Walter Kingsworth was speedily enlightened by his hosts as to the
present state of affairs in the reigning branch of the Kingsworth
family, how the wrong young lady was the heiress, how the change of
succession had been made, with a hint of the scandal that had
accompanied it, and of the tragedy that had followed it. The whole
history interested Walter extremely. He belonged to a prosperous and
prosaic family, and had led a very prosperous and prosaic existence,
with no doubts as to his future, and no particular discontents as to his
present. His father was very well off, and held a very good position in
the north-country town, round which his business was situated, but
beyond being perfectly well aware of the fact, that his family was as
good as that of any of his clients, he had not troubled himself much
about his far-away kinsfolk in the south. Walter, however, was not
insensible to the charms of a connection with an old tower and a family
seat, and although he had ridiculed the "disinherited" view of his
position, it was not quite with a stranger's feeling that he set forth
soon after the ball, to see the neighbourhood, and call at Kingsworth.
He had three or four miles to walk, through russet hedges, thick with
hips and haws, and then over bleak and open downs till he came to the
little fishing village running back into the shore in its green cove.
It had a poverty-stricken look, and he was just reflecting that the
Church and the little old school-house stood much in need of modern
improvements, when he was joined by the Vicar, who was glad to tell a
few of his grievances, and to express his hope that the young heiress
might grow up to take an interest in the people who were all her
tenants, and for whose welfare she was more or less responsible. He
took Walter into the Church and showed him the monument of one of the
last common ancestors of himself and Katharine,--a worthy in a
full-bottomed wig, leaning on a funeral urn. After which there was a
gap in the Kingsworth memorials, till they came to a tablet recording
the death of Walter Kingsworth, and then one on which was written,
"Found drowned, James and George Kingsworth. Aged 28 and 26 years.
November 15th, 18--."
"Ah," said the Vicar, "that was a terrible tragedy,--and the shadow of
it hangs over them still. I do not know a more joyless face than Mrs
Kingsworth's, and there is a stern unwillingness to identify herself
with the place, which is very noticeable."
"Yes, she is not gracious," said Walter. "Poor thing! I do not wonder
that she shrinks from the place. Where did the--accident happen?"
"The bodies were found at the foot of the rocks in that little cove
below Kingsworth Park."
"I think I'll walk round that way and see it," said Walter Kingsworth
with an odd sort of interest. And having parted from Mr Clare, he took
his way round the point that divided the village from the tiny cove
above which Kingsworth house was built.
The tide was low, and there was a wide expanse of sand between him and
the rippling sunlit waves, indeed it was only in very high tides that
the water covered the rocks at all, and in the cove there was generally
a strip of white sand, warm and bright in the sunshine, while the grass
stretched away towards the house above. The air was soft and pleasant;
great woolly clouds floated over the sky and cast long shadows on the
down and on the sand. Walter Kingsworth, musing on the wild story of
past sin and sorrow with which the place was connected, positively
started as he saw Katharine tripping down the narrow pathway that led
into the cove. She looked wonderfully fresh and full of life, with her
brightly coloured hair and cheeks, and the gay smile with which she came
forward to greet him.
Walter was a person whose ideas were apt to be absorbing, and he could
hardly free himself from the strong impression that was on him. No
words about the ball or his intended call came into his head, and he
said abruptly,--
"Are you fond of this place, Miss Kingsworth,--this cove I mean?" he
added.
"I don't know," said Kate. "I think I am rather fond of coming here. I
like the sea. I never saw it till we came to Kingsworth,--but I like to
look out far away, and see it glitter."
"I suppose most people like the sea," said Walter.
"Do they? My mother does not. She _never_ walks on the shore. But
then--well, you _are_ my cousin, are you not? I suppose it would not be
wrong to talk to you about anything belonging to the family, would it?"
Katharine spoke abruptly and eagerly. And Walter replied warmly,--
"Indeed I am proud to be your cousin, and you may talk quite safely to
me."
This eager, round-eyed girl, with her sweet voice and abrupt manner gave
him quite a new sensation.
Katharine stood a little apart from him, making holes with her parasol
in the sand. "When we lived at Applehurst," she said, "I never used to
think about anything except how dull it was. But since we came here--I
feel puzzled. Emberance doesn't like to talk about the family. But it
was here, wasn't it--that my father and hers were drowned?"
"So I have been told," said the young man with a gravity and reverence
that impressed Kate, for she lowered her own voice and said,--
"It is because I want to know what really happened that I talk to you."
"But I cannot tell you more than you know," said Walter, "how your
father and your uncle were found drowned together. No one was there--so
no one can know how it was."
"That was after my grandfather died?" said Kate, as if pondering.
"Yes,--I suppose so."
Kate was silent for a minute,--then she said, as if slightly
disappointed, "Of course, if I come to think of it, you are not likely
to be able to tell me anything about it. Perhaps I ought not to have
asked you. Shall we come up to the house?"
Walter assented, he could not fathom what was passing in her mind; but
her quick changes of mood interested him.
He paid rather a stiff visit at Kingsworth. Mrs Kingsworth had an
unreadiness of manner that was embarrassing. In truth her mind was
never with the matter in hand, and just now she was full of speculation
as to what would have been her feelings if this fine young man had been
her son, and _his_ disinheritance the sacrifice she contemplated. Kate,
too, was silent, and Emberance had to bear the burden of the
conversation, till Walter took his leave, saying that he hoped
circumstances might again bring him into the neighbourhood, and that the
two branches of the family might not again be so entirely separated.
"Mamma," said Kate, when he was gone, "we have some girl-cousins too at
Silthorpe. Couldn't we ask them to stay here some time?"
"It is a great stretch to call them cousins, Katie," said Mrs
Kingsworth. "I don't see quite how we could do so."
Kate pouted a little, thinking to herself that her mother always opposed
her wishes, and finding that Emberance was deep in a piece of fancy-work
and unwilling to leave it, set off to finish her walk by herself.
There was no absolute embargo on solitary rambles, and though Kate well
knew that her mother did not like her to walk alone in the village, in
her present mood she did not feel inclined to regard an unspoken
prohibition.
She turned away from the path towards the Vicarage; with a shy
unwillingness to be met _there_ by herself; yet her thoughts as she
walked along were not wrapped in the sunny haze proper to a young maiden
just awaking to a sense of preference given and received. Kate did not
dream, she thought and speculated on her own life. Only her thoughts
were confused and formless. "What was wrong? Why did no one answer her
questions? And what questions after all did she want to ask?"
She had turned down a lane that led away from the sea; and having no
special object in pursuing her walk, was about to turn back, when she
was overtaken by one of the fisher-women who sold fish about the
neighbourhood. There was nothing very characteristic or picturesque
about the class, they wore the ordinary dress of labouring women, except
that their petticoats were very short, and they were generally as rough
and ignorant as might be expected of the inhabitants of a place which
had enjoyed so few advantages as Kingsworth.
This one was a handsome woman, with a keen intelligent face, and bright
eyes looking out from under her flattened bonnet.
"Good morning to you, my lady," she said.
"Good morning," said Kate graciously,--she had grasped enough of her
_role_ to know that graciousness was her people's due.
"Fine weather, miss, for the time of year. Is it Miss Katharine then
that I'm talking to?"
"Yes," said Kate. "And what is your name? I don't know any one, as I
was never here till last September."
"Alice Taylor's my name, if you please, miss. But begging your pardon,
Miss Katharine, you was here eighteen years ago, as I ought to know, as
I was your nursemaid."
"Were you?" said Kate warmly. "Did you live with my mother? Where do
you live now? I am sure then I might come and see you."
"Well, you see, miss, there's evil tongues everywhere, and poor servants
even have their enemies. But I was as innocent as the babe unborn, of
what I was accused of, and perhaps there were some that had reason to be
sorry for what they did," she concluded spitefully with a glance at
Kate.
"Were you accused of doing wrong?" said Kate.
"Ah, never mind, my dear young lady, it's all too long ago to go back
to. And so Mr James's daughter is staying here. She's a fine young
lady. Who would have thought when Mr James came of age how things
would be?"
"What did they do when he came of age?" said Kate, with an odd sense of
fascinated curiosity.
"Dear me, miss, there was such rejoicings! Dinner for all the place,
and compliments to your great-grandfather who won the place back again
to the family, and Mr James so handsome and condescending like. Mr
George, _he_ was always a quiet one."
"That was _my_ father?"
"Yes, miss, but he being the younger wasn't thought so much of--you'll
excuse my saying so."
There was something in the tone which Katharine instinctively felt to be
an impertinence, and as they came to a turn of the road she said,--
"Well, good morning, Mrs Taylor. I believe I ought to go home. I'll
ask mamma if I may come and see you."
"Thank you, miss; good morning," said Mrs Taylor civilly enough.
Katharine hurried home, full of her new subject. "Oh, mamma," she
cried, "I have met a woman who says she was my nurse! Alice was her
name--and now she is Mrs Taylor. She says she was suspected of doing
something wrong; but that it was not true. Do you remember her?"
"Your nurse," said Mrs Kingsworth briefly, "turned out dishonest. She
took a pair of my gold earrings, and was dismissed."
"But, mamma, she says that she was accused falsely. Won't you go and
hear what she has to say?"
"My dear, after all these years it would be impossible to renew the
subject. Besides, she did take the earrings. I forget the details now;
but there was no doubt of it at the time. She was not a desirable
person."
"I think she was angry with us about it," said Kate.
"Possibly. She had no right to speak to you at all." Kate did not feel
inclined to repeat all Alice Taylor's remarks, and indeed was more
easily silenced than usual; but the incident added its quota to the
weight on her mind. She felt quite sure that Alice Taylor believed her
to be the wrong woman in the wrong place.