WHILE these dark elements of tragedy were gathering about the lonely
house of Marchmain, things went on very cheerfully in Milnehill, where
everybody was vaguely encouraged by the idea of the investigation going
on which might restore some wreck of fortune to the young Rifleman; and
where a still more engrossing pursuit reconciled that hero himself to
the necessity of waiting for news of this possible enrichment. Roger,
who had no great hopes on the subject, bore the suspense with the
greatest patience, and never, indeed, showed the least signs of anxiety,
except when it seemed likely that a word or two of lamentation over his
fate would call forth the compassion of the ladies--which compassion
was very sincere on Susan's part, and good-humouredly satirical on that
of Mrs. Melrose. "It's easy to see the poor young man's losing heart
altogether with this waiting," the old lady would say with much gravity;
"for you see, Susan, my dear, it's not to be expected that he can find
anything here to amuse him, poor man, seeing nothing but two old people
and a quiet little girl like you." Mrs. Melrose had quite taken up her
abode at Milnehill since Roger's arrival. She said it was good for her
health to smell the chestnut blossoms, and overlook Uncle Edward's
gardening--and a very cheerful and lively addition she made to the happy
house.
One morning, however, the quiet progress of affairs was interrupted by a
letter, which Roger read not without a little agitation at the
breakfast-table. When he had come to the end he handed it over suddenly,
with a slight impetuous impulse, to the Colonel, who took it with his
usual kind look of serious attention, put on his spectacles immediately,
and addressed himself to the perusal of the letter with much gravity and
earnestness. It was from Roger's mother, and written partly under the
inspiration of little Edmund, messages from whom were mixed with
everything the timid woman said--
"MY DEAREST BOY--Your dear letter and the news of your arrival brought
the greatest pleasure I have known for many a long day, though it came
in the midst of great trouble, my dear Mr. Stenhouse having been buried
just a few days before; a very great affliction, which I trust, for _all
your sakes_, my dear boy, yours and little Edmund's, and your dear
sisters', I shall have strength to bear. Little Edmund interrupts me to
say--and I must give you the _very_ words of his message, or he will not
be pleased--that, please, you're to come home directly, and that his
papa has left him a great deal of money, and he means to give you half
of it, and wants so very, very much to see his brother Roger. My own
boy, I must ask you to be very good to dear little Edmund; he has been
such an invalid, the dear child, that everybody has always yielded to
him all his life, and he does love _you_ so! Since ever he could speak
he has kept on entreating me to tell him of his brother Roger, and he
thinks there is not such another in the world; and he is very good, the
dear little fellow, when he is not in pain, and one takes a little care
and knows his way. However, I have something to tell you besides. The
day before yesterday along with your letter there came a letter to my
dear Mr. Stenhouse, which Edmund opened before I saw what he was doing.
Edmund tells me to say that he does so hope you will come soon to see
the cricketing in Leasough Park; and he thinks if you would join the
Leasough eleven--Leasough is a village two miles off, where we always go
for our drive, and where everybody knows Edmund--they would be sure to
win. But about Mr. Pouncet's letter, my dear son. It seemed written in a
great fright, saying that Sir John Armitage had written to him something
about you, and what _should_ he do?--and speaking in a very improper
manner, actually _cursing_ the day he did something, which it seems my
dear Mr. Stenhouse must have known of, and asking that young Mr.
Scarsdale, Colonel Sutherland's nephew, who seemed to know about it
too, might be sent to Kenlisle at once. Edmund said, 'Mamma, send for
Mr. Scarsdale directly' (he is _so_ clever, the dear child), and so I
did. But I must first go back to tell you that my dear Mr. Stenhouse
himself had sent for young Mr. Scarsdale, and spoke with him in private,
and charged him, as I heard with my own ears--dear Julius being taken
very bad, and not knowing what he said--that 'the boy was not to
know'--just the day before his death. When Mr. Scarsdale came, I am
sorry to say he was not so polite as I should have expected from Colonel
Sutherland's nephew, and would not tell either Edmund or me anything,
but rather sneered at my poor child, and went off all in haste, keeping
the letter in his hand. I should have sent it to you if he had not taken
it away. Now, I do not know what this may mean--nor can it be expected
that Edmund should, as he is only a child; but both he and I, my dear
boy, beg of you to ask the Colonel what he thinks, and to try to find
out yourself. And whatever you do, dear, don't trust to _that_ Mr.
Pouncet; for it was quite clear to me by his letter that he had somehow
done you wrong, and wanted to conceal it. Edmund says, 'Tell Roger,
mamma, he's not to trust Scarsdale either;' but indeed I scarcely have
the heart to say so, remembering that he's the dear good Colonel's
nephew--only he was not so kind as he might have been, you know, and I
have some reason to think he is fond of Amelia--which should surely keep
him from doing anything that would harm her brother.
"But, my dearest boy, come home. I have not seen you--my son--my
baby--my first-born!--for _so_ many years, and my heart yearns for a
sight of you. Oh, come to me! Let me see you under my own roof!
Roger--my son--my dear boy--come home to your mother! There is no other
friend who can have so close a claim upon my darling child!
"Always your loving mother,
"A. STENHOUSE."
"You will go at once?" said the Colonel, with some gravity, as he gave
the letter back into Roger's hand.
Go at once! The words rung upon Susan's ear like a cannon-shot. She
turned her blue eyes with a look of amazed alarm from her uncle to
Roger; then she became suddenly very much busied with the duties of the
breakfast table, swallowing down, as a very attentive observer might
have noticed, something in her throat, and carefully keeping her eyes
upon her tea-pot and coffee-pot. Roger had made no answer as yet. While
the Colonel inclined his ear attentively across the table for the young
man's reply, Roger was studying Susan's face; and it is not hard to
explain that common paradox of youthful nature, which made Susan's
silent signs of sudden disappointment and vexation the most exhilarating
sight in the world to the young Rifleman. While Uncle Edward listened,
and heard nothing, and fancied his own deaf ear in fault, Roger, quite
otherwise occupied--thinking, it is to be feared, not much about his
mother, and nothing at all about Mr. Pouncet--concentrated all his
faculties on the honest face of Susan, with its womanly but
unconcealable dismay.
"Eh, Musgrave?" said the Colonel, stooping towards his young guest, and
putting up his kind hand over his deaf ear.
"I suppose so, sir," said Roger, in high spirits. Then, after a little
pause, with sham sentiment, got up simply as a trap for Susan--"If one
could only find out the secret of ubiquity, so that one might be able to
content one's mother, and enjoy one's self, at the same time."
Yielding to this temptation, Susan glanced up at the young hero for a
moment, with some tender tearfulness about her eyes; but, finding
nothing but triumph and delight in his, returned, disgusted, and much
more inclined to cry than before, to the contemplation of her
coffee-pot.
"One may manage that, I hope, without any ubiquity," said the Colonel,
still very gravely; for the old soldier was moved too seriously by this
letter to notice the by-play of the youthful drama going on under his
eyes. "But I am surprised you are not more excited by your mother's
communication, Roger. My dear fellow, it is quite evident now that there
must be something in it; and a pretty person to conduct an
investigation this Pouncet must be, after what you have just heard. Why,
to be sure, referring the search to a guilty party is the very way to
keep ourselves in darkness. I'll tell you what, Musgrave; if you do not
see after it at once, I shall take the liberty of constituting myself
your guardian, and set out to-day."
Roger stretched out his hand to meet that of Colonel Sutherland, who had
gradually warmed as he spoke. "Amen," said the young man. "Till I can
persuade some still kinder and fairer hand to assume the reins, I could
not have any guardian I should like so well."
"Pshaw!" said Uncle Edward, awakening to the fact that his young guest
was speaking at Susan much more than to himself--"never mind fairer
hands. What do you mean to do?"
Upon which, Roger perceiving that his last shot had taken due effect,
grew serious all at once.
"It does look at last as if there was something in it," he said. "I have
thought all along that if any mischief had been done Pouncet must have
known of it; and he was a man of such character! I cannot think yet how
it is possible that he could put himself or his reputation in danger to
defraud me;--but certainly," continued Roger, growing rather red and
wrathful, "the pretence of a sham investigation and a confidential
clerk--"
"Ah!" cried Uncle Edward, with a sharp short exclamation like a sudden
pang--"most likely it was--well, well, well!--_we_ cannot help it; it is
to his own Master that each of us standeth or falleth: let us not blame
till we know."
"Uncle," said Susan in alarm, coming round to his side and sliding her
hand into his, "it is something about Horace?--something more?"
"No, my love, nothing more--nothing at all that one could build upon,"
said the Colonel tenderly; "only I rather fear, Susan, as we both did
when you came first to Milnehill, that Horace knows of some injury which
has been done to Roger, and yet does not let him know."
Susan made a momentary pause of shame and distress as her uncle spoke,
and then raised her eyes, full of tears and entreaty, to Roger's face.
Poor Susan believed that these tears were all about her brother, and
would not have acknowledged that a single drop of that gentle rain had
relation to the "going away" with which this conversation arose.
Roger, however, could not bear these tears. He put his mother's letter
hastily into her hand--would she read it? There was really nothing
blaming Mr. Scarsdale, as she would see. And Susan stood shy and
tearful, with the paper trembling in her hand--a maidenly, womanly,
natural restraint forbidding her to read, while her heart yearned,
notwithstanding, towards Roger's mother; while Roger kept looking at her
with anxious eyes, as earnest to have her read it as though his fate
depended on the issue. Did either of them think of Horace in connection
with this letter? or what, between these two young dreamers, trembling
on the edge of their romance, was Colonel Sutherland, with very serious
thoughts in his mind and matters in his hand, to do? He got up after a
few minutes waiting, with good-humoured impatience.
"Boys and girls," said Uncle Edward, "with all their life before them,
like you young people, may waste a few hours of it without much harm
done; but what I have to do must be done quickly. Make up your mind,
Roger, my good friend; but as for me, I am going off to Armitage by the
first train. Susan, my love, Mrs. Melrose will stay with you; for this
young fellow's interests, you see, must be looked after, whether he
wishes it or not--especially, my dear"--and Uncle Edward's kind face
grew darker as he made that significant pause.
"Especially if Horace has had any share in it," cried Susan. "Oh, Mr.
Musgrave!" and a few tears fell suddenly over Roger's mother's letter.
The Colonel at the moment had stepped out of the room to give his
instructions to Patchey, and Susan's one sole remaining intention, on
which all her mind was fixed, was to rush after him; but that
involuntary turn of her head and exclamation of her lips sealed Susan's
fate. Roger was not the man to let slip so advantageous a moment--and
had things to do of more importance than packing his portmanteau before
he left Milnehill.