Читать книгу Playing with Fire - James Grant - Страница 8

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Next morning when Hester, in the most becoming of matutinal costumes, pale rose colour, which so suited her dark hair and complexion, was presiding over the breakfast table, and Sir Harry was about to dip into his newspapers, selecting a letter from a few that lay beside her plate, she said:

'Papa, I have a little surprise for you—a letter from Annot Drummond, my cousin; she comes here to-night en route to Earlshaugh, invited by Maud, your sister,' she added to Roland; 'by this time she will be leaving London at Euston.'

'"London, that maelstrom of mud and mannikins," as it has perhaps been unjustly stigmatized by George Gilfillan,' said Sir Harry, laughing, 'and she is to be here to-night—that is sudden.'

'But Annot was always a creature of impulse, papa!'

'So some think,' said her father; 'but to me her impulses always seemed to come by fits and starts. However, I shall be delighted to see the dear child.'

'The "dear child" is now nearly eighteen, papa.'

'Heavens—how time runs on!—eighteen—yes.'

'And she and I are to go to Earlshaugh together in October—that is if you can spare me, papa,' added Hester, colouring, and keeping the silver urn between herself and Roland.

'Excellent; I shall make up a little party for the covert shooting, to entertain Skene of Dunnimarle, Jack Elliot of ours, and one or two more, if I can,' said the latter. 'I have been so long away from Earlshaugh; but doubtless dear little Maud and the—the stepmother——'

Sir Harry's brow clouded at the name, and Roland paused.

'You did not see Annot when in London?' said Hester.

'No—I had no time—she lived in a part of South Belgravia, rather out of my wanderings,' replied Roland.

'She is a very attractive girl, gentlemen think.'

'Ah,' was the brief response of Roland, intent more on his breakfast than the attractions of Annot Drummond, who was the only child of Sir Harry's favourite sister, a widow, whose slender circumstances compelled her to reside in a small and dull old-fashioned house of the last century in that locality which lies on the borderland of fashionable London, where the narrow windows, the doorways with huge knockers, quaint half-circular fanlights, and link extinguishers in the railings, tell of the days when George III. was King.

'She complains, Roland, that you did not call on her, in passing through London. Poor Annot,' said Hester.

'Our, or rather your, little Cockney cousin, who no doubt loves her love with an A, because he is 'andsome,' laughed Roland.

'How can you mock Annot?' said Hester; 'she is a very accomplished girl—and lovely too—at least all men say so.'

'And you, cousin Hester?'

'I quite agree with them.' Hester was a sincere admirer of beauty, and—perhaps owing to her own great attractions—was alike noble and frank in admitting those of others. 'Her photo is in the album on that side table.'

Roland was not interested enough in the matter even to examine it.

'You will be sure to admire her,' added Hester with an arch and even loving smile as she thought of last night and the jewel that had been clasped about her neck.

'Admire her—perhaps; but nothing more, I am sure,' replied Roland, while Hester's colour deepened, and her smile brightened, though her long lashes drooped. He gave her covertly one of his fond glances, which to the girl's loving eyes seemed to spread a glory over his dark face, and a close hand-clasp followed, unseen by Sir Harry, who was already absorbed in the news from Egypt; but coyly and shyly—she could scarcely have told why—all that day she gave him no opportunity of recurring to the episode of the preceding evening, or resuming the thread of that sweet story which her father had so unwittingly interrupted.

Since that minute of time, and its intended and most probable finale, what had been Roland Lindsay's secret thoughts? They were many; but through all and above all had been a home such as he could make even of gloomy and embattled Earlshaugh, if brightened by Hester's sweet face, her alluring eyes and smile; with its echoes wakened by her happy ringing voice, free from every note of care as those of the merles in the wood around her father's house.

But withal came emotions of doubt and anger, as he thought of his father's will, his own supposed false position thereby, and how the future would develop itself.

Though old, and being so, he might be disposed to take gloomy views of these doubts, that cheery veteran Sir Harry saw little or nothing of them, and had but one thought while he limped along the river's bank, enjoying his cheroot under the shady and overarching trees that cast their shadows on the brawling Esk, that his nephew Roland was the one man in all the world with whom he could fearlessly trust the happiness of his daughter; and lovingly and fondly, with most pardonable selfishness, the old man pondered over this; and thus it was that the hopeful thoughts referred to in the preceding chapter were ever recurring to him and wreathing his wrinkled face with smiles, especially after he had seen the beautiful necklet, which Hester had duly shown him, clasped round her snowy throat. He loved to see them together, and to hear them singing together at the piano or in the garden, as if their hearts were like those of the merle and mavis, so blithe, content, and happy they seemed, as when they were boy and girl in the pleasant past time, when she wore short frocks and little aprons, the pockets of which were always full of Roland's boyish presents—sometimes the plunder of neighbours' fruit trees. While to Roland the revived memory or vision of a bright little girl with a tangled mass of curls, who was often petulant, and then would confess her tiny faults as she sobbed on his shoulder, till absolved by a kiss, was ever before him; and now they could linger, while 'dropping at times into that utterly restful silence which only those can enjoy who understand each other well; and perhaps, indeed, only those who love each other dearly.'

But this day was an active one with Hester. She chose rooms for her coming cousin, relinquishing for a time those slippers of dark blue embroidery on buff leather with which she was busy for Roland. Vases of fresh flowers, selected and sorted with loving hands, were placed in all available points to decorate the sleeping and dressing rooms of Annot Drummond; draped back, the laced curtains of the windows displayed the lovely valley of the Esk, up which the river, as it flowed eastward, softly murmured; Kevock-bank and the wooded Kirkbrae on the north; the slope of Polton on the south; Lasswade, with its quaint bridge, in the middle distance, and Eldin woods beyond—a sweet and sylvan view on which Hester was never weary of gazing.

Thus with her passed most of the day; how it was spent she scarcely knew; then evening came, and she and Sir Harry drove into town to meet their expected visitor; and Roland never knew how much he missed her till he was left to his own thoughts—to the inevitable cheroot, and after despatching his letters to Malcolm Skene, to Jack Elliot 'of ours,' and others, to vary his time between lounging in the hammock between the shady trees and tossing pebbles into the Esk.

At last, after the shadows had deepened in the glen and dusk had completely closed in, the sound of carriage wheels, with the opening and banging to of doors, announced the arrival of Annot Drummond, accompanied by her uncle and cousin; and Roland assisted them to alight. For a moment the tightly gloved and childlike hand of Miss Drummond rested in his, and her eyes, the precise colour of which he could not determine, but which seemed light and sparkling, met his own with an expression of confidence and inquiry. He had simply a vague idea of sunny eyes and waving golden hair. The rest was undiscoverable.

'Roland, I suppose,' she exclaimed, laughing, adding, 'I beg your pardon, Captain Lindsay—but I have heard so much of you from dearest Hester.'

'Roland he is, my dear girl, and now welcome to Merlwood—welcome for your mother's sake and your own!' exclaimed Sir Harry, as he turned to give some orders about the luggage, and Annot, accompanied by Hester, who towered above her by a head, tripped indoors, with a nod and a smile to the old housekeeper and other servants, all of whom she knew. She seemed, indeed, a bright, fairy and airy-like little creature, in the most becoming of travelling costumes and most piquant of hats.

'She seems quite a child yet, by Jove!' said Sir Harry, looking after the petite creature, as she hurried to her room to change her dress, and imbibe the inevitable cup of tea brought by the motherly old housekeeper.