PHILIP’S SISTER.
‘Now, Phil, at last we have got you to ourselves—I thought we never
should do it. Oh, there is such a lot to say, I don’t know where to
begin!’
This was Maud’s exclamation as, after some skilful manœuvring, she
escaped with Tor into the twilight stillness of the quiet garden, where
in a secluded summer-house Mrs. Lorraine, the sweet-faced Aunt Olive,
was sitting as if waiting for them.
Tor had hardly heard the gentle voice of the widow in the confusion of
many tongues at the dinner-table, but her face had attracted him; and
when Maud pulled him forward, exclaiming: ‘Now, kiss Aunt Olive—kiss
her as often as you like, for she’s the sweetest, dearest aunt in all
the world!’ then Tor stepped forward and did her bidding willingly,
feeling wonderfully little ashamed of the deception he was practising
upon two confiding women, and growing marvellously contented with his
present position.
‘My dear Philip, my own poor Maud’s darling boy!’ murmured Aunt Olive
tenderly. ‘I can hardly believe you are the little Philip who went away
eighteen years ago. You were so like your father then, and your mother
too, and now I cannot see a trace of either.’
‘He is like nobody but himself, and I am glad of it!’ cried Maud,
leaning against his shoulder as he sat beside Aunt Olive, and caressing
his curly head. ‘He is just my own dear, darling Phil! Oh, Phil, we
will have good times now you have come back!’
‘We will so!’ answered Tor emphatically; ‘and if I find upon inquiry
that that precious uncle of ours has been making himself disagreeable
to you in my absence, I shall speak my mind to him candidly and freely.’
Aunt Olive clasped her wrinkled hands together and looked anxious.
Maud laughed triumphantly.
‘Oh, Phil, you can’t think what a comfort it is to hear somebody talk
like that; to feel that there is some one who dares speak out!’
‘Dares?’ he echoed, lifting his eyebrows. ‘Do you mean you are all
afraid of him?’
‘I think most people are,’ admitted Maud frankly. ‘And then there is
Aunt Celia, you know, and she is as bad every bit; and what with the
two of them, one feels quite helpless.’
‘You need not feel that any more,’ answered Tor, with a short laugh.
‘I’ll pretty soon settle the pair of them if they dare to annoy you any
more.’
‘Oh, Phil, you’re a real angel boy!’ cried Maud with enthusiasm. ‘Oh,
Aunt Olive, isn’t it splendid to hear him talk? You told me he would
not dare to defy Uncle Belassis. You said papa and mamma were timid,
and all the Debenhams, and that Phil would not be so bold; but you’re
quite wrong, aunty—quite wrong.’
‘Yes, my dear; I suppose travelling about the world does a great deal
to make people brave. And I am very glad dear Philip is not afraid of
your uncle, for I should not wonder—I mean, you know all the money
matters—I mean, well, what shall I say? You know, I think everything
ought to be looked into well; and your uncle, he does not like that
kind of thing very much.’
‘So my respected uncle is a scoundrel, is he?’ quoth Tor coolly. ‘That
is the plain English of what you were saying, is it not?’
‘Oh, my dear boy, you must not use such words!’ cried the little widow
nervously. ‘Suppose he were to hear!’
‘It’s my private opinion he will hear uncommonly soon,’ was the
careless reply. ‘What is there to be afraid of? I think I am equal to
the task of speaking my mind, if what you say is true.’
‘But, dear boy, I said nothing—I know nothing. I don’t understand
business, and your uncle is a lawyer, you know, and knows everything,’
replied Aunt Olive, with timid haste. ‘It may be all right; how can I
tell? I dare say everything is just as it should be. Only, of course,
it is always better that things should be looked into by somebody else
from time to time.’
Tor smiled a quiet assent, and did not pursue the subject further.
‘Oh, Phil!’ cried Maud, breaking in eagerly with a new subject, ‘you
will stay with us for good now that you’ve come home, won’t you? You
will live at Ladywell Manor—it is such a lovely old place! and you
_will_ let me live there with you, and Aunt Olive too, to keep house
for you and take care of you? Oh, do take us away from this horrid
house! You will, won’t you, Phil? like a dear, darling boy!’
‘My first step will be to establish you there as mistress of the house,
with Aunt Olive as your companion,’ answered Tor readily, knowing well
what would be Phil’s wishes on the subject. ‘You shall be lady of the
Manor, Maud, and the whole establishment will be under your sway; and
if anybody dares to interfere with you, or even to criticize you—just
let me know.’
‘But you will be there too, Phil,’ said Maud, whose face had first
expressed ecstatic delight, and then a momentary dismay. ‘You will
live at Ladywell yourself now?’
He laughed lightly, and gave his strong frame a little shake.
‘I shall be there a great deal, no doubt. Business is business, and
must be attended to. But you must remember the kind of life I have been
leading for the past ten years, little sister, and not expect me to jog
down into harness all in a moment. You must give me time, and let me
break myself gradually of my roving habits. No doubt in time I shall
settle down into a model country squire; but just at first you must not
be surprised if I come and go like the Flying Dutchman, a wanderer from
force of habit. But you may be quite sure that if you and Aunt Olive
are established at Ladywell Manor, my visits there will not be very few
nor far between.’
With that Maud had to be content, and indeed it was not difficult, for
the idea of becoming the reigning power in Ladywell Manor was in itself
like a dream of joy.
‘Oh, Phil, you are a darling! Shall I really be free from Uncle
Belassis and Aunt Celia? Shall I really be my own mistress? It seems
too good to be true!’
‘You shall be as fine a lady as you choose, and free from the whole
crew of them. I don’t think any of them will care to offend you then.’
Maud laughed a laugh of pure happiness.
‘It’s like a dream or a fairy-tale, isn’t it, Aunt Olive? Fancy us two
living in independence and luxury at Ladywell, and with only Phil to
bully us! Oh, Phil, it’s such a lovely old place! To-morrow I must take
you to see it. You will so like it. I do want to show it to you.’
‘To-morrow I expect I shall be given over to business and my respected
uncle. Why not take me there to-night, Maud? It’s as light as day, now
that the moon is up. It isn’t far, is it?’
‘Only a mile by the footpath through the park—two by the road. Oh, it
would be lovely to go to-night! It would look splendid by this light;’
and Maud clasped her hands round his arm closely. ‘But I don’t know if
Aunt Celia would let me go.’
Tor shrugged his shoulders, and laughed carelessly.
‘We won’t trouble to consult her as to our movements. Run and get your
hat, Maud. I’ll settle Aunt Celia when we get back.’
With a delightful sense of independence, not to say defiance, Maud ran
off to do his bidding.
‘My dear boy,’ said little Mrs. Lorraine, when her niece was gone, ‘you
must be careful with your sister. She is very high-spirited, and a very
little encouragement would make her rebel against all authority; and
your uncle and aunt are not used to being opposed.’
‘So it would appear,’ answered Tor. ‘It is an experience they have yet
to learn; and so far as I am able to judge, it will do them a world of
good to find they cannot have everything their own way.’
‘Well, Philip dear, I dare say you are quite right. People do get sadly
overbearing when there is nobody to oppose them; though I must not say
anything against your uncle, for he has been very kind to me.’
‘Kind!’ ejaculated Tor. ‘A queer sort of kindness, by all accounts.’
‘And family quarrels are sad things, dear boy, at best, and often lead
to much mischief, which nothing can cure.’
‘I will be cautious. I will do nothing rash,’ answered Tor, his
thoughts wandering to the Phil whose duties he had assumed. He saw
at once the danger of starting a quarrel, which he might be able to
sustain with success, but which might involve his more gentle-spirited
friend in much difficulty when he assumed the reins of government. ‘I
have no love of disputes. You may be sure I shall not embroil myself
needlessly.’
Mrs. Lorraine’s face put on a look of approval and relief.
‘You are a dear boy, Phil. You are like a tower of strength amongst us.’
Maud now came tripping back, begging Phil to make haste and escape
with her, because she fancied some of her cousins were coming in
search of them. Three minutes later they were beyond the precincts of
Thornton House; they had crossed the narrow lane that divided the two
properties, and had plunged into the deep shadows of the wooded park
which surrounded Ladywell Manor.
‘Now, Phil,’ cried Maud triumphantly, ‘you are standing on your own
ground—your very own! What does it feel like to be a landed proprietor?’
‘Makes one feel a foot and a half taller, at the least! What a lovely
night for a walk, Maud—the moonlight and the shadows and the dew upon
the grass! I don’t remember the Manor a bit, Maud. Were we often there
as children?’
‘No, hardly ever. We used to play in the park sometimes, but I don’t
know that we ever went to the house when we were little. Since we have
been grown up, we have been sometimes to call on old Uncle Maynard—I
and my cousins, I mean. I dare say you never were there at all.’
‘No? Well, I certainly don’t remember it. But old Maynard must have
been very proud of the place. I hear he has stipulated that not less
than a thousand a year is to be spent in keeping up the establishment
in the way in which he kept it up. I suppose he was afraid that my
roving habits would be too strong for me, and induce me to shut up the
house and leave it to decay. Any way, he has provided against any such
intention by his will; and whether or not I live there, the gardens
and the house will be kept up in style, horses in the stables and
servants about the place. You, Maud, as lady of the Manor, will reap
the advantage of the arrangement.’
Tor had been informed by his uncle, at dessert, of this proviso in the
will, and he had been much relieved to hear of it. It lessened the
uncomfortable sense of responsibility which haunted him at times, when
the disposal of Phil’s property was under discussion, and made his way
plain in many ways.
Walking in the moonlight, with Maud for his companion, was a very
pleasant occupation for Tor. He felt a very warm admiration for Phil’s
pretty, lively sister; and her affection towards himself was certainly
most agreeable, none the less so from its being unmerited. So far as
Maud was concerned, Tor enjoyed the situation vastly. He liked being
made the recipient of sisterly confidences, and he felt that during the
first struggle for emancipation, which would have to be fought before
she quite escaped from the sway of her uncle and aunt, he would make a
far better champion in her defence than would the real brother.
So they walked on together in the moonlight, laughing and chattering,
until they suddenly emerged from the shelter of the trees, and saw the
great house before them, its many large mullioned windows gleaming in
the soft radiance of the full moon.
It was a handsome red-brick structure, with a wide terrace running
round three sides of it. The fourth, where the servants’ offices lay,
was shut off from view by a high wall, now overgrown with glossy ivy,
which completely surrounded all the back premises.
The gardens were laid out with great care, and a little later on would
be a blaze of colour. The lawns were like velvet, and were shaded by
magnificent trees—cedars, yews and graceful conifera. Everything about
the place indicated the utmost care, and art had aided nature in making
all around particularly beautiful. The house stood well, and the lie of
the land around it was peculiarly picturesque. Nothing there was new or
raw-looking. The red-brick walls were draped with graceful creepers;
the wide terrace and shallow stone steps showed, without any trace of
decay, that hundreds of years had passed over them. The look of the
trees and shrubs, and the air of the whole place, indicated a calm and
solemn antiquity.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ said Maud softly. ‘Isn’t it a lovely place to have
for one’s own?’
‘Very,’ assented Tor, feeling, though only by proxy, a certain pride of
possession. ‘There are never such places as this out of England. Can we
go into the house?’
‘Oh yes—let us. We must go round to the front. This way, by the
terrace. See, isn’t it an imposing frontage?’
It certainly was imposing. A wide carriage-drive made a bold sweep
round to the house, passing beneath the terrace, which, on this side,
was adorned by statues and an ornamental stone balustrade, whilst two
wide flights of steps, one at either extremity, led down from the
terrace to the drive.
‘What a lovely road for riding, to say nothing of the turf! Oh, Phil,
do you think we shall ever ride together? Shall you be able to keep
saddle-horses? Uncle Belassis never would let us ride; but I do so love
it: and I know how to, because I have stayed sometimes with Roma, and
ridden with her. It would be splendid to ride here with you.’
‘You shall ride to your heart’s content,’ answered Tor, laughing; ‘so
will I, when I have got a horse that will carry me. Is this the bell?
How astonished the household will be at such untimely visitors.’
The door was opened by a footman in sombre livery, and an
ancient-looking butler stood in the background, gazing inquisitively at
his visitors.
‘I have brought Mr. Debenham here, Walters,’ said Maud, advancing into
the dim, vast hall. ‘We have walked across the park to see the house by
moonlight.’
Tor spoke pleasantly to the old servant, and followed his sister into
the fine old rooms which were for the present, at least, to be his
headquarters. They looked dim and vast in the uncertain light, the
shadows very black, and the colours indistinct and ghostly. They could
get no adequate light to see the place then, nor did they wish. They
were content to rove about the great moonlit rooms, which were not
so dark but that they could see how rich were the decorations, and
how costly and magnificent was every fitting, picture, or article of
furniture.
It was but a cursory visit they paid that night, yet Tor came away with
the impression that Phil had come into a very fine property, and that
his house was almost worthy the name of a palace.
They walked back quickly through the shadowy park, whilst Maud
described to him the beauty of parts he had not seen: the hot-houses,
and the great conservatory, and the stable premises, where it was said
half a hundred horses had been stabled in olden times, when there was
need.
‘If we should not make ourselves too late,’ she said, ‘we would go
round by the Lady’s Well, down in a hollow of the park there. It is
so pretty, all overgrown with moss and ferns; and the dell is a sweet
place. It is a magic well, you know; and if we go at the right time
we can have a magic wish. Some day I’ll take you there, and we will
have our wishes—though, now that you’ve come back, there doesn’t seem
anything left to wish for.’
She slipped her arm within his, and turned her bright face up to him.
‘Kiss me, Phil! You’re not a bit demonstrative; I suppose men
aren’t—_real_ men, who aren’t namby-pamby like Lewis; but you’ve not
kissed me once, except before them all, when you first came. Kiss me
now, in the wood here. I feel as if I should like to hug you!’
Tor, however, evaded any hugging. He bent his head and kissed her
quietly, and with a smile that seemed to make up for any more open
demonstration; then, feeling the position a little difficult, he
hurried her home. Maud’s kisses he found dangerously sweet. He had not
realized how sweet they might be. He was not an impressionable man; not
what is commonly called a ‘woman’s man,’ and it had never occurred to
him that he might be seriously bewitched by Phil’s sister.
It was ten o’clock when the two culprits entered the drawing-room,
and found the company looking decidedly bored. They had expected
Tor to amuse them during the evening, and had felt aggrieved by his
disappearance.
‘We have been across to see Ladywell by moonlight,’ said Tor. ‘It
looks quite romantic in that aspect.’
‘You might have let me come too. I love a moonlight walk,’ cried
Bertha. ‘You’re always so selfish, Maud.’
‘Phil isn’t your brother,’ returned Maud. ‘I had ever so many things to
say to him.’
‘Well, I think he might have stayed with us the first evening,’ said
Matilda, with languid raillery. ‘Are we such a dreadfully unendurable
family, Phil, that you cannot put up with us for one evening?’
‘It is the fashion now, I believe, for young men to do exactly as they
please, without any regard for the wishes of others or the exigencies
of society,’ remarked Mrs. Belassis incisively.
Tor laughed; for anyone to laugh after such a remark showed a boldness,
not to say a recklessness, which was enough to provoke a shudder of
horror.
‘I am afraid my social education has been sadly neglected, my dear
aunt, and that ignorance, not fashion, prompted this breach of manners.
When a man has been knocking about the world for ten years, with
nothing but his own fancy to please, he grows sadly benighted as
to the “exigencies of society.” I am afraid I was ignorant that it
possessed any.’
‘Ah, indeed! Then you will find yourself in many very unpleasant
predicaments before many days are past.’
‘If I can extricate myself as easily as in the present instance, I do
not think I need feel appalled,’ answered Tor, taking a seat between
his two cousins. ‘Surely I have not sinned past forgiveness? I think I
can see signs of relenting already. Shall we seal the peace by making
a plan? Shall we all lunch at Ladywell Manor the day after to-morrow?
Will you all be my guests, and help at the housewarming? and afterwards
we can explore the grounds together at our leisure.’
The cousins brightened up wonderfully at this suggestion. Tor made
himself exceedingly agreeable and entertaining during the remainder of
the evening; and by the time the ladies retired to their rooms, they
were loud in his praises—Mrs. Belassis alone excepted.
‘Philip, my lad, I just want to speak a single word to you to-night,’
said Mr. Belassis, when he found himself alone with his supposed
nephew.
‘Certainly, sir; what is it?’
‘It is in reference to dear Maud,’ answered Mr. Belassis, struggling
to appear quite at ease, when really not at all comfortable. ‘Are
you aware that your father, in opposition to my wishes, made a very
extraordinary condition as to the money which Maud has to inherit?’
‘I have not heard exactly what it was—though I have my suspicions,’
answered Tor coldly.
‘It was a very odd will. I advised him repeatedly against it; but
he would have it so. He was very fond of my Lewis. He was bent upon
the match. He only leaves one-third of the money to Maud, unless she
marries my son. I could not persuade him to act otherwise.’
Tor’s lip curled slightly.
‘Very magnanimous of you, sir.’
‘No, no; only just, my boy; only just. Lewis has no claim to the money.’
‘Not the least in the world.’
‘Exactly; but he will have two-thirds, that is £10,000, if Maud, when
she attains her majority, declines to marry him. He is ready enough to
fulfil his share of the contract. He is devoted to her.’
Tor felt as though he should much like to kick the devoted Lewis.
‘Well, sir, what is your object in opening this subject to-night?’
‘Because, my dear Philip, I can see at a glance that you will obtain
great influence over your sister; and I am most anxious that your
influence should be so exercised as to lead her to make a wise and
right choice when the time comes.’
Tor looked anything but pleasant as this suggestion was thrust upon him.
‘My sister must make her own choice,’ he answered coldly, conscious
that he would feel distinctly annoyed if she elected to marry Lewis
Belassis.
‘Of course, Philip, of course; the dear girl must be guided by her own
feelings: but most likely she will come to you for counsel and advice,
when she knows how the matter stands. All I ask you is this—remember
how much is involved in all this; remember her interest is to do her
father’s will, and use your influence to make her act so that she will
not forfeit her fortune.’
Tor took a few paces backwards and forwards in the room.
‘When will she be told?’
‘Very soon now; any time, indeed. You will be a true brother to her,
Philip?’
‘Certainly,’ answered Tor, rather haughtily.
‘And you will counsel her to accept my son?’
‘That depends upon circumstances. I can promise nothing. I have yet to
learn what manner of man your son is.’