“Plesyaw!” answered the exquisite, turning once more to the table, and occupying himself with the decanter.
Kate obeyed the command with a look that expressed both reluctance and surprise. She was slightly awed, too; not so much by the words, as the severe glance that accompanied them. She made no reply, but sat gazing with a mystified air in the face of her father – who, hob-nobbing with his guest, affected not to notice her.
The pony and his rider were no longer visible: as they were now too close to the house to be seen over the sill of the window; but the clattering hoofs could be heard, the sounds coming nearer and nearer.
Mr Vaughan was endeavouring to appear collected, and to say something; but his sang froid was assumed and unnatural; and being unable to keep up the conversation, an ominous silence succeeded.
The sound of the hoofs ceased to be heard. The pony, having arrived under the windows, had been brought to a halt.
Then there were voices – earnest and rather loud. They were succeeded by the noise of footsteps on the stone stairway. Someone was coming up the steps.
Mr Vaughan looked aghast. All his fine plans were about to be frustrated. There was a hitch in the programme – Quashie had failed in the performance of his part.
“Aha!” ejaculated the planter, with returning delight, as the smooth, trim countenance of his overseer made its appearance above the landing. “Mr Trusty wishes to speak with me. Your pardon, Mr Smythje – only for one moment.”
Mr Vaughan rose from his seat, and hastened, as if wishing to meet the overseer, before the latter could enter the room. Trusty, however, had already stepped inside the doorway; and, not being much of a diplomatist, had bluntly declared his errand – in sotto voce, it is true, but still not low enough to hinder a part of his communication from being heard. Among other words, the phrase “your nephew” reached the ears of Kate – at that moment keenly bent to catch every sound.
The reply was also partially heard, though delivered in a low and apparently tremulous voice: – “Show him – summer-house – garden – tell him to wait – there presently.”
Mr Vaughan turned back to the table with a half-satisfied air. He was fancying that he had escaped from his dilemma, at least, for the time; but the expression which he perceived on the countenance of his daughter restored his suspicions that all was not right.
Scarce a second was he left in doubt, for almost on the instant, Kate cried out, in a tone of pleased surprise, —
“Oh, papa, what do I hear? Did not Mr Trusty say something about ‘your nephew’? After all, has cousin come? Is it he who – ”
“Kate, my child,” quickly interrupted her father, and appearing not to have understood her interrogatory, “you may retire to your room. Mr Smythje and I would like to have our cigar; and the smoke of tobacco don’t agree with you. Go, child – go!”
The young girl instantly rose from her chair, and hastened to obey the command – notwithstanding the protestations of Mr Smythje, who looked as if he would have much preferred her company to the cigar.
But her father hurriedly repeated the “Go, child – go!” accompanying the words with another of those severe glances which had already awed and mystified her.
Before she had passed fairly out of the great hall, however, her thoughts reverted to the unanswered interrogatory; and as she crossed the threshold of her chamber, she was heard muttering to herself:
“I wonder if cousin be come!”
Volume One – Chapter Sixteen
The Kiosk
A portion of the level platform, on which Mount Welcome was built, extended to the rear of the dwelling; and was occupied, as already described, by a garden filled with rare and beautiful plants. Near the midst of this garden, and about a dozen paces from the house, stood a small detached building – a summer-house – the materials of which were ornamental woods of various kinds, all natives of the island, famed for such products. The pieces composing this summer-house, or “kiosk,” as it was habitually called, had all been cut and carved with skilful care; and the whole structure had been designed as a representation of a miniature temple, with a cupola upon its top, surmounted by a gilded and glittering vane.
Inside there were neither stairs nor partitions – the whole space being taken up by a single apartment. There were no glass windows: but all around, the walls were open, or closed only with Venetian blinds, the laths of which were of the finest mahogany. A Chinese mat covered the floor, and a rustic table of bamboo cane pieces, with some half-dozen chairs of like manufacture, constituted the principal part of the furniture.
On the aforesaid table stood an inkstand of silver, elaborately chased, with plume pens pertaining to it. Some writing-paper lay beside it; and on a silver tray there were wafers, red sealing-wax, and a signet seal. An escritoire stood on one side; and two or three dozen volumes placed upon the top of this – with a like number thrown carelessly on chairs – formed the library of Mount Welcome.
Some magazines and journals lay upon the centre-table, and a box of best Havannahs – open and half used – showed that the summer-house served occasionally for a smoking-room.
It was sometimes styled the “Library,” though its purposes were many. Mr Vaughan, at times, used it for the reception of visitors – such as might have come upon errands of business – such, in short, as were not deemed worthy of being introduced to the company of the grand hall.
Just at the moment when Kate Vaughan quitted the dinner-table, a young man was shown into this detached apartment, Mr Trusty, the overseer, acting as his chaperon.
It is not necessary to say that this young man was Herbert Vaughan.
How he came to be conducted thither is easily explained. On learning from Quashie the destination designed for him – aggrieved and angry at the revelation – he had hurried in hot haste up to the house. To Mr Trusty, who was keeping guard at the bottom of the stairway, he had announced his relationship with Mr Vaughan, and demanded an interview – making his requisition in such energetic terms as to disturb the habitual sang froid of the overseer, and compel him to the instantaneous delivery of his message.
Indeed, so indignant did Herbert feel, that he would have mounted the steps and entered the house without further parley, had not Mr Trusty put forth his blandest entreaties to prevent such a terrible catastrophe.
“Patience, my good sir!” urged the overseer, interposing himself between the new comer and the stairway; “Mr Vaughan will see you, presently – not just this moment; he is engaged – company with him. The family’s at dinner.”
So far from soothing the chafed spirit of the young man, the announcement was only a new mortification. At dinner, and with company – the cabin-passenger, of course – the ward – not even a relative – while he, the nephew – no dinner for him!
In truth, Herbert recognised in this incident a fresh outrage.
With an effort, he gave up the idea of ascending the stairs. Poor though he was, he was nevertheless a gentleman; and good breeding stepped in to restrain him from this unbidden intrusion: though more than ever did he feel convinced that an insult was put upon him, and one that almost appeared premeditated.
He stood balancing in his mind whether he should turn upon his heel, and depart from his uncle’s house without entering it. A feather would have brought down the scale. The feather fell on the negative side, and decided him to remain.
On being conducted into the summer-house and left to himself, he showed no wish to be seated; but paced the little apartment backward and forward in a state of nervous agitation.
He took but slight heed of aught that was there. He was in no mood for minutely observing – though he could not help noticing the luxurious elegance that surrounded him: the grandeur of the great house itself; the splendid parterres