“I hate the custom,” said Audrey. “It belongs to the Middle Ages; it ought to be exploded.”
“What! and allow the people to go hungry?”
“Those who are likely to go hungry,” continued Audrey, “might have money given to them. We do not want all the small squires everywhere round to come and feed at the Castle.”
“But the small squires like it, and so do the poor people, and so do I,” said Squire Wynford; and now he frowned very slightly, and Audrey gave another sigh.
“We must agree to differ, dad,” she said.
“I am afraid so, my dear. Well, and how are you, my pet? I have not seen you until now. Very happy at the thought of your cousin’s arrival?”
“No, dad, scarcely happy, but excited all the same. Are not you a little, wee bit excited too, father? It seems so strange her coming all the way from Tasmania to take possession of her estates. I wonder – I do wonder – what she will be like.”
“She takes possession of no estates while I live,” said the Squire, “but she is the next heiress.”
“And you are sorry it is not I; are you not, father?”
“I don’t think of it,” said the Squire. “No,” he added thoughtfully a moment later, “that is not the case. I do think of it. You are better off without the responsibility; you would never be suited to a great estate of this sort. Evelyn may be different. Anyhow, when the time comes it is her appointed work. Now, my dear” – he took out his watch – “your cousin will arrive in a moment. Your mother has gone to meet her. Do you intend to welcome her here or in one of the sitting-rooms?”
“I will stay in the hall, of course,” said Audrey a little fretfully.
“I will leave you, then, my love. I have neglected a sheaf of correspondence, and would like to look through my letters before dinner.”
The Squire moved away, walking slowly. He pushed aside some heavy curtains and vanished. Audrey still stood by the fire. Presently a restless fit seized her, and she too flitted up the winding white marble stairs and disappeared down a long corridor. She entered a pretty room daintily furnished in blue and silver. A large log fire burned in the grate; electric light shed its soft gleams over the furniture; there was a bouquet of flowers and a little pot of ivy on a small table, also a bookcase full of gaily-bound story-books. Nothing had been neglected, even to the big old Bible and the old-fashioned prayer-book.
“I wonder how she will like it,” thought Audrey. “This is one of the prettiest rooms in the house. Mother said she must have it. I wonder if she will like it, and if I shall like her. Oh, and here is her dressing-room, and here is a little boudoir where she may sit and amuse herself and shut us out if she chooses. Lucky Evelyn! How strange it all seems! For the first time I begin to appreciate my darling, beloved home. Why should it pass away from me to her? Oh, of course I am not jealous; I would not be mean enough to entertain feelings of that sort, and – I hear the sound of wheels. She is coming; in a moment I shall see her. Oh, I do wonder – I do wonder! I wish Jenny were with me; I feel quite nervous.”
Audrey dashed out of the room, rushed down the winding stairs, and had just entered the hall when a footman pushed aside the heavy curtains, and Lady Frances Wynford, a handsome, stately-looking woman, entered, accompanied by a small girl.
The girl was dragging in a great pile of rugs and wraps. Her hat was askew on her head, her jacket untidy. She flung the rugs down in the center of a rich Turkey carpet; said, “There, that is a relief;” and then looked full at Audrey.
Audrey was a head and shoulders taller than the heiress, who had thin and somewhat wispy flaxen hair, and a white face with insignificant features. Her eyes, however, were steady, brown, large, and intelligent. She came up to Audrey at once.
“Don’t introduce me, please, Aunt Frances,” she said. “I know this is Audrey. – I am Evelyn. You hate me, don’t you?”
“No, I am sure I do not,” said Audrey.
“Well, I should if I were you. It would be much more interesting to be hated. So this is the place. It looks jolly, does it not? Aunt Frances, do you know where my maid is? I must have her – I must have her at once. Please tell Jasper to come here,” continued the girl, turning to a man-servant who lingered in the background.
“Desire Miss Wynford’s maid to come into the hall,” said Lady Frances in an imperious tone; “and bring tea, Davis. Be quick.”
The man withdrew, and Evelyn, lifting her hand, took off her ugly felt hat and flung it on the pile of rugs and cushions.
“Don’t touch them, please,” she said as Audrey advanced. “That is Jasper’s work. – By the way, Aunt Frances, may Jasper sleep in my room? I have never slept alone, not since I was born, and I could not survive it. I want a little bed just the ditto of my own for Jasper. I cannot live without Jasper. May she sleep close to me, please, Aunt Frances? And, oh! I do hope and trust this house is not haunted. It does look eerie. I am terrified at the thought of ghosts. I know I shall not be a very pleasant inmate, and I am sorry for you all – and for you in special, Audrey. What a grand, keep-your-distance sort of air you have! But I am not going to be afraid of you. I do not forget that the place will belong to me some day. Hullo, Jasper!”
Evelyn flitted in a curious, elf-like way across the hall, and went up to a dark woman who stood just by the velvet curtain.
“Don’t be shy, Jasper,” she said. “You have nothing to be afraid of here. It is all very grand, I know; but then it is to be mine some day, and you are never to leave me – never. I was speaking to my aunt, Lady Frances, and you are to have your little bed near mine. See that it is arranged for to-night. And now, please, pick up these rugs and cushions and my old hat, and take them to my room. Don’t stare so, Jasper; do what I tell you.”
Jasper somewhat sullenly obeyed. She was as graceful and deft in all her actions as Evelyn was the reverse. Evelyn stood and watched her. When she went slowly up the marble stairs, the heiress turned with a laugh to her two companions.
“How you stare!” she said; and she looked full at Audrey. “Do you regard me as barbarian, or a wild beast, or what?”
“I am interested in you,” said Audrey in her low voice. “You are decidedly out of the common.”
“Come,” said Lady Frances, “we have no time for analyzing character just now. Audrey, take your cousin to her room, and then go yourself and get dressed for dinner.”
“Will you come, Evelyn?” said Audrey.
She crossed the hall, Evelyn following her slowly. Once or twice the heiress stopped to examine a mailed figure in armor, or an old picture on which the firelight cast a fitful gleam. She said, “How ugly! A queer old thing, that!” to the figure in armor, and she scowled up at the picture.
“You are not going to frighten me, you old scarecrow,” she said; and then she ran up-stairs by Audrey’s side.
“So this is what they call English grandeur!” she remarked. “Is not this house centuries old?”
“Parts of the house are,” answered Audrey.
“Is this part?”
“No; the hall and staircase were added about seventy years ago.”
“Is my room in the old part or the new part?”
“Your room is in what is called the medium part. It is a lovely room; you will be charmed with it.”
“I by no means know that I shall. But show it to me.”
Audrey walked a little quicker. She began to feel a curious sense of irritation, and knew that there was something about Evelyn which might under certain conditions try her temper very much. They reached the lovely blue-and-silver room, and Audrey flung open the door, expecting a cry of delight from Evelyn. But the heiress was not one to give herself away; she cast cool and critical eyes round the chamber.
“Dear, dear!” she