The New Owner
The wild wind and rain, which for some weeks had blown from the north,
changed suddenly to a southerly breeze, and the sun shone out in all its
spring glory on the day of Mr. Ingleton's funeral. Half the country-side
came to do honor to "the old Squire." He had been a favorite in the
neighborhood, and people forgot his autocratic ways and remembered now
only his many kindnesses. The absence of Everard, who should have been
the chief representative of the family, caused universal comment, and
some rumor of the state of affairs began to be passed round among the
servants and guests. Cousin Clare, to whom Lilias had confided the
secret of her brother's flight, shook her head.
"He might at least have shown his grandfather the respect of following
him to his grave!" she commented. "He owed that to him, at any rate. I
thought Everard would have realized such an obvious duty. Whatever comes
or does not come to us in the way of legacies cannot free us from our
obligations to the dead. It seems to me hardly decent to be thinking
about the disposal of the property while its late owner is still
unburied."
Lilias crept away, crying. She knew there was justice in Cousin Clare's
scathing judgment, but she was sure the latter did not, could not,
understand the extent of Everard's bitter disappointment. She did not
care to say any more, or ask questions, and could only wait until the
whole sad, miserable affair was over. Some of the guests returned to the
house after the funeral, and these, with the family, were present when
Mr. Bowden read aloud the will of the late Squire of Cheverley Chase.
Like most testamentary documents, it was couched in legal terms, but
Lilias and Dulcie, sitting in their black dresses beside Cousin Clare,
grasped the main features. There were certain legacies to servants and
friends, a provision for each of the grandchildren and for Cousin Clare,
then the entire residue of the estate was bequeathed to "Leslie, only
child of my elder son, Tristram."
All, except the few who had known the secret beforehand, were filled
with surprise that Everard, who had always been regarded in the
neighborhood as "the young squire" should have been passed over in favor
of another heir. The guests, however, after a word or two of sympathy,
took their departure, and went away to spread the news, leaving the
family alone to discuss matters among themselves.
"So I suppose the Chase isn't our home any longer?" asked Dulcie, as the
young Ingletons clustered round their cousin for explanations. "Who is
this Leslie? We've never heard anything of him before."
"I didn't know Uncle Tristram had a son!" said Roland.
"Will everything be his instead of Everard's?" asked Bevis pitifully.
"No, and yes," replied Cousin Clare. "The estate is certainly left to
Leslie, but, as it happens, she is a daughter, and not a son."
Here was a surprise indeed!
"A daughter!" echoed Lilias. "The Chase left to a girl!"
"Remember, she is the daughter of the elder son, so that in your
grandfather's opinion she was the lawful heiress."
"But where does she live?"
"How old is she?"
"Why have we never seen her?"
"It's a long story," said Cousin Clare. "But, without going into any
details, I can tell you briefly that years ago your grandfather and your
Uncle Tristram had a serious quarrel. It was about a lady whom your
grandfather thought his elder son loved, and whom he very much wished
him to marry. Well, we can't love to order, and, though Tristram liked
and respected the prospective bride whom his father had chosen for him,
he had given his heart to a beautiful Italian girl, and he insisted upon
marrying her. The affair caused a complete breach between them, but
shortly before Tristram's death he patched up a half reconciliation, and
sent home a photograph of his wife and little daughter, whom he named
'Leslie' after her grandfather. I believe some years ago an effort was
made to bring the child over to England to be educated, but her mother,
who by that time was married again and living in Sicily, refused to give
her up to her English relations. I have never seen her myself, but she
must be quite fourteen years old by now. It will be a great surprise to
her to learn that she succeeds to the property."
"And a great disappointment to us," said Lilias bitterly. "It seems most
unfair, when we've lived at the Chase all these years, that this
interloper should step in and turn us out of our home."
"I hate her!" declared Clifford, clenching his little fists.
"No, no, dears! Don't take it in that way!" begged Cousin Clare.
"Remember that, after all, the Chase was Grandfather's property, and he
had absolute right to leave it to whom he pleased. He stood in the
place of parents to you all, but that did not mean that he must will the
estate to Everard. Leslie is also his grandchild, and belongs to the
elder branch of the family. He has left you each a most generous legacy,
so that there is plenty for your education. I don't know what
arrangements will be made for you, but Mr. Bowden is one of your
guardians, and he is such a kind friend that I am sure he can be
thoroughly trusted to take good care of your affairs. Try to look on the
bright side of things. Matters might be so much worse."
In Lilias's opinion, at any rate, matters were quite bad enough. As
Everard's particular chum, she took his disinheritance more hardly than
Dulcie. She wondered what he was doing in London, and if he would send
her his address. It angered her that Mr. Bowden took his departure quite
calmly, and seemed to think he would turn up again in a few days, when
he had spent the money he had taken with him. She knew her brother too
well for that, and was sure that his pride would not allow him to return
either to Cheverley or to Harrow in the character of a disappointed
heir. In that respect she could entirely sympathize with him. She and
Dulcie went back to Chilcombe Hall at the beginning of the next week,
and, though all their companions were very kind and sympathetic, it was
humiliating to be obliged to acknowledge that the Chase was no longer
virtually their home. For the present, as the heiress was a minor, the
estate was in the hands of the executors. Mr. Bowden decided to send
Bevis and Clifford to the same preparatory school as Roland, and Cousin
Clare, after various letters and telegrams, departed on a mission to
Sicily, to interview Leslie's mother and stepfather. What the purport of
her visit might be, the girls had as yet no hint.
The weeks dragged wearily on towards Easter. Though Dulcie might throw
herself into hockey or basket ball, to Lilias school interests seemed to
have lost their former zest. She wondered where they were to spend their
holidays. Various friends had extended invitations, but Mr. Bowden, to
whom everything must now be referred, had not yet written to consent. At
last came his reply.
"I have arranged for you and your sister to spend your holidays as usual
at the Chase. Miss Clare will be arriving back from Sicily, and will
bring your cousin Leslie with her. They would like you to be at home to
receive them."
Lilias, showing the letter to Dulcie in the privacy of the Blue bedroom,
simply raged.
"It's _too_ bad! When we were so keen to go to London, too! Why should
we be there to receive Madame Leslie, I should like to know. I don't
want to see her!"
"Neither do I, only I _do_ wonder what she's like, all the same,"
ventured Dulcie. "Can she speak English? And will she take over the
whole place, and make us feel it's hers?"
"No doubt she will. We shall have to take very back seats indeed! It's
just too disgusting for words. I really think Mr. Bowden needn't have
forced this upon us."
"The girls will be ever so sorry for us!"
"I know; and that's just what I hate. I can't bear to be pitied."
The Easter exodus seemed very different indeed from the happy breaking
up of last Christmas. No "Rajah" and "Peri" with glossy coats and
arching necks came to take Lilias and Dulcie from school, and give them
the delight of a ride over the hills, though Milner arrived with the
car, and told them that he was to fetch their three younger brothers on
the following morning. The Chase seemed lonely and deserted with nobody
to welcome them except the servants. It brought back vividly those few
sad days of drawn blinds, and the memory of the long black line slowly
disappearing down the drive. They had supper by themselves, and spent a
very quiet evening reading in the drawing-room. The advent next day of
Roland, Bevis, and Clifford certainly enlivened the atmosphere, and
things would have felt like old times again had it not been for the
shadow of the arrival of the heiress. A telegram had been received from
Cousin Clare announcing the train, and the car was to meet them at the
station on that same evening. Winder and the other servants were
bustling about getting the house in order for its new mistress. A log
fire was lighted in the hall, and plants in pots were carried in from
the conservatory. The Union Jack fluttered from over the porch, and the
gardener had put up some decorations with the word "Welcome."
Five very sober young people stood in the drawing-room and watched as
the car came up the drive to the front door. Next minute they heard
Cousin Clare's cheerful voice calling to them, and they came shyly forth
into the hall.
Standing on the Persian rug in front of the log fire was a girl of about
fourteen, an erect, slender, graceful little figure, with dark silky
hair hanging in loose curls, and wonderful bright eyes that were dark
and yet full of light and seemed to shine like stars. For an instant she
included the Ingletons in one comprehensive glance, then her whole face
broke into eager smiles.
"I know which of you is which! Lilias, Dulcie, Roland, Bevis, Clifford!"
she declared, shaking hands with each. "I'm very rich to have five new
cousins all at once! To-morrow you must show me everything, the rabbits
and the dogs, and the tame jackdaw! Oh yes! I've been hearing about them
and about you! Cousin Clare told me just what you would be like. I kept
asking her questions the whole way!"
She spoke prettily, and without a trace of a foreign accent; her manner
was warm and friendly. She looked, indeed, as if she would like to kiss
her new relations. She was so entirely different from what the Ingletons
had expected, that in their utter amazement they could think of nothing
to say in reply, and stood gazing at her in embarrassed silence. Cousin
Clare saved the situation.
"Carmel, child, you're tired out!" she decreed. "I'm going to take you
straight upstairs and put you to bed. Thirty-six hours of traveling is
too much for anybody, and you never slept in the train. Come along! You
must make friends with your cousins to-morrow."
Long afterwards, when Dulcie tried to analyze her first impressions of
the new-comer, she realized that what struck her most was the extreme
charm of her personality. We have all possibly gone through a similar
psychic experience of meeting somebody against whom we had conceived a
bitter prejudice, and finding our intended hatred suddenly veer round
into love. The effect is like stepping out into what you imagine will be
a blizzard, and finding warm sunshine. The little mistress of the Chase
was very weary with her long journey, but, when at last she was
sufficiently rested to be shown round her demesne, she made her royal
progress with an escort of half-fascinated cousins.
"You'll like to see your property," Lilias began shyly, leading the way
into the garden.
"_Please_ don't call it mine. I want you all to understand, at the very
beginning, that it's still your home, and I don't wish to take it from
you. I have my own dear home in Sicily, and I hope to go back there some
day. While I'm in England, let me be your visitor. That's all I want. I
can't bear to think that I'm taking anybody's place, or anything that
ought to belong to some one else. If only Mother were here, she'd
explain properly."
"But it _is_ yours, Leslie!" objected Dulcie.
"In a way yes, but in another way, no! It can be mine and yours at the
same time. And please will you call me Carmel? Leslie is a boy's name,
not a girl's. I'm always Carmel at home. I didn't want to leave home at
all, but Mother and Daddy said I must go with Cousin Clare when she had
come all the way to Sicily to fetch me. They promised it should be only
a visit."
Lilias and Dulcie could hardly believe the evidence of their ears. They
had expected Carmel to be appraising her new property with keen
satisfaction, instead of which she appeared to be suffering from a bad
attack of homesickness. She looked at the gardens, the stables, and all
the pets with interest, but without any apparent sense of
proprietorship. Her behavior was exactly that of an ordinary visitor who
admires a friend's possessions. In her talk she referred constantly to
her home in Sicily, to her stepfather and her younger brothers and
sisters. They and her mother were evidently the supreme center of her
life.
"We thought you'd only know Italian," confided Dulcie, whose shyness was
beginning to wear off.
Carmel laughed.
"Of course I talk Italian too, but we always speak English at home.
Isn't it strange that mother should have married two Englishmen? I can't
remember my own father at all, but Daddy is a dear, and we're tremendous
friends. I've brought his photo, and Mother's and the children's. I'll
show them to you when I've unpacked."
Carmel's astounding attitude, while it amazed her cousins in the
extreme, was certainly highly satisfactory. The boys, when they realized
that she had no desire to wrest their pets from them, waxed suddenly
friendly. With the naïve impulsiveness of childhood they gave her a
full account of what they had expected her to be.
"Perhaps I was rather frightened of you too, till I saw you all," she
confessed. "We've none of us turned out such dreadful bogies, have we?"
"Do you know what I'm going to call you?" said Clifford, slipping a
plump hand into hers, and gazing up into the shining brown eyes.
"Princess Carmel!"
And Carmel bent down and kissed him.