being affixed the woman took the letters out with her.

About half an hour later Garstang entered, smiling pleasantly, and offering his arm.

“Dinner is waiting,” he said, and he led his guest into the dining-room, where over a well-served meal, with everything in the best of taste, he laid himself out to increase the feeling of confidence he saw growing in Kate’s eyes.

His conversation was clever, if not brilliant; he showed that he had an amply stored mind, and his bearing was full of chivalrous respect; while feeling more at rest, Kate felt drawn to him, and the magnitude of her step grew less in her troubled eyes.

The dinner was at an end, and they were seated over the dessert, Garstang sipping most temperately at his one glass of claret from time to time, and for some minutes there had been silence, during which he had been gazing thoughtfully at the girl.

“The most pleasant meal I have had for years,” he said suddenly, “and I feel loath to break the charm, but it is time for the lady of the house to rise. Will you make the curiosity place the drawing-room, and when the tea has been brought up, send for me? I shall be longing to come, for I enjoy so little of the simple domestic.”

Sarah Plant’s words came to Kate’s mind, “Ah, if I had had a child like that!” and the feeling of rest and confidence still grew, as Garstang rose and crossed the room to open the door for her.

“By the way, there is one little thing, my dear child,” he said gravely.

Kate started, and her hand went to her breast.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said, smiling, “a mere trifle in your interest. You are rapidly getting over the shock caused by the troubles of the past twenty-four hours or so, but you are not in a condition to bear more.”

“My uncle!” cried Kate, excitedly.

“Exactly,” said Garstang firmly. “You see, the very mention of trouble sends the blood rushing to your heart. Those letters that were lying on the hall table ready for posting: is it wise to send them and bring him here post haste, with his gentlemanly son? Yes, I know neither is to him, but he would know where you were as soon as he saw your letter in the bag.”

“Mr Garstang, you do not think he would dare to open a letter addressed to my maid?”

“Yes,” said Garstang, quietly; “unfortunately I do.”

Chapter Twenty Seven

Claud Wilton took to the search for his cousin with the greater eagerness that he found it much more pleasant to be where he was not likely to come in contact with Pierce Leigh, for there was something about that gentleman’s manner which he did not like. He knew of his ability in mending bones, for he had become aware of what was done when one labourer fell off a haystack, and when another went to sleep when riding on the shafts of a wagon, dived under the wheels, and had both his legs broken; but all this was suggestive of his ability to break bones as well, and recalling a horse-whipping, received in the hunting field, from the brother of a young lady to whom he had been too polite, he scrupulously avoided running further risks. Consequently, after the unpleasant interruption of his meeting with Jenny Leigh, he lost no time in getting up to town, being pretty well supplied with money by his father, who was to follow next day.

“I’m short of cash, my boy,” said Wilton; “but this is a case in which we must not spare expense.”

“Go to Scotland Yard, and set the detectives to work?”

“In heaven’s name no, boy! We must be our own detectives, and hunt them out. Curse the young scoundrel. I might have known he would be after no good. An infernal poacher on our preserves, boy.”

“Yes, guv’nor; and he has got clear off with the game.”

“Then you must run him down, and when you have found out where he is, communicate with me; I must be there at the meeting.”

“What? Lose time like that! No, guv’nor; I’ll half kill him – hang me if I don’t.”

“No, no! I know you feel ready to – a villain – but that won’t do. You’ll only frighten the poor girl more, and she’ll cling to him instead of coming away with you.”

“But, guv’nor – ”

“Don’t hesitate, boy; I tell you I’m right. Let’s get Kate away from him, and then you may break every bone in his skin if you like.”

“But I want to give him a lesson at once.”

“Yes, of course you do – but Kate and her fortune, my boy. Once you’re on the scent, telegraph to me. I’ll come and stay at Day’s, in Surrey Street.”

“Suppose they’re gone abroad, guv’nor?”

“Well, follow them – all round the world if it’s necessary. By the way, you’ve always been very thick with Harry; now, between men of the world, has there ever been any affair going on? You know what I mean.”

“Lots, dad.”

“Ah! – Ever married either of them?”

“Not he.”

“That’s a pity,” said Wilton, “because it would have made matters so easy. Well, there, be off. The dog-cart’s at the door.”

Claud slapped his pocket, started for the station, and went up to stay at a bigger hotel than the quiet little place affected by his father; and about twelve o’clock the next day he presented himself at Garstang’s office, where Barlow, the old clerk, was busy answering letters for his employer to sign.

“Morning, Barlow,” said Claud, “Mr Harry in his room?”

“Mr Harry, sir? No, sir. I thought he was down with you, shooting and hunting.”

“Eh? Did he say that he was going down to Northwood?”

“Well, dear me! Really, Mr Claud Wilton, sir, I can’t be sure. I think I did hear him say something about Northwood; but whether it was that he was going there or had come back from there I really am not sure. Many pheasants this season?”

“Oh, never mind the pheasants,” cried Claud, impatiently. “When was that?”

“Dear me now,” said the man, thoughtfully; “now when was that – Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday – ?”

“Thursday, Friday, Saturday,” cried Claud, impatiently. “What a dawdling old buffer you are! Come, when was it: you must know?”

“Really, sir, I can’t be sure.”

“Was it this week?”

“I shouldn’t like to say, sir.”

“Well, last week then?”

“It might have been, sir.”

“Yah!” growled Claud. “Think he’s down at Chislehurst?”

“He may be, sir.”

“Yes, and he may be at Jericho.”

“Yes, sir; but you’ll excuse me, there was a knock.”

The clerk shuffled off his stool, and went to the door to admit a fresh visitor in the person of Wilton pere.

“Ah, Claud, my boy! You here?”

“Yes, father, I’m here; just come,” said the young man, sulkily.

“Well, found them?”

“Do I look as if I had found them, dad? No.”

“Tut-tut-tut!” ejaculated Wilton, who looked pale and worn with anxiety. “Mr Garstang in, Mr Barlow?”

“Yes, sir,” said the clerk; “shall I say you are here?”

“Ye-es,” said Wilton. “Take in my card, and say that I shall be obliged if he will give me an interview.”

The old clerk bowed, and left the outer office for the inner, while Wilton turned to his son, to say hastily, “You may as well come in with me as you are here.”

“Thanks, no; much obliged. What made you come here? You don’t think he’s likely to know?”

“Yes, I do,” said Wilton, in a low voice. “I believe young Harry’s carried her off, and that he’s backing him up. You must come in with me: we must work together.”

“Mr Garstang will see you, gentlemen,” said the old clerk, entering.

“Gentlemen!” muttered Claud angrily, to his father.

“Yes, don’t leave me in the lurch, my boy,” whispered Wilton; and Claud noted a tremor in his father’s voice, and saw that he looked nervous and troubled.

Wilton made way for his son to pass in first, the young man drew back for his father, and matters were compromised by their entering together, Garstang, who looked perfectly calm, rising to motion them to seats, which they took; and then there was silence for a few moments, during which Claud sat tapping his teeth with the ivory handle of the stick he carried, keeping his eyes fixed the while upon his father, who seemed in doubt how to begin.

“May I ask why I am favoured with this visit, gentlemen?” said Garstang, at last.

This started Wilton, who coughed, pulled himself together, and looking the speaker fully in the face, said sharply,

“We came, Mr John Garstang, because we supposed that we should be expected.”

“Expected?” said Garstang, turning a little more round from his table, and passing one shapely leg over the other, so that he could grasp his ankle with both hands. “Well, I will be frank with you, James Wilton; there were moments when I did think it possible that you might come; I will not say to apologise, but to consult with me about that poor girl’s future. How is she?”

Father and son exchanged glances, the former being evidently taken a little aback.

“Well,” said Garstang, without pausing for an answer to this question; “I am glad you have come in a friendly spirit; I shall be pleased to meet you in the same way, so pray speak out. Let us have no fencing. Tell me what you propose to do.”

Wilton coughed again, and looked at his son.

“You must see,” said Garstang firmly, “that a fresh arrangement ought to be made at once. Under the circumstances she cannot stay at Northwood, and I will own that I am not prepared to suggest any relative of her father who seems suitable for the purpose. The large fortune which the poor child will inherit naturally acts as a bait, and there must be no risk of the poor girl being exposed to the pertinacious advances of every thoughtless boy who wishes to handle her money.”

“I say, look here,” cried Claud, “if you want to pick a quarrel, say so, and I’ll go.”