Cursed by a Fortune

Chapter Ten

“I say, guv’nor, when’s old Garstang going?”

“Oh, very soon, now, boy,” said James Wilton testily.

“But you said that a week ago, and he seems to be settling down as if the place belonged to him.”

The father uttered a deep, long-drawn sigh.

“It’s no use for you to snort, dad; that doesn’t do any good. Why don’t you tell him to be off?”

“No, no; impossible; and mind what you are about; be civil to him.”

“Well, I am. Can’t help it; he’s so jolly smooth with a fellow, and has such good cigars – I say, guv’nor, rather different to your seventeen-and-six-penny boxes of weeds. I wouldn’t mind, only he’s in the way so. Puts a stop to, you know what. I never get a chance with her alone; here are you two shut up all the morning over the parchments, and she don’t come down; and when she does he carries me off with him. Then at night you’re all there.”

“Never mind! he will soon go now; we have nearly done.”

“I’m jolly glad of it. I’ve been thinking that if it’s going on much longer I’d better do without the four greys.”

“Eh?”

“Oh, you know, guv’nor; toddle off to Gretna Green, or wherever they do the business, and get it over.”

“No, no, no, no. There must be no nonsense, my boy,” said Wilton, uneasily. “Don’t do anything rash.”

“Oh, no, I won’t do anything rash,” said Claud, with an unpleasant grin; “only one must make one’s hay when the sun shines, guv’nor.”

“There’s one thing about his visit,” said Wilton hurriedly; “it has done her a great deal of good; she isn’t like the same girl.”

“No; she has come out jolly. Makes it a little more bearable.”

“Eh, what, sir? – bearable?”

“Yes. Fellow wants the prospect of some sugar or jam afterwards, to take such a sickly dose as she promised to be.”

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense. But – er – mind what you’re about; nothing rash.”

“I’ve got my head screwed on right, guv’nor. I can manage a girl. I say, though, she has quite taken to old Garstang; he has got such a way with him. He can be wonderfully jolly when he likes.”

“Yes, wonderfully,” said Wilton, with a groan.

“You’ve no idea how he can go when we’re out. He’s full of capital stories, and as larky when we’re fishing or shooting as if he were only as old as I am. Ever seen him jump?”

“What, run and jump?”

“Yah! When he is mounted. He rides splendidly. Took Brown Charley over hedge after hedge yesterday like a bird. Understands a horse as well as I do. I like him, and we get on swimming together; but we don’t want him here now.”

“Well, well, it won’t be long before he has gone,” said Wilton, hurrying some papers away over which he and Garstang had been busy all the morning. “Where are you going this afternoon?”

“Ride. He wants to see the Cross Green farm.”

“Eh?” said Wilton, looking up sharply, and with an anxious gleam in his eyes. “Did he say that?”

“Yes; and we’re off directly after lunch. I say, though, what was that letter about?”

“What letter?” said Wilton, starting nervously.

“Oh, I say; don’t jump as if you thought the bailiffs were coming in. I meant the one brought over from the station half-an-hour ago.”

“I had no letter.”

“Sam said one came. It must have been for old Garstang then.”

“Am I intruding? Business?” said Garstang, suddenly appearing at the door.

“Eh? No; come in. We were only talking about ordinary things. Sit down. Lunch must be nearly due. Want to speak to me?”

All this in a nervous, hurried way.

“Never mind lunch,” said Garstang quietly; “I want you to oblige me, my dear James, by ordering that brown horse round.”

Wilton uttered a sigh of relief, and his face, which had been turning ghastly, slowly resumed its natural tint.

“But I understood from Claud here that you were both going out after lunch.”

“I’ve had a particular letter sent down in a packet, and I must ride over and telegraph back at some length.”

“We’ll send Tom over for you,” said Claud; and then he felt as if he would have given anything to withdraw the words.

“It’s very good of you,” said Garstang, smiling pleasantly, “but the business is important. Oblige me by ordering the horse at once.”

“Oh, I’ll run round. Have Brown Charley here in five minutes.”

“Thank you, Claud; and perhaps you’ll give me a glass of sherry and a biscuit, James?”

“Yes, yes, of course; but you’ll be back to dinner?”

“Of course. We must finish what we are about.”

“Yes, we must finish what we are about,” said Wilton, with a dismal look; and he rang the bell, just as Claud passed the window on the way to the stables.

A quarter of an hour later Garstang was cantering down the avenue, just as the lunch-bell was ringing; and Claud winked at his father as they crossed to the drawing-room, where his mother and Kate were seated, and chuckled to himself as he thought of the long afternoon he meant to have.

“Oh, I say, guv’nor, it’s my turn now,” he cried, as Wilton crossed smiling to his niece, and offered her his arm.

“All in good time, my boy; all in good time. You bring in your mother. I don’t see why I’m always to be left in the background. Come along, Kate, my dear; you must have me to-day.”

“Why, where is John Garstang?” cried Mrs Wilton.

“Off on the horse, mother,” said Claud, with a grin. “Gone over to the station to wire.”

“Gone without saying good-bye?”

“Oh, he’s coming back again, mother; but we can do without him for once in the way. I say, Kate, I want you to give me this afternoon for that lesson in riding.”

“Riding, my dear?”

“Yes, mother, riding. I’m going to give Kitty some lessons on the little mare.”

“No, no; not this afternoon,” said the girl nervously, as they entered the dining-room.

“Yes, this afternoon. You’ve got to make the plunge, and the sooner you do it the better.”

“Thank you; you’re very good, but I was going to read to aunt.”

“Oh, never mind me, my dear; you go with Claud. It’s going to be a lovely afternoon.”

“I should prefer not to begin yet,” said Kate, decisively.

“Get out,” cried Claud. “What a girl you are. You’ll come.”

“I’m sure Claud will take the greatest care of you, my darling.”

“Yes, aunt, I am sure he would; but the lessons must wait for a while.”

“All right, Kitty. Come for a drive, then. I’ll take you a good round.”

“I should prefer to stay at home this afternoon, Claud.”

“Very well, then, we’ll go on the big pond, and I’ll teach you how to troll.”

She turned to speak to her uncle, to conceal her annoyance, but Claud persevered.

“You will come, won’t you?” he said.

“Don’t worry your cousin, Claud, my dear, if she would rather not,” said Mrs Wilton.

“Who’s worrying her?” said Claud, testily. “I say, Kate, say you’ll come.”

“I would rather not to-day,” she said, quietly.

“There now, you’re beginning to mope again, and I mean to stop it. I tell you what; we’ll have out the guns, and I’ll take you along by the fir plantation.”

“No, no, my boy,” said Wilton, interposing. “Kate isn’t a boy.”

“Who said she was?” said the young man, gruffly. “Can’t a woman pull a trigger if she likes?”

“I daresay she could, my dear,” said Mrs Wilton; “but I’m sure I shouldn’t like to. I’ve often heard your papa say how badly guns kicked.”

“So do donkeys, mother,” said Claud, sulkily; “but I shouldn’t put her on one that did. You’ll come, won’t you, dear?”

“No, Claud,” said Kate, very quietly and firmly. “I could not find any pleasure in trying to destroy the life of a beautiful bird.”

“Ha, ha! I say, we are nice. Don’t you eat any pheasant at dinner, then. There’s a brace for to-night. Old Garstang shot ’em – a cruel wretch.”

Kate looked at him indignantly, and then began conversing with her uncle, while her cousin relapsed into sulky silence, and began to eat as if he were preparing for a famine to come, his mother shaking her head at him reproachfully every time she caught his eye.

The lunch at an end, Kate took her uncle’s arm and went out into the veranda with him for a few minutes as the sun was shining, and as soon as they were out of hearing Claud turned fiercely upon his mother.

“What were you shaking your head at me like that for?” he cried. “You looked like some jolly old Chinese figure.”

“For shame, my dear. Don’t talk to me like that, or I shall be very, very cross with you. And look here, Claud, you mustn’t be rough with your cousin. Girls don’t like it.”

“Oh, don’t they? Deal you know about it.”

“And there’s another thing I want to say to you. If you want to win her you must not be so attentive to that Miss Leigh.”

“Who’s attentive to Miss Leigh?” said the young man, savagely.

“You are, my dear; you quite flirted with her when she was here with her brother last night, and I heard from one of the servants that you were seen talking to her in Lower Lane on Monday.”

“Then it was a lie,” he cried, sharply. “Tell ’em to mind their own business. Now, look here, mother, you want me to marry Katey, don’t you?”

“Of course, my dear.”

“Then you keep your tongue still and your eyes shut. The guv’nor ’ll be off directly, and you’ll be taking her into the drawing-room.”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Well, I’m not going out; I’m going to have it over with her this afternoon, so you slip off and leave me to my chance while there is one. I’m tired of waiting for old Garstang to be out of the way.”

“But I don’t think I ought to, my dear.”

“Then I do. Look here, she knows what’s coming, and that’s why she wouldn’t come out with me, you know. It’s all gammon, to lead me on. She means it. You know what girls are. I mean to strike while the iron’s hot.”

“But suppose – ”

“I shan’t suppose anything of the kind. She only pretends. We understand one another with our eyes. I know what girls are; and you give me my chance this afternoon, and she’s mine. She’s only holding off a bit, I tell you.”

“Perhaps you are right, my dear; but don’t hurt her feelings by being too premature.”

“Too gammon! You do what I say, and soon. I don’t want old Garstang back before we’ve got it all over. Keep dark; here they come.”

Kate entered with her uncle as soon as he had spoken, and Claud attacked her directly.

“Altered your mind?” he said.

“No, Claud; you must excuse me, please,” was the reply.

“All right. Off, father?”

“Yes, my boy. In about half an hour or so; I have two or three letters to write.”

“Two or three letters to write!” muttered the young man, as he went out into the veranda, to light his pipe, and keep on the watch for the coveted opportunity; “haven’t you any brains in your head?”

But James Wilton’s half-hour proved to be an hour, and when, after seeing him off, the son returned to the hall, he heard voices in the drawing-room, and gave a vicious snarl.

“Why the devil don’t she go?” he muttered.

There were steps the next moment, and he drew back into the dining-room to listen, the conversation telling him that his mother and cousin were going into the library to get some particular book.

There, to the young man’s great disgust, they stayed, and he waited for quite half an hour trying to control his temper, and devise some plan for trying to get his mother away.

At last she appeared, saying loudly as she looked back, “I shall be back directly, my dear,” and closed the door.

Claud appeared at once, and with a meaning smile at his mother, she crossed to the stairs, while as she ascended to her room the son went straight to the library and entered.

As he threw open the door he found himself face to face with his cousin, who, book in hand, was coming out of the room.

“Hallo!” he cried, with a peculiar laugh; “Where’s the old lady?”

“She has just gone to her room, Claud,” said Kate, quietly.

“Here, don’t be in such a hurry, little one,” he cried, pushing to the door. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said, quietly, though her heart was throbbing heavily; “I was going to take my book into the drawing-room.”

“Oh, bother the old books!” he cried, snatching hers away, and catching her by the wrist; “come and sit down; I want to talk to you.”

“You can talk to me in the drawing-room,” she said, trying hard to be firm.

“No, I can’t; it’s better here. I say, Kitty, when shall it be?”

“When shall what be?”

“Our wedding. You know.”

“Never,” she said, gravely, fixing her eyes upon his.

“What?” he cried. “What nonsense! You know how I love you. I do, ’pon my soul. I never saw anyone who took my fancy so before.”

“Do your mother and father know that you are talking to me in this mad way? – you, my own cousin?” she said, firmly.

“What do I care whether they do or no?” he said, with a laugh; “I’ve been weaned for a long time. I say, don’t hold me off; don’t play with a fellow like silly girls do. I love you ever so, and I’m always thinking about your beautiful eyes till I can’t sleep of a night. It’s quite right for you to hold me off for a bit, but there’s been enough of it, and I know you like me.”

“I have tried to like you as my cousin,” she said, gravely.

“That’ll do for a beginning,” he replied, laughingly; “but let’s get a little farther on now, I say. Kitty, you are beautiful, you know, and whenever I see you my heart goes pumping away tremendously. I can’t talk like some fellows do, but I can love a girl with the best of them, and I want you to pitch over all shilly-shally nonsense, and let’s go on now like engaged people.”

“You are talking at random and of what is unnatural and impossible. Please never to speak to me again like this, Claud; and now loose my wrist, and let me go.”

“Likely, when I’ve got you alone at last I say, don’t hold me off like this; it’s so silly.”

She made a brave effort to hide the alarm she felt; and with a sudden snatch she freed her wrist and darted across the room.

The flight of the hunted always gives courage to the hunter, and in this case he sprang after her, and the next minute had clasped her round the waist.

“Got you!” he said, laughingly; “no use to struggle; I’m twice as strong as you.”

“Claud! How dare you?” she cried, with her eyes flashing.

“’Cause I love you, darling.”

“Let go. It is an insult. It is a shame to me. Do you know what you are doing?”

“Yes; getting tighter hold of you, so as to kiss those pretty lips and cheeks and eyes – There, and there, and there!”

“If my uncle knew that you insulted me like this – ”

“Call him; he isn’t above two miles off.”

“Aunt – aunt!” cried the girl, excitedly, and with the hot, indignant tears rising to her eyes.

“Gone to lie down, while I have a good long loving talk with you, darling. Ah, it’s of no use to struggle. Don’t be so foolish. There, you’ve fought long enough. All girls do the same, because it is their nature to fool it. There! now I’m master; give me a nice, pretty, long kiss, little wifie-to-be. I say, Kitty, you are a beauty. Let’s be married soon. You don’t know how happy I shall make you.”

Half mad now with indignation and fear, she wrested herself once more free, and, scorning to call for help, she ran toward the fire place. But before she could reach the bell he struck her hand on one side, caught her closely now in his arms, and covered her face once more with kisses.

This time a loud cry escaped her as she struggled hard, to be conscious the next moment of some one rushing into the room, feeling herself dragged away, and as the word “Hound!” fell fiercely upon her ear there was the sound of a heavy blow, a scuffling noise, and a loud crash of breaking wood and glass.

Chapter Eleven

“My poor darling child! – Lie still, you miserable hound, or I’ll half strangle you.”

The words – tender and gentle as if it were a woman’s voice, fierce and loud as from an enraged man – seemed to come out of a thick mist in which Kate felt as if she were sick unto death. Then by degrees she grew conscious that she was being held tightly to the breast of of some one who was breathing hard from exertion, and tenderly stroking and smoothing her dishevelled hair.

The next moment there was a wild cry, and she recognised her aunt’s voice, as, giddy and exhausted, she clung to him who held her.

“What is it? What is it? Oh, Claud, my darling! Help, help, help! He’s killed him – killed.”

“Here, what’s the matter? Who called?” came from a little distance. Then from close at hand Kate heard her uncle’s voice through the mist. “What’s all this, Maria – John Garstang – Claud? Damn it all, can no one speak? – Kate, what is it?”

“This,” cried Garstang, sternly. “I came back just now, and hearing shrieks rushed in here, just in time to save this poor, weak, suffering child from the brutal insulting attack of that young ruffian.”

“He has killed him. James – he has killed him,” shrieked Mrs Wilton. “On, my poor dear darling boy!”

“Back, all of you. Be off,” roared Wilton, as half a dozen servants came crowding to the door, which he slammed in their faces, and turned the key. “Now, please let’s have the truth,” he cried, hotly. “Here, Kate, my dear; come to me.”

She made no reply, but Garstang felt her cling more closely to him.

“Will some one speak?” cried Wilton, again.

“The Doctor – send for the Doctor; he’s dead, he’s dead,” wailed Mrs Wilton, who was down upon her knees now, holding her son’s head in her lap; while save for a slight quiver of the muscles, indicative of an effort to keep his eyes closed, Claud made no sign.

“He is not dead,” said Garstang, coldly; “a knockdown blow would not kill a ruffian of his calibre.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Mrs Wilton, turning upon him now in her maternal fury; “he owns to it, he struck him down – my poor, poor boy. James, why don’t you send for the police at once? The cruelty – the horror of it! Kate, Kate, my dear, come away from the wretch at once.”

“Then you own that you struck him down?” cried Wilton, whose face was now black with a passion which made him send prudence to the winds, as he rose in revolt against one who had long been his master.

“Yes,” said Garstang, quietly, and without a trace of anger, though his tone was full of contempt; “I told you why.”

“Yes, and by what right did you interfere? Some foolish romping connected with a boy and girl love, I suppose. How dared you interfere?”

“Boy and girl love!” cried Garstang, scornfully, as he laid one hand upon Kate’s head and pressed it to his shoulder, where she nestled and hid her face. “Shame upon you both; it was scandalous!”

“Shame upon us? What do you mean, sir? What do you mean? – Will you come away from him, Kate?”

“I mean this,” said Garstang, with his arm firmly round the poor girl’s waist, “that you and your wife have failed utterly in your duties towards this poor suffering child.”

“It isn’t true,” cried Mrs Wilton. “We’ve treated her as if she were our own daughter; and my poor boy told me how he loved her, and he had only just come to talk to her for a bit. Oh, Claud, my darling! my precious boy!”

“Did I not tell you that your darling – your precious boy – was insulting her grievously? Shame upon you, woman,” cried Garstang. “It needed no words of mine to explain what had taken place. Your own woman’s nature ought to have revolted against such an outrage to the weak invalid placed by her poor father’s will in your care.”

“Don’t you speak to my wife like that!” cried Wilton, angrily.

“I will speak to your wife like that, and to you as well. I forbore to speak before: I had no right; but do you think I have been blind to the scandal going on here? The will gives you full charge of the poor child and her fortune, and what do I find when I come down? A dastardly cruel plot to ensnare her – to force on a union with an unmannerly, brutally coarse young ruffian, that he may – that you may, for your own needs and ends, lawfully gain possession of the fortune, to scatter to the winds.”

“It’s a lie – it’s a lie!” roared Wilton.

“It is the truth, sir. Your wife’s words just now confirmed what I had noted over and over again, till my very gorge rose at being compelled to accept the hospitality of such people, while I writhed at my own impotence, my helplessness when I wished to interfere. You know – she knows – how I have kept silence. Not one word of warning have I uttered to her. She must have seen and felt what was being hatched, but neither she nor I could have realised that the cowardly young ruffian lying there would have dared to insult a weak gentle girl whose very aspect claimed a man’s respect and protection. A lie? It is the truth, James Wilton.”

“Oh, my poor, poor boy!” wailed Mrs Wilton; “and I did beg and pray of you not to be too rash.”

“Will you hold your tongue, woman?” roared Wilton.

“Yes, for heaven’s sake be silent, madam,” cried Garstang; “there was no need for you to indorse my words, and lower yourself more in your poor niece’s eyes.”

“Look here,” cried Wilton, who was going to and fro beyond the library table, writhing under the lash of his solicitor’s tongue; “it’s all a bit of nonsense; the foolish fellow snatched a kiss, I suppose.”

“Snatched a kiss!” cried Garstang, scornfully. “Look at her: quivering with horror and indignation.”

“I won’t look at her. I won’t be talked to like this in my own house.”

“Your own house!” said Garstang, contemptuously.

“Yes, sir; mine till the law forces me to give it up. I won’t have it. It’s my house, and I won’t stand here and be bullied by any man.”